Matilda Girl

The glow of the television washes the living room in soft, shifting light, some familiar comfort show murmuring in the background as you sink deeper into the corner of the sofa. The apartment still carries that faint in-between feeling that always follows a trip, your half-unpacked suitcase sitting by the wall, your carry-on slouched near the entryway. You scroll through Moments without really seeing much of it, your thumb moving on autopilot as photos and captions blur together, and when your eyes flick to the time in the corner of the screen, a quiet sigh leaves you – it’s past midnight. You only got back yesterday, but it annoys you that your body still refuses to remember what time zone it belongs to.

With a small frown, you toss your phone beside you, only to reach for it again a few seconds later. Sleep feels nowhere near, but so does doing anything useful. Your gaze drifts back to the screen, catching on the photo you posted from the trip a few hours ago. For a moment, you just stare at it, thumb hovering near the comments before you see a new notification at the top of your screen, and your breath catches.

Valko.

You stare at his name for a second before tapping on the message, your pulse giving one traitorous flutter as the chat opens.

‘Why are you still up??’

Your finger lingers above the keyboard, a smile already tugging at your lips, before you type back.

‘Why are you up?’

His reply comes quickly.

‘I asked you first.’

A quiet laugh slips out of you.

You shift further into the corner of the sofa, glancing toward the television even though you are no longer paying attention to whatever scene is playing out on the screen.

‘I’m still a little jet-lagged. Can’t sleep.’

For a few seconds, nothing happens.

Your thumb brushes the edge of your phone as you stare at the screen, suddenly wondering whether that sounded too flat. Maybe you should have added something else. Maybe –

Another message appears.

‘Then can I come over and keep you company?’

You sit up so quickly the blanket pooled over your legs slips halfway to the floor.

For a moment, you can only stare at the words – it’s such a simple message, but the thought of Valko here, in your apartment, at this hour, sends a rush through you that makes it impossible to stay curled up on the sofa like nothing happened.

You try to sound casual as you type back.

‘Sure.’

His answer appears almost immediately.

‘I’ll be there in twenty.’

Your eyes widen.

Twenty?

You glance down at yourself, at the pajamas you changed into after your shower. You push yourself off the sofa, hurrying to the bathroom to make yourself more presentable.

By the time you step back into the living room, changed into your new loungewear – an oversized sweater and a pair of shorts – and a light layer of makeup, your heartbeat has still not quite calmed down.

And then you nearly jump out of your skin.

There, just beyond the glass, Valko is already waiting outside on the balcony.

Your hand flies to your chest before you let out a quiet breath, your nerves settling almost as quickly as they spiked. What did you expect? Of course he used the balcony again, like it is a perfectly normal substitute for a front door.

You step closer and slide the door open. Before he can even get a word out, you point toward the entryway and try your best to sound serious.

“You need to immediately take off your shoes and put them by the front door like any other normal person would.”

A grin pulls at his mouth, and a soft chuckle slips from him as he steps inside. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you say, with as much dignity as you can manage, even though you already feel far too giddy to properly stay in character. “Those are the rules.”

He does exactly as he’s told, walking over to the front door to slip off his shoes and leave them neatly where they should be.

You don’t really get a chance to say anything before he closes the distance between you and pulls you into a hug.

It’s warm and almost a little too tight, the kind of hug that steals your breath for a second, but you don’t care, not when his arms are around you like this. You tuck your face against his chest, breathing him in, and something in your chest loosens.

You missed this. Two weeks wasn’t even that long, but the moment his arms close around you, it hits you how much you’d been craving this exact feeling. The solid warmth of his body, the way he hugs like he means it, the faint familiar scent of his skin.

You squeeze him a little tighter, hoping he can’t feel how reluctant you are to let go.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against the top of your head.

A smile presses against his chest.

“I’m happy to hear that,” you say softly.

His arms loosen just enough for him to pull back and look at you, though his hands still linger at your waist.

“Only happy to hear that?” he asks, head tilting just a little. “You didn’t miss me at all?”

Your heart gives another hard, hopeless thud.

With the way he is looking at you, warm and teasing and still standing too close, it’s hard to hold onto any version of coolness for very long. So you say nothing, only glance away as if that will somehow hide the fact that your pulse is stumbling all over itself.

When he finally lets you go, the loss of his warmth feels immediate. His gaze flickers over you. It’s brief, almost nothing at all, but you catch it anyway – the quick dip of his eyes, the split-second pause that lingers just a touch too long before he looks back up.

Heat stirs low in your stomach.

If he noticed the bare stretch of your legs beneath the sweater, he does not say it.

Then his gaze drifts past you, over the living room.

You follow it, and only then do you properly take in the small signs of the last two days still scattered around the apartment. It’s not a mess, but it’s enough to make you realize, with a small jolt of horror, that while you had been busy changing, fixing your face, and deciding whether those shorts were too much, it had not once occurred to you to make the place look more presentable.

Valko glances back at you, amusement already tugging at his mouth. “You really made yourself at home.”

You stare at him.

Then at the open suitcase, then back at him.

“I – ” You stop, because there is truly no dignified recovery from this. “I just got back.”

His laugh is soft and boyish, bright with amusement, and before you can fumble your way into a proper defense, his hand comes up to rest lightly on your shoulder.

“I’m teasing,” he says. “Relax.”

Something in your chest loosens at once, though the embarrassment still lingers warm at your cheeks.

“You’re annoying,” you mutter, without much conviction.

He only grins and walks past you toward the sofa, entirely too pleased with himself, and drops down onto it, one arm spreading along the backrest.

You stand there for a second, trying not to think about the fact that he’s in your apartment, at almost one in the morning. Instead of sitting down beside him, you linger on your feet and start folding the few clothes left draped over the armchair, because you need something to do with your hands.

For a little while, the conversation comes easily – you ask him what he was doing up so late, and he tells you he got caught up researching something and lost track of time, and then he asks you how the trip was. As you smooth one of the shirts between your hands, you tell him that it was beautiful, that you enjoyed it more than you expected, that you and your friends managed to explore a few cities in between all the wedding preparations, though by the end of it you were exhausted from helping with everything. Even so, you admit that it had been worth it, because seeing your friend that happy, that deeply in love, had made all of it feel strangely tender and a little overwhelming in the best way.

The words trail off there for a second, because the memory rises too clearly, your friend smiling through tears, music drifting through warm evening air, the soft gold of the lights, the feeling of standing just outside someone else’s happiness and being moved by it anyway. You pause with the folded fabric still in your hands. When you look up, Valko is already watching you in that way of his that makes it seem like he notices more than he lets on.

So you shake yourself out of it before the moment can linger too long, and with a softer laugh, you steer the conversation somewhere lighter, telling him that the food alone had probably been worth the trip, and that you would have enjoyed it even more if you had not managed to spill some of it on your dress before the night was over.

“That’s a shame,” he says. “You looked beautiful.”

A soft flutter moves through your stomach, and for a brief second, you remember the small rush of giddiness you felt earlier when the notification popped up and you saw that he had liked the photo. Heat rise to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you murmur.

You clear your throat softly and glance toward the suitcase.

“Oh, right,” you say. “I almost forgot.”

His brows lift a little as you cross the room and crouch beside the half-open case, pushing aside a few last things until your fingers find what you had tucked in carefully. When you straighten again, you are holding a small sachet of dried flowers and a box of chocolates.

Valko watches you come back toward him, his expression shifting into mild confusion. “What’s that?”

You stop in front of him and hold the two things out. “A gift for you,” you say, “The flowers are from a little shop near where we stayed,” you explain. “They smelled really good, and they made me think of you. And the chocolates are from a local chocolaterie.”

A quiet breath leaves him, almost like a laugh, though there is something more touched than amused in it.

“That’s... really nice of you,” he says. “Thank you.”

You shrug. “It’s nothing.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not nothing.”

Before you can answer, he reaches for you.

His hand catches your wrist gently and tugs you closer, and the next thing you know, you are half stumbling onto the sofa as he pulls you down beside him and gathers you into another hug, and a startled little laugh slips out of you.

His cheek brushes your temple, and then his lips do too. “You’re sweet,” he murmurs.

For a moment, you simply let yourself stay there, tucked against him on the sofa.

“So,” he says, leaning back, “are you feeling sleepy yet?”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I’m wide awake.”

His gaze lifts toward the digital clock on the wall, and the faint crease that appears between his brows makes you want to laugh a little. “It’s past one,” he says, glancing back at you. “That’s a problem.”

You tilt your head. “Is it?”

“Yes,” he says, with enough seriousness to make the corners of your mouth twitch. “It is. We need to get you to sleep.”

Your lips pull into a small pout. “But you said you wanted to keep me company.”

His expression softens with amusement. “I do want to keep you company, but you should really get your sleep sorted out.”

The pout lingers, growing just enough to make him narrow his eyes at you like he already knows you are about to be difficult on purpose.

“So you said you missed me, and now you’re trying to get me to go to sleep. Rude.”

Valko looks ready to answer right away, but then he stops. His mouth closes again, and something shifts in his expression – a glint of mischief appears in his eyes so suddenly and so familiarly that you know you’re in trouble.

“Oh,” he says slowly, his grin beginning to spread, “so that’s what this is?”

Heat starts rising before you even know where he is going with it.

“Are you saying you missed me too?” His smile widens. “You just want to spend more time with me. Is that what you’re saying?”

Your whole face goes hot.

For a moment, you can only stare at him, feeling the burn spread across your cheeks as your mouth opens and closes once, then again, with absolutely nothing useful coming out. Valko’s grin only widens at your silence, clearly delighted with himself, and before he can say anything worse, you reach up and grab his cheeks between your fingers, squishing them without mercy.

“Ow, ow, ow,” he protests, though the laugh in his voice ruins any real attempt at sounding injured. “No need for violence!”

You let go, trying to look far less flustered than you feel, while he rubs at his cheeks with both hands and gives you a faint little pout that does nothing to make him less smug.

“Well,” you say, refusing to let him have the last word so easily, “you’re awake at this hour too, so why don’t you go to sleep?”

He leans back into the sofa, still rubbing one cheek as if you have truly wounded him, and lets out a thoughtful hum. “You know,” he says after a moment, “you’re right. The research I was doing didn’t help. My brain is still working through it, so I should probably try to relax too.”

His gaze drifts around the apartment then, over the sofa, the blankets, the cushions, and when he looks back at you, there is something almost casual in the way he says, “I can stay here, if you want. I can sleep over and take the sofa. Your apartment is cozy, after all.”

Your heart gives a quick, sudden flutter.

Then he pauses, glances toward the half-open suitcase by the wall, and adds with a grin, “Even with all this mess around.”

You smack his shoulder and he only laughs, like he had been waiting for exactly that reaction.

“Well,” you say, trying, and failing, to hide your smile, “if you think the sofa will be comfortable enough, then sure. You can stay over.”

Before he can find something else to tease you about, you pat your hands against your thighs and start to stand up. “Okay, then,” you say sweetly, already turning away. “Goodnight.”

Valko’s hand catches your waist before you get more than halfway up, stopping you without any real effort. A soft, amused laugh escapes him, like he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“No, no, no,” he says, gently pulling you back down beside him. “Now we both have to help each other fall asleep.”

You glance at him, unable to keep your smile from slipping through. “Oh, so that’s how it is?”

“That’s exactly how it is.”

Valko grabs the blanket you’d been using and spreads it over both of you. “We can watch whatever you had on,” he says, nodding toward the TV.

You settle deeper into the sofa, close enough that your knee brushes his beneath the blanket. For a while, neither of you says much. Then, slowly, his arm slips along the back of the sofa and curls around your shoulders, drawing you gently against his side – and you can’t help but lean into him.

At one point, you see him nuzzle lightly into the blanket – that sweet, familiar habit of his that always made you smile.

The episode plays on. A few small comments pass between you, easy and low, but gradually his body grows heavier against yours. His head tips until it rests lightly on top of yours, and his breathing slows into deep, even breaths.

You go still, listening.

A smile tugs at your lips when you carefully tilt your head to glance up at him.

His eyes are closed.

So much for his very serious plan.

Carefully, so you do not jostle him too much, you lift a hand and give his arm a small nudge. “Hey,” you murmur. “You’re gonna hurt your neck like that.”

He makes a soft sound first, then shifts against you, his cheek brushing against your hair before his eyes crack open only halfway. There is a moment where he looks thoroughly confused, caught between sleep and waking, and then his brows draw together faintly as if he is trying to remember where he is.

“Hey…” he mumbles, voice drowsy. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you sleep.”

“You’re doing a terrible job,” you whisper back, smiling as you say it.

He exhales a sleepy, half-formed laugh and instead of pulling away, sinks closer, his arm tightening around you.

You stay quiet for a moment, letting the comfortable silence settle between you. Then Valko’s voice breaks it, barely more than a murmur when he asks, “Did you miss me?”

The question is simple, stripped of any teasing. For a second, you just look at him – at his sleepy face, at the hopeful, searching look in his eyes.

“Yes,” you say softly. “I did.”

His arm tightens just slightly around you.

“I was really happy to see you tonight,” you add after a moment. “I know it was only two weeks, but it felt longer than that. And with everything getting busy again soon...” You trail off, then glance up at him. “I just wanted a little more time with you, I guess.”

Valko is quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing slowly against your side. Then he shifts slightly, turning more toward you. His gaze drops to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes, and the air between you feels suddenly heavier, sweeter.

His other hand lifts slowly, and when it settles against your upper back, the touch sends a small shiver through you. Then his hand slides higher, fingers spreading gently at the back of your head, cradling you there. You feel yourself drift closer, and he does the same.

Then his lips press against yours.

The kiss is soft and warm and careful. You melt into him. One of your hands holds onto the fabric of his hoodie, your body pressing closer of its own accord as happiness blooms through you so suddenly and so completely it almost feels unreal.

When your lips part, neither of you moves far.

Then he looks at you again, his gaze is softer than before but clearer too.

“I like you too much to pretend this is nothing,” he says, his voice soft and unguarded. He holds your gaze for another second. “Tell me if this is what you want too.”

Your answer comes easily. “I do.”

A small smile touches his mouth, sweet and a little disbelieving.

Then you lean in and kiss him again.

The hand at the back of your neck stays steady as he kisses you, and when your fingers slide from his chest to curl around the back of his neck, his breath catches softly against your mouth.

His mouth parts against yours, and when your tongues meet, the sensation is warm, slow, and so intimate it makes a deep shiver run through you. The slide is unhurried at first – soft, wet strokes that make heat bloom low in your belly. His tongue brushes against yours in ways that make your toes curl and your thoughts melt away. Then he gently catches your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a soft, teasing nibble before soothing it with another slow pass of his tongue.

You make a small, helpless sound into his mouth, pressing closer, and he answers with a low hum that vibrates through you. The kiss grows deeper, more consuming, but never rushed – every stroke of his tongue leaves you dizzy, aching in the best way, your body melting even further into his hold.

When the kiss finally breaks, you stay curled against him, forehead resting lightly against his, your breaths still uneven.

Neither of you moves for a long moment.

Then you pull back to look at him. “The sofa’s not that comfortable. You can… sleep in the bed with me. If you want.”

His eyes soften, that small smile returning. “I’d like that. A lot.”

While he heads to the bathroom, you slip into your bedroom and freeze for a second. The bed is still a mess from earlier – clothes scattered everywhere from when you’d frantically tried on different loungewear before he arrived – your cheeks burn at the evidence of how much you’d wanted to look nice for him.

You move fast, scooping everything up in armfuls and jamming the pile into your closet. Then you quickly change into your own pajamas: a loose shirt and flowy shorts. From the back of your closet, you pull out the biggest oversized t-shirt you own, with a goofy graphic and a band’s name splashed across the front.

By the time Valko returns from the bathroom, you’re already settled on the now-tidied bed, heart fluttering.

You hold the oversized shirt out to him. “Here. It’s the biggest one I have.”

He takes it from you, eyes crinkling with amusement as he reads the front. “Nice choice,” he teases. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up and just put it on.”

Instead of stepping out, Valko stays right there in front of you. With that easy confidence of his, he reaches back and tugs the hoodie off in one smooth motion. The movement pulls his t-shirt up slightly underneath, revealing a glimpse of his toned stomach and the sharp cut of his hips before the fabric falls back into place. He peels that off too, and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

Broad shoulders, the hard strength of his arms and chest that you’ve felt against you so many times, now fully on display in the soft glow of your bedroom lamp. Your gaze traces the lines of his body before you can stop yourself, lingering on the way his muscles shift as he unfolds the oversized shirt, then dipping lower to the faint trail of hair on his lower stomach.

Then he unbuttons his jeans.

The soft sound of the zipper feels impossibly loud in the quiet room. He pushes them down his hips and steps out of them, leaving him in just his boxers. The fabric clings to the firm lines of his thighs and the unmistakable outline underneath, and your face burns. You know you should look away, but you can’t.

Valko catches you staring.

A knowing smile curves his mouth, “Enjoying the show?”

You immediately avert your gaze. “No.”

You turn off the last light and climb into bed.

He chuckles softly and finally pulls the t-shirt over his head. A moment later he joins you, pulling the blanket over both of you as he settles on his side facing you.

For a second, you just look at each other in the low glow of moonlight from the window. Then he reaches out, sliding an arm around your waist and drawing you closer until your bodies press together again.

“You okay?” he asks softly, the same careful warmth in his voice from earlier.

You nod, tucking your face against his chest, breathing him in. “Yeah.”

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head… then another to your forehead… then, when you tilt your face up, to your lips.

This kiss starts slow and sweet, like the first one, but the closeness of the bed changes everything. Your hands find his chest again, sliding over the soft, worn fabric of your own shirt on him. He tastes like toothpaste, and the warmth of his body pressed against yours under the covers makes your head spin. One of your hands drifts up to the back of his neck, fingers threading gently into his hair, while his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you even closer until your legs tangle together.

A soft sound escapes you when his hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, palm warm and broad against the bare skin of your lower back. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, but it sends a slow shiver through you all the same. He pauses there, thumb stroking small circles against your spine, as if checking whether you want him to stop.

When you press closer instead, he lets his hand explore further, sliding up the curve of your back, mapping the warmth of your skin like he’s been wanting to do this for just as long as you have.

The kiss breaks only so you can both catch your breath, but his mouth doesn’t go far. He trails soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, then lower to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. When his teeth graze there lightly, your breath hitches.

“Still okay?” he whispers, voice husky now, lips brushing your skin with every word.

“Yes,” you manage, a little breathless. “Don’t stop.”

Valko makes a low, pleased sound deep in his chest. His hands slide to your waist, and with gentle strength he rolls you both over so you’re on top. He helps you settle, guiding your legs until you’re straddling his hips.

For a moment you brace yourself on your hands, hovering just slightly above him. Your heart is racing – nervous, excited, and suddenly worried about settling your full weight on top of him.

Valko looks up at you. One of his hands stays on your hip while the other smooths slowly up your back.

“Come here…” he murmurs. “All of you.”

When you hesitate for half a second, he adds gently, “Just relax.”

Carefully, you lower yourself until your full weight rests on him. The moment your chest presses fully against his, a quiet sigh escapes both of you. He feels so solid beneath you – the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his skin, the firm strength of his body supporting yours so easily. Your legs settle on either side of his hips, and the intimate press of him right between your thighs makes heat bloom low in your belly.

Valko’s arms wrap around you immediately, one hand splaying wide across your lower back, the other sliding up between your shoulder blades to hold you closer. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck with a deep inhale, breathing you in.

For a long moment you just stay like that – bodies aligned, hearts beating against each other. Then he gently nudges your face with his, and you tilt your head down to meet him.

His lips move against yours, and when the kiss deepens, it happens gradually – tongues brushing, mouths opening wider, breaths growing a little heavier. The weight of you on top of him, the way your bodies fit together so completely, makes everything feel more intense. You can feel the hard line of him pressed right against your core, and the sensation sends little sparks of pleasure through you with every tiny movement.

Still a little shy, still a little uncertain, you roll your hips in one slow, experimental movement. The friction drags right where you need it most, pulling a soft, involuntary sound from your throat. Valko groans – low, rough, and completely unguarded – the sound vibrating against your mouth. His arms tighten around you instantly, and the way he pulls you down against him makes it clear just how much he felt that.

“Fuck…” he breathes against your lips. “Do that again.”

Emboldened by his reaction, you roll your hips again, grinding down against him. The pleasure sparks sharper, deeper. You can feel every inch of him through the thin layers of fabric separating you, and the way his body responds – the way he twitches underneath you – makes your stomach flutter.

Valko meets you on the next roll. He rocks his hips up into yours in a slow, deep rhythm, pressing firmly against your core with each movement. His hold on you never loosens – he keeps you flush against his chest, bodies moving together in a slow, rolling grind.

The kiss grows sloppier, hotter – tongues slide deeper, mouths open wider, little wet sounds mixing with your shared breathing. You feel his heartbeat hammering against yours.

“You feel so good on top of me,” he murmurs. “Keep moving just like that, baby.”

Valko’s hands are everywhere. One stays anchored on your hip, guiding your movements, while the other slips under your pajama shirt, palming the soft skin of your back, then sliding down to squeeze your ass. He pulls you down harder against him on every roll, making sure you feel exactly how hard he is.

Then his hand moves between your bodies.

He presses two fingers against the front of your shorts, right over your core. The moment he touches you, you realize just how soaked you are. The fabric is warm and damp, clinging to you, and the pressure of his fingers makes the wetness even more obvious. A flush of embarrassed heat rushes through you, but it only makes you ache more.

Valko groans deeply into your mouth, the sound raw. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs. He rubs slow circles over the soaked fabric, pressing just right against your clit through the layers. The sensation makes your hips jerk, a sharp little whimper escaping you.

He pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you, breathing hard. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, but there’s a flicker of hesitation there too. His throat works as he swallows, and when he speaks, his voice has the slightest tremble in it.

“Still okay?” he asks, fingers still gently pressing against your soaked shorts. He pauses, searching your face. “Can I…?”

You nod quickly, cheeks burning. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “Please.”

A soft, relieved breath escapes him.

He shifts just enough to reach between you. With one hand, he tugs his boxers down far enough to free himself, his cock springing up hot and heavy against your inner thigh. With the other, he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your pajama shorts and panties, tugging the soaked fabric to the side. The cool air hits your slick, exposed folds for only a second before the blunt, burning heat of his tip presses right against your entrance.

The slight sting of his girth against your sensitive opening makes you inhale sharply. Still, your thighs tremble as you fight the instinct to sink down all at once.

Valko’s eyes never leave your face. His breath is shaky, his grip on your hip almost bruising as he visibly holds himself back from thrusting up.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and strained. “Just relax… I’ve got you. Trust me.”

He rocks his hips up in the tiniest, careful movement, letting just the head slip inside you. The stretch is intense – a burning, aching fullness that makes your mouth fall open on a quiet, broken sound. You feel every thick inch as he slowly works you open, his eyes locked on yours the entire time, watching every flicker of sensation across your face.

Another shallow thrust, and he sinks a little deeper. His hand on your hip keeps guiding you down slowly, patiently, even as his own breath trembles and a low groan escapes his lips. You can feel how much he’s holding back – the tension in his arms, the way his fingers dig into your skin, the way his cock twitches inside you with the effort of going slow.

He presses his forehead to yours, nuzzling your nose, his voice dropping to a whisper between heavy breaths.

“Just a little more… that’s it. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

He keeps guiding you with those slow, shallow thrusts, working himself deeper. Each gentle push stretches you further, the thick heat of him dragging against your walls in a way that makes your breath hitch and your fingers curl against his shoulders. The slight sting is still there, but it’s slowly melting into something warmer, fuller, more overwhelming.

Finally, with one last careful roll of his hips, he bottoms out completely.

A soft, broken sound escapes you as he fills you to the hilt. Your walls flutter around him, clenching instinctively at the overwhelming sensation of being so completely taken.

Valko goes very still beneath you, breathing hard against your neck.

He whispers your name. “Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”

You take a shaky breath, then nod against his shoulder, melting a little more in his embrace. “I’m okay,” you murmur, voice soft and a little breathless.

The tension in his body eases at your words. He pulls you even closer, if that’s possible, until there isn’t a single inch of space left between your bodies. Your breasts press against his chest, your stomach against his, your thighs snug around his hips.

“Just stay like this for a moment,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Let me feel you… all of you.”

You melt into him completely.

He starts kissing you again – first pressing his lips to yours, tender and sweet. Then to your flushed cheek. Then along the line of your jaw. When he reaches your neck, he lingers there, nuzzling into the sensitive skin with a deep inhale, breathing in the scent of you as his lips trail soft, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your throat. Every kiss sends warm little sparks through your body, making you shiver and clench around him.

You feel completely surrounded by him. He makes you feel soft and safe and wanted in a way you’ve never quite felt before.

After a few long, still moments of just feeling each other, Valko starts to move.

He rolls his hips up in one slow thrust, pressing himself even deeper inside you. The drag of his thick length against your walls pulls a shaky moan from your throat. He does it again, and again – careful but steady, letting you feel every inch as he fills you completely with each roll.

You start moving with him.

Your hips begin to roll in a slow rhythm, grinding down to meet his upward thrusts. The pace is yours, and he lets you set it. Every time you sink down onto him, his cock grazes all the right spots inside you, sending sparks of sharp pleasure through your core. You can feel how wet you are – how your slick coats him completely, making every slide smoother, wetter, hotter. You angle your hips just right so that with every downward roll, your clit grinds against his pelvis. The added friction makes your thighs tremble. Pleasure builds fast and heavy, coiling tight in your belly with every movement.

You can’t stop looking at him.

Even in the low, dim light of your bedroom, he looks devastating. His eyes are heavy-lidded, dark with lust, but locked on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a single detail. His lips are parted and glistening, soft groans and quiet curses falling from them every time you sink down on him. His hair is slightly messy from your fingers, and the way his jaw clenches when you roll your hips harder makes your heart stutter.

You roll your hips faster, chasing that building pleasure with every grind of your clit against his pelvis and every deep stroke of his cock inside you. The slick sounds of your bodies meeting grow louder, wetter with every movement. Your walls flutter and clench around his thick length, coating him even more with your arousal as the pressure inside you coils tighter and tighter.

A broken moan of his name slips from your lips – “Valko...” – raw and needy. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn – you feel suddenly exposed like this, riding him so shamelessly, your voice sounding so desperate, your body moving on instinct. The wave of pleasure is cresting dangerously close, and the intensity of it makes you shy for a moment.

You duck your head, hiding your face in the warm crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as you keep rolling your hips.

You know Valko notices. Instead of pulling you back, he cradles the back of your head with one large hand. His voice is full of affection as he murmurs against your ear.

“You can stay right here, sweetheart. Just feel it… That’s it. Come for me.”

His words, the steady praise mixed with the way he keeps thrusting up to meet your rolling hips, push you right over the edge.

With one more deep grind of your hips, your orgasm crashes through you. Pleasure surges hot and overwhelming, ripping a muffled, trembling cry from your throat against his neck. Your walls clamp down hard around his cock, pulsing and fluttering. Your thighs shake, slick gushing around him as you come hard, soaking his length and pelvis. Valko groans deeply, the sound vibrating against your chest, and holds you even tighter, his hips still moving with yours – slow, deep rolls that help you ride out every last pulse of pleasure.

Your hips gradually slow, then finally still as the last ripples of your orgasm fade into a warm, glowing haze. You stay draped over him, breathing hard against his neck, your heart still racing wildly in your chest.

After a few long seconds, you finally gather the courage to lift your head from its hiding place. Your face is glistening with sweat, your cheeks are burning, your hair slightly messy as you meet his gaze. You’re still catching your breath, lips parted, eyes a little dazed.

When your eyes lock, the intense heat in Valko’s gaze melts into something more tender. A small, gentle smile curves his lips as he looks up at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen. The hand that had been cradling the back of your head slides forward to graze your cheek with his thumb, stroking it with slow affection.

“There you are…” he murmurs, voice low and fond. “Hi, pretty girl.”

He searches your face for a moment. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, thumb continuing its gentle caress. “Do you want to keep going?”

You feel a sheepish little smile tug at your lips. You nod, still a bit breathless, cheeks warming even more under his attentive gaze.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His smile deepens, soft and warm. “You want me to take over?”

You nod again, a little quicker this time. “Yes, please.”

Valko’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, an almost reverent smile curving his lips as he takes in the sight of you in front of him.

“Just relax for me,” he whispers against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. “Tell me if it gets too much, okay?”

After you nod, Valko doesn’t waste another second.

He captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss as he begins to move beneath you. His hips roll up in long thrusts, driving his thick cock deeper into your soaked heat with every stroke. One arm stays locked around your back, pressing your chest flush against his, while his other hand keeps your shorts and underwear tugged to the side so he can fuck you properly.

He keeps kissing you through it – slow and messy, tongues sliding together as his pace gradually picks up. His breath grows heavier against your lips, and between kisses he whispers –

“Am I doing good? Tell me… fuck, I need to hear it.”

You’re already losing yourself in the rhythm of his thrusts, the way his cock stretches and fills you so perfectly. The answer slips out of you in a hazy, breathless mumble, half-coherent and soaked in pleasure.

“You feel so good…” you moan, voice breaking. “Fuck – you’re so big… filling me up so deep…”

Valko groans loudly at your words, the sound low and guttural. His grip on you tightens, and his thrusts grow a little harder, a little faster, driving up into you with more purpose. The wet slap of skin on skin grows louder as he fucks you deeper, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot with devastating precision.

“Yeah? You like how deep I’m fucking you?” he rasps against your lips, voice thick with lust. “You’re taking me so well… so wet and tight around my cock. I could stay buried in you forever.”

You whimper at his filthy words, clenching hard around him. He keeps that perfect rhythm, holding you close, kissing you like he never wants to stop, while his cock drives into you again and again, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once more.

You can feel him starting to throb inside you, his rhythm beginning to falter as he gets closer to the edge. His thrusts grow a little rougher, a little more desperate.

He must feel how you’re close too, because your hips have started moving on their own, grinding down to meet every thrust. His breath stutters against your mouth.

“You close again, baby?” he groans, voice strained and low. “Fuck… I can feel you squeezing me so tight.”

You nod frantically, whimpering as another wave of pleasure builds fast and hot. “Yes – I’m close… please, Valko, go faster – ”

He clenches his jaw, a deep, guttural sound escaping him as he tries to hold back. His hips snap up harder, but you can tell he’s right on the edge.

“I’m too close,” he rasps, almost apologetic, still fucking you deep and steady. “If I go faster, I’m not gonna last – ”

“It’s okay,” you breathe, voice trembling with need as you roll your hips down to take him even deeper. “It’s fine, just – don’t stop. Please.”

Valko lets out a wrecked moan, his grip on you tightening almost painfully. He buries his face in your neck for a second, breathing you in, then pulls back just enough to look at you with dark, desperate eyes.

“Where can I finish?” he asks, voice hoarse and filthy. “Where do you want me?”

Without hesitation, still grinding down on his cock, you whisper against his lips –

“Inside. I want you to come inside me.”

Valko’s control finally snaps.

With a deep, guttural groan, he buries himself to the hilt in a few hard, fast thrusts. You feel every powerful spurt as he fills you up, warm and wet, his cock twitching deep in your pussy while he keeps rolling his hips in sloppy thrusts, pushing his release even deeper.

The sensation of him coming inside you sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through you. You’re right on the edge again, but you stay still for him, letting him use you however he needs, your body soft and pliant on top of his as he rides out the last pulses of his orgasm.

Then he pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, voice wrecked and breathless.

“Move, baby… don’t stop. Chase it. I want to feel you come on my cock again.”

You hesitate for half a second, worried it might be too much for him, but he doesn’t let you overthink it. His hands grip your hips firmly and start guiding you, encouraging you to roll and grind on him again.

You nod, eyes locked with his, and start moving.

You ride him through the mess, feeling his warm cum leak out of you with every roll of your hips, slick and obscene, coating both of you. His cock is still hard inside you, but you can feel how oversensitive he is now – the way he twitches and throbs helplessly with every movement, like it’s almost too much.

He meets your rhythm with shallow, desperate thrusts, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. His eyes stay locked on yours, heavy-lidded and burning, even as his breath turns ragged and broken.

Valko groans, low and wrecked. “That’s it… fuck, just like that,” he rasps, voice tight and strained. “Come on my cock, baby – you’re squeezing me so fucking tight… Good girl, so fucking good…”

It doesn’t take long.

Pleasure slams into you harder this time. You come with a trembling, broken cry, your walls clamping down around his oversensitive cock as another orgasm rips through you. The feeling of his cum leaking out around him with every pulse makes everything wetter, filthier, messier. Slick and cum mix between you as you grind down on him, thighs shaking violently.

This time you don’t hide your face. You stay right there, eyes locked with his, letting him see every second of it – the way your lips part on a silent gasp, the way your whole body shudders and tightens around him.

“Fuck – yes, baby… look at you,” he groans, voice slurred and desperate. “So fucking pretty when you come… good girl…”

His wrecked praise sends a fresh wave of heat through you, drawing out the pleasure for a few more trembling seconds. Then the intense peak of your orgasm slowly fades, leaving you utterly spent. You collapse completely on top of him, your cheek pressed against his chest as you try to catch your breath. Your body feels heavy, hot, and spent in the best possible way. Valko’s arms wrap around you, holding you close as he stays buried deep inside you, his cock still twitching with the last aftershocks. Neither of you makes any move to separate.

You nuzzle back into the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting mix of his skin, sweat, and your own scent on him. His hands move slowly over your back in long, soothing strokes, fingertips tracing gentle patterns along your spine.

For a long while, you simply rest like that – tangled together, hearts slowing down, his warmth surrounding you completely.

Eventually, his voice breaks the comfortable silence, low and gentle against your ear.

“You okay?” he asks, still stroking your back. “Feeling alright?”

You manage a small nod against his neck, too tired and floaty to form proper words. A tiny, satisfied hum is all you can offer.

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath you.

After a few more quiet, peaceful minutes, you finally shift. You slowly push yourself up on shaky arms and lift your hips. The moment he slips out of you, a low, disappointed groan escapes Valko’s throat. The sound is so genuine that you can’t help but let out a soft, breathless chuckle.

“We should probably clean up,” you murmur, still smiling.

He nods, but there’s a playful pout in his expression. Before you can move away, he cups your face with both hands and pulls you down into a slow, sweet kiss. It’s softer than anything that came before – gentle, lingering, and full of affection. When he pulls back, his thumbs brush over your cheeks, and his eyes are warm and tender in the afterglow.

 “You feeling sleepy now?” he asks, a hint of playful teasing in his tone.

You let out a soft, embarrassed little laugh. The reality of everything that just happened is starting to settle in, making your cheeks warm all over again.

“Yeah… I think I am,” you admit.

He chuckles quietly, but then that familiar warm smile returns as he pulls you back down into his embrace. He presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

“I never want to let you go.” He whispers.

Damn him and his gaze. Even after 6 weeks of dating — and pining for a lot longer than that — he sure could still make you feel like a puddle.

You're only able to speak once he turns to his phone again. “Uh, excuse you, I'm a very fun person, thank you very much. Yesterday, I put a fake ‘your computer is down’ screen on Shen's laptop,” you tell proudly. 

“Dear god. He did not go into a cardiac arrest from your…prank?” Jack's voice caught on the word “prank” as if it deeply amused him.

You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend (still hard to say that), shifting close enough to him on his couch that your knee knocked against his thigh. Your entire body faced him, while his faced the front — a tiny whine left your lips.

Jack turned his attention back to you as you spoke again. “You know it's the loss of control I hate. Don't you think I also feel like getting all loose-lipped and dancing on top of tables and flirting with strangers?”

His eyes softened a fraction when he saw the small frown on your lips. He sets his phone face-down on the arm of the couch, before shifting so his upper half faced you too. “Okay, what brings this on? You know I just like teasing, I don't think there's anything wrong with being an alcohol virgin.”

You rolled your eyes at his choice of words. “I want to know what it's like. It makes everyone so…” your hands do a weird dance in front of your chest, trying to find a proper word. Your attending swiftly moves his cup a bit to the left, so your hands wouldn't knock it all over yourself. 

“Joyful,” you finished.

“Okay, but let's not dance on table tops and flirt with strangers,” he takes off his reading glasses and perches them next to his phone. When his eyes find you again, they're equal parts amused, and that softness that only seems to show up when you're in the room.

“I would never, I'd feel bad for giving you stress at your age.”

He lightly smacks your hip that's not smushed against the couch, “Brat.”

You grin widely, “You'll be there, right?”

“With a camera and a mic. My beautiful, sensible, nurse, looking like an absolute fool,” he tugged at a loose strand of your hair, his eyes shining with endearment.

Your little baby blue sling looks absolutely ridiculous hung over his shoulder. “What did I tell you before leaving?” His voice strains with the effort of all the workout he got in today. He's struggling with unlocking the door, because your purse keeps slipping down his arms.

You were a disaster. While your favourite doctor made sure you only stuck to fruity drinks that gave you a pleasant buzz and not regrets — you still managed to outdo yourself in terms of being a mess.

You challenged a man twice your size in an arm wrestle. You advised 3 different women to break up with their boyfriends, “Mine's handsome and kind. You guys stay safe, though.” And, finally, broke the heel of your left boot making you even more unbalanced than you already were. 

“That Dr. Robby is a little shit with no self-preservation inst-”

“The other one, honey.”

You went silent for a moment, searching your hazy brain as the door opened in front of you. Jack gently guided you in, before locking the door with a sharp click. His rough hands sneak up your arms, tugging the jacket at your shoulders, and shrug it off you to safely hang it on his coat rack.

“That I shouldn't carry my bag if I couldn't keep it safe?” you say, looking down at him, as he sets his knee on the floor. His hands that cut and heal skin with such precision, are deftly working the zipper of your boots. He gently helps your feet out of the pair, patting your calf, before rising to his full height again with a groan.

Without your size boosters, your head was once again leveled with his chest. Jack nodded, leaning his head down so you didn't have to crane your neck as much.

“But I had my ID and pepper spray in there,” you justified, your lower lip jutting out in a pout.

Jack's hand pats the right-side pocket of his hands, “ID,” his voice rumbling as if coming straight from his chest. “And you don't need pepper spray. You have me.”

But you're not registering a word he says, not when he looks like this. His salt and pepper curls are all ruffled from your bar visit. His simple black tee is pulled taut across his biceps, making them look just as delicious as they do in his SWAT uniform.

His fingers snap in front of you, “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You look in his honeyed eyes again. God, why haven't you guys had sex already? You seriously can't remember why.

“Why haven't we fucked?” You blurt out. Oh, the alcohol doesn’t make you Joyful. It makes you blunt.

Your boyfriend freezes for a second, before letting out a deep, throaty laugh. His hands settle on your shoulders. With a slight bend of his knees, he manages to stare completely and directly into your eyes. “Wow, thought we went to the bar, not to a seminar for clear communication.”

You capture both his hands and slide them down, so they're firmly on your hips. After humming in satisfaction, you take a step closer to him, your chest brushing his. “Answer me.”

As if suddenly realizing you both are still standing in the entryway, Jack starts walking you backwards, swiftly maneuvering you so you don't hit the kitchen counter. “I'm your attending, honey, I don't answer to you,”

You furrow your brows, staring up at him with irritation. You press yourself even closer to him, your palms settling on his hard stomach. “Like hell you don't. I want to know why me and my gorgeous boyfriend haven't made good use of every room in this too-big-for-you house.”

Jack sighs deeply, his fingers unconsciously tightening around your hips. He takes a seat on one of the low kitchen counter stools, so he doesn't have to keep looking down at you. His arms completely wrap around your waist, pulling you in until you're standing between the hard muscle of his thighs.

“Because we work at a hospital, we're either busy or tired. And…it's hard to find a footing with sex. You tense up whenever my hand slips under your shirt, you've talked about how insecure you get. And me…well, I'm not what I used to be.”

Your eyes soften, “But do you want me?” Your lips graze his jaw, your hands palming the hard plane of his chest.

Jack shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath, “What do you think, baby?” his right hand moves an inch lower with exaggerated slowness, settling on the top curve of your ass, his thumb stroking the curve.

You let out an entirely pathetic whimper at his breathy voice, his lips brushing your temple. You move back your face, so you can watch him again. His eyes look darker than they actually are.

“I see this as a good opportunity that we should seize, doctor.” His throat catches at the ‘doctor’. Oh, you are not a fair player.

“Well, I don't like my medical staff being inhibited. Perhaps, sometimes when you're horny and sober, we can continue the procedure.” His breaths are coming in shallow, his hard thighs squeezing around you to completely lock you in. His hands have not stopped moving, the one on your waist has moved north to tangle in your hair at the nape of your neck.

A petulant whine leaves your lips as you bury your mouth in the crook of his neck. “But-”

“No buts. I have no intention of being between your legs in a state you won't even remember anything in.” The rasp in his voice so close to your ear directly travels to the your belly, already coiling tight with tension.

The imagery makes you groan: His mouth working between your legs, his jaw shining under the dim lights, stopping for a moment to say, “Louder, baby. Your doctor can't hear you.”

Your lips slip from his neck, replaced by your forehead. His lips brush against your hair, the gentleness so different from what his body is suggesting.

“Kids and their hormones,” he teasingly says. That makes you pull yourself back. Because that's rich coming from a man whose pants are getting visibly tighter.

“Is that so, grandpa?” Your eyes are entirely fixated on his lips. Your own bottom lip has caught between your teeth.

His thumb comes up to free your lip so you don't hurt it, “Careful, brat.” His hand stays on your face, and you lean heavily into his palm, blinking at him. The strap of your top has conveniently fallen off from its place, and Jack is staring like a man who's just discovered shoulders, tracking the soft curve of it, following the slope of your neck, where your pulse thrums rapidly.

Leave it to him to have a gaze that weights at least a 300 pounds.

Your palms drop from his chest to his waist, brushing your fingers against the waistband of his pants. A soft “uh-uh” leaves his mouth as he slowly shakes his head, though he makes no move with his hands to push you away.

“You're palming at me like you're a little girl, and I'm your favorite barbie doll.”

“You are my favorite barbie doll, Dr. Abbott,” it leaves your mouth in a soft, needy, whine.

His shoulder shake slightly from laughter, the comforting rumble filling the room, subsequently reaching every tensed part of your body, and taking its place there too, perfectly fitting every crook and corner.

“I am a 50-year old man with a military background, who spends his nights managing an entire floor of medical staff. My day hobbies include being a buddy to SWAT and getting shot at.”

You look at him, as if to say “so?” and hearing the adoration — despite the choice of words — in your voice completely decentres him. “Glad to be your favourite barbie doll, honey.”

He finally freezes when your wandering palm brushes against the hard ridge in his pants, practically begging to be freed. You let out a little gasp as you feel his size, even with a barrier of rough fabric.

A low groan leaves him, his hand sharply capturing your bold wrist against his own chest, heaving up and down. For someone just talking about being 50, the man's heart is sure beating with a fast thump-thump-thump, like a teenage boy catching his crush in a 2-feet vicinity. Your name leaves his mouth, dirty and like a prayer at the same time.

“Let me help you, doctor. Please” you say sweetly, voice coated in silk and need and whatever poison this man mixed in your drinks.

A pause.

He gets off the stool in a sudden motion, his hands grip your forearms, and starts walking you backwards in the general direction of the bathroom.

“You are a pain in my ass. And, frankly, a horny mess.”

“Speaking of horny and my ass-”

He doesn't let you complete the sentence before turning you around, his broad chest hovering over your form from the back. “Nope. You have lost the privilege of looking at me before you've taken a cold shower.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, excitement glinting in your eyes, “together?”

“No, you pervert.” Your boyfriend opens the door to the bathroom and lets you both in. Before you can even complain, his rough palms are gripping the back of your thighs, swiftly lifting you up on the counter. You let out a little squeal, squeezing your thighs at the display of his strength.

Show-off.

So fucking hot, though. It's like he was made by Lana Del Rey's mind.

Jack doesn’t stop, though. He finds his way behind the glass that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom. His practiced hands mess with the settings until he's satisfied, and comes back.

He stands in front of you again, crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles strain at the motion, trying to escape their way from the tight shirt. You pout at his slut-ishness. A walking, talking, thirst trap. If he was an actor, he would surely have his fare share of editors.

“How am I supposed to not get wet when you manhandle me?”

“Jesus,” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to lull some of his composure back into him. He silently thanks his military discipline, or you would currently be spread on the soft sheets of his bed, waking up his neighbours.

He takes a deep breath, eyes scanning you again. His fingers come up to pinch your chin in a soft embrace, “Shower. Clean. Mind and body both. And then, we will sleep. Got it?”

Heat pools low in your belly at his authoritative voice. God, how did you land this man?

“Sir, yes, sir.” You watch his gaze get heavy at the word. He leaves his hold on your chin, pats your hip, and exits the bathroom.

Guess you know what you'll be calling him, when he finally lets you do what your body is begging you to do.

You find him on his bed, wearing only a pair of low hung worn-out sweatpants. His back is slumped against the pillows, fingers locked behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.

He finally looks at you, crawling on his king-sized bed, trying to make your way over to him. It seems the shower un-possessed you. You look soft, sleepy, tired, and utterly his.

He holds out his arm and you immediately curl up into him, your icy-cold nose finding the hollow of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur.

“One second, honey.” Before he can properly embrace you, he pulls up the thick duvet and arranges it to cover both of you. His left arm is trapped under your body, fingers pressing against the small of your back to pull you closer. His other hand brushes the hair back from your face, watching your heavy eyelids.

“There you are,” he softly rumbles before pressing the softest, most lingering kiss on your temple. A low sigh of satisfaction leaves you. You're still inhibited, but the tiredness has caught up.

“You didn't like the freaky me?” You ask, your jaw cracking with a yawn right after. 

“I like every-you, unfortunately. It's a weakness in the ED.” His fingers are still moving in your hair, scratching your scalp in a way that turns your brain to mush. You push your face even deeper in his neck. Hell, you would live inside his ribcage if he ever allowed it.

You let out a soft giggle, hiking your thigh over his hip so no part of you is separate from him. “Can we have a proper conversation about sex tomorrow?”

Your boyfriend murmurs a “yes, baby,” against your forehead. 

“Okay, goodnight. Gonna have some good wet dreams.”

“Shut up, and go to sleep, sweetheart.”

A small leather-bound journal, soft from handling, smelling faintly of jasmine and something warmer beneath.

Your scent. He knew it the way he knew prayer.

He pulled the journal free and the spine fell open in his palm, as though it had been waiting for him. The pages were filled in your looping, impatient hand, you had never taken to the septa's lessons on penmanship, and he meant only to close it, to set it back, to forget he had ever held it.

Then he read the first line his eyes found.

I dreamt again of his hands. Not the careful ones he offers me at table, not the ones that brush my cheek like I might break. The others. The ones he keeps locked away when he thinks I am not looking.

His breath stopped in his chest.

He read on. He could not have stopped if the library had caught fire around him.

Tonight at supper he did not look at me once. Not once. He spoke of tariffs and the harvest and whether the new maester would arrive before winter, and I sat across from him and wanted him to push the plates aside and take me across the table like a man takes what is his. I wanted the wine to spill. I wanted to feel the wood against my back and his weight pressing me into it until I could not breathe for wanting him.

The words blurred. He blinked, and the ink sharpened again, merciless.

I have been his wife for two years and he has never—not once—

“Fuck,” a single line remained below, and he did not finish reading it.

He closed the journal.

He set it on the table with a care that surprised him, given the way his hands were shaking, given the way the blood had gone from his face and returned somewhere lower and altogether more dangerous. He stood very still for a moment, the way a man stands before he does something he cannot undo and then he let out a breathless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face.

“You fucking little minx.”

Then he went to find you.

You were in the solar, as he had known you would be. The afternoon light came through the narrow windows and caught in your hair, and you were bent over some needlework you did not care about, your needle moving in that restless, impatient way that meant your mind was elsewhere. You did not hear him come in. You did not hear him cross the room.

You heard nothing until his hand closed in your hair, not gently, because that was not what you wanted, “You are a rather good pretender, my little sweetling.”

You gasped as the needlework fell, and your head was snapped back with a violent jerk, forcing your spine to arch and your throat to expose itself to the harsh afternoon light. A sharp cry of shock escaped your lips, but it was quickly stifled as he tightened his grip, winding the strands of your hair around his fist to ensure you couldn't pull away.

He leaned down, his breath hot and smelling of iron and leather against your ear. He didn't speak, as the silence of the room was now filled only by your ragged, panicked breathing and the soft thud of the embroidery hoop rolling across the stone floor.

With a sudden, cruel tug, he pulled you further back, forcing you to look up at him. Your eyes were wide, shimmering with a mixture of terror and a dark, forbidden thrill that you couldn't suppress. He stared down at you, his expression cold and possessive, his eyes scanning your trembling form. “Do you have any fucking idea what you have just done to me?”

Without warning, he shifted his weight, slamming you forward against the heavy wooden table. The impact knocked the wind out of you, and the scattered threads of your needlework clung to your skin like webs. He didn't let go of your hair, using it as a handle to keep your face pressed hard against the wood.

His other hand moved with predatory speed, gripping your hip and bruising the flesh as he hauled your backside up and back, pinning your chest to the table.

“Ormund!”

The rough fabric of your gown bunched up around your waist, leaving you vulnerable. He pressed his hard, demanding heat against the curve of your ass, letting you feel the rigid length of his cock through your clothes, marking you as his before a single garment had even been removed.

He bent lower, burying his face against the curve of your throat where the pulse hammered wild and frantic. He inhaled, deep, deliberate, the way a man drinks when he has been dying of thirst and the scent of you flooded him.

Jasmine and the faint salt of fear-sweat, because beneath it, the unmistakable honeyed musk of your arousal, already blooming between your thighs because of what he had done to you.

“Filthy,” he breathed against your throat. The word was almost a prayer. “You filthy little whore.”

You made a sound, half sob, half something else entirely and he felt your body shudder beneath his hands.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the grin that spread across his face was not the grin of the careful husband who brushed your cheek at table. It was something older, something that had been locked away in the same place as the hands you had written about. It was the grin of a man who had found what he was looking for and meant to take it without apology.

He had no intention of being gentle. “Go on, admit it. Tell me that this isn't what you wanted? Tell me that you have not imagined me bending you over a godsdamned desk like some fool desperate to get his cock wet?”

The hand in your hair twisted, wrenching your head to the side so that your cheek ground against the rough grain of the table. You whimpered, a real sound, not one of your careful sighs at supper and he felt something savage and satisfied curl through his chest at the sound of it.

“Two years,” he said, and his voice was low and rough, nothing like the voice he used in the great hall. “Two years you've been writing that you wanted this, and you never once had the courage to say it to my face.”

His free hand found the laces at the back of your gown and pulled, not carefully, not with the patience of a man who yearned for his wife's desperate mewla.

The laces did not give so much as surrender, threads snapping, fabric tearing, the sound obscene in the quiet solar, cool air hit the skin of your back and you arched against it, because at that moment, Ormund didn’t give you a moment to recover.

He reached down, his fingers hooking into the fine silk of your undergarments. With one violent, decisive rip, the fabric tore, the sound echoing like a war horn in the quiet solar. He didn't care for the cost of the lace, he only cared for the access it granted him.

He shoved you further onto the table, sweeping a vase of lilies and a stack of parchment to the floor with a crashing thud. He didn't let go of your hair, keeping your head pinned, your cheek pressed against the polished oak. He could feel you trembling, a fine, rhythmic shudder that told him you were terrified, but the way your hips instinctively tilted back toward him, seeking the friction of his cock, told him you were starving.

“You wanted this,” he snarled, his voice a low, guttural rasp. “You sat across from me and fantasized about me breaking you. You wrote it down like a little secret, thinking I would always be the gentle lord.”

He released your hair only to slam his hand down onto the small of your back, pinning you flat. His other hand reached between your legs, his fingers diving deep into your soaking heat. He didn't tease, not now, not when he ached to devour every inch of your skin as he drove two fingers inside you with a brutal thrust that forced a loud, sharp scream from your throat.

He felt the tight clench of your walls around him, the desperate, wet grip of a woman who had been dreaming of this violation for years.

“Look at you,” he hissed, his fingers curling and pumping inside you with a ruthless rhythm, stretching you open. “Dripping for me. You're nothing but a craving, aren't you? A little hole that needs to be filled by a man who doesn't care if he hurts you.”

He withdrew his fingers with a wet pop and moved with a sudden, predatory urgency. He fumbled with his breeches, freeing his cock, thick, pulsing, and engorged to the point of pain. He didn't use any lubricant other than the overflow of your own arousal.

He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks that would turn purple by morning. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance and, without a word of warning, drove himself home in one singular, devastating plunge.

You shrieked, your fingers clawing at the wood of the table, your back arching violently as he bottomed out inside you. The impact was jarring, a collision of flesh and bone that left you breathless. Ormund groaned, a sound of pure, possessive triumph, as he felt your tight heat wrap around him, squeezing him with a desperation that nearly broke his resolve.

He didn't give you time to adjust. He began to fuck you with a savage, unrelenting pace. Each thrust was a claim, a violent punctuation mark to the silence of your marriage.

He slammed his pelvis against your ass, the sound of your bodies colliding—slap, slap, slap—filling the room. He was no longer the husband, but rather now he was the master, and you were the vessel for every dark impulse he had suppressed for two years.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice shaking with lust, his teeth sinking into the soft meat of your shoulder, drawing blood. “Tell me you're my whore. Tell me you want me to ruin you.”

“Yes!” you sobbed, your voice broken and high, your head tossing from side to side. “Please... Ormund, please! Fuck me... break me... yes!”

The admission acted like fuel to a fire. He reached around, his hand finding your clitoris and grinding against it with a cruel, heavy pressure even as he continued to hammer into you from behind. The dual stimulation was too much as you began to peak, your internal muscles pulsing in violent spasms around his shaft.

Ormund felt his own climax rushing toward him, a tidal wave of heat and aggression. He gripped your hair again, pulling your head back so he could see the agony and ecstasy etched onto your face. He accelerated, his thrusts becoming short, sharp, and punishing, driving you further and further into the table.

“You're mine,” he growled, his voice thick. “Every inch of this filthy, wanting body is mine.”

With a final, guttural roar, he buried himself as deep as he could go and erupted. He felt the hot, thick jets of his cum flooding you, filling you to the brim, marking you internally just as he had marked your skin.

He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, his chest heaving, his weight crushing you into the wood, letting you feel the slow, rhythmic throb of his cock as it began to soften.

He didn't pull out immediately. He leaned down, kissing the back of your neck with a sudden, jarring tenderness that was almost more frightening than the violence.

“I read your journal, my sweetling,” he whispered, his voice returning to that smooth, noble tone, though the edge of cruelty remained. “And I think we shall spend the rest of the evening ensuring every single one of your dreams comes true. Whether you can stand for it or not.”

Ormund didn't let you linger in the afterglow. He withdrew from you with a wet, sliding sound, leaving your legs shaking and your pussy leaking his seed across the polished oak of the table.

Before you could even draw a full breath, he gripped your arm and hauled you to your feet. You stumbled, your ruined gown clinging to your thighs, your body humming with a mixture of exhaustion and desperate, lingering hunger.

The look in his eyes, cold, commanding, and utterly possessive told you that the game had only just begun.

He spun you around and marched you toward the nearest stone wall, his grip on your arm like a shackle. When they reached the cold masonry, he slammed you back against it. The impact jarred your teeth, and you let out a small, startled whimper, your palms flattening against the rough stone for balance.

Ormund stepped into your space, his massive frame blotting out the afternoon light. He didn't touch you with his hands this time, but he pressed his chest against yours, pinning you firmly to the wall, his hard, semi-erect cock rubbing against the damp silk of your dress.

“You’ve spent two years pretending to be the dutiful, delicate lady,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous vibration against your skin. “And you've spent those same years writing filth about your husband in a leather book. I think it's time we reminded you of exactly what you swore to me before the High Septon.”

He reached up, his hand wrapping around your throat, not to choke you, but to tilt your head back, forcing you to look into his eyes. His thumb pressed firmly against your windpipe, just enough to make you swallow hard.

“The vows,” he commanded. “Every single one. Recite them. Now.”

You trembled, your breath coming in shallow hitches. “Ormund... please...”

He tightened his grip on your throat, his eyes narrowing. “Do not 'please' me. Recite the vows, or I will find a much more painful way to make you remember them.”

Tears of arousal and fear pricked your eyes as you began, your voice shaking. “I... I take you to be my wedded husband...”

“Louder,” he snapped, his other hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hoisting it up and hooking it over his hip, forcing your legs open and exposing your dripping heat to the cool air of the solar.

“I take you to be my wedded husband!” you cried out, your voice cracking.

“And?”

“I... I promise to honor you... to cherish you... in sickness and in health...”

As you spoke the words of devotion, Ormund’s hand moved from your thigh to your center. He didn't use his fingers this time, he used the heel of his hand to grind hard against your clitoris, crushing the sensitive nub against the stone wall. You gasped, your words dissolving into a moan.

“Finish the vow,” he hissed, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“In... in poverty and in wealth!” you sobbed, your hips bucking instinctively against his hand. “Until death do us part!”

“And the vow of obedience,” Ormund reminded you, his voice dropping to a guttural rasp. He released your throat only to grab both of your wrists, pinning them high above your head against the stone. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours, though he didn't kiss you. “The one where you swear your will is my will. Your body is my property. Your pleasure is my gift.”

“... I swear my will is yours,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut, your body sagging against him as you surrendered completely to his dominance. “My body... is your property.”

“Good girl,” he breathed.

He shifted his weight, his hand sliding back down to grip your ass, lifting you entirely off the floor. He pinned you against the wall with the sheer force of his body, his cock positioning itself perfectly at your entrance.

“Now,” he growled, “let's see if you can recite the prayers to the Father while I fuck the lies out of you.”

The cold stone bit into your back as he pressed you harder against the wall, the heat of his body searing through the thin fabric still clinging to your skin. You gasped, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips as he lifted you higher, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. Your breath hitched at the pressure, at the promise of being filled, claimed, taken.

He didn't push inside, not yet. Instead, he held you there, suspended between the rough wall and his iron grip, his eyes boring into yours. The dark intensity in them made you feel small, worshipful.

“Pray,” he commanded. “The first one. You know it.”

Your mind was hazy, drowning in the scent of him, the weight of him, the ache between your legs that pulsed with every heartbeat. You swallowed, your throat dry.

“Oh Father, who watches from the sky...” you started, your voice trembling, barely a whisper.

“Louder,” he snapped, his hand coming down on your ass in a sharp crack that echoed off the stone. You cried out, your body jolting against him, the sting blooming across your flesh like fire.

“Oh Father, who watches from the sky,” you repeated, your voice stronger, steadier, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Guide my hands, guard my heart...”

He thrust into you with one brutal, seamless motion, burying himself to the hilt. Your words dissolved into a moan, your head falling back against the stone as he stretched you, filled you, claimed the deepest parts of your body. He didn't move, just held himself there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing inside you.

“And I will walk in Your light,” you gasped, forcing the prayer out through ragged breaths.

“Don't stop,” he growled, his hips beginning to move, slow, devastating with each stroke as his cock dragged against your walls, pulling pleasure and pain in equal measure. His grip on your wrists tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh like brands. “Pray.”

“And I will walk in Your light,” you repeated, your voice breaking as he picked up the pace, fucking you harder now, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the space between your broken verses. “I will kneel... before Your throne... and offer... my devotion—oh, gods, please—”

He slammed into you, cutting off your plea. “Finish it.”

“Offer my devotion... until the stars... fall from the sky,” you sobbed, your body arching into his, your cunt clenching around him as he drove you toward the edge you could feel building, coiling, unbearable.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “The second prayer. Now.”

“Father of storms, Father of steel,” you began, the words scraping out of your throat like glass. “Harden my spirit... make me... unbreakable...”

“Good girl,” he hissed, his rhythm faltering as his own release approached. “One more verse. One more.”

You clung to him, nails raking across his shoulders, your body trembling on the verge of shattering. “And when I fall... let me fall... upon Your mercy...”

He came with a guttural groan, his hips driving deep and holding, his cum flooding you in hot, thick pulses. You shattered, your climax tearing through you like a crack of lightning, your vision white, your scream swallowed by his mouth finally claiming yours in a bruising, possessive kiss.

When he broke the kiss, you were limp in his arms, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Your eyes were glassy, your body slick with sweat and his seed dripping down your thighs.

He pulled out slowly, watching you wince at the loss, and lowered your feet to the ground. You sagged immediately, your knees buckling, but his arm kept you upright, pinned against his chest.

“You will learn,” he said, his voice low and rough, his hand stroking your hair like you were a thing to be soothed. “Every prayer. Every verse. Every word of submission. And you will mean them all.”

You nodded, your lips parted, your mind empty of anything but the taste of him, the feeling of being owned so completely that nothing else in the world mattered.

He tilted his head towards the bed, “Now pray to the Mother for mercy, for I will have none. You little fucking vixen,” Ormund murmurs as he smooths down your hair, tilts your chip up and huffs, “such a good girl, my sweetling. You will never, ever, keep your thoughts from me again, do you fucking understand?”

You nodded, the movement small and unsteady.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Ormund searched your face for the slightest trace of defiance. Finding none, the hard line of his mouth eased, though his gaze remained unwavering. His hand lingered against your cheek for only a heartbeat before he let it fall.

“Good,” he said quietly. “I would sooner have your honesty than your obedience, sweetling. Remember that.”

Your throat tightened. Shame, relief, and something far more complicated tangled together until you could scarcely breathe. You lowered your eyes, unable to bear the weight of his stare.

“I understand.”

“You will not hide from me again?”

“No.”

The answer came without hesitation this time, and he gave a single curt nod, as though the matter had finally been settled. The silence that followed was heavy, but no longer sharpened into a blade.

It was the silence left after a storm had spent itself, leaving only two hearts to reckon with what had been said.

Karen chokes on a laugh and begins to cough. “Shit, Kare!” you cry, patting her back a little too hard. 

“F-Foggy, are you alright?” Karen asks. You blink away tears and try to focus on his form. Your stomach hurts from cackling, and aside from Foggy busting his ass, you can’t even remember what set you off. It’s that kind of laughter. 

The doorbell tinkles and Matt steps into the office. You’re rubbing your teary eyes when you hear him fold his cane up with a snap snap click. He sets a hand on his hip and shifts his weight onto that same side. 

“What’s going on in here?” he questions, tone accusatory. 

Oh yeah, you think, all the drifting pieces in your mind clicking back together in one swift motion. You and Karen had been making fun of Matt and all his silly mannerisms. Foggy was arguing with you about the latest season of Doctor Who and along the way, Matt had come up. 

“There’s an episode of Doctor Who,” you’d explained to Karen, “where Sarah Jane and Rose are laughing about the Doctor’s quirks because he’s always done the same shit with his companions, like hugging the TARDIS or making a face when he concentrates.”

Karen seems to be on the same wavelength as you, shouting, “Look! He’s doing the sassy mom arm!” You snort. Karen practically sobs into your shoulder. 

Matt turns his head towards Foggy, asking the million dollar question with an arch of his brows. Foggy raises his hands in surrender, looking from you to his best friend. 

“Hey!” you cry, “You’re the one that brought it up!”

“You were making fun of me, Mr. Nelson?”

Foggy backs away, giving you a glare that says snitch. “I may have contributed, but they took it to this level! I don’t know what’s wrong with them!” 

Matt places a second hand on his hip and he looks so much like a disappointed mother that you can’t help chuckling one last time. It’s like being busted for having fun with your siblings and your parents think you’re fighting instead. 

Your hand falls to your stomach and you begin to rub at the ache there. Karen rises to her feet beside you. “I need some air,” she says, something in her voice that tells you she might break at even the slightest not-really-all-that-funny thing. She grabs Foggy’s elbow and drags him along with her, mumbling something about getting everyone coffee. 

Now alone, Matt turns his head towards you and raises his brow. 

“You know,” he says your name, “I’m not sure I should still take you out to dinner tonight after you’ve been picking on me with our coworkers.”

One corner of his lips ticks up just barely.

Matt hears the way you cross your arms over your chest, your blouse made of silk, or something akin to it. He hears your hair scratch against your skin when you shake your head at him. 

“We were just talking about how sassy you can be,” you say, matter-of-factly.

He pulls back, shifts his weight onto one foot again and gently places his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry, what?” 

You exhale a laugh. “You know, just the way you always look like an unhappy stay-at-home mom whose kids are up to no good. You put that hand on your hip and tell us to get back to work.”

“I do not,” he scoffs. 

You stand, straightening your skirt and walking the short distance to the kitchenette to place your empty mug in the sink. You choose to ignore his denialist approach.

“Mrs. Santiago called this morning and asked to move her appointment with you to Friday. Said her baby niece had a recital she just couldn’t miss. And Mr. Ritter called about the complex on third? I took a message and left the note on your desk.”

Matt blinks, whiplashed. “Uh, thank you. But—”

“I’m gonna walk down and mail these,” you tuck a pile of envelopes under your arm, “but I shouldn’t be long.” You make for the door, a grin stretching across your lips. 

Matt raises an arm in your direction, a similar smile on his face and a blush forming on his neck. “This conversation isn’t over!” he shouts. He listens to you giggle until you’ve cleared the hall and started down the stairs. 

————

You’ve known something was up with Matt Murdock for months. You’re one to mind your own business, not wiggle your way into the details of someone else’s life, but you’d have to completely lack basic observational skills to not notice the aura he drags alongside himself. 

When Karen put the “Page” in Nelson, Murdock & Page, they realized they no longer had someone to complete paralegal duties or manage the office. You met Karen shortly after she moved to Hell’s Kitchen, sharing a customer service job with her for a short time. She was venting to you over the phone one day, rambling about not receiving enough applicants—and the ones they did get, well they didn’t meet the credentials (and that’s considering the low bar Matt and Foggy set to begin with). You joked that you could do it, that it would probably be much more fun than your past nine-to-fives, and that was it. 

You were right—even when the workload is a bit overwhelming and you’re moments from cutting the phone line, the three of them make it worth it. You love your little found family. You’re not ashamed to admit that you’ve always found Matt attractive either. Maybe it’s partially why you’ve noticed when he has bruises on his neck and forearms, or maybe it’s just that noticing things like that feels like common sense to you. He might play it off with everyone else, say it’s from boxing or a vigorous one-night stand, but none of it ever adds up quite right. 

You never told Foggy or Karen about the morning he came in and you noticed the way his gait was off, like it was painful for him to walk normally. When your eyes blew wide because there was a thin line of blood seeping through the thick white fabric of his shirt. “Matt? You’re bleeding,” you’d said. You drowned out his excuses, focusing only on stretching butterfly strips across his skin, forcing a tube of Neosporin into his hands. Afterwards, while you were cleaning up, you had tried to think of actual reasons he’d be getting injured so often.

The thought rose to the forefront of your mind like it had been there for ages, eagerly waiting for you to give it attention.

Maybe he’s a vigilante. 

That’s silly, you’d told yourself. That’s just what’s all over the news, so that’s probably where the idea came from. But it didn’t feel like a joke, not the longer you sat with it. It felt like something you'd already known. Your body showed no signs of surprise. 

But it’s really none of your business, is it?

Now, you listen to the soft click your heels make as you walk along the pavement. You’ve always liked that sound. As a young girl, it made you feel so grown up and professional. 

Matt is supposed to meet you at this cute little dessert bar a few blocks from your place. Your veins buzz with excitement as you think about the alcoholic milkshake in your future, but also because you like spending time with him, even if tonight it’s mainly to catch up on some case-related stuff. It’s nice to be alone with him every now and then. 

You’re glad you wore your coat tonight with the way the gentle breeze nips at your exposed calves. You keep a close watch on your surroundings, not only for your safety, but because you enjoy seeing people do human things. Sometimes you need to remember that it still happens. 

There’s a huge line outside a steakhouse, so you cut down a short alleyway, one you’ve gone down hundreds of times, to get to your destination. The businesses on either side of you have hung string lights at the front of the gap, so the further you go into the alley, the darker it gets, right up until you make your way out of it. 

Halfway through, at the darkest part, you trip over something hard. You stumble, scraping your palm against brick when you reach out to catch yourself. The sound the object makes when it rolls across the ground tells you it’s metal. You fumble for your phone, wanting to shine a light on it and figure out what the hell it is. 

There’s a thud and a scratch and when your light flicks on, nothings there. Well, someone is there, but that’s not what you heard. Your gaze locks on a familiar mask. You’ve seen Daredevil on the news before, but you’ve never crossed paths with him. In fact, this is only your second encounter with someone “super.” Spider-man helped you pick up your things one night when some asshole bumped into you and kept on going. This guy, though you know he is no danger to you, feels more intimidating than Spider-man did. 

“Are you okay?” his voice grabs your attention as you shove your phone back in your bag and begin looking at your palm. 

“Yeah,” you manage. “No blood, just some dirt. What the hell was that thing I tripped on?”

He taps his thigh. You squint. “What even is that? A baton? Are you also in the colorguard?”

The man laughs. It’s a warm sound. Almost familiar. 

“The technical name is a billy club. But yeah, baton works too.” 

“How did it end up down here, waiting for me to bust my ass?” There’s that laugh again. 

“Must’ve fallen out of the holster. I didn’t realize it was loose until…”

“Until I almost broke my neck.”

“That seems a little exaggerated.”

You stay silent for a moment and study him. His hands are on his hips, clad in the same red fabric as the rest of him. Though maybe fabric is too gentle of a word. Armor is probably more like it. The lenses on his mask glint in the light from between the storefronts. You feel like you should be questioning why he didn’t just make his escape, why he’s entertaining a conversation with you. You opt for a different approach. 

“How come you’re out here? This is a pretty safe part of the city. Unless there’s something I don’t know about.”

“No, you’re right. It’s just uh, a busy night. Sometimes I sit and keep watch, make sure everything’s as it should be, y’know?”

“Like a gargoyle?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You sit up there,” you pause and point vaguely towards the sky, “and keep watch, like a gargoyle.” 

He laughs a third time. “I suppose you could say that.”

A chill runs through your body. Maybe it’s not a chill. It’s more like recognition. I know that laugh, you think. You decide to drag this on, give yourself a moment to listen even closer. You smile at him, but don’t supply any more words. You glance down at your watch. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks, and then you know. It’s Matt. 

You know his voice, god, you feel stupid! You should’ve realized it the moment he spoke. He might be using that silly little deep Batman-like twinge, but without a doubt, that’s Matt Murdock. 

“Hm?” You decide to humor him. “Oh, yeah. Right now actually. I’m getting dinner with a friend. Don’t wanna be late. I’d hate to be that person, you know?”

You leave the alleyway without giving him time to answer. You wonder if he knows that you know. If you’ll be able to keep it together during dinner with him—assuming he gets there soon, heeding your warning. 

But if you’re really honest with yourself, you just want to know if you’re the first one to figure it out. If not, well that’s just not as fun, but you’ll definitely be proud of yourself and still hand his ass to him for as long as you both shall live. 

————

Dinner goes well. It might be a little demented, but you’re in a better mood after crossing paths with Daredevil. It helps you understand Matt more, makes conversation with him easier. Other than a sweaty brow, there’s nothing on his face showing that he understood your discovery, or alluding to the fact that he’d been out moments before he sat down at the table with you.

You fill up a mug with coffee, adding a little cream and then leaning up against the window sill in the office. You’re the first one there today, Karen having called to say she’d overslept, Foggy having stayed the night at Marci’s…which always means he’ll be late the next day. As for Matt, you can only assume he went back out after he left you at your doorstep last night. 

Your heels click against the hardwoods as you walk towards your desk, firing up the monitor and getting your email pulled up. You switch on a couple of the fans, hoping they’ll keep it from getting sweltering in here so early in the day. There might be an A/C unit in the office, but if you look at it wrong you’ll be paying for it. Literally. 

You decide to straighten up a little, picking up here and there, tying up cords so no one trips. You’ve settled down, nursing your second cup of coffee and responding to a few inquiring emails when you hear the familiar tap tap of Matt’s cane coming down the hall. The door rattles a little in its frame when he shuts it behind him. 

“Good morning,” Matt says.

“Morning,” you respond. “Coffee’s on.”

You glance up, eyes dragging over his form. His dress pants hug his thighs almost unfairly, causing your mind to draw up images of thick, corded muscle. You blink. He folds up his cane and sets it on the table beside the door. There’s a small bruise on the bridge of his nose. You only notice it when he fidgets with his glasses, which sit lower as if to hide it. Or because positioning them directly over the bruise hurts.

A comment he made recently about fast hands flickers through your thoughts. It makes you smile.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he says, startling you. Did he hear you grin?

“Hm?” You sign off an email and click send. “I’m hopped up on coffee.”

Matt breathes his laughter into his mug. “Should I be worried?” 

“Guess we’ll find out,” you chuckle. 

You both stay silent for a few minutes, you tapping away at the last of your emails, Matt drinking all of his coffee in one go and immediately filling it back up. You update the firm’s shared calendar with changes to the appointment log and add notes regarding the things clients wish to stress during their visits and who might be the best fit to work with them. 

You’re lazily looking at the weather when you hear a grunt from Matt. He’s bent over the table, one hand on his keyboard, the other on his hip. 

“You okay, Matt?”

He inclines his head toward you but doesn’t fully face you. “Hm? Yeah, just uh…”

You don’t know what compels you to say the words that next leave your mouth, but you don’t regret them once they’re out either. The look on Matt’s face is priceless. 

“Late night with the devil?” 

Matt hears the smile in your voice, the change in your heartbeat, and he knows you know.

At that moment, Foggy comes in the door with a glazed donut in his mouth. He holds it open for Karen, who gracefully balances two boxes of donuts in one hand and her hefty purse in the other. 

Matt is still reeling when you say, “Are those the sharing size, Ms. Page? Or are you gonna house twenty-four, sorry, twenty-three, donuts all by yourself? Not that I’d blame you, or judge you for doing so.”

Karen laughs lightly. “Any other day, I’d keep them to myself. But you’re more than welcome to however many you like.” You compliment her cute skirt and then she parts to fire up her laptop and pull out some of the folding chairs. You’re drawing a finger through the air, vaguely imitating a claw machine as you choose a donut. It nearly falls out of your hand when you’re pulled out into the hall. “Matt!”

He pins you up against the far wall in the hallway outside the office and says your name, a stern lilt to his voice, a weird smile on his face like he’s on the verge of…something?

You lift your arm around where his hand is planted on your waist to take a bite of your donut. You know what you’ve done, and frankly, you find it quite funny. You smile into your treat.

He says your name again like you’re in trouble. “Wh-why—what do you know?” he asks you. 

“I don’t know, Matthew, what do I know?” 

He smiles without the glee and huffs a laugh at you. “I really…could we not play the sarcasm game? Why did you say that to me?”

You take another bite of donut and pat him on the cheek. He is mere inches from your face. 

“Maybe because that voice isn’t as unrecognizable as you think, Mr. Murdock.”

You watch as his mouth falls open just slightly, like he’s fumbling for the right words. His arms have shifted so that they now rest on the wall either side of you. You finish off your donut, waiting for him to do whatever it is he’s going to do. 

“Last night you…you just knew it was me because of my voice?” 

“Mhm. We’re together five, sometimes six, days a week. I hear you talk more than I hear myself think, Matt. It took a minute, but you laughed and I recognized it.”

His brows rise and then fall back down, knitting together. He’s kind of touched that his laugh was the thing to do it for you. But he’s still in shock. “No one’s ever recognized me before.” 

A smile spreads across your face. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m pretty proud of myself, actually.”

Matt can’t help himself, he laughs. “You’re funny,” he says, before going quiet for a moment. You wait for him to start up again. “Are you sure you’re not just fucking with me? D-did Foggy or Karen tell you? Just my voice—I don’t get it.”

“If it weren’t for your voice, I still would’ve figured it out. I can see the entire bottom half of your face, you do realize that?”

He doesn’t say anything. You’ve stumped him. 

You begin to move away, attempting to flatten yourself and slither between him and the wall. He grabs hold of your wrist. 

“You…I—”

The door opens. “What’s going on out here you two?” Foggy projects his voice, but his tone lacks seriousness. That is, until he sees Matt gripping your wrist. His eyebrows shoot up. You take your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I’m in trouble,” you say, darting back inside the office. The group of you gathers around the little lobby. 

“Why were you interrogating her?” Foggy asks, crossing his arms. Karen crosses her arms too. 

Matt clears his throat. “Um…it’s nothing, I—”

Your gaze flicks back and forth between Karen and Foggy’s. “I figured out that Matt is Daredevil and he’s being weird about it.”

Foggy guffaws. “You what?” 

“She said it was my laugh,” Matt pipes up. “That she recognized my voice. We ran into each other and she’s claiming that’s all it took.”

“Jesus,” Karen laughs. She says your name, a smile on her face. “He’s probably mad because he and Foggy practically broke up when Foggy found out.”

“Okay, well that’s—” Matt says.

“He was being a dick.” Foggy states. “He deserved it, trust me.” 

“Did you guys kiss and make up?” you ask, giggling to yourself. That comment starts a little spat between the boys, but it quickly shifts so that Karen and Foggy are openly arguing about Matt being a pain in the ass and complaining about how he chose (or failed) to reveal his identity to them. You take the chance and slip away. 

Your hands close around your empty coffee mug and you pad back to the kitchenette. Matt’s on you though, not letting up that easily, apparently. 

He leans against the doorway as you prepare another cup for yourself. “It’s just mind-boggling to me that my laugh gave me away,” he says. “And if I’m honest, that’s kind of an intimate thing to recognize, wouldn’t you say?” He says your name.

You snort into your coffee. “Are you trying to flirt with me right now, Mr. Murdock?”

“Rather I’m just implying that you pay quite a bit of attention to me. You know, since you’ve memorized my laughter and all.”

“Oh, like I have a crush on you or something?”

“You could say that. Is that, in fact, what’s happening here?”

“Don't flatter yourself, Matty.” 

He catches your waist gently on your way out of the small room. “So, if I were to ask you out to dinner, you’d say no?”

“We just had dinner together, Matt. You’d have to clarify. Would this be a romantic dinner, in contrast to our usual work-related dinners?”

He puts one hand on his hip and your eyes light up. “You’re right. That’s an error on my part. Would you like to go out for a romantic dinner?”

“Sure, Matty. But only if you’ll put the suit on for me after.”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

“That he never used other than one time.”

You scoffed, nudging his side again. "Still counts."

Matt smirked. "Does it?"

"Yes, because that means I’m not the weird one here. You just have a habit of letting people leave their stuff at your place."

Matt tilted his head slightly, feigning thoughtfulness. "Interesting theory. Except you’re the only person whose toothbrush has stayed."

You opened your mouth to argue, then paused, realizing he was right. "Okay, fine, but that’s only because—"

"You stay over all the time?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, squeezing your arm lightly before stepping forward to order.

---

Foggy opened the door to Matt’s office. “Hey, did you ever finish the deposition for the Martin case?”

Matt put down the fork to his Pad Thai, leaving it in the Styrofoam container. “Yeah, I did.”

You took the opportunity, snatching the fork from his container and stealing a bite of his Pad Thai. Matt huffed, but you could hear the amusement in it.

"Really?" he murmured.

"You put it down," you said, chewing. "That means it's fair game."

Foggy barely glanced up from the papers in his hand. "She’s got a point, Matt. You know the rules."

Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he blindly reached for the fork still in your grip. You dodged, keeping it out of his reach as you took another bite.

Foggy flipped a page. "Anyway, judge pushed the hearing back a week, which is good because it gives us time to go over the new witness statement. Karen’s taking a look at it now."

Matt hummed in acknowledgment, still trying to reclaim his fork. You smirked, shifting slightly in his lap. He retaliated by sliding an arm around your waist, pinning you in place.

"You gonna give that back?" he murmured.

"Maybe," you teased, holding it just out of reach.

Foggy sighed, still not looking up. "If you two devolve into a full-on fork battle, at least take it outside. I don’t need Pad Thai in the depositions."

Matt smirked, finally managing to grab the utensil from your grip. "Noted."

You huffed but didn’t move, resting your elbow on his shoulder instead. "Fine. I got what I wanted anyway."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head as he twirled the fork back into his food.

Foggy snapped the folder shut. "Alright, well, since you two seem busy, I’ll go see if Karen needs help."

"Let us know if you need anything," Matt said easily.

"Yeah, yeah," Foggy muttered, already halfway out the door.

---

Josie’s was loud and crowded as always, but at this point it was like a second home. You were telling Karen about an incident in the lab. “—Levi somehow hooks the string around the sprinkler and pulls. I get an alert on my tablet and rush over to the lab. Turns out, when he pulled the sprinkler, he also pulled part of the main water line. All for a tiny qubit that got stuck on the ceiling.”

Karen snorted, shaking her head. "Please tell me this guy got fired."

"Nope," you said, sipping your drink. "Because technically, it worked. The qubit came loose. He just, y’know… flooded half the floor in the process."

Karen groaned. "God, Stark Industries sounds like a nightmare sometimes."

"You have no idea," you muttered, setting your glass down.

As you kept talking, you felt your shirt strap slide down your shoulder. It wasn’t anything major, just a slight shift, but before you could adjust it yourself, Matt did it for you.

His hand found your shoulder with ease, fingers brushing your skin as he hooked the strap with two fingers and guided it back into place. It was quick, thoughtless, something he’d probably done a hundred times before without even realizing.

Karen barely blinked.

You didn’t think much of it either, continuing on. "Anyway, Levi tried to convince me it was an 'engineering breakthrough' and that 'technically' he proved a new method of remote retrieval—"

"You’re kidding," Karen deadpanned.

"Oh, I wish."

Matt smirked beside you, listening quietly. His arm was resting along the back of your chair, close but not overbearing.

Karen leaned forward, taking another sip of her drink. "So what’d you do?"

You grinned. "Told him if he ever did that again, I’d make sure the next thing he got stuck was his own head in the centrifuge."

Karen burst out laughing. "And let me guess—he immediately backed down."

"Pretty much," you said smugly.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are terrifying sometimes."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, echoing the same words you’d said to him earlier that morning.

Matt tilted his head slightly, smirk deepening. "Guess I have a thing for danger."

Karen rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. She was too used to the way you two interacted, and nothing about tonight seemed different from any other night.

---

“You didn’t have to come.” Matt murmured, as your hands combed through his hair. “It’s just a mugging case.”

“And yet,” you pulled your hands away. “You were goin’ to walk in there with hair like that.” You gave him a grin. “I helped you devil boy. Oh, wait.”

You pulled his red-lensed glasses off before cleaning them with your shirt. Matt huffed, tilting his head slightly. "You know, most people don’t manhandle my things without permission."

"Most people aren’t me," you shot back, flipping the glasses open and sliding them back onto his face.

Matt’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue.

Foggy sighed from beside you. "How do you two have time for this while standing outside a courtroom?"

Karen smirked, arms crossed. "Multitasking."

You grinned. "Exactly. I’m helping him and annoying him at the same time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You really do take your job seriously."

"Obviously."

Before Foggy could reply, the courtroom doors opened, and the previous case let out, lawyers and reporters filing into the hallway. The four of you straightened slightly as Matt rolled his shoulders, settling into courtroom mode.

"Alright," Matt murmured, adjusting his tie. "Let’s get this over with."

You reached out instinctively, running a hand down the front of his suit, smoothing the fabric. "You’re good."

Matt caught your wrist before you could pull away, his thumb brushing over your pulse for just a second longer than necessary. “You going to stay?”

“Yep. I’ll be sittin’ in the front row looking pretty.”

Foggy snorted. "Sittin’ pretty? That’s your plan?"

"Someone’s gotta balance out Matt’s whole intimidating blind lawyer thing," you teased, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Matt smirked. "Intimidating, huh?"

"You know what you do," you muttered, patting his chest once before stepping back.

Karen chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, let’s get in there before we miss the good part."

The courtroom was already filling up when you and Karen slipped into the front row, Matt and Foggy making their way to the bench. You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back slightly as you pulled your phone from your bag, muting notifications.

"You know, sometimes I forget you don’t actually work for them," Karen mused, watching as you settled in.

You glanced at her. "Why?"

Karen shrugged. "You’re here so often, always involved in their cases, bringing them food, making sure Matt doesn’t walk into court looking like he just crawled out of a dumpster—"

"Hey," you cut in. "I don’t make him look good. He just listens to me when I tell him to fix his tie."

Karen smirked, tilting her head. "Mhm."

You rolled your eyes, looking toward the front of the courtroom. Matt and Foggy were talking in hushed tones, Foggy flipping through a stack of papers while Matt leaned slightly toward him, nodding at something he said.

Karen was still watching you, but you ignored her.

The judge entered, and the room settled as the proceedings began.

---

The hearing wasn’t long, but it was long enough for you to notice Karen sneaking glances at you every so often. You didn’t say anything, keeping your focus on the case.

Matt and Foggy handled it well, as expected. You knew Matt’s confidence in the courtroom was unmatched, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the red lenses, you knew he was completely locked in, analyzing every shift in the judge’s tone, every heartbeat in the room.

By the time the judge adjourned the hearing, you were stretching slightly, rolling your shoulders as you stood.

Matt and Foggy approached, gathering their things. "Well," Foggy said, stuffing papers into his briefcase. "That went about as well as it could’ve."

Matt hummed in agreement. "We should have a decision in a few days."

Karen exhaled. "That was exhausting to watch, so I can’t imagine how you two feel."

Matt smiled. "Used to it."

You reached out, fixing the fold of his pocket square before he could tuck his cane under his arm. "You did good."

Matt turned his head toward you slightly, smirk playing at his lips. "Yeah?"

You huffed. "Yeah, Murdock. Try not to look so smug about it."

Foggy raised a brow, gaze flickering between the two of you for a second. Karen, too, was watching, something unreadable in her expression.

Neither of them said anything.

"Alright," Foggy finally broke the silence, snapping his briefcase shut. "Lunch? Please? I need food after all that legal jargon."

"Agreed," Karen said.

You nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Matt tapped his cane against the floor once, falling into step beside you. Karen shot one last glance between the two of you but still said nothing.

---

You pulled out an expired container of milk. “Matty, I seriously don’t know how you, of all people, didn’t notice you had 2-week expired milk in your fridge.”

Matt smirked from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You think I make a habit of sniffing my milk cartons?"

You made a face, waving the expired container in his direction. "Considering you should be able to smell the rotting dairy in your fridge? Yeah, actually, I do."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward as you popped the lid open and took an experimental sniff—only to gag immediately.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered, shoving the carton at him. "Smell it. I dare you."

Matt wrinkled his nose, taking a slight step back. "I’ll pass."

"Uh-huh, that’s what I thought." You shut the carton and tossed it in the trash before opening the fridge again. "When’s the last time you actually bought groceries?"

Matt leaned against the counter, lips twitching. "Don’t know. You usually do it for me."

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "That’s not the win you think it is, Murdock."

"I don’t know," he murmured, stepping behind you, hands settling at your waist. "Feels like a win to me."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, lips brushing just behind your ear. You huffed, pushing him back lightly with your elbow. "No, you don’t get to distract me. Your fridge is a disaster."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t let go entirely. "I’ve survived this long."

"Yeah, because I keep you alive," you muttered, pulling out a sad-looking bag of spinach and holding it up for him. "This? This is a crime."

Matt smirked. "Pretty sure I deal with actual crimes for a living."

"You’re so lucky you’re cute." You tossed the bag onto the counter with a sigh. "Alright, that’s it. We’re going grocery shopping."

"You say that like I have a choice."

"You don’t," you said, shutting the fridge and turning in his arms.

Matt smiled, fingers brushing over your hip before he dropped his hands. "At least let me buy you dinner after."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Bribing me with food?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk you tried to suppress still made its way onto your lips. "Fine. But you’re carrying all the bags."

"Deal," Matt murmured, reaching for his cane.

You grabbed your coat, glancing at him as he adjusted his watch. "And I’m making sure you don’t buy anything that will expire in two days."

Matt chuckled. "Now that’s just cruel."

---

The grocery store was relatively quiet for a Friday night, the kind of late-evening lull where the only customers were people grabbing last-minute dinner ingredients or, in Matt’s case, replacing an entire fridge’s worth of expired food.

You pushed the cart while Matt walked beside you, his hand resting lightly at the crook of your elbow. "Alright, first things first," you said, steering the cart toward the produce section. "You’re getting actual vegetables. Not just things that used to be vegetables before they died a slow, tragic death in your fridge."

Matt smirked. "I resent that."

"You resent having to eat vegetables," you shot back, picking up a head of lettuce and tossing it into the cart.

Matt tilted his head slightly, like he was considering. "That might be true."

You sighed dramatically. "It’s like taking a toddler shopping."

"You did sign up for this," Matt pointed out, casually trailing his fingers over the display of apples as he passed.

You side-eyed him. "Did I? I don’t remember agreeing to supervise you."

"You knew what you were getting into," he teased, reaching past you to grab an apple and setting it in the cart.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, adding a few more. "What else do you need? Other than everything."

Matt hummed, fingers tapping lightly against the handle of the cart. "Bread. Eggs. Coffee."

"Obviously," you muttered, already steering the cart in that direction.

As you walked, Matt’s hand slid from your elbow to your wrist, fingers idly tracing over your pulse before his hand found yours, linking your fingers together like it was nothing.

You squeezed his hand slightly. "If you think holding my hand is gonna distract me from making you buy actual groceries, you’re wrong."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Worth a shot."

"Mm-hmm," you mused, scanning the shelves as you walked. You paused near the coffee aisle, reaching for a bag of Matt’s usual blend.

"That one’s good," Matt said, nodding toward it.

You smirked, holding up a different one just to mess with him. "What about this one?"

Matt tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "That one’s decaf."

Your lips parted in mock surprise. "Wow. Look at that. Guess you do pay attention to your groceries."

Matt exhaled a laugh, leaning in slightly. "I pay attention to you."

Your stomach flipped, but you covered it with an eye roll, tossing his usual coffee into the cart before dragging him toward the next aisle.

---

By the time you made it to the checkout, the cart was full. Probably more food than Matt had ever willingly bought for himself.

"You’re never gonna finish all this," he mused as you unloaded onto the conveyor belt.

"You will if you actually cook," you shot back. "And don’t tell me you can’t. I’ve seen you do it."

Matt smirked, handing the cashier his card before you could stop him. "Guess I have no choice now."

You squinted at him. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."

Matt tilted his head. "Maybe it is."

You grinned. "Alright, Murdock. Guess I’ll be the judge of whether or not you can actually cook."

Matt chuckled, grabbing the grocery bags as the cashier finished bagging them. "I did offer to buy you dinner."

You crossed your arms. "I thought we were talking restaurant dinner, not Murdock’s Mystery Kitchen dinner."

Matt smirked, shifting the bags in his hands. "I never specified."

You rolled your eyes but reached out, grabbing a couple of bags from him. "Fine. But if you burn anything, I’m taking over."

"Noted," Matt said, leaning in just slightly. "But I wouldn’t underestimate me, sweetheart."

You huffed, shoving a bag at him before walking toward the door. "We’ll see about that, devil boy."

---

“Where’s my shirt? You know, the soft blue one with a star embroidered on it?”

Matt, who was sitting on the couch, fingers tracing a braille legal document, tilted his head. “…Where are your clothes?”

“My—that’s what I’m asking you.” You replied, hands on your hips, leaning against his bedroom door.

Matt’s lips twitched, setting the braille document down on the coffee table. He turned his head slightly, his attention fully on you now. "You’re asking me where your clothes are?"

"Yes, Matty." You sighed, crossing your arms. "I took a shower, and now I can’t find my damn shirt. The soft blue one? The one with the star embroidered on it?"

Matt hummed, pushing himself up from the couch, his movements slow, deliberate. "And you think I did something with it?"

"You have a habit of stealing my clothes," you pointed out. "So yes, you’re my prime suspect."

Matt smirked, stepping toward you. "Interesting accusation, sweetheart."

You didn’t flinch as he closed the distance, his fingers barely brushing along your forearm, trailing up to your shoulder before settling against your jaw.

"You’re not wearing any clothes."

You rolled your eyes. "I am wearing clothes. Just not the ones I want."

Matt exhaled a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly. "Bra and underwear don’t count."

"Tell that to every guy who’s ever seen a Victoria’s Secret ad," you muttered.

Matt grinned. "Is that what this is? A show?"

You huffed, lightly swatting at his chest. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, echoing your words from earlier, his fingers still lazily tracing the edge of your jaw.

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t pull away. "Are you gonna help me find my shirt or not?"

Matt’s lips twitched. "I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to walk around like this."

You scoffed. "Matty, if I wanted to walk around half-naked in your apartment, I would. I don’t need an excuse."

Matt grinned. "Good to know."

You rolled your eyes, stepping back. "So are you gonna help or—"

Before you could finish, Matt turned toward his dresser, fingers trailing over the top before he grabbed something and held it out.

Your missing shirt.

Your jaw dropped. "You knew where it was this whole time?"

Matt shrugged. "You left it here last week. I thought it was mine."

You squinted at him. "Since when do you own a soft blue shirt with a star embroidered on it?"

Matt smirked. "I don’t, but you leave your stuff here so often, I figured it was fair game."

You snatched it from his hands. "Unbelievable."

Matt huffed a laugh, crossing his arms. "You gonna put it on, or do I get to keep enjoying the view?"

You shot him a look, but the heat in his voice sent something warm curling in your stomach. You turned away, slipping the shirt over your head, and when you glanced back, Matt was still smirking.

"Happy now?" you muttered.

Matt hummed, stepping closer again. "Not yet."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, catching your chin between his fingers before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, his smirk deepened. "Now I’m happy."

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart was hammering in your chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

---

It was late at night when Matt convinced you to stay. Foggy and Karen were out of the office for the night, leaving just you and Matt doing your separate work.

The office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of paper and the distant hum of the city outside.

You were perched on Matt’s couch, cross-legged, a set of blueprints spread across your lap while he sat at his desk, reading over a case file. Neither of you spoke, lost in your own work, but there was a comfortable ease to it.

"Are you even getting anything done over there?" Matt asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn’t look up. "Are you?"

He hummed. "I was. Until I realized how unfair this is."

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. "What’s unfair, Matty?"

"You get to sit all comfy on my couch, while I’m stuck here, hard at work."

You snorted. "Hard at work, huh? I didn’t realize whining counted as work."

Matt pushed his chair back, standing slowly. "I think I deserve a break."

You barely glanced up. "Then take one. I’m actually doing something productive."

Matt made his way toward you, hands in his pockets. "Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes, lifting a brow. "Yes. Unlike some people, I have deadlines to meet."

Matt hummed, stepping in front of you. "And yet, you’re still here. With me."

"Because you asked me to stay," you reminded him, flipping a page. "You coerced me."

Matt smirked. "Did I?"

"Yes, you—hey!"

In one swift motion, Matt plucked the blueprints from your lap and set them aside. Before you could protest, he leaned down, hands bracketing your sides as he caged you against the couch.

"Take a break with me, angel," he murmured.

You exhaled, glaring up at him. "You are so—"

Whatever insult you had lined up died in your throat as Matt leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. His lips brushed over your pulse, deliberate, teasing.

"Annoying?" he murmured.

You swallowed hard. "Distracting."

Matt grinned against your skin. "Mm. I’ll take that."

Your fingers curled around his tie, tugging slightly. "You are so lucky I like you."

Matt chuckled, dipping his head until his lips were just barely grazing yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You closed the distance, kissing him properly.

Matt exhaled against your lips, deepening it immediately. His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him. You barely noticed when he guided you backward, until the edge of his desk dug into your lower back.

"Matty," you murmured between kisses.

"Mm?"

"I thought we were taking a break."

"This is my break," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your throat.

You huffed a quiet laugh, threading your fingers into his hair. "Productive."

Matt grinned against your skin, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt. "You’re the one distracting me, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. His lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a kiss that left your head spinning.

Neither of you noticed the sound of the front door opening.

At least, you didn’t.

Matt either didn’t hear it, or—more likely—just didn’t care.

"Hey, Matt, I left my phone—"

Foggy’s voice cut through the air like a record scratch.

You froze.

Matt, however, barely reacted. His lips left yours just enough for him to let out a quiet sigh—like he was annoyed—before pressing one last kiss to your jaw.

"Should’ve knocked, Fog," he murmured.

Your entire body was on fire. You didn’t dare turn around. Foggy, for his part, just stood there. Silent. Karen was the one to break it. "Uh."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the desk. "Jesus Christ."

Matt still didn’t move. He just turned his head slightly in their direction. "You left your phone?"

Foggy blinked. "Yeah." A beat. "But now I kinda wanna leave it here forever."

Karen coughed, her voice tight with suppressed laughter. "Should we leave?"

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

Matt just smirked. "You could, but I doubt you will."

Karen cleared her throat. "Y’know what? I suddenly really need a drink."

"Yeah, me too," Foggy muttered, grabbing his phone off the desk and speed walking toward the door.

Karen cast one last glance between the two of you, shaking her head before following. The second the door shut behind them, you finally shoved Matt away.

"You knew they were coming, didn’t you!?"

Matt grinned, shrugging. "You said it yourself—I have a habit of coercing you."

You gaped at him. "Murdock."

He just leaned in again, lips ghosting over your ear. "You gonna finish what you started, angel?"

Your face burned. "I started!?"

Matt chuckled, nudging his nose against yours.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, still flustered.

“Wow,” Matt says beside you, his lips twitching upward faintly as his head tilts to take in the scene. “This place is alive.”

“Alive,” you snort, swatting him gently on the arm as you guide him through the threshold. “It’s a full-on circus. Foggy must be in hell.”

“Can confirm,” Foggy interjects. He’s appeared behind you as if summoned by the mere mention of his name. There’s a smear of frosting on his button-down, and there’s a crazy light in his eyes you haven’t seen since college. “Thank God, cavalry’s here. I was this close to drinking Scotch out a sippy cup.”

You laugh, leaning in to hug him as Matt claps him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday to the big guy!” you grin as Foggy pulls back. “Officially one! How’s it feel?”

“Haven’t heard, huh? We’re auctioning him off later,” Foggy deadpans, though the affection peeks through. “Which reminds me—mind if I pawn off your husband for a bit?” He turns to Matt, gesturing toward the kitchen where a battalion of Nelson women’s engaged mid-conversation, holding plastic cups and talking animatedly. “Dude, do me a solid and work your lawyerly magic on the aunties, please. They’ve been talking about SNTs all afternoon and frankly, I cannot feign interest anymore.” 

“Oh, Fog, I don’t know if I’m the guy for that—” Matt starts, but Foggy’s already steering him toward the fray. “You’re exactly the guy, go make them cry with one of your blind crusader stories. Right this way, ladies,” Foggy urges, as Matt’s protests are drowned out, swallowed by the chattering mass of Nelson aunts. 

You stay back, still laughing, and duck toward the table of snacks. From the few remaining drinks, you grab a can of Yoo-Hoo and your finger along its sweaty condensation—until the sharp wail of the baby cuts through the din. 

You turn. 

Across the room, the birthday boy’s squirming in his frazzled aunt’s arms, flushed and clearly seconds away from a full-blown meltdown. Without thinking, you slip over to them (Yoo-Hoo forgotten), holding out your hands with a soft, “Here, let me.”

Teddy comes to you easily, his weight settling against your hip as he lets out one last cursory wail before quieting. His chubby fists tangle in the fabric of your dress, his head falling against your chest as his breathing hitches. You rock him gently, murmuring soft nonsense under your breath until his cries subside entirely. It doesn’t take long before he’s calm, little body relaxing against yours as he smacks his lips softly, his stubby fingers patting at your collarbone. 

Across the room, the Nelson women chatter on around Matt.

“You poor dear,” one of them coos, clutching his elbow, “how’s work? Foggy says the firm’s doing very well. You boys must be rolling in clients.”

“It’s steady,” Matt says mildly, “we’ve been lucky.”

“And her?” someone else asks. “That sweet girl of yours still hasn’t run away screaming?”

A small smile curves his mouth. “Still here, thankfully.” A chuckle goes around the circle. 

“Oh honey,” Foggy’s mom cuts in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, when do you think you’ll have one of your own?”

Matt raises his eyebrows, amused and a little cornered.

One of the great-aunts is squinting across the room. “Hmph, looks like she’s halfway there already.”

He tilts his head slightly, tuning in—adjusting the direction of his senses—then stops. His heart stutters. The space between you—the constant hum of your heartbeat, the soft lilt of your voice as you soothe the baby—it’s all amplified in his head, pulling his attention like a magnet. 

“Must be nice,” another jokes. “You can always tell who’s gonna be a good mom. Poor Foggy looked like he was going to pass out.”

Matt smiles faintly, his usual charm just barely masking how his throat has tightened. “Ah, she’s good with kids. Always has been,” he says, deliberately keeping his tone light.

The mention of children is a trap he’s navigated before, typically with casual deflections that fall back on vague hopes of someday. But this time, the words are harder to shake off, and when one of the aunties has so pointed it out—the way you’re holding Foggy’s baby, calm and radiant and perfectly at ease—it feels less hypothetical and more, well, inevitable.

“Well, you’re doing well for yourselves now,” one of the women says, her tone pointed but kind. “Don’t wait too long. You’ve got a good thing going—and if you ask me, you could use one of those little ones running around.” 

“We’ve got some time,” Matt laughs offhandedly. “Haven’t really sat down and talked it through in depth. Maybe soon.”

Mercifully, the conversation shifts, but Matt’s distracted now. Every word buzzes in the background as he hones in on the sound of you: the soft rise and fall of your breathing, your voice swaying upward as you coo at Teddy, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift your weight to keep him secure on your hip.

Before he knows what’s happening, you’ve made your way across the room to him, oblivious to the swirl of tension beneath his skin as you’re saying something lighthearted about how “it’s about time Uncle Matty took a turn.” He doesn’t even have time to protest before the toddler’s being nestled against him, pudgy fingers pawing at his tie.

“Careful,” he says, a little alarmed. “I could drop him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Couns,” you say breezily, smoothing a hand over Matt’s arm. “You’ve done this before. Plus he’s pretty sturdy, you know. Babies are tougher than they look.”

Matt falls silent, holding the baby cautiously, keeping completely still so that not even his breathing will disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Teddy squirms briefly before miraculously—horrifyingly—settling into his chest, and Matt’s heartbeat jumps, but the baby’s doesn’t. There’s just the faintness against his sternum, the rise and fall of milky breath; he can feel the pulse in his tiny wrist. The echo of a hiccup in his ribs. He finds himself cataloguing every flicker of life beneath the fragile skin. 

It’s overwhelming.

“Matt,” you say softly, “you okay?”

He nods, handing Teddy back to you a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—he’s warm.”

“He didn’t pee on you, did he?”

“No—no,” Matt chuckles faintly. “Not that kind of warm.”

You lift a brow at him, but say nothing more. The baby yawns, then burrows into you again. Matt can hear everything. The low, involuntary sound you make when the baby nestles just right under your chin. The shift in your skin temperature: your whole body warmer than usual. And that scent—he’d missed it before, but God here it is, subtle but unmistakable under the usual fare of your perfume. Sweet earth, clean sweat, and something deeper, headier. His heightened senses tell him what his mind has tried to ignore; it makes his chest tighten and imagination run rampant. He tries to shake away the thought, wresting his focus from the way you smell so right, so perfect, but it’s hurtling like a tidal wave.

By the time you’re on the train ride home, the realization has planted itself in the hollow of his chest, refusing to be moved. You sit beside him, scrolling idly through your phone, humming some barely-there melody under your breath.

He’s silent the whole time, thoughts turning over in endless waves.

It’s already dark outside when you arrive at the apartment. Matt’s still unusually quiet, his mind somewhere else entirely. You shrug off your coat by the door and toss it onto the hook with a bit of flair. Trying to fill the silence, you busy yourself with telling him about the Nelson family dog—a story you picked up about the ratty little mop of a thing getting passed around from household to household like a fuzzy hot potato.

“It’s probably because it’s so ugly,” you grumble lightly, shooting him a grin as you kick your shoes off toward the mat. “Swear, if you could just see it, it really is so ugly it’s insane.”

Matt is usually one to tease, grinning back in that sly, devil-may-care way, but tonight he doesn’t even give you a huff of amusement. Your brows draw together in concern: could someone have said something earlier? He wasn’t one to let offhanded comments get to him, but there had been exceptions… Or maybe the party was too much? Its noise and chaos and endless stimulation, well— you could see this silence as an aftermath.

“Matt?” you finally ask, your tone gentle as you cross the small space to him. He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing near the door, barely out of his coat. “Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet since we left. Did something happen at the party?”

The longer he stays silent, the more determined you become to shake an answer out of him. Whatever storm is brewing in his mind, you’ll be damned if he keeps it locked away, as he tends to do. It triggers your instinct to soothe. Or at the very least, poke fun at it to take the edge off. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging here. Whose ass do I have to beat? Was it Uncle Tommy? Was it something I–”

“Sweetheart,” Matt cuts through your ridiculous coaxing. Though his tone is steady with concerted effort, there’s a flush creeping up the column of his neck, coloring the edge of his ears.

You step back half a pace, blinking. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Please.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Matt, tell me what’s going on with you.” In truth, you greatly dislike all this unceremonious pushing and goading, but the last time he’d gone quiet like this it turned out he’d been hiding a broken rib and a tender side from late night patrol. You frown, stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m not. Honestly.” The shift is almost imperceptible, but you notice the way his body tenses further, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, “Forget it.”

“Forget it?!” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. That at least earns you the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, but he smothers it so fast you wonder if it was a figment of your imagination. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” You wag a halfhearted finger at him. “You absolutely do not get to brood like that then ‘forget it’ me! You’re going to tell me, Matthew”—the way you enunciate his name is pointed—“because you at least owe it to me to tell me if you’re hurt, or I swear to God I’m—”

“Fine,” he snaps, putting an end to your mock dramatics. The tension in him pulls tight enough that the words tumble out unguarded. “Let’s have a baby.”

You blink.

The air around you seems to still, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath, having followed his bidding for silence.  “What?”

“I want a baby with you,” he confesses slowly, sounding pained. It sounds almost like loathing, the derision with which he views how badly he means it. 

You laugh before you can stop it, strangled and half-scandalized. “Matt, Jesus! What the hell…”

But your startled amusement is already tapering off as it clicks into place. Oh. His quietness, his strange mood during the ride home—it was now making perfect sense. Earlier, you were utterly at ease with Teddy, and maybe he’d been, too. The situation now glaringly obvious, your heart starts to race and Matt’s expression darkens when he picks up on it, his lips twitching with that slow, devilish smile you know all too well.

“Oh,” you begin, blinking up at him as you straighten.

That smile. Christ.

“Yes, oh,” he says, already closing the distance between you. “I mean it.”

His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer to him with deliberate pressure.

“Let’s make one,” he murmurs. “Right now.”

Your heart hammering violently in your chest, you tip your head back slightly to meet the wine-dark mirrors of his glasses. In the reflection, all you can see is yourself. His next step seals the last inch of space between you, and when his mouth finds yours, whatever resistance you had left dissolves like sugar on the tongue.

His kiss is needy, and you feel his every hot exhale fanning your cheeks as a hand slips to your waist—guiding you, pushing you back, back until your spine hits the wall. His other hand curls around your nape gently, cushioning the press of your head against the panel. You gasp into him, grabbing at the tense muscles of his shoulders through his shirt. He’s so close, pressing so close now that you can feel the heated hardness through his slacks. Well, he seems to not mind. If anything, he wants you to feel it, grinding himself against your stomach.

“Somebody’s eager,” you tease playfully, never mind that you’re growing lightheaded from the delicious burn of his stubble scratching your face. “Christ, this is a lot of intensity for a lady who just inhaled too many cupcakes. Mmf, ow!”

His teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it lightly before letting it free.

“Not now, honey,” he rasps against your mouth. You know it well enough to be a warning, but you don’t know if it’s more terrifying or thrilling. The hand at your waist slips upward, finding the curve of your breast over the flimsy material of your dress. Your face grows embarrassingly hot, and Matt’s breath hitches, groping you a little harder, more possessively, and the thought crosses his mind: the sensation of your tits rounding out for him, growing swollen, heavy with milk… Fuck, the thought makes his cock jerk hard in his pants, and the guttural moan that tears from his chest seems to surprise even him.

Fuck, Matt, get it together.

Shaking his head, he dips down to the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. You smell so damn good—milky and earthy and uniquely you—it’s a shame you’re oblivious to it. What you aren’t oblivious to, though, is the way he’s trembling slightly. From restraint or the desperate undercurrent of his desire, you can’t tell.

“Is this really you?” you ask, breathless now, trying to wriggle just enough to make him loosen his grip. This isn’t like him—not Matt the charming husband, the overzealous lawyer. But you do recognize him. This voice, it belongs to the man who comes home late at night beaten within an inch of his life, collapsing on the floor as you scramble for the medkit. But that part of him has been quieter, gentler lately, less frequent with the overly suicidal excursions—a promise he’d offered you when he asked you to marry him. 

And yet here he is now, returned with that fire reignited, directed solely at you.

“You smell so good I can’t think straight,” Matt murmurs, his nose dragging along your throat, pausing to press a hot, deliberate kiss behind your ear. “You wanna know something?”

You nod, the unbearable heat trickling between your thighs.

“You were holding him,” he begins, voice rasping like he can barely get the words out, “and all I could think about was my baby. Our baby. You’re ovulating right now, and Christ, sweetheart—I can smell it on you.”

That stops your breath cold. You’re reeling, your internal voice screaming for decorum, coolness, anything that might save face—but it’s impossible to, not when hot nerves are zinging traitorously through your body at his words. Not when his hands are on you, hot as brands. Not when he’s put words to the question you’d been hoping he’d bring up again for the past year.

It’s so embarrassing how easily he unravels you. Case in point–

His hand cups your sex through your soaked underwear, pressing the heel of his palm into you hard.

“Matt—!” It’s more of a plea than anything else, but you barely manage to say anything else before his hands slide down your weakened thighs, broad palms curling under them, and he lifts you effortlessly. He hikes you up further against the wall, grinding his hips into you and fuck, you can feel him pulsing—he’s like iron, a fact you’re darkly aware of even through the unconscionably selfish layers of his clothes hiding his hardness from view. The sheer force of his want makes you gasp, hands to his chest as if to push him away—though you clearly have no intention of doing so.

But seemingly, he does.

He pulls back from the kiss, and for the first time all night, you catch a flicker of hesitation cross his face. A crack in the mask of breathless certainty, the very same that had carried you across the room and into his arms just minutes ago.

“Are you sure you want this?” 

You almost laugh. He’s asking you? When he’s the one tearing you out of your clothes, talking filth? “Are you?” 

“I… Well–” The vibrations of his voice tickle your collarbone as Matt rests his head against your shoulder, unceremoniously snapped from the trance of his arousal. Visibly, achingly, he’s searching for words that won’t come. You take it upon yourself to help him out.

“I am.” It’s unsatisfactory; his silence tells you this. For a moment there’s only his measured breathing. But you know what he’s not saying, and he doesn’t have to tell you. It’s there again—the old voice in his head, convincing him he doesn’t deserve any of this, much less the privilege of asking for anything more. The quickly vining doubt in him dictates it: allowing himself this is the most selfish thing he can do. 

You cup his face in your hands so he can’t turn away from you.

“Matt, I know what you’re thinking,” you say gently. “I want this, alright?”

For a split second, you wonder what it’ll take to pull him back from his misery. You swallow, rubbing the sides of your thumbs along his cheeks soothingly. “I want it. Not in spite of your life; because of it. Yes, you bleed and lie and you flake out and… keep going on these fucking suicide missions and yes, yes they scare the shit out of me… But even if I’m scared, I believe you’ll come home, because you always do; that’s who you are. You keep getting back up even if the world’s given you so much reason to be unkind to it.” 

Wordlessly, you reach up and remove his glasses gingerly, tossing them toward the table. They land somewhere with a dull clatter. In the half-light of the living room, you can only make out parts of him, the cut of his cheekbone, the impressionistic slopes of definition on his face. This must be just a fraction of how he sees you, defined solely by blunt form and sensation.

“And that’s why I’m here, too. It’s just my choice as it is yours.” You press your forehead to his, finding him scorching against your clammy skin, before pulling back again. “Your night patrols, all that… If you believe that people deserve all the chances they can get, that there’s always a future for them no matter what came before, then have faith that it includes you, Matt. Everything you fight for is why I believe we could do this. What’s ahead could be dangerous, but what if it’s worth it a—what’s that word you like?” Your lips quirk slightly. “A thousandfold more. We can still bring good into the world, in all the ways we can, can’t we?”

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He closes his eyes. He does want it, all of it, more than anything in the world and he’s being the greediest man in the world right now, taking and taking and you’re letting him. Have faith that it includes you.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it is. It’s no question if it’s with you.” You pause for a bit, before leaning back in, eyebrows wiggling playfully. “And you know, I haven’t refilled my prescription… So if we do this, it’s real. So ask me again.”

An incredulous, lighthearted scoff finally breaks through him. “Unbelievable. Are you sure you’re not the lawyer between us, sweetheart? That was one hell of an argument,” he says, chuckling boyishly through the pecks you’ve started to nip on his cheeks. “Fine. Last chance—are you sure about this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ha, ha, Mr. Murdock. Please. As if you believe in last chances.” 

He grins, can’t help it, can’t hide it; it’s crooked and a little desperate. But it’s impossible to skirt around it, your body betraying every rational thought. “Yes,” you whisper, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms sliding around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes, I want this. I want you.”

The words have barely left your mouth before Matt presses his hips into yours again, his groan muffled against your neck. The conversation has quelled the worst of his fears—but not the hunger. If anything, your unshakeable trust in him has unleashed something deeper within, darker and older than guilt. Something he can’t say aloud.

But God knows it. And he knows it.

The knowledge threatens to unmake him: he could fill you now, right now with your heated body primed and the timing perfect, let nature take its course. Your cunt is soft and warm and open, ripe and ready for him. And fuck, it hits him like a train.

Fucking you full to knock you up, marking you with proof of your unwavering faith— 

The thought makes his cock ache so hard it’s a mercy he’s still clothed.

Conversely you’re a mess, dress bunched up and panties soaked, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure it’s deafening him. Matt locks your thighs over his forearms and carries you down the hall in steady steps, kiss never breaking until your back finally hits the bed. He’s over you in seconds, broad and solid and trembling with restraint that’s quickly breaking.

He looms above you, working deftly on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other braced beside you on the mattress to keep you where he wants you. His lips—rosy and pouted, kiss-swollen—curl into a knowing half-smirk.

“You have no idea,” his voice is rich with the thickness of his lust, “the way you taste and smell right now. If you could feel what I feel standing this close to you, you’d lose your mind.”

The shirt finally slips free, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail over his chest, marked by two long scars like uneven wings taking flight. Then his broad shoulders, the planes and valleys of muscle. Oh, Christ. He leans down, his hands already finding the material of your dress.

“Up,” he coaxes, warm but unyielding. You obey instinctively, helpless to raise your arms up and shimmy a little so he can peel the dress up and toss it aside in one smooth motion. His lips descend to your collarbone, stubble grazing the sensitive skin there as he kisses you with maddening patience. Every sensation of his tickling, hot breath sends sparks rushing through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough. You squirm, desperate for more, but he’s already working his way down—kisses tracing paths between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your panties.

Nose nudging against the soaked fabric, Matt inhales deep, a shameless groan rumbling from his chest as his hands grip your thighs, keeping them spread. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “you’re dripping for me, honey. Been like this since the train home, haven’t you?”

You flush but don’t deny it. The damp feel of the delicate lace between your thighs is proof enough. He chuckles softly at your silence, a finger twisting under the waistband to peel the damp fabric down, sliding it off the smooth skin of your legs to toss it aside. And suddenly, the room seems to be completely saturated by your arousal, steeping into every inch of air he pulls into his lungs.

Still, Matt doesn’t seem to be in any rush. His lips return to your inner thighs, tracing sultry kisses to burning flesh. Thighs pressed to his ears, the sound of your arteries reverberates like a drumline inside his skull. Femoral, uterine, iliac —he can name every one he hears. A symphony thrumming for him, hot and rhythmic. He kisses the spot where it sings beneath your skin.

(What an asshole, you’re thinking, knowing his every peck is deliberate; every drag of his tongue is just close enough to where you need him that it makes you squeal with frustration.)

“Matt,” you snip, tugging at his locks to guide him where you want him. “Stop teasing and just fuck me already!”

He pulls back from between your legs, lips curved into a cocky grin. “Be patient,” he chides, shaking his head like you’re a child spoiled rotten. “I gotta take care of you first, don’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but he isn’t done.

“I heard, it’ll take better if you come first,” he says evenly, using that court voice, the one he uses to explain the facts of a case and win over the jury without fail. “So… I’m gonna make you come again…” a kiss on the inner side of your knee, “…and again….” on your inner thigh, “…and again…” on your pubic mound, “…until your body has no choice but to take me.”

The filthy promise pulls you taut as his nose bumps against your clit. “Oh? And just where did you hear this news from, Counselor– Oh Christ–!” You gasp, hands tightening in his hair as his tongue darts out, tasting you lightly before pulling back just long enough to smirk at how you tremble under him.

“See?” Matt says, voice positively dripping with smugness. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart. Let me handle it, alright?”

And then he buries himself between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with ravenous precision. Fuck, he could die happy right then, the sour-sweet taste of your slickness robust and vividly ripe on his tongue, incomparable to its scent he’d only enjoyed since before that point. You cry out, your head falling back to the mattress as he pulls you higher with every stroke of his tongue, every flick and flat press against your clit, mouth working generously to kiss your needy cunt open.

Determined to see you come undone, he dives his rough fingers into you, his tongue maintaining pressure upon your clit. Your walls clench at the sensation of being breached, nerves going haywire with excitement as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. When you call out his name, he brushes at that sensitive spot, conditioning you by the whimpers and cries falling out of your mouth. Training you like an animal to associate the heightened pleasure with his name, though really he has no need to. No one has ever touched you with such precise devotion as him. 

Your heels dig into his back, hips canting to demand more. Matt grunts against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you can feel the mattress dipping slightly as he ruts against it, his own desperation spilling over.

“Matty—fuck—” you pant, hands clutching at the sheets. He only growls in response, his free hand curling against your legs to hold you in place, barring any attempt at escape. He’s eating you like a man starved, shamelessly groaning and fucking the mattress at your taste—and with the pressure in your stomach threatening to snap, you fold and unfold, instinctively trying to get away.

But Matt, all-knowing and bent on denying you the privilege of holding back, presses down harder inside you, rubbing while he sucks at your clit. You curse uncontrollably and the white-hot high finally, finally washes over you violently, downwards, down then up with your thighs clamped around his head, clenching around his thick, thrusting fingers. Matt refuses to slow down or let up, working you through every spasm until you’re left a panting, boneless mess beneath him.

“Christ,” you mutter weakly, when you can get it together enough to speak. The world’s still spinning around you, folded inwards to just the sight of him sitting back on his heels. His mouth and jaw are obscenely glistening with your wetness. Matt, sensing your hitched breath, correctly infers that you’re staring shamelessly at him, and at the bulge that’s tented angrily between his legs.

Smug little shit that he is, he brings his hand up to his mouth. The pretty-pink petals of his lips purse around his fingers as he revels in your taste. Matt hums his praise low in his throat, but you don’t get to enjoy the show as much as you want. The mattress shifts, and his hands close tight around your waist, turning you over onto your arms and knees.

Bent over for him, the anticipation is electric, your body still oversensitive from your high. But you can’t help it, that errant need to reassert yourself.

“Jesus, finally,” you muse, smirking above your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk, Counselor.”

That earns a snap.

You hear the leathery rasp of his belt sliding through the loops of his pants, a sound that makes your toes curl.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, pushing your head forward. He leans down to press a hard, claiming kiss to your shoulder blade. The cold metal of the belt buckle kisses your wrists a moment later, and he binds them behind your back in a practiced knot, giving the binding a perfunctory tug to test its hold. 

Oh. Fuck.

Every inch of your arched posture has you laid bare for him in surrender. Your shoulders are sunken into the mattress, having lost the arms to brace yourself with. Ever the gentleman, he holds you steady with a firm grip while the other hand touches between your thighs, trailing all the way to your wet slit. He inhales sharply at the mess waiting for him, your arousal clinging sticky up to his knuckles. 

Matt huffs a laugh under his breath.

“So fucking ready for me,” he murmurs. 

Fisting his cock, he gives it a few rough tugs, precum slicking over his palm as he aligns his hips behind you, pushing forward. You feel the fat, hot head of his cock notch between your folds, and your cunt clenches on instinct, greedy for the stretch about to come. But Matt’s cruel with his patience, and his pace is leisurely slow.

One of his hands finds the knot of your bound wrists and tightens his grip, using the tension to anchor himself. 

He’s soaking in every detail. How your heat radiates off every cell of your skin; the fertile slick seeping out of you, perfuming the air so thickly he can taste it on his tongue. He can hear your heartbeat in your cunt, veins rushing with blood and fuck, he wants to ruin it, claim you with a violence that will leave no doubt in your body, least not in your womb. But even completely soaked, he knows your body needs time to adjust to him.

You whimper, pushing back to take control, but Matt holds you rooted in place. “Ah,” he tuts, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re not getting it that easy, sweetheart. Patience, remember?”

“I literally just fucking came!”

He grits his teeth. The blunt crest of his cock presses into you, splitting you open and it knocks any trace of defiance from your mouth, bordering on too much but your pussy’s welcoming it, spasming around the overwhelming sensation as he fills you to the hilt.

“Oh fuck—” you gasp, “you’re so deep, Matt– Matt—”

“Yeah?” Voice almost cracking as he draws his hips back, only to thrust forward again with a punishing roll that has you keening. “I told you. So fucking tight. Jesus. Your pussy’s just pulling me in.”

Your body jolts with every thrust, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of what you can take. Every time he slams in, your cunt makes a wet humiliating sound and then the hand gripping your wrists slides up, pushing between your shoulder blades to shove you down hard into the mattress as his movements pick up. Fucking you in earnest, his cock drilling into your heat with a brutal, single-minded rhythm that has you whimpering, crying out his name.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he snarls, grabbing the round swell of your ass, “you want it as bad as I do. You smelled so fucking good all day, d’you know how hard it was for me? It was torture. So good with that baby— Gonna let me give you one? Make you mine? Do you want that, honey?”

“Yes–fuck–yes,” you’re panting, thighs trembling as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens, “want it so bad, Matt, don’t stop–”

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” Matt growls, his chest pressing flush against your back. His breath is hot and wet in your ear. “How many kids do you want, honey? I’ll give you as many as you’ll let me. I’ll put one in you right now. Not gonna stop til I fill you up.”

The shift in angle forces a sob from you as he sinks even deeper, his cock grinding up deeper than before, hitting that unbearable bundle of nerves with a dense pressure that makes your vision blur at the edges. Your arms are still trapped between your bodies, they’re numb and aching but it feels so so good, getting fucked by your husband with abandon. Matt doesn’t falter; he’s fully over you, pinning you down with his full weight as his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping the tender skin before biting down hard.

You cry out, pain-blinded. The sharpness slices clean through you and with the overwhelming heat, the stretch of him inside you—there it is, you come undone with a fractured sob, violent and searing. Your bound hands writhe uselessly, the bite on your shoulder singing as your vision whites out. Your ears ring, barely registering Matt’s voice swimming in and out of focus, calling you Good girl good girl… his hand petting your head, stroking your hair as your body shakes for him.

Then he’s pushing himself upright again, pulling out and rising to his knees behind you. His praises are still trailing out of him in soft whispers. One hand reaches for the belt at your wrists, tugging—your spine pulled upright by the motion. You whimper a breathy protest as your limbs stretch from disuse.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, voice buttery and low. He sounds so sweet it makes your bruised core flutter, even now. His hands work at the leather binding behind you and finally, mercifully, you’re freed. But your body’s limp, shaking from the aftermath, and without the belt holding you up, you collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Matt chuckles. “Easy, baby.”

He eases you over onto your back carefully, slipping a pillow under your spine to support your sore back. He’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks— and his cock, still swollen and slick with your release, twitches at the salt clinging to his mouth. You’ve been crying.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle along your jaw. “So sweet for me. Is my girl tired?”

You can barely say anything; you nod shakily. Your arms are tingling from the blood finally returning.

“And does she want to stop, hm?” A kiss to your cheek. “Does my sweet girl want to stop?”

You manage a small shake of your head.

A rough, pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good. That’s what I thought.”

The pins and needles in your arms are buzzing unpleasantly, but your cunt clenches at his voice anyway. You whine pitifully, and of course he hears.

“One more, alright, honey? Will you give me one more?”

Then he’s shifting, settling himself between your legs again. His hands wrap under your knees–thumbs pressing into the tender divots beneath the joints—and he presses them forward, toward your shoulders. Folded in half, you gasp at the stretch. Completely open beneath him, pinned by nothing but his weight, you shiver under the totality of his presence over you.

“This,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your lower belly, “this is where our baby’s gonna grow, sweetheart. Right here.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges at your entrance and you’re so wet it slides through the mess of your arousal, teasing but not entering, just enough to make you sob.

“Matt—please—”

“Shh,” he soothes, lining himself up, pressing in. “There we go. So good for me, you’re taking it so well.”

This angle—God, it’s worse than before; better than it. Deeper, impossibly so, hitting places inside you you’ve never felt before, spots that send your nerves screaming. You sob helplessly as your body struggles to accommodate him, every thrust dragging against your walls, each ridge and vein of his cock felt completely. 

“C’mon,” he pants as his movements pick up the pace, thrusts growing fast and erratic. “Gimme this one, sweetheart. Just one more for me, I promise.”

The bed protests beneath you, the frame rattling against the wall. The wet slap of skin fills the room, and just as you start to feel that sharpness creeping up again, something stupid occurs to you: you’re loud. Your screams, the creak of the bed, the sound of your cunt around him– the neighbors—

You turn your head, trying to muffle yourself against your arm.

Matt growls, yanking your arm down and at the same time, he pulls out nearly all the way—only to slam back in with bruising force, hard enough to knock all the breath from your lungs. You can’t stop the scream of his name torn from your throat.

“Matt— please, the neighbors—”

“No,” he snarls. “I’m your husband. I get to fuck you as loud as I want. You want this?” 

You nod frantically, too breathless to answer.

His hand finds your throat, grasping firmly around the delicate column. He feels the hammer of your pulse against his palm, heavy and turbulent like a rushing flood. He tightens his grip just enough to feel it catch beneath his thumb. To him, it seems unmistakably perverse—this power to still you if he wanted. And yet your trust is entire, your faith in him unshaken. 

“Then let them hear,” he says. “Let them hear what I do to my wife. Let them know how good I’m fucking her.”

A generous god, a present one. That’s what you’ve made him.

“Say my name,” he demands, voice rough, “want to feel it in your throat.”

“Matthew,” you choke out, completely helpless to his touch. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew…

It’s slipping. That darker thing inside him rising, coaxed loose by the mess of needy wetness where you’re connected. It wants to claim you and mark you, become His peer, one worthy of your devotion. 

Have faith that it includes you, Matt.

He licks the salt from your neck. “Can feel how close you are.”

His hand leaves your throat and presses flat against your stomach, right above where his cock punches deep. The pressure of his cock bulging under his palm sends another wave through your body. The feeling at the pit of your gut’s starting to rapidly swell, acute and compounding by the second as he fucks you with the whole length of his cock. 

“Feel that?” he rasps, pressing down harder. “That’s where m’gonna fill you. Right into your womb. And if it doesn’t take this time— I’ll fucking make sure it does the next. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

Then his hand drops lower, to your cunt, gathering your creamy slick with his thumb to rub the swollen nub of your clit with. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, the words strangled. “Come while I fuck my baby into you.”

You look down where you’re connected, where his cock sinks in and out of you, coated in slick and so much need and you break. Your walls seize around his length, body convulsing as your climax tears through you. You cry out, legs twitching and nails raking across the sheets. Above you, Matt groans with a guttural, broken sound. His hips drive forward once, twice—the head of his cock kissing the ripe seal of your womb, and then he’s coming, thick and hot, filling you with so much it leaks around his cock even as he keeps pumping deep as he can go. His sweat’s dripping onto you as he holds you tightly, arms trembling with the effort of staying upright. You twitch beneath him, aftershocks rolling still and he collapses onto you, pulsing with the last desperate pulses of cum from his cock.

Your body’s completely pliant, legs trembling even when he finally stills. 

“Let gravity help,” he says, easing out gently. He slips the pillow from beneath your back and tucks it under your hips, before slumping beside you. You giggle weakly, nuzzling into his neck. Your sweet husband’s back, placing soft lingering kisses all over your face as his chest heaves from the earlier exertion.

“So,” you start, the haze starting to set, “can you really tell?”

“...Yes,” Matt admits. His voice is husky, warm with affection. “You smell different. And you’re warmer, just a little–”

“Smell different?! Do I stink or something?”

He laughs into your hair, arm pulling you in tight. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve established well enough that you smell absolutely beguiling to me.”

You roll your eyes, your finger tracing absent shapes on his chest. Heart, triangle, star. He hums at each one.

Smiley face. That earns a chuckle. 

“Anyway, you weren’t half bad with Teddy either,” you muse thoughtfully. “I think you’d make an amazing dad.”

You opt not to tease him about the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Matt.” You clear your throat. “You know, I really do want it, but… I just want you to know that I’m happy, even just now. And I’m not stupid, I know you could…,” you try not to say die, “...well, the worst could happen. Even then, I’d still want this life with you, whatever I can get. When we got married, I knew that would come with it, and– And if we do have a kid, if the future holds that for us, then it won’t just be us. We have Foggy and Karen and Marci, and my family, too. Takes a village and all that, y’know?”

You pause to catch your breath, Matt nodding you on.

“Point is, we’ll never be left alone, no matter what. I know that’s something you worry about a lot. So if– if something ever did happen to you…” You force yourself to say it, “we’d survive. We can keep living. But between surviving with you and without you, I’ll always choose with. So I’m asking you to let yourself have this. If you really want it. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Have faith that it includes you.

He’s silent for a moment, his hand stroking gently at the slope of your arm.

“I promise,” he says at last, “I really do want it.”

He knows you know the rest. That’s all he can say, pressing a kiss to your temple. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it buzzes in his pulse anyway. Smiling faintly into your hair, he lets it stretch just long enough… Before the gravity of the moment slips from his shoulders, not all the way but just enough to let in that familiar, crooked grin.

“Oh, but you know, honey,” he murmurs, lips on your cheek, “you’re not pregnant yet.”

The laugh bubbles from your throat, and he can feel the sound against his skin.

“That was just round one.” His hand slides down to grip your thigh, and he feels you shiver. Perfect. “Let’s get to work then, Counselor.”

"Can we—"

Your sentence was abruptly cut short by the shrill ringing of your phone.

Matt paused, a quiet groan muffled against your collarbone. "Ignore it."

You hesitated. "But what if—"

"It’s probably nothing," he murmured, lips brushing your pulse. "Leave it."

It kept ringing. You sighed, gently pushing at his shoulders. "It’ll only take a second. Just let me silence it."

Matt exhaled sharply, moving back slightly as you reached over and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Glancing at the screen, you rolled your eyes.

"Work," you muttered, annoyed. You answered quickly. "This better be an emergency."

"Y/N," Levi’s voice crackled through the line, anxious. "I’m so sorry—"

"What happened?"

"Uh... you know how we were testing the new phase-array sensors tonight?"

"Levi."

"Well, it shorted. Everything’s offline. And the readings are… weird."

You groaned softly, pressing your fingers to your forehead. "I’ll be there in half an hour." You hung up, sighing again as you tossed your phone onto the bed.

Matt shifted beside you. "You’re leaving?"

"I’m sorry," you muttered. "It’s—"

"Work," Matt finished gently. He tilted his head, clearly amused. "You know, I think Stark Industries has a personal vendetta against us."

You huffed, tugging your shirt back into place. "I’ll make it up to you. I promise."

Matt leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours quickly. "You better."

You rolled your eyes, reluctantly climbing off the bed. "Don't move. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Matt fell back onto the pillows with a sigh, his smirk unmistakable. "I'll hold you to that, angel."

---

A few days later, Matt had just managed to maneuver you against the kitchen counter, lips claiming yours fiercely. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

Then, abruptly, a loud knock at his apartment door broke the silence. Matt froze, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder with a frustrated exhale.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered.

"Ignore it," he whispered, kissing your neck gently.

The knocking grew louder.

"Murdock!" Foggy's muffled voice echoed through the wood. "Come on, man, open up! I know you're home!"

Matt sighed heavily, pulling away. "He'll keep going until I answer."

You slumped against the counter dramatically. "I swear he has a sixth sense."

Matt smiled apologetically. "This'll be quick."

You folded your arms, watching as Matt made his way to the door, cracking it open just enough to speak. "Foggy. Bad timing."

"Yeah, sorry, I lost the deposition file," Foggy admitted sheepishly. "I need your copy."

Matt sighed, turning his head toward you slightly. "Give me a minute."

You threw your hands up, shooting him a pointed glare. Matt smiled, mouthing sorry before slipping out the door.

---

It had almost become a joke at this point. Every single time the two of you finally got a moment alone, something managed to interrupt.

You and Karen were at Josie’s, waiting for Matt and Foggy to arrive.

“Wanna tell me why you seem so pent up?” Karen asked, taking a drink of her beer.

You sighed, swirling your drink in the glass. "Because apparently, the universe hates me."

Karen raised a brow, amused. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"No, I'm serious," you insisted, leaning closer. "Every single time Matt and I are about to—" You paused, realizing you'd almost said too much. "Spend any sort of actual alone time together, something always interrupts."

Karen smirked knowingly, taking another sip. "Oh. That kind of pent up."

You glared at her. "Shut up."

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just funny. You two spend practically all your time together. I'm surprised you even have that problem."

"Yeah, well, apparently work, Foggy, and fate itself have formed an alliance against us," you muttered bitterly.

"Have you tried just… telling people not to bother you?" Karen teased.

You scoffed. "We tried that. Believe me, it doesn't work."

Karen hummed sympathetically. "Well, if it's any consolation, I promise to never intentionally interrupt your... alone time."

"Thanks," you replied dryly, "that’s very generous."

She grinned. "Hey, I do what I can."

Just then, the bar door swung open, and Foggy walked in, Matt close behind him. You caught Matt’s slight smile as he tilted his head toward you, making his way through the crowd.

Karen nudged you playfully. "Better luck tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop a small smile. "I doubt it, but thanks for the optimism."

Matt stepped up beside you, his hand automatically finding your waist. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Sorry we're late."

You sighed dramatically. "Don't worry about it. At this point, I'm used to it."

Matt chuckled softly, squeezing your side. "Tonight'll be different. Promise."

Karen snorted into her drink. "Good luck with that."

You glared at her again, and she raised her hands innocently.

Matt's brow furrowed, sensing the tension. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing at all," Karen said, grinning widely. "Y/N was just filling me in on your streak of bad luck."

Matt’s lips quirked upward. "Oh. That."

Foggy looked between the three of you, utterly lost. "Am I missing something here?"

You shook your head, patting Foggy on the shoulder. "Trust me, Fog. You're better off not knowing."

---

Matt’s apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. The blinds were drawn shut, the place cloaked in comfortable darkness. You dropped your keys onto the entry table, taking off your jacket and hanging it beside Matt’s familiar black coat.

"Matty?" you called softly, stepping further into the apartment.

"Bedroom," came his muffled reply.

You kicked off your shoes, padding down the hall until you reached his room. Matt was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on a clean shirt. He looked relaxed, freshly showered, hair still damp and slightly messy. He tilted his head in your direction, lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Hey," he said softly.

You smiled, stepping toward him. "Hi."

Matt reached for you, fingers easily catching your wrist and tugging you closer, his hands settling comfortably at your hips. "How was work?"

You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. "The usual Stark chaos. Nothing new."

His lips twitched. "So no interruptions planned tonight?"

You laughed quietly, your fingers trailing down the side of his face. "Not that I know of. Unless Foggy’s about to burst through the door."

Matt smiled, tilting his head slightly into your palm. "Not tonight. He and Karen have dinner plans."

"Thank God," you muttered.

Matt chuckled softly, pulling you gently closer so you were standing between his legs. His thumbs brushed lightly against your sides. "You hungry?"

You shook your head slightly, leaning down until your forehead rested against his. "Not really."

"Good," Matt whispered, voice low and warm. "Me either."

You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips over the curve of his jaw. His hands slid beneath your shirt, settling warmly against your lower back. You inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he guided your lips down to his own.

The kiss was gentle at first, soft and unhurried. Matt’s lips brushed yours slowly, carefully, as if savoring every moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pressing closer.

Matt sighed against your lips, deepening the kiss. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, guiding you down until you settled comfortably across his lap. Your arms looped around his shoulders, your bodies pressed close enough that you could feel the steady beat of his heart.

"Matt," you whispered breathlessly against his lips, smiling faintly. "If my phone rings, I swear—"

Matt’s quiet laughter cut you off, his mouth skimming along your jaw. "I’ll throw it out the window myself."

You huffed softly, tilting your head back to give him better access. "Promises, promises, Murdock."

Matt smirked against your skin, his voice low and teasing. "Careful, sweetheart. I might hold you to that."

You laughed quietly, tangling your fingers in his hair again and pulling him back to your lips. For the first time in weeks, there were no interruptions—just you, Matt, and the steady, comforting quiet of his apartment.

But, of course, it could never be that easy.

A knock rattled on a window in the living room.

Matt froze, forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. "You've got to be kidding me."

You groaned, your fingers tangling into his hair. "I swear, this is a cosmic joke at this point."

The knocking grew louder, quicker, more urgent. Matt sighed, lifting his head reluctantly. "Who even—"

A muffled voice called from outside, high-pitched and apologetic. "Uh... Mister Murdock? It’s—it's me, Peter. Spider-Man? Sorry, I just—I kinda need help."

You raised a brow. "Spider-Man knocks now?"

Matt sighed deeply. "Apparently."

You stood up from Matt’s lap, fixing your shirt as Matt slowly stood beside you, annoyance radiating off him.

Peter tapped again, more sheepishly this time. "Hello? Uh—Matt?"

"Coming," Matt called, moving toward the window with a heavy sigh.

You followed behind, crossing your arms as Matt slid the window open. Peter awkwardly crawled inside, tugging off his mask with a nervous grimace.

"Hey, Mr. Murdock," he mumbled, turning to you. "Hey, Y/N. Sorry if this is a bad time, but—"

"Is the city actively on fire?" Matt cut in, voice flat.

Peter hesitated. "Well, no, but—"

"Is anyone dying?" Matt continued.

Peter shifted nervously. "No, but I—"

Matt folded his arms, visibly unimpressed. "Is Stark Tower currently collapsing into a giant sinkhole?"

Peter blinked. "What? No."

Matt nodded slowly. "Then this probably could’ve waited."

Peter flushed, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Oh. Yeah, I guess it could’ve. But I, uh... I kinda panicked.”

You sighed, stepping toward Peter. "What happened, Pete?"

Peter winced, holding up his web-shooter. "It, um... jammed. And I can’t get it off."

Matt tilted his head, incredulous. "You came to me—at my apartment—at night—because your web-shooter jammed?"

Peter swallowed nervously. "I tried everyone else, Mr. Murdock. Literally everyone else."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Everyone?"

"Doctor Strange yelled at me for disturbing his 'cosmic meditation,' Happy sent me straight to voicemail, Mr. Wilson laughed for a full two minutes before hanging up, and Pepper’s voicemail said she’s out of town." Peter said quickly. "You two were my last option."

You glanced at Matt, suppressing a smile at his annoyed expression. "Alright, fine," you sighed. "Let me see it."

Peter held his arm out gratefully, relaxing as you started examining the device. Matt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You realize I’m blind, right?"

Peter flushed deeper. "Well, yeah, but you're like... you're Daredevil."

Matt’s jaw ticked slightly. "And?"

"And," Peter swallowed, voice small, "and I’m really, really sorry for interrupting your night. Again."

Matt sighed heavily, shaking his head as you fiddled with the shooter.

"Got it," you finally announced, popping the jammed cartridge free and handing it back to him. "All fixed."

Peter sighed dramatically. "Thank you so much. Really, I—"

"Pete," Matt interrupted gently. "Go home."

Peter nodded quickly, already halfway back out the window. "Yeah. Right. Okay. Goodnight Mr. Murdock, Y/N."

He vanished just as fast as he’d appeared, leaving silence behind him.

Matt tilted his head back toward you, annoyance fading into amusement. "How much do you think it'd cost to soundproof these windows?"

You smirked, stepping closer to him again. "Worth every penny, honestly."

Matt smiled, tugging you back toward him, fingertips brushing your waist. "Where were we?"

You grimaced. “Actually… Peter’s webshooter’s reminded me of—”

“—Ramen.” Matt cut in.

Your eyebrows raised, “how’d you know?”

Matt chuckled softly, his fingertips brushing your hip gently. "Because anytime Peter shows up, it means your brain starts spinning with work and you always end up craving ramen afterward."

You huffed, poking his chest lightly. "You make me sound predictable."

He tilted his head, amused. "Am I wrong?"

"No," you muttered begrudgingly. "But you don't have to sound so smug about it."

Matt's lips twitched into a smirk. "Can't help it."

You sighed, stepping back slightly. "Come on, let's go get ramen before they close."

"Alright," Matt conceded, grabbing his coat. "But you're buying, since it's your fault."

"My fault?" you repeated incredulously as you slipped on your shoes.

"Your spider-friend, your problem," Matt teased lightly, holding the door open for you.

You rolled your eyes fondly. "He's everyone's spider-friend, Matty."

"Well, everyone doesn't get their evening interrupted like we do."

You linked your arm through his as you stepped outside. "Sounds like someone's still bitter."

Matt hummed softly. "Just hungry."

"Whatever you say, devil boy," you said with a smirk.

He laughed quietly, squeezing your arm lightly. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

---

It had taken another two weeks, three false alarms, and one very apologetic Spider-Man before you and Matt finally managed to find yourselves completely alone, no distractions in sight.

"Door?" Matt asked, murmuring against your lips, his voice husky and quiet.

"Locked," you whispered back.

"Phone?"

"On silent."

Matt smiled against your mouth. "Windows?"

You sighed, pulling back slightly. "Closed. Matt, relax. Everything’s handled."

He chuckled softly, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you back in. "Just making sure."

You smiled, sliding your arms around his neck and playing with the soft hair at his nape. "At this point, I think we've earned tonight."

Matt hummed quietly, brushing his lips gently along your jaw. "I’m not letting anyone interrupt us tonight, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched slightly, your fingers tightening gently in his hair. "Good. Because I might actually murder whoever tries."

He laughed softly, nudging your nose lightly with his own. "Noted."

You tugged gently at his shirt, pulling him backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sat down slowly, smiling as Matt followed you without hesitation, settling himself carefully above you.

"You’re sure no spider-kid’s gonna come tapping at the window tonight?" you teased softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He tilted his head slightly, smiling down at you. "I might actually lose my patience with him if he does."

You laughed quietly, hooking your legs around his hips and tugging him closer. "So fierce, devil boy."

Matt leaned down, lips brushing your ear. "Only for you."

Warmth pooled in your stomach at the softness in his voice, your heart thudding in your chest as you pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.

His lips moved carefully, tenderly, hands slipping beneath your shirt to rest against your bare skin, tracing gentle circles along your waist. You sighed softly against his lips, your fingertips trailing down his chest to find the hem of his shirt.

Matt pulled back slightly, just enough to let you pull his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. His lips found yours again immediately, kissing you with renewed urgency, his skin warm under your hands.

"Still good?" he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, breath catching. "Better than."

His hands slid slowly up your sides, under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin until he reached the hem and pulled it up and off you. The second it hit the floor, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Tongue slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, then pulled back just enough to speak.

"Lie back for me, angel."

You obeyed without hesitation, stretching across the bed, propped up slightly on your elbows as Matt’s hands found your thighs. He knelt between them, head tilted, his expression unreadable but focused. You could feel the weight of his attention even without his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I can feel every little shift in your breathing, hear your heartbeat changing every time I touch you. You're driving me insane."

Your breath caught as his palms slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle. He leaned in slowly, trailing soft kisses along the inside of your knee, up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You gasped quietly when he nuzzled higher, the stubble on his jaw catching against your skin. One of his hands gripped your thigh, the other pressing a warm palm flat against your stomach, grounding.

"You want this?" he asked softly, mouth brushing right against the waistband of your underwear.

"Yes," you breathed, eyes fluttering. "Matty, please."

That was all it took. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, dragging the fabric down your legs with excruciating slowness, kissing each new inch of skin he exposed. Once they were gone, he settled between your legs like he belonged there.

You squirmed, breathless already. Matt’s hands eased your thighs wider, lips brushing the softest kisses down the crease of your hip. Then lower.

His tongue flicked out, teasing, and you gasped, head dropping back against the pillow.

"Fuck," you whispered.

Matt exhaled a soft laugh, the sound warm against your skin. "That good already, sweetheart?"

Then he buried his mouth between your thighs. No warning, no hesitation. Just heat and tongue and pressure that had your back arching off the bed.

"Ah—Matty," you choked out, hands scrambling for his hair, needing something to hold onto as his tongue licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

He groaned like he tasted the sound you made, hands anchoring you, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs as he worked.

You were already dripping for him, and he didn’t let up, tongue pressing and curling in ways that made your entire body tremble. He knew exactly how to read you—the way your hips twitched, the way your moans caught, the way your breath stuttered when he sucked just right.

Your thighs started to shake.

"Matty—oh god—please don’t stop," you gasped, one hand flying to muffle your mouth, the other tangled in his messy hair.

He didn't stop.

He doubled down.

His mouth moved faster, tongue fucking into you before flattening and dragging slow, greedy circles over your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you cry out.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna—" Your whole body tensed, thighs clamping, and Matt growled against you, holding you open, not letting you go anywhere.

"Let go," he murmured against your soaked skin. "Come on, angel. Come for me."

You shattered.

It hit hard, sharp and overwhelming, your hips jerking as the orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, hands fisting in the sheets, breath breaking as your body shook.

Matt held you through every second of it, mouth softening but never leaving you, licking you through the aftershocks with slow, lazy strokes until you finally whimpered, pushing weakly at his head.

He kissed your inner thigh one last time before crawling back up, settling his weight gently over you, mouth slick and smile smug.

"Hi," he murmured.

You huffed a laugh, dazed and breathless. "You’re such a menace."

"You love it," he said, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.

"Maybe," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "Come here."

He kissed you slowly, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His body pressed heavy and warm against yours, one hand slipping down to cradle your thigh, the other bracing next to your head.

You wrapped your legs around him, tugging him closer.

"Your turn, devil boy."

Matt's breath caught. His body stilled above yours, tension rolling through his shoulders like a current. He tilted his head slightly, and you could feel him—feel the way he honed in on every shift of your breath, the thump of your pulse, the way your thighs clenched around his hips.

"Say it again," he murmured.

You smirked, dragging your nails lightly down his spine. "Your turn."

Matt groaned softly, low and wrecked, like the words hit somewhere primal. One of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he leaned in, voice rough. "Tell me if anything's too much."

"Matty," you whispered, hips rolling up against the bulge still trapped in his pants, "I want all of it."

His mouth crashed back onto yours—hot, open, desperate. You tasted yourself on his lips, still slick and wet from where he’d had his mouth on you, and it made something in your gut twist up tight.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, your throat. Always so fucking careful, even when he was losing control. Even now, his fingers trembled where they gripped your hip.

"Take 'em off," you whispered against his mouth, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat back on his knees, hands fumbling at his belt. You watched him—bare chest rising with each shaky breath, flushed, lips red from kissing you senseless, hair sticking up like you’d dragged your fingers through it one too many times. The second he shoved his pants low, you saw the outline of him, thick and hard, the head already leaking.

You bit your lip. "God, Matty."

He huffed a breathless laugh, cocky but a little shaky. "You looking at me like that isn’t helping."

"I like what I see."

Matt didn’t answer—just leaned in again, reaching down to wrap a hand around himself. He stroked slow, base to tip, teasing himself while he hovered over you, breath hot against your cheek.

You reached down, fingertips grazing his wrist. "Let me."

He let you take over, groaning softly when your hand wrapped around him. You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the head, spreading the precum, watching the way his jaw flexed.

"You feel so fucking good," you whispered.

Matt's voice was strangled. "You keep doing that and this is gonna be over before it starts."

You laughed softly, but let go, guiding him instead—his hips nudging between your legs, cock heavy and hot, head sliding wet over your slit. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you whispered, fingers curling in his hair. "Matty, please."

He pushed in slow. The stretch was deep, thick, dragging your walls open inch by inch until he bottomed out with a shaky groan.

"F-fuck," he whispered against your throat. "You feel... Jesus."

You were gasping, clinging to his shoulders, your body trying to adjust around him. It wasn’t your first time. Wasn’t his either. But it was your first time together. And it was already better than anything you'd felt before.

Matt didn’t move right away. He just held there, forehead pressed to your shoulder, one hand braced by your head and the other gripping your thigh like it grounded him.

"Matty," you whispered. "Move. Please."

He did.

A slow pull, then a push, dragging back in with a rhythm that felt like it was made just for you. He moaned into your neck, his voice thick with want. "So fucking tight—"

Your nails bit into his skin as he picked up pace, shallow thrusts turning deeper, faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, slick and wet and obscene. You couldn't stop the noises leaving your mouth, couldn't quiet the little cries every time he hit that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.

"You’re perfect," he panted. "Every sound you make—fuck, I can feel them. Hear 'em in your throat, in your chest—"

"Matt—"

"I’ve wanted this," he groaned, fucking into you harder now, the bed creaking beneath both of you. "You. For years. Always thought about you. Touching you. Making you come on my cock."

Your breath stuttered. "Holy fuck, Matty—"

"Come for me," he growled, his thumb finding your clit and circling, firm and fast. "Right now. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna hear how you sound when you fall apart."

You didn’t stand a chance. Your orgasm hit hard, sudden, crashing through you with a strangled cry, your legs tightening around his waist.

Matt cursed, fucking you through it, hips stuttering as he groaned, low and wrecked. "Shit—gonna come—fuck—"

He slammed in deep and came with a gasp, cock pulsing inside you, heat spilling as his whole body trembled above you. He collapsed onto his forearms, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.

"Jesus," you whispered, still shaking.

Matt laughed, soft and breathless. "Yeah. That about covers it."

You grinned, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. "Worth the wait."

His lips found yours again, soft now, lingering.

"Every second."

And for once, nothing interrupted.

You’d never been with someone quite like Clark before. 

He was new and exciting and like a breath of fresh air, and that scared you a little because you’d never felt as safe and as comfortable in a relationship like you do in yours and his. 

Clark had become your safe space. And while Superman is everyone else’s safety, Clark is all yours. 

Yeah, he told you his secret pretty early on in the relationship. You and he had only been together for about three weeks before he let it slip to you, and he paired it with saying that he can see a real future with you, and he didn’t want to keep things from you. He wanted to be your partner, and he wanted to be honest and open with you. 

He was all in. 

And so were you. How could you not be? Clark was walking, talking perfection. He’s sweet in every way, kind beyond words, and he loves with his whole heart. He’s also incredibly attentive, sensitive, and unbelievably sexy, but only a handful of people in his life get to experience those first two, and only you get to experience that last one. 

And Clark truly is unbelievably attractive. He’s well over 6 feet tall, probably nearing 6’5 if he’s wearing the right shoes, and he’s just so… big. All over. His biceps are the size of your head, his torso covers your body entirely if he’s standing in front of you, and his shoulders are so wide, you’re surprised he doesn’t need to turn sideways to fit through a doorway. 

But, again, he’s also so sweet and kind and loving, you weren’t sure how someone could be that perfect, but he was definitely the closest thing to it. 

You and he have been dating for eight months now, and things couldn’t be better. Clark walks you to and from work, which was a given since you and he both work at the Daily Planet, and you often spend the nights at either his apartment or yours, and every time you look over your shoulder at him, you always find him already looking at you, and every time his smile only grew whenever you locked eyes. 

Your co-workers and mutual friends tease you both relentlessly, but you and Clark are at that point in your relationship and are totally comfortable that you don’t even care. They could tease all they wanted, you and Clark were all in. The teasing was only light-hearted anyway, since anyone with eyes could see how truly happy you make each other, and there was no reason to try and make either of you feel any differently about that. 

It was one of those rare days where Clark had been hauled into Perry’s office for most of the morning, surely being given another grueling assignment since he did so well on the last one. 

That meant you didn’t have something nice to look at as you worked on your own piece, Clark’s empty desk a few feet away a growing distraction. 

Luckily, Lois decided to do some distracting of her own. 

She rolled her chair over to your desk, a pen in her mouth and a notebook open on her lap. “Hey,” she said, slapping your arm lightly with the notebook as she took the pen out of her mouth. “You have that look on your face again.”

You furrowed your brows, taking your eyes off your laptop and focusing them on her. “What look?”

“That ‘wife from the 20s watching her husband go off to war’ look,” she clarified, and you were instantly heating up. “Clark’s been with Perry for, like, only an hour. Why do you keep looking over at his desk like you’re expecting him to just appear at any second?”

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, glancing over your shoulder towards the hallway that led to Perry’s office, knowing Clark was in there and likely too focused on his boss to try and listen out for you, so you felt like you could gossip with your friend about your boyfriend for a few minutes without him finding out. 

Leaning over, you gestured for her to come closer as well. “I’m, like… so in love with him,” you whispered once she leaned in. 

Her eyes widened dramatically, and you could already hear the tease that was about to come your way. “What? No way,” she gasped, placing her hand flat on your desk like you just made some big revelation and she simply couldn’t believe it. She was a terrible actress. “I seriously had no idea.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting back in your chair as she started cracking up next to you. “Rude,”

Lois laughed again, much lighter this time. “Come on. You two are all over each other, even when you’re across the room. It’s actually kind of crazy how thick the tension gets whenever you and he aren’t standing directly next to each other,” she said, and you pursed your lips. 

“Well… we like being next to each other,” you said back, and she shook her head. 

“I can tell,” she said, and there was a genuine smile on her lips. She tilted her head as she leaned back in her chair, her eyes flicking over to the hallway, and her smile only grew. “You know, sometimes I feel like I can predict the future, and for some reason I can see an engagement happening sooner rather than later.”

Your stomach flipped at that, even though you knew it was just another light-hearted jab. The thought of getting engaged, getting married to Clark made you feel giddy and excited and it filled you with a warmth you’d never felt before in your life. “I can actually see it going there, Lois,” you said quietly, like saying it too loudly would ensure that it will never actually happen. 

Lois shot you a much more gentle smile. “I know. I think we all can,” she said in return before going back to her own desk, and you allowed yourself to think about the possibility of marrying Clark for a few more moments. You also allowed yourself to steal one last glance at his empty desk chair before turning your focus back to your article. 

-

The idea of going out to a bar after a long week of work wasn’t something you normally liked to think about, but when Lois brought it up and even got Jimmy and Cat to agree, you found it hard to deny the invitation when you and Clark were both asked if you wanted to tag along. 

If you were being honest, you kind of wanted to spend the whole weekend with your boyfriend, but you also kind of wanted to see Clark out at a bar since it’s not a place he’d typically be. You’d only gone to a handful of bars with him during the time you’ve been together, but they were all bars that were attached to restaurants. The place Lois found was strictly a bar. 

So, you know, fuck it. 

Clark and Jimmy were already there when you, Lois and Cat arrived since they insisted on you getting ready together since you all take significantly longer to pick out your outfits and freshen up your makeup. 

When you walked through the door with Lois on your left and Cat on your right, you looked towards the pool table and almost immediately spotted Clark and Jimmy. You lifted your hand to your mouth, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you took in how out of place he looked next to a very obviously tipsy Jimmy. Though as soon as you laughed, Clark’s head turned in your direction and he spotted you as well, and almost instantly you could see the way his shoulders relaxed a bit. 

Just as you took a step in his direction, Lois pulled on your arm and shook her head. “Nope. You can go see your boyfriend after you get a drink with us. You saw him all day at work, you can wait another five minutes or so before going over to him,” she said, pulling you with her towards the bar. 

You pouted and Cat let out a laugh. “Oh, sweetie, you’re down bad, aren’t you?” 

“That’s an understatement,” Lois answered for you, and you narrowed your eyes at her. 

“Hey-”

“Well, she’s not the only one,” Cat cut you off, and you turned to look at her, finding her looking over at Clark and Jimmy. “Clark can’t seem to keep his eyes off her either.”

You looked past her and found Clark already looking at you, and a heat pooled in your lower body. He looked good, like always. He was still wearing his slacks, but he’d ditched his suit jacket and button up, only a thin, white t-shirt covering his upper half. 

God, you could moan at how good he looks. His hair was slightly messy from working all day, and his glasses reflected the dim lights of the bar. One hand was in his pocket, the other wrapped around almost the entire bottle of beer Jimmy must’ve forced him to drink, unaware of the fact that Clark can’t actually get drunk. 

And then there was the small, barely curved twist of his lips, a subtle smirk reserved for you that looked like a lopsided grin to others, but you knew exactly what it meant. And it made that heat only grow hotter. 

“Oh, please,” Lois scoffed, turning to face you and Cat once she’d ordered you all a drink. “This is getting kind of ridiculous.”

Cat placed her hand on your arm, a big smile on her face. “I think it’s sweet. You guys are young and in love. It’s adorable,”

You were young, yes, and very much in love, also yes, but that look on his face was anything but sweet and adorable. It had you pressing your thighs together and praying for the bartender to hurry up so you could get your drink and go over to Clark. 

Luck was on your side since only a few moments later, three pink colored drinks were placed on the surface of the bar, and you quickly took one when Lois handed it to you, then you were making a beeline towards Clark. His smirk only grew when he saw you coming, and he took his hand out of his pocket, lifting his arm so you could press your side against his own. 

You wrapped your own arm around his middle as his draped over your bare shoulders, his bicep covering the entire length of them, and you had to take a few sips of your drink to cool the blush that was taking over your whole body. 

“Hey, there you guys are,” Jimmy said, his voice already slurred a bit as Cat and Lois made their way over to the three of you. “Took you long enough. Clark and I have been here for over half an hour already.”

Cat shrugged her shoulders, sipping on her drink. “Sorry. It takes time to look this good,” she said, looking over at you and Lois with a wink. 

Clark dipped his head down and kissed your cheek before brushing his lips against your ear. “You always look good,” he murmured for just you to hear. You had to suppress another moan as you pressed yourself closer to him, suddenly feeling way too hot in the decent sized bar despite you wearing a thin, strapless shirt and a skirt that fell to your mid-thighs.

Jimmy said your name, and you quickly looked over at him, grateful for the distraction. You weren’t sure how much longer you could stand next to Clark with him looking that good and not throw yourself at him. “It’s a good thing you got here when you did. Those girls over there looked like they were a few minutes away from offering to take Clark back home. All three of them,” 

You furrowed your brows and looked towards where he nodded, seeing a group of three girls sitting at a booth, all wearing extremely short dresses that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

Instead of getting jealous like most people probably would, you just smiled, because just one look at the girls told you they didn’t stand a chance. They were so far from Clark’s type, and he’d never even entertain them had he been here by himself, let alone while he’s here with you. 

He only proved you right. “Yeah, like that would ever happen, Jimmy,” Clark scoffed, and your smile grew as you took another sip of your drink before pulling away from Clark’s side and reaching for his hand instead. 

The way he instantly turned to look at you made you feel unbelievably special as you tugged on his hand. “Come dance with me?” you asked, knowing it never took much for him to agree to anything you ask. 

Clark quickly set his nearly untouched beer down onto the edge of the pool table before following after you. 

“Dude, you’re so whipped,” Jimmy called out after him, but Clark just gave him a knowing grin over his shoulder, because tell him something he doesn’t know already. 

You led him past the booth with the three women that apparently looked like they were trying to bed your boyfriend all at the same time, ignoring the obvious looks of jealousy they shot you as you passed by, and towards the far end of the bar where multiple couples were dancing as well. 

Clark pulled you close once you’d found a comfortable place in between the other couples, his big hands placed on your lower back. He leaned in and nuzzled his nose along your temple as he whispered in your ear, “You look so beautiful,”

You pressed your lips together as you draped one arm around his shoulders, carefully holding onto your drink so you don’t spill it. “Do I?” 

Clark nodded, pulling you even closer as he dropped his lips to your jaw. “You always do,” he said, and it was clear that he was feeling more comfortable and confident since it was so dark in here, no one was really paying any attention to anyone other than the people they came with. 

You hummed, unable to stop the smile that took over your face at his words. “Well, I think you look really, really fucking hot,” you said back, and Clark lifted his head, meeting your gaze instantly. 

“Yeah?” he mumbled, sliding an experimental hand further down your body, but he was still so modest about it, it was almost funny. 

You nodded slowly, sliding your own hand into his hair, your fingers tangling in his curls. “Yeah,” you confirmed, and then you were given the delicious treat of him kissing you, uncaring that you and he were in a room full of people as he kissed you like you and he were completely alone. 

-

You adore your friends, you really do. 

When Lois invited you over to her place for a girl’s night with Cat, you were excited for it. You needed a break from your routine of going to work, sleeping, waking up and then doing it all over again. 

It was a Saturday night, and you were more than ready to unwind and relax with your close friends, maybe drink a little too much wine and gossip about things you can’t talk about at work, and forget about life for a little bit. 

That was the plan, anyway. 

But Clark had texted you as soon as you got there, and even though it was a simple and sweet text, it still took hold of you like everything else does when it comes to him. 

He only wished you to have a good night, to have fun, and told you that he loves you, and that was all it took for him to be at the front of your mind, and to have all your attention shift to him. 

It’d been a few hours since you arrived at her apartment and you’d already had three slices of pizza and watched a really shitty rom-com, and you were two glasses of wine deep when Lois decided that a picture was needed so you could remember this night forever.

You and Cat huddled close on the couch as Lois lifted her phone, taking a photo of the three of you smiling with your glasses lifted, and you couldn’t deny that it was a pretty nice photo. 

A nice photo Clark would most definitely like to see. 

“Hey, send me that,” you said to Lois, and she waved you off.

“Already did,” she responded, putting her phone down and grabbing the wine bottle, already starting to pour more into all three glasses. 

You grabbed your phone and opened your text thread with Lois, seeing the photo there waiting for you, and you quickly saved it to your gallery before clicking on Clark’s contact and sending it to him with nothing else attached. 

Your phone had only been set down for maybe thirty seconds before it went off, and you discreetly grabbed it again as Lois and Cat bickered over what movie to watch next. 

Seeing it was a text from Clark, you clicked the notification with a small grin on your lips. 

Clark 🫶🫶🫶: Pretty. Especially the one on the right. 

You blushed, because of course you were the one on the right, but before you could reply, another text appeared. 

Clark 🫶🫶🫶: Are you having fun?

And then another one. 

Clark 🫶🫶🫶: I miss you. 

You were full on blushing now as you pressed the cool glass of wine against your heated cheek, but you were interrupted as soon as you started to type. 

“Are you serious?” Lois asked, a hint of humor and disbelief in her voice. You looked up and saw both her and Cat looking over at you, with Lois shaking her head and Cat hiding her smirk behind the rim of her glass. “You’re seriously texting Clark right now? You just saw him this morning.”

“No, actually, I didn’t get to see him this morning. He was working on something last night and couldn’t sleep over at my place,” you said quickly, skillfully avoiding spilling his secret. You obviously couldn’t tell them that he’d been out saving the world last night as Superman. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday at work.”

“Oh, boohoo,” Lois scoffed, “That was barely twenty four hours ago. You’re so dick whipped.”

You gasped at that, your face heating up even more, but you couldn’t deny her accusation. It was completely true. 

When you looked away quickly, Cat perked up. “Oh, you so are,” she laughed, shifting on the couch as they both forgot about picking out another movie. “You checked your phone every five minutes during the last movie, and you’re all flustered over there, and I know it’s not from the wine. You are so dick whipped.”

Lois shook her head again. “It can’t really be that good,” she said, giving you a skeptical look. “Can it?”

You avoided their eyes as you curled in on yourself. If you were to start thinking about sex with Clark right now, you were sure you wouldn’t be able to last another hour here with Lois and Cat, and you really wanted to prove that you could spend more than twenty four hours away from him. 

But at the same time, sex with him is really that good. It’s better than good.

“It is,” you couldn’t help but say, then quickly add, “But it’s not just about that. He’s a really good guy, and he’s sweet and funny and-”

“And he’s got skills in the bedroom,” Lois cut you off with an eyeroll. “It’s fine to admit. But I’d rather not talk about yours and Clark’s sex life-”

“It’s so good-”

“Okay,” she cut you off again, shaking her head as she grabbed her glass. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Cat cracked up beside you, and you shot her a grin as you grabbed your phone. “You’re right, you’re right,” you said. “I’ll be present from here on out. Just let me send this one last text to him, then we can watch The Notebook.”

“Yes!” Cat cheered, that one having been her option over Lois’ How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days. 

The two of them started bickering as you quickly typed out a message to Clark, then decided to send a few pictures with it as well. You took them last night when you were alone in your bed, missing him while he was off doing Superman stuff, but you never actually sent them to him. 

One was of you blowing a kiss to the camera, the other one was of your lower body with your hand hidden beneath your panties, because Lois is right, you’re dick whipped for him and all you wanted last night was to be fucked by Clark, but he was too busy saving the world. 

So, so selfish. 

I miss you too. And I’m having a blast. Took these last night because I missed you then too. Hold onto them for me, please. Love you. 

You sent the text with a quiet laugh, and almost immediately your phone started to go off, but you were determined to keep your word, so instead of checking to see what the now four new text messages from him said, you focused on your friends, knowing damn well he’d get you back for that little stunt later. 

You were counting on it. 

-

You’d lost count of how many times Clark has made you all apart with his lips, mouth and fingers. 

If you had to guess, you’d been on your back on his bed for the last forty five minutes, and his head had been between your thighs for every single one of those minutes, but as for how many times he’s gotten you off? You had no fucking clue. 

His fingers that weren’t inside of you held onto your hip, effortlessly keeping you still as he worked you through yet another high, your thighs trembling at either side of his head. 

When Clark finally pulled back, his lips were puffy and swollen and glistening with your wetness, as were his fingers when he finally pulled them out of you. A sated, pleased smile was on his wet lips as he brought his hand up to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean, as if he didn’t just spend almost an hour tasting you straight from the source. 

“Did you… finally get your fill?” you asked, breathless beyond words as your chest heaved unevenly. 

Clark shook his head, crawling and kissing his way up your body. He pressed soft kisses to your thighs, your stomach, your ribs, your breasts and your neck before finally stopping when his face was level with yours. 

“No,” he answered, shifting his hips when you reached down and pushed his boxers down his thighs and legs, the only thing he was wearing before you both were completely naked. “You know I could’ve stayed down there for the rest of the night. But I know you wouldn’t have been able to handle much more of it.”

You hummed, letting his big hands guide your legs to wrap around his waist as he settled his hips between your thighs. “How sweet,” you mumbled, kissing him back embarrassingly quickly when he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. 

A needy, long moan left your mouth and entered his when he reached down and guided himself into you, and the stretch that always came with taking him was something you were sure you’d never get used to. 

He was just so big. 

Your back arched off the bed, your bare chest pressing right up against his as he filled you entirely, your core beyond ready to take him after he thoroughly prepared you. 

“Oh, my God,” you breathed against his lips, tensing up as your hands grabbed onto his biceps. 

Clark broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to your temple as he stilled, bending one leg just slightly to ensure that every inch of him was buried inside of you. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, one hand splayed along your lower back while the other one tangled in your hair, cradling your head. 

You nodded, even more breathless now than you were before. Your heels dug into his back as you lifted your hips, your way of telling him to continue. “I’m okay,” you whispered, knowing he always like to hear verbal responses even when your body is practically begging for him to fuck you. 

Clark let out a soft hum at that, his hips beginning to rock against yours, working you open even more around him. He dropped his head to your shoulder, peppering kisses along your skin as he set a slow pace at first. He reached deep inside you with every thrust, and every time you felt impossibly full and like he couldn’t physically reach that far, only for him to prove you wrong by the next one. 

Your legs hiked higher around his waist, the increasing pace making them loosen a bit as he let out deep and raspy sounds against the skin of your neck, and each one only further fueled your need for him. 

“You feel so good,” you whimpered, sliding one hand into his hair and tugging on it, your other one grabbing onto his shoulder tightly. 

Clark lifted his head, his nose bumping against yours. “So do you, baby,” he said back, then an achingly pretty smile formed on his face as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you.” 

A matching smile took over your own face, and your hand moved from his shoulder to his cheek. “I love you,” you said back, and his smile only grew before he was leaning in and kissing you again. 

Then he did everything he did before, getting you there over and over again, but this time on his cock instead of his fingers, and by the time he came inside of you and filled you up, you were shaking out of your control, and your hands were holding onto him with a death grip. 

Clark slowly eased out of you, and when he tried to pull away, you instantly held on even tighter, pulling him close once again. “Stay,” you mumbled, and he let out a soft laugh. 

“I was just going to-”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, burying your face against his shoulder. “Just stay here. Don’t move. You might be the only thing keeping me together right now.”

He laughed again, and despite your words, he moved onto his back, ditching whatever he was planning on doing as he pulled you against his side. Your legs immediately tangled with his, your head coming to rest on his chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Are you okay?” he asked once again, his hand sliding up and down your back as you nodded, unable to answer him with words. His chest vibrated under you with a silent laugh, and when you lifted your head and looked at him, he shrugged. “That’s what you get for sending me those pictures last night then ignoring me for hours after.”

You scoffed, “You’re cruel,”

He scoffed right back, “You’re cruel,”

But despite your words, both of you were wearing sleepy, sated grins on your faces, and you let the feeling of his hands running up and down your body lull you to sleep at the same time he let the sound of your heartbeat soothe him enough for his eyes to shut as well.

-

You had known Ormund Hightower all your life, loved him when you were young and foolish enough to believe that your innocent heart mattered to him. For years, you had molded yourself into his ideal—you kept yourself pretty, perfected your manners, and stayed up late reading tedious books just so you could casually strike up a conversation on subjects he cared about.

“Only you would throw yourself in the studies of the arts of war. What a charming young lady you are.” He would smile and be amused, and you would bite the inside of your cheek, genuinely believing you were winning him over.

You had carefully crafted your image as a prim, intellectual lady, dedicating every ounce of your grace and intellect to a singular, desperate goal: enticing him.

And you really thought you were at the forefront of his thoughts too—

“I present my victory to you, my lady. And at my behest, name you as the queen of love and beauty.”

The day you were crowned by the dashing heir of Oldtown right after he won the tourney before the entire court was the day you truly believed your girlhood dreams had come to life.

However... Ormund Hightower was apparently a man of distinct taste— and the young flower of House Tyrell was not on his list of potential brides, despite his fondness of you.

“Any good man would be delighted to be the object of your affections, no more so than I.”

It was the night after the news had broken of him asking for the hand of the vivacious Lady Tarly. He had a crooked smile, even as you stared at him with heartbreak shining in your eyes.

“Alas, I am a man soon to be wed. We must cease these meetings, so I ask you not to call on me any longer.”

Your heart died then, and stayed cold for the next ten years.

But fate, working its cruel irony, returned Ormund to you just as the war of succession for the Iron Throne began to tear the realm apart. Although the man before you was no longer the posh new lord of Oldtown, but a seasoned man hardened by politics and a wife who died in childbed.

“Declare Aegon the rightful heir and commit five thousand of your men. In exchange... my protection and the hand of the Lady Tyrell.”

Your good sister, the Lady of Highgarden, who was the regent for her infant son, had wished to remain neutral amidst the ongoing civil war. But the Hightowers were kin to the queen dowager and had been fiercely loyal since ancient times. Confronted with Ormund Hightower’s formidable host and the threat of dragonfire, she simply could not refuse his offer.

However, you had not forgotten the man who had broken your heart.

. . .

“Who would have thought that you would remarry? Your poor wife must be weeping in her grave.”

That was the first thing you said to his face after ten years, and he was entirely unfazed and amused instead.

“Of course, no one is more delighted than I to accept this most generous proposal,” you followed, your voice dripping with sweet venom as you paced before him. “But I wish to settle an arrangement first.”

Ormund leaned back, an intrigued glimmer in his dark eyes. He had a small smile and gave you a nod, gesturing for you to continue. “And what might that arrangement be, my lady?”

“I wish to maintain my freedom. I expect to be allowed to live on my own terms, and that includes being permitted to keep my own counsel, travel as I see fit, and take my own companions.”

Ormund’s lips twitched, as he tilted his head. “Companions? Do you mean lovers?”

You lifted your chin and looked down at him with haughty defiance. “I suppose so. Because frankly, I cannot see either of us engaging in romance in our otherwise unfortunate union.”

How was it that the man who once meant the world to you be the one you felt nothing for when fate twisted its narrative so you could become his wife?

“The rose has grown rather sharp thorns, I see.”

For the first time, you saw how Ormund’s eyes lit with distaste, even if he was ever amused. “As much as I could imagine, I couldn’t possibly allow that. At least for old times’ sake, shouldn’t you grant me the grace of fulfilling the role of your lord husband?”

“Let us speak freely here. If I recall correctly, it is my house’s bannermen you seek, and ten years is a long time,” you scoffed. “We might have been fond of each other once, but we are, at present, not.”

“Oh, but I am,” he countered smoothly, “still very fond of you, Lady Tyrell.”

Ormund finally rose from his seat and approached you with ease. His blue eyes narrowed, and a wicked, knowing smile curled his lips.

“And I have no intention of sharing what is mine, least of all with men lesser than I am. If it is a lover you want, then you will find I am more than sufficient.”

He stepped into your space, a particular yet pleasant smell—from his collection of pomander, no doubt—filled your senses. Leaning down, he whispered directly into your ear:

“At least let me prove to you that we don’t need romance to find… a common ground.”

This man was far more cunning than you had ever given him credit for, seamlessly crafting a trap for you to fall into.

But if he thought he could effortlessly master you like a piece on a chessboard, he was sorely mistaken.

He might have broken your heart a decade ago, but now, you held the shards.

Ormund Hightower, however, seemed intent on making good on his word.

He lavished you with his wealth, stood beside you like a devoted and gallant husband, and before long, even the smallfolk began singing praises of your match—utterly charmed by the sight of their Lord and the new Lady Hightower.

And he wanted the exclusive rights to your bed? Fine. You would grant him lordly dues, but—

—seven hells, you would have never expected that sex with him would be this great.

One time, it had started with him pinning you against the walls of your chambers, devouring your lips like a man in heat. The other time he took his time, worshiping every inch of you until you were weeping his name into the silk pillows, begging for a release he purposely delayed.

And now—

“Haah...”

The breath hitched in your throat as you sank down onto him, the heat and friction from where the two of you were joined striking like a sudden fever. You sat astride his hips, your skirts pooled around you, anchoring him beneath you.

Ormund’s calloused hands were gripping your waist as he let out a grunt, trying to steady himself against a shifting tide. He looked up at you, his blue eyes hooded, blown wide with a hunger that melted away the facade of composed lord from the war council.

This was him entirely at your mercy—

You rolled your hips with a fluid, agonizing grace that drew a ragged groan from deep within his chest. You kept your chin tilted high, meeting his lustful gaze with a mocking smile.

“Is this all it takes to render the Lord of Oldtown into submission?” you taunted, your voice trembling slightly with the pleasure of him, though you forced the words out like a dare. “A woman’s touch?”

Ormund’s jaw clenched, a breathless grin on his face. “Since when... have you become so sharp-tongued?”

“Since I realized pretty words are wind and noble lords are fickle liars,” you provoked, leaning forward until your tangled hair brushed his cheek, your breath hot against his ear. “Now, are you content to let me rule your bed just as Highgarden rules over you?”

Crafty little lady. That was his breaking point.

With a low roar, Ormund seized control. He didn’t unseat you—instead, his hands locked onto your hips like iron clamps, guiding your body into a bruising rhythm that completely shattered your cool. He drove up into you with fierce thrusts, proving with every deep stroke just how formidable he truly was.

The smug defiance bled out of you, replaced by needy gasps of pain as he chased your peak, drowned in his carnal dominance until the world blurred into a haze of white-hot heat and mutual ruin.

. . .

When it was over, the heavy silence of the chamber returned, and you woke to find yourself tangled in his arms.

Ormund lay with his eyes shut, his broad, bare chest pressed against you, holding you fast.

His hair was disheveled, his eyelashes were long, and for a moment you saw your first love again, who stood tall amidst the rose gardens.

How is a man well-known for his faith luring you into thinking of sins?

You immediately tried to pull away as your pride demanded that you re-establish your distance. However, when you moved to swing your leg off him, a sudden ache between your thighs made you wince slightly.

Ormund noticed instantly as his eyes fluttered open. He shifted beside you, his voice unusually soft in the dim light. “Are you sore?”

“I am perfectly fine,” you snapped, brushing his arm away as you reached for the sheets to cover yourself, trying to regain a semblance of independence.

You had expected him to either offer an argument or wear that infuriating smirk. He did neither. Instead, he quietly rose from the bed, and you watched him, expecting him to leave you be.

However, a moment later, Ormund returned to the bedside. He gently pulled back the linen sheet and before you could protest, the soothing, comforting heat of a warm towel pressed against your inner thigh, wiping away the slick remnants with tenderness.

You froze, the sharp retort dying in your throat.

His touch was gentle, devoid of the lust from moments ago and completely stripped of the smugness he wore by day.

“Do not coddle me, Ormund,” you croaked, your voice tight as he pressed another clean, warm towel gently over your lower abdomen for comfort, before pulling the sheets over you.

“You ride like a wanton, yet you are far from used to it,” he sighed softly, as if lamenting. “I would have been gentler, if I had known.”

You fell silent as shame coiled in your chest—a mirror of when you were just a young girl vying for his attention only to face the news of his impending wedding to another woman.

But he is taking care of you now, and you have become his lawfully-wedded wife. And in this quiet gesture, a dam broke in your memory— of a young man who draped his coat over your shoulder as you basked amidst the roses of Highgarden.

“You must be cold. Go inside already,” he would say, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

You used to dream of his touch, his love, his everything. It was bittersweet how he was yours now, but you were torn between heartache and a desire to pay him back in full for what he had inflicted on you—the bitter, humiliating pain of not being chosen.

“Must you hate me that much?”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard. Ormund met your gaze with a certain sternness you had rarely seen from him.

“...to the point of hurting yourself?” he went on, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. If you were bold enough, you would presume that it was concern that you saw in his eyes.

Yet… it only made that part of your heart clenched instead.

Why now? Why only after you had hated him enough to last a lifetime? Why only after you had spent nights crying yourself to sleep that he finally turn his eyes on you?

It was so fucking unfair.

“You presume too much, Ormund Hightower.”

Your response was biting cold, yet so soft and whispery. He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

“Rest assured, in this very contractual marriage of ours, I have no intention of feeling anything for you,” you continued, your lips curving into a cruel smile. “Other than with my body.”

To your relief, not a single muscle in his jaw twitched, burying whatever thoughts your words had stirred in him.

He shook his head lightly, finally breaking your gaze, a ghost of a smile returning to his lips, though it never reached his eyes.

“So be it then,” Ormund murmured, his voice dropping to a low baritone that carried no warmth, only the absolute finality. “How regrettable though. One may mistake you as the rose, whereas you have long since become its thorns.”

Without waiting for your answer, he straightened, turning his back on you to dress, leaving you alone in the quiet wreck of the bedsheets.

You have done it. You had ensured that his affection would forever remain beyond your reach.

That may be so, but it did not mean the physical hunger between you regressed in the slightest

You had laid with him a few more times afterwards. Each encounter in his chambers was an exercise in numbing hearts— he took you with a demanding dominance that left you breathless and slick with sweat and pleasuring you as if you were the only woman he worshipped.

Yet, as soon as the sun rose, Ormund was back to his cynical self, his crooked smile and calculating gaze ever keen on you. He kept you at an arm’s length though since that night, strutting through the halls of the Hightower as the proud lord he was.

You truly believed you could kill that fragile part of your heart that still yearned for him, matching his coldness with your own pride.

Until the turn of the moon, at least.

“My lady... this is strange.”

The pale morning light filtered through the arched windows of your solar as your maid, Ellyn, tugged firmly at the laces of your corset. You stood before the tall silver mirror, waiting to be cinched into your dress.

“What is?” you asked, feeling how her fingers slipped on the laces.

Her hands smoothed over the small of your back as she tried once more to force the edges of the bodice together. “The laces simply won’t meet. It is as though it has shrunk.”

“Do not be foolish. Pull harder.”

“I am pulling, my lady, but...”

Ellyn hesitated, her eyes shifting to your reflection. Slowly, a realization dawned to her as she stepped to the side. “Oh, my...”

You looked at your reflection then, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

There, beneath the unlaced corset, your normally slender waist held an unmistakable curve—a slight protrusion in your belly that had not been there a moon ago.

“Bless the Mother,” Ellyn whispered, her hands dropping away as a smile broke across her face, entirely unaware of how your breath had caught in your throat. She beamed at you, asking:

“My lady... your courses— when did you last bleed?”

. . .

“We will march for Tumbleton.”

You were pulled from your daze at the dining hall when Ormund’s voice broke your thoughts.

“You, however, are to remain in Oldtown,” he continued, adjusting the signet ring on his finger. “You know the city and the ledgers. I need a steady hand to rule it in my stead.”

His words passed by at first.

“I’m bringing my ward Daeron and his beast. I have also arranged for the merchant boy to have his hair dyed to stand in his place—”

“A double?” you asked, almost in disbelief. “If anyone notices the deception—”

“They won’t,” Ormund interrupted smoothly, a cold smile touching his lips. “People see what they expect to see. Silver hair, a fine cloth, and the right escort would do to make one a prince. It keeps the boy safe, and more importantly, it keeps our leverage intact. I’d wager sooner or later they’re going to demand his head.”

It was this exact cunning that had captivated you. He was a man who saw the board three moves ahead, possessing an intellect forged for the cruelties of war. The fact that your child would have him as father brought a wave of reassurance, somehow.

But at the same time, dread creeped in— with the news of his departure, the secret beneath your skirts suddenly felt twice as heavy.

Ormund paused, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught the hollow look in your eyes. His lips crooked.

“No counsel to give? You already wear the expression of a widow grieving a husband lost to the war.”

The barb pierced through your fog, sparking a sudden flash of ire as you gave him a look. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“That’s more like it.” He rose from his seat with a low chuckle. He didn’t see the ghost that seemed to settle over you, nor the way your hand instinctively wanted to press against the fabric of your skirts.

There were barely two days before his banners moved out, and somehow you didn’t have it in you to let him go without any parting words.

“May the Seven guide your path.”

The hollow blessing tasted like ash in your mouth, but it caught his attention. Ormund paused and turned back to face you.

However, there was no warmth in his expression—only an expressionless stare that bore straight through your soul.

“I thank Her Ladyship for her blessing,” he said, his voice dropping into a formal cadence. “Though I find it unnecessary.”

Three weeks had passed since then, and even the air in Oldtown was thick with the apprehension of war.

With Ormund riding out to lead his host, the governing of the city fell upon your shoulders. While it was your first time doing so, you found that you possessed the head and patience for it.

And thankfully, it kept you busy enough to keep the ghost of him out of your thoughts.

Yet at the same time, unbeknownst to you, your devotion to the city made you a conspicuous target.

It happened on a gray morning while you were overseeing the distribution of rice near the harbor. Before your household guards could even draw their steel, men in dark cloaks had surrounded you and cut down the soldier closest to you—

“Lay down your swords!” you screamed, trembling as the smallfolk were sent into a cries of horror after the man’s blood splattered across the cobblestones.

The crowd erupted into a panicked frenzy, scattering like birds before a hawk. Your remaining guards hesitated, their blades shaking in their hands as the cloaked men closed the circle around you.

From the shadows of the docks, a man stepped forward. He wore a dun-colored cloak, his brigandine bore the banners of Targaryen black and red. Men loyal to the Queen Rhaenyra.

“Yes, yes...” the leader sneered, his voice cutting through the screams of the fleeing smallfolk. “Tell them to keep their steel sheathed, Lady Hightower, or we will turn these docks into a slaughterhouse.”

“You dare bring violence to Oldtown?” you demanded, your voice finding its steel despite the frantic pounding of your heart. “Lord Ormund will have your heads on spikes before the moon turns.”

The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Oh don’t you know, my lady? Lord Ormund bit off more than he could chew. Even as we speak, he lies dying in a pool of his own blood in Tumbleton.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath your feet, leaving you hollowed out by an icy shock. Without thinking, your hand flew to your abdomen, your fingers pressing firmly against your velvet gown, trying to find something to hold.

Dying. The word echoed in your mind like a funeral knell. The fortress of ice you had built to protect your heart shattered. For all your vows of indifference, the thought of him bleeding into the dirt tore a jagged wound through your chest.

Your captain of the guards stepped in front of you, his sword raised. “My lady, we can take them. Run for the gates!”

“If a single blade is drawn, my men will cut these peasants,” the leader warned. “We will burn these docks, and every innocent soul on them will die because of your pride. Come with us quietly, or watch Oldtown bleed.”

You looked at the terrified faces of the very people you had spent weeks watching— the women holding their children close, the old men trembling behind the grain carts.

For years, Ormund had protected them as their lord. Even if he is now— No matter how, you couldn’t let his city fall.

You placed a firm hand on your captain’s arm , forcing his blade down. “Lower your sword,” you commanded quietly.

“But my lady—!”

“I said, lower it.” You stepped past him, lifting your chin, refusing to let these dogs see you tremble. Looking at the leader in the eye, you spat, “I will go with you. Spare the city, and let these people go.”

He gave a mocking bow. “A noble choice, Lady Hightower. The realm will remember your piety.”

A rough hand seized your arm, dragging you towards a waiting carriage. The smallfolk of Oldtown wept aloud as they watched their lady—the sweet rose who had looked after them these past few weeks—spirited away into a cage.

Only when the heavy door slammed shut and the iron bolt clicked into place did the stark reality finally crash over you.

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you cradled your belly and struggled to breathe under the crushing weight of the very possibility that the man you had once again fallen in love with might well be dead.

There were many things, in truth, that Ormund favored in you.

You always smelled of sweet roses— out of everything, that was probably what he liked the most.

The vast gardens of Highgarden suited you, and he remembered the girl you used to be, the one who had been too timid to look him in the eye at first, but who had beautifully worked herself up to be able to do so.

He knew of your affections— he has always known. It flattered him, though none but himself and the Gods would ever know that he, too, harbored a quiet fondness for the innocent Lady Tyrell.

His little rose. In truth, he had believed that someone so young and sweet as you shouldn’t be bound to a man like him. His late wife—rest her soul, for he had been fond of her too, though it was never a blind, consuming love—had been different. She had been compliant, and more than ready to submit herself to her wifely duties, and she was who he needed when he first took on the mantle of the Lord of Oldtown.

The Gods are cruel, as all men know, especially when his dutiful wife died in a tragedy and he had to turn to House Tyrell to aid his house in its conquest for the throne— only to find you, his rose, still very much beautiful and unwed.

However, that sweet rose has grown thorns. So sharp the thorns that he has almost forgotten how soft the petals are.

You no longer stuttered and conducted yourself with pride that both vexed and captivated him. In the beginning, he had been intrigued by the woman you had become because he was convinced that the gentle little lady of his memories was still there, waiting to be coaxed out.

That was why on the day he took you to his bed and realized the truth—that you were merely performing and he had been anything but gentle—he drew the line.

But you merely looked at him with eyes as cold as winter.

“Rest assured, in this very contractual marriage of ours, I have no intention of feeling anything for you.”

Every time those words echoed in his mind, it felt as though a dagger were piercing his lungs.

. . .

“Lord Ormund! My lord! Thank the Gods you’re back!”

Tumbleton had been a bloodbath, and he barely survived it himself—a blade having pierced his armor and a hair’s breadth from his heart. But the market city had fallen, the Blacks had been broken there with the betrayals of two of their own dragonriders, and in the grand game of thrones, that was all that truly mattered.

However, the moment he stepped his foot back at Oldtown after six weeks, the atmosphere in his own home were grim— his household servants were openly relieved, some almost weeping, as if he was a ghost returned from the grave.

“They told us you were dead, my lord,” the head guard told him somberly. “We thought all was lost.”

“A blatant lie made to weaken our morale,” Ormund hissed, his hand dropping to the pommel of his sword as his wound ached. “Tumbleton has fallen, and I’m far from the grave.”

Still, he sensed something dreadful had occurred by how mournful the maidservants were—

“My lord!”

Before Ormund could demand what had happened in his absence, a shrill voice cut through. Ellyn, your faithful handmaiden, pushed past the other servants, her eyes were red-rimmed from days of crying.

She fell to her knees, clutching desperately at the hem of his traveling cloak.

“You must help her, Lord Ormund! You must bring her back!”

A cold knot of dread coiled in his stomach. He looked down at the trembling girl, his brow furrowing deeply.

And the words she uttered next, as she looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks, made his blood run colder than when he saw dragons burning Tumbleton.

“The lady! Three weeks ago, while the city was fooled by the news of your death, the false queen’s men took her away!”

They had taken you to Tumbleton.

The market city was ravaged beyond repair. For three weeks now, they had held you hostage in a makeshift holdfast. They gave you barely enough bread and water to keep you alive, and as the days bled together, your hope withered to nothing.

Your unborn child, who grew heavier by the day beneath your heart, was the only thing left to give you the strength to survive this madness.

And as if your situation weren’t desperate enough, through the timber door of your cell, the muffled voices of your captors reached your ears. They were conversing in frantic, hushed tones.

“The smallfolk are rioting in King’s Landing. They’re storming the Dragonpit. The Queen is fleeing!”

“Then what of us? What of the woman?” another rasped.

“Leave her. If the Hightowers find us here, they’ll flay us alive. Set the fire. Let the ashes cover our tracks.”

Alarmed and struck by a sudden, feral terror, you flung yourself against the door.

“Let me out!” You screamed for help, your voice raw, hitting the wood until your knuckles bled.

But the only response was a thud, followed by the crackling of fire and pitch. Smoke and heat began to seep through, as the chamber was slowly being consumed. You were trapped.

Realizing you would soon meet your demise, the strength left your legs, and you collapsed into the dirt, trembling with tears.

I would die, Ormund already did, and I have never told him.

You bitterly regretted never telling him that you were with his child.

As the heat grew unbearable, your mind drifted away to the sun-drenched rose gardens of your home, where you and Ormund Hightower had first met.

He is devilishly handsome and gentle. Your first love who had broken your heart once, but still owns it to this very day, when you would breath your last.

The black smoke filled your lungs, choking the breath from your throat. Your vision began to tunnel, the edges of the room blurring into darkness as you surrenderred to the Stranger.

Then, through the flames, a sudden, violent crash echoed— the sharp ring of steel slicing through. Through your fading, tear-blurred sight, a figure burst through the burning doorway.

You could have sworn you saw the shimmering edge of Vigilance cleaving through the smoke, its blade gleaming. That was the Valyrian steel your husband wielded.

Was it a cruel figment of your dying imagination?

But then, the heat of the fire was eclipsed by the fierce, solid weight of heavy arms wrapping around you, lifting you from the ground. And right against your ear, came a trembling voice you recognized:

“I have you,” Ormund whispered, his voice cracking with a raw emotion you had never heard from him before.

“Hold on to me. I have you, dearest.”

The next time you awoke, you were in his bedchambers in the Hightower.

The suffocating stench of smoke and pitch was gone, replaced by the familiar, comforting scent of the crisp sea breeze blowing off the Whispering Sound. The moment your eyes fluttered open, you saw him.

He was staring down at you, his dark eyes ringed with exhaustion, but shadowed with a profound relief. He was only in a loose linen tunic that showed the bandages wrapping his chest.

“Ormund...?” your voice was a broken rasp. You reached out a trembling hand, terrified your fingers would pass right through him. “Are you... are you truly here? T-they told me you were slain—”

His eyes softened, and he smiled. Not the crooked one or a smirk, but the sincere, tender smile you had fallen in love with ten years ago.

“I’m here,” he assured, his deep voice and scent wrapping around you as he took hold of your hand.

Your first tear fell, and your voice broke into a sob then. Ormund pulled you gently but fiercely into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin, and you clung to him, burying your head into his chest, weeping for the horror you had survived and the miracle of his embrace.

Slowly, he pulled away. His hand moved from your hair to cup your jaw, tilting your face up. The sorrow in his eyes flared into something primal— and he pressed his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

He drank you in as if you were the only life-giving water in a world reduced to ash, and you kissed him back with everything you had left. You had the man you loved returned to you, and he had the sweet rose he cherished safe in his arms.

When he finally pulled away, both of your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The tender silence stretched between you, but then Ormund’s gaze drifted downwards.

His large, warm palm rested against your belly, a knowing look in his blue eyes.

“Must you hide so many things from me?” he asked softly, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart skip.

“I... I was—”

“Would you continue to do so if I told you that now, it is you who holds my entire heart and soul in the palm of your hand?”

You didn’t even dare to blink, and he held your gaze and a bittersweet smile touched his lips.

“I have always longed for that lady amidst the field of roses,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a rough, impassioned whisper. “Even though she knows nothing of it, even though I know she is too pretty for the likes of me, and even though I have broken her heart... I still selfishly wished I could have her for myself.”

“Ormund...” Your lips wobbled, ingesting every word as the tears pooled fresh in your eyes.

“So know that even if roses bear thorns,” he continued, his thumb brushing a fallen tear from your cheek. “I would gladly suffer a thousand cuts from now on, so long as I am the only one who gets to hold you.”

That was everything you needed to hear. You surrendered yourself to his embrace again, letting him kiss the crown of your head.

Dragons might continue to dance and the kingdoms would burn, but in that fleeting moment within the walls of the Hightower, the bloodstained game of thrones ceased to matter—

He had barely just registered the clicking sound through the budge, but before he could even unsheath his knife, he was already seeing multiple strange creatures lunging for him. They were fast, with segmented limbs and jaws meant for crushing bone. They were the creatures who could swallow an adult Na’vi whole that his father’s scouts had warned them about.

Neteyam cursed under his breath. Unarmed save for his hunting knife, he ducked beneath a snapping jaw, grabbed a fallen, heavy branch and swung with all the force he could muster. The wood hit the creature with a crack, sending it flying yards away into the underbrush. But three more took its place, circling him, eyes gleaming with hunger.

Then, a familiar sound sliced through the chaos. An arrow pierced the eye of the creature, making it collapse instantly.

Neteyam blinked, snapping his head toward the ridge. Emerging from the mist was a rider on a direhorse, shrouded in a dark, heavy cloak. The figure moved with a fluid grace, guiding the mount while drawing another arrow. Two more of the beasts dropped.

When the remaining creatures swarmed, the rider drove the direhorse straight into the fray. As the animal leapt on a fallen log, the rider leaned off the side, pulling a blade and in one seamless motion, they sliced the throat of a leaping beast before landing perfectly back on the mount.

Neteyam stood frozen, a rare awe washing over him. The archery was flawless, the knife-work lethal, and the horsemanship... he had never seen anyone, not even the finest Omatikaya hunters, shoot a moving target from a galloping direhorse with that kind of precision.

The last of the beasts scattered into the jungle and he heard an anguished sound escape the rider. He immediately stepped forward, raising a hand in peace, his eyes locked on the rider’s back. “Warrior,” he began, his voice deep and breathless. “Thank you. I have never seen—”

“Do not thank me,” a voice hissed from beneath the hood. It was sharp, fierce, and distinctly female. “Do not wander around these lands again.”

Before Neteyam could even speak again, she wheeled her direhorse around and with a sharp kick, the beast galloped into the thick fog, leaving Neteyam standing by the waterfall, completely captivated by the ghost who had just saved his life.

As he watched the silhouette of the direhorse fade, the urge to give chase came both suddenly and too late. He wished he had brought his direhorse with him when he wandered... He tilted his head. Why? What will you do? he asked himself. He knew the answer. He would have followed her.

You took a sharp turn, pulling your direhorse’s reins to a full stop before you quickly dismounted. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs from what you thought would be an uneventful patrol. You had wounded and killed many creatures, though deadly and ferocious, they were still creations of the Great Mother.

You couldn’t help but look at the path leading back to where it happened, remembering how the man had called you warrior. It felt like a title stolen from a forbidden dream. No woman in your clan had ever been called one, for no woman was allowed to be. Your people placed a great belief in their men, taking pride in the fact that your clan had only ever produced male warriors and hunters, and how they protected the people from the horrors of the forest.

The wet leaves brushed against your shins as you led your direhorse to a hidden clearing, the silence of the forest doing little to calm your racing thoughts. If your father or mother ever discovered what you had done today, that you had picked up a bow or spilled blood, you didn't know what would happen to you.

In your clan, women were only ever allowed to be healers, cooks, weavers, wives, and mothers. These were sacred duties, and the elders firmly believed that such roles should never be tainted by blood and violence. You sighed heavily, quickly shoving your longbow and quiver into a hollowed-out tree trunk, covering it with ferns. You were pulling at the hood of your cloak when you heard leaves cracking behind you.

“You're late,” a voice sounded urgently.

You spun around to see Tarkul stepping out from the shadows. Your best friend, the clan’s youngest marksman and the only man who looked at you and saw a peer instead of a prize, looked pale. His eyes were wide with anxiety.

“Tarkul? What is it? I just did a patrol—”

“You need to leave. Right now,” Tarkul interrupted, grabbing your shoulders. “Your father... I overheard them. The Omatikaya are coming today—”

“I know that. Father told us to prepare,” you said.

“Yes, yes, they will come, but it wasn’t just for a regular treaty between alliances. Y/N, he has pledged you.”

Your head tilted back in surprise. “Pledged how?”

“He offered you to the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. That Neteyam,” Tarkul spat the name, his grip tightening. “An alliance sealed on your sacrifice. Your father is giving you away like property to ensure the Omatikaya’s loyalty. Your father’s warriors are already looking for you to prepare you for the arrival.”

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your chest. Your father had spent your entire life treating you and your sisters like a curse. A disappointment because you weren't sons to carry on his warrior lineage. And now, he was using you as a political pawn, reducing you to a broodmare for a strong alliance.

“No,” you whispered, fury igniting in your veins. “No! I will not let him do this. I am not a prize to be traded!”

“Then we run,” Tarkul said, stepping back and whistling for his direhorse. “We’ll go east. They won't find us.”

You scrambled onto your direhorse, your mind a blur of rebellion and fear. You tore through the underbrush with Tarkul right beside you, heading for the boundary line. Freedom was just past the tree line when a familiar sound sliced through the thick morning air.

A whistle of an arrow and Tarkul cried out as a blunt-tipped slammed into his shoulder, knocking him clean off his mount.

“Tarkul!” you screamed, pulling back hard on the reins.

Before you could dismount, four of your father’s elite warriors emerged from the canopy, their spears leveled at you. Their faces were grim, devoid of sympathy.

“The Olo'eyktan demands your presence,” the lead warrior said coldly. “Do not make this more dishonorable than you already have.”

You were dragged back to the village in tears, screaming at them to leave Tarkul alone. In the communal longhouse, your father stood like a statue of stone. He had never looked at you with wamrth, but the stern disappointment on his face as he lectured you about duty, the survival of the clan, and honor still felt like whips on your skin. To him, your tears were just a childish tantrum.

The transition between his scolding to your mother and her ladies moving around you in a flurry of hushed, anxious whispers felt like a nightmare blurring into reality. They bathed you in heavy, floral-scented water that smelled of sweet orchids. They brushed out your long hair, braiding the sides intricately but leaving the rest to fall in a sleek, beautiful half-up ponytail.

They dressed you in the finest loincloth and a matching top made of delicate beads. You felt exposed. Naked. Stripped of the cloak and weapons that made you feel safe.

“He is a great warrior, daughter,” your mother murmured, trying to soothe you as she adjusted the choker around your throat. “They say this Neteyam helped his parents take down the sky people when he was just a boy. He is disciplined. Respectful.”

You kept your gaze locked on the floor, your jaw clenched. You didn't care about his prowess. You hated him on principle.

“And his mother,” one of elder women whispered in awe. “Neytiri. She is a warror who rode into battle alongside her mate, Toruk Makto.”

That detail struck a chord deep inside you. A female warrior. A woman allowed to bleed and fight for her people, recognized by Toruk Makto himself as an equal. A bitter spark of hope flared in your chest, only to be crushed by the reality of your own situation.

“What an accomplished family, then,” your eyes snapped up to your mother. “You’re expecting a man raised by Toruk Makto and his warrior wife to look at our clan, a clan that doesn’t even allow its women to hold a knife; to look at me... and see a mate? Father said he has rejected every other chieftain's daughter before this.”

Your mother’s eyes hardened at the same time the older women around her froze at your boldness. “You are a proficient healer and weaver, daughter. Do not underestimate our clan,” she said in a hiss.

So, not his equal, your brow raised in a protest you chose not to voice out.

A horn blew at the entrance of the village, signalling that the guests had arrived.

Your mother took your trembling hands, her eyes pleading. “Smile, my daughter. Walk with dignity.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding slowly. You stepped out of the tent, walking a few paces behind your father as he went to greet the legendary Jake Sully.

As the Omatikaya delegation walked into the central clearing, your eyes scanned the crowd. There was Toruk Makto, and beside him, his fierce mate, Neytiri. And right behind them walked their eldest son.

Your breath hitched.

The initial shock threatened to paralyze you. Your fingers dug into your palm, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. It was him. The reckless, broad-shouldered warrior who had nearly been swallowed whole by the forest's demons. His long braids and cummerbund were now flawless, as though he had not faced a grave morning.

As the Omatikaya delegation drew closer, you forced your features into a mask of perfect, passive composure. You lowered your chin, casting your gaze downward just as the women of your clan were taught to do. You were sure he didn’t see your face, because if he recognized you, everything would be forfeit. You are not certain what they would have done to Tarkul, the person who taught you everything you know.

Neteyam’s eyes swept over the welcoming committee, lingering on you. Jake had told him beforehand that the Olo’eyktan of this clan had also pledged his daughter to him, and although he’d had enough of all these unnecessary offerings of maiden daughters simply for alliances, he found himself thinking that he might actually entertain this outdated idea if this was the lady.

He waited for you to lift your eyes up, but your head remained bowed, the image of a delicate, heavily beaded prize meant to seal a treaty. A faint feeling of disappointment flickered across his regal face, and he fell into step behind his parents, his posture rigid and distant as they walked past to finally greet your father and mother.

Finally, you lifted your head a little, only to train your sharp eyes on his broad back. Good, you thought triumphantly. Be disappointed.

The welcoming feast in the communal longhouse was a suffocating affair. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, sweet root brews, and the underlying tension of two vastly different cultures trying to find common ground.

You sat precisely where your father had commanded: a step below him, off to the side, acting as the perfect daughter. You kept your shoulders hunched, your hands folded neatly in your lap, and your eyes trained strictly on the woven mat beneath you. You played the part of the timid, submissive maiden to perfection. You wanted to ick him. You wanted this celebrated warrior to find you so utterly dull, so hopelessly meek, that he would do what he had done to every other chieftain's daughter before you: refuse the match.

Across the fire, Neteyam sat beside his mother, Neytiri. He was polite, offering respectful nods to your father’s boasts, but his energy was entirely checked out. During a lull in the drumming, you allowed yourself a single, brief moment of weakness. You peered through the thick fringe of your lashes, tracking the movement of his hands.

Neteyam was lifting a carved cup of brew to his lips. But he wasn't looking at his drink. His intense gaze was locked entirely on you. A heavy, consuming stare of a hunter tracking each and every move the prey does. It was a man’s look, raw and focused, and to your utter fury, you didn't feel degraded by it. Instead, a sudden, treacherous spark of excitement flared deep in your belly, the thrilling realization that despite your best efforts to be as dull as you could, you had his undivided attention.

Annoyed at yourself, your perfect act slipped.

Your jaw clenched and you leveled a sharp glare straight at him, smoothly rolling your eyes before snapping your gaze back down to your untouched food. Across the fire, Neteyam choked slightly on his brew. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, a sudden smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the realization that timid little ikran still had talons after all. He put his cup of brew down as he watched you slip back into your perfectly meek facade.

The traditional flutes began to play, signaling a time for the young people to mingle. You moved to stand up, and your eyes snapped up in front of when you saw the large figure moving to stand up, too. Your eyes locked with his, and for some reason, you couldn't take your eyes off as he rounded the fire to get to you.

You blinked when he was standing just a few feet away, coming to a sudden awareness of how large and tall he actually was. His hand reached out, his expression a maddening mix of formal politeness and hidden amusement. You clenched your teeth, feining a tremor before you looked fearfully at your father, who was already watching breathlessly. He gave you a firm, approving nod, and you placed your hand in Neteyam's.

As he led you to the edge of the clearing where the other youth were swaying, you purposely stumbled, letting your steps be clumsy and uncoordinated. “I apologize, formal dances are... not my strength,” you whispered, pitching your voice to sound soft and fragile.

“It is quite alright,” Neteyam said, his grip on your waist firm and steady, easily correcting your forced clumsiness. “The feast is grand. Your people make a strong brew. Though, I find the forest outside your walls far more interesting.”

You stiffened slightly. “Oh?”

“Yes. It is full of... strange, ferocious creatures,” Neteyam continued, his voice dropping to a low, conversational tone as he maneuvered you through the crowd. “I ran into a pack of them near the waterfalls this morning. Miserable things. Many legs. Very fast.”

You couldn't help yourself. The hunter in you took the bait before your mind could stop it. “Those were Agtik,” you said, your voice losing its timid edge as your wide eyes looked up at his. “They don't hunt in packs unless their head is wounded. And they are apex predators. If you hit them in the hide, your arrow will just bounce off. You have to strike the eyes, or beneath the throat where the thick plates separate.”

Neteyam stopped dancing. He stared down at you, his golden eyes burning with an intense focus, and you froze, realizing you had spoken far too much.

“Is that so?” he murmured, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as his fingers caressed the calluses on your fingers. “You seem to know a great deal about killing them...”

You quickly tore your hand from his, dropping your head back down. “I... I only know what the hunters say,” you lied breathlessly, stepping back into the crowd before he could press further.

The next morning, your mother burst into your sleeping alcove, her face flushed with excitement before the morning light even showed it. “Daughter... A betrothal has been struck. Neteyam has accepted the union. He wishes for you to return to the Omatikaya with them.”

You sat up in your woven sleeping mat, stunned. “What?!” you snapped carelessly, surprising your mother. You calmed down immediately. “That’s great...” you forced yourself to smile.

“I think he liked you last night, daughter. You were so prim and proper, a true woman of our lineage. You make me and your father proud, sweetheart,” she caressed your cheek.

You swallowed the dryness of your throat. You don't know what the man’s plan was... But he definitely didn’t like you because you were prim and proper. You looked down at your hands, hiding the calluses born from years of archery practice. Your initial shock had now faded, and a cold, calculating wave of relief washed over you. The Omatikaya. You’ve heard of their ways. In their clan, women were warriors. Neytiri rode into battle. If you went with them, you wouldn't have to hide in the shadows at dawn anymore. You could wield your bow. You could finally exist as more than what you were raised to be.

With newfound urgency, you helped your mother and sisters pack your things. When your mother turned her back, you swiftly retrieved your hidden longbow and quiver from where you had smuggled them into the yurt. You bound them tightly within your dark, heavy cloak, burying them at the absolute bottom of your deep leather travel box beneath layers of woven garments.

“I need to see Tarkul before we leave,” you muttered, heading for the exit.

“You are not permitted near the holding area,” your younger sister sneered, stepping into the yurt with her arms crossed, her eyes flashing with venom. “You should stop trying to see your lover. You are betrothed to the son of Toruk Makto now.”

“Tarkul is not my lover!” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

“Please. You were going to run away with him yesterday,” she mocked, stepping closer. “If you hate this arrangement so much, why don't you just tell Father and back out? I can always replace you. I would gladly take your place beside Neteyam.”

“Armem, hold your tongue!” your mother’s voice barked from the entrance, sharp and commanding. “Neteyam agreed to this alliance because of Y/N. He would not accept a replacement if she backed out, and your father’s treaty would fall to ash.”

Armem huffed disdainfully, crossing her arms tighter. “Fine. But she was still ready to flee with another man. Who is to say she is even pure anymore? The Omatikaya might find they are receiving spoiled goods—”

“Armem!” your mother snapped, glaring at your sister.

“Do not speak of such nonsense,” you said coldly, staring your sister down. “Tarkul is a good friend of mine and I would not have you taint our friendship with your dirty mind.”

At dawn the next day, the Omatikaya delegation prepared to depart. You were allowed to ride your direhorse, your leather box secured to the pack beast behind you. Your parents stood at the gates of the village, offering stiff, formal nods of farewell, promising they would come for final mating ceremonies.

You didn't look back. You are leaving this clan, and those who believe in its sick ways can have the scraps that are left behind. You nudged your direhorse forward, and as the procession moved into the deep forest, a shadow fell alongside your mount. You looked up to see Neteyam riding his own direhorse beside yours. He looked at you, then down at the bulky, heavily wrapped leather box trailing behind you, a faint, amused glint in his golden eyes.

“Nice mount,“ he said jn a voice low enough so the others couldn't hear. “A lot of luggage, too, for a healer.”

You kept your eyes locked on the trail ahead, a small, defiant smirk playing on your lips. “A good healer always brings her most valuable tools, warrior.”

The journey to the Omatikaya territory took two days at most, a winding trek through ancient, massive trees that grew taller and wider than any you had ever seen in your home forest. When the delegation finally stopped in front of the largest tree you had laid your eyes on, you could barely breathe. Your lips parted as you looked up to its vast canopy.

“This is beautiful...” you murmured, craning your head to see all the huts perched on its thick branches.

“Do you have a fear of heights?” you heard a deep baritone speak and your head snapped to look at Neteyam.

He had already dismounted his direhorse and was now looking at you, his hand lazily holding his chest knife sheath. His head tilted as his eyes scanned your form on your mount before they settled on the beast. In the eyes of an outsider, like Jake and Neytiri who were now watching their son look at you as if you were the most interesting person in the bunch, this was just Neteyam staring.

But to you, it felt like he was trying to figure out where he had seen this beast. You quickly dismounted your direhorse, caressing its back as you cooed at it. “Are you excited to rest, boy? It was a long trek, I know, and you’ve gotten to rest some, but you’ve never travelled as far, haven’t you?”

Neteyam's head tilted slightly lower, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he watched your interaction with the beast. “He looks sturdy enough,” he noted, his deep voice laced with amusement. “You didn't answer my question. Are you afraid of heights? Hometree is a long way up.”

“I think I can manage,” you replied softly, peering up at him through your lashes with a quick glance.

Before Neteyam could press further, Jake and Neytiri approached. Jake’s sharp eyes darted between you and the direhorse, before he gave you a welcoming nod.

“Welcome to the Omatikaya,” Jake said, his voice grounded. “It has been a long journey. Your mount will be tended to and Neteyam will show you where you can rest.”

Neytiri stayed silent, but her piercing gaze lingered on you, evaluating the way you carried yourself. She was not one to doubt her children’s decisions, especially those of her eldest son’s, but she believed that Neteyam was deciding too prematurely on this union. There were previous matches made that suited her son better... The daughters whose parents had fought alongside them during the Great War, and daughters of clans with excellent reputations.

She didn’t want to judge you based on your parents or your clan, but she thought it a bold proposition when your father pledged a daughter to her son. In all honesty, your father was at the losing end of this alliance. Your clan was the one that needed allies against aggressive clans who might challenge your strength, and your people had very little military power, given that your clan only trains men to be warriors and hunters.

She had never expected her son to agree to this, and though she saw great beauty in you, she did not think that was reason enough for him to make such a choice.

Neytiri’s scrutiny did not escape you. You have felt it even on the night of the feast, have seen it in her eyes whenever she watches you... And the weight of it felt heavy enough to compress the air in your lungs. Now that she was looking again, you offered a respectful dip of your head, but Neytiri merely nod her head slightly before turning her shoulder, her long woven cloak swaying behind her as she stepped up onto the massive roots of Hometree.

“Do not let my mother's stare unnerve you,” Neteyam murmured, stepping into your personal space so seamlessly that his tail brushed lightly against your hip.

“What stare, warrior?” you mumbled, looking at him with a schooled face.

You do not wish to acknowledge Neytiri’s apparent dislike of you. You are going to earn your place even if she looks at you as if I have already failed a test. You know you haven’t really failed yet, because if she truly disapproved, you wouldn't even be standing here right now.

Neteyam shook his head, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “Come, then. Let’s see what you can manage.”

You pushed your lips forward, matching his pace as everyone began the long, winding ascent into the heart of the great tree. Up ahead, Jake paused on a wide branch platform, looking back down at the two of you with a knowing understanding. He, better than anyone, knew what it was like to be an outsider standing under the heavy judgment of the people.

As you rounded the final bend of the spiral pathway, the quiet atmosphere of the lower trunks gave way to sudden burst of light and noise. Your lips parted as your eyes wandered around the surrounding kelku structures and the sheer scale of the place took your breath away again. It was vast, so open and vibrant that it was a staggering contrast to the dim, claustrophobic atmosphere of your birth clan.

Dozens of people paused in their daily routines, their eyes instantly locking onto you. A heavy murmur rippled through the crowd and it was obvious that they know what you came here for.

“Neteyam!” a high-pitched voice squealed.

Before you could fully process everything you are seeing, a blur of energy came hurtling down a nearby woven walkway. A little girl crashed straight into Neteyam’s side, wrapping her small arms around his waist. “You're back!” the girl cheered, her bright eyes quickly darting up to look at you with unabashed curiosity. “Is this her? Did you finally choose a wife?!”

Neteyam’s ears twitched with slight embarrassment as he gently pried his little sister off his hip, placing a grounding hand on her shoulder. “Tuk, mind your manners. She is our guest.”

He introduced you to the little girl who had a bright smile for you, and suddenly, you felt the welcoming warmth you didn’t know you were looking for. Tuk walked with you two when Neteyam led you to the small kelku you were assigned, it was tucked into a quiet, upper tier of the village.

As you settled in over the next few days, you quickly realized that your new betrothed was an incredibly important figure here. Neteyam, as the Olo'eyktan's firstborn, was also his father's second-in-command, deeply involved in the daily strategy, security, and leadership of the clan.

Honestly, you secretly celebrated this fact. You figured his high status meant he would be far too busy to pay much attention to you, leaving you plenty of free time to slip away, unpack your hidden longbow, and explore the surrounding wilderness on your own.

You were wrong.

Before the sun had even fully risen on your third morning, you pulled back the woven flap to find Neteyam standing there, the early dawn light catching the beads in his long braids.

Your brows furrowed. “What are you... doing here?” you started your question hard, but catching yourself, you quickly softened your voice.

“I came to show you around,” he told you, his voice low and his eyes holding that same perceptive, curious glint from the feast, causing your cheeks to burn unbidden.

The crease on your forehead deepened, once again annoyed at your reaction to him. You couldn't find a reason to say no, and frankly, you were eager to see the layout of the village. As he led you through the pathways, he dutifully showed you the areas where the weavers worked their intricate looms, the communal hearths where the cooks prepared the daily catch, and the shaded pavillions of the healers. You played your part, nodding submissively and murmuring soft, polite words of appreciation.

But your true nature betrayed you when he led you past the training grounds.

You froze, your eyes widening in absolute awe. In the center of the clearing, young girls were standing in neat rows, laughing and competing as they drew bows and aimed at distant targets. Further back, older women warriors, some scarred from battle, were casually conversing with male hunters, checking their gear as equals before setting out on a scout.

You stared, your breath catching in your throat. It was a sight stolen directly from your wildest, forbidden dreams.

Neteyam paused, watching your face carefully. He didn't miss the way your jaw slackened, or how your fingers twitched at your side, instinctively mimicking the grip of a bowstring. His head tilted, a quiet, knowing smile tugged at his lips, but he said nothing, and when you turned to him, your talons subtly showed with your furrowed brows and sharp gaze, pretending you were not that amazed to the reality of a world where women were allowed to fight.

The days bled into one another until the day of the mating ceremony arrived. True to their word, your parents and a small entourage from your clan arrived, their faces proud and grim, and somehow, you felt ashamed at this. You know, that for the Omatikaya, this match felt less like a joining of two proud people and more like a political rescue mission. Neteyam was a prize, the future Olo'eyktan of a legendary clan who fought and defeated the demons who tried to seize Eywa’eveng for themselves.

And your father merely offered you up to secure a shield of Omatikaya warriors for his vulnerable borders. It was a cause of wonder why Neteyam agreed at all. Even you don’t understand.

The ceremony took place deep within the glow of the Tree of Souls. Even their sacred tree was breathtaking, its luminous, cascading tendrils rivaling the ancient, holy tree of your own homeland. The Omatikaya people gathered in a massive circle, their voices rising in a powerful, harmonic chant alongside the drums and flutes.

You were dressed in the finest Omatikaya fibers, your torso adorned with a stunning, intricately beaded top made of iridescent beads. Your long hair had been styled into a complex array of braids that cascaded down your back. As the chanting reached its peak, you and Neteyam knelt together beneath the glowing tendrils of the tree.

Neteyam turned to you. His large, warm hand reached out to gently cup your jawline. He leaned in, his forehead pressing firmly against yours in a quiet act of intimacy that seemed to shut out the noise around you two. His other hand reached for his kuru, bringing it forward and you did the same. He didn't waste another second to intertwine your kuru with his, as though he had no hesitation at all. Your entire body jolted. A sudden, overwhelming surge of raw energy and emotion flooded your consciousness as your body, mind, and soul  locked into a deep, profound bond.

It was a sensory overload. There were visions, feelings, and memories rushing between you like a bursting dam.

Through the bond, you caught a sudden glimpse of his past. You felt the crushing weight of his responsibilities, the fierce love he had for his family, and the desperate, bloody battles against the sky demons. But then, a sharp, cold spike of terror and pain ripped through the connection.

You saw a flash of yellow light, heard the deafening screams of Neytiri, and felt the agonizing sensation of a bullet tearing through his chest.

He had nearly died.

Your eyes snapped open, your breath escaping you in a sharp, panicked huff. Blinded by a sudden, fierce protectiveness you didn't fully understand, your hand flew to his bare chest, your palm pressing flat against the scar on the left part of his chest.

Neteyam's eyes opened, burning darkly as he gazed down at your hand on his chest. He felt the sudden spike of your fear through the bond and somehow, he had forgotten what he felt during that moment. The only feeling that mattered was your fear for him and the surge of strength you sent him. Without a word, he tilted your head up, his lips catching yours in a deep kiss.

Your heart hammered as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding up the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone up to his broad shoulder, letting him deepen the kiss and consume you. When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his golden eyes were dark with an intense, possessive heat that made your breath hitch. The intimacy of the moment was so heavy, so entirely real, that you simply pressed your forehead back against his, trying to steady your racing pulse.

Neteyam leaned in and kissed you again, harder this time, causing your head to tilt back.

Slightly breathless, you pressed your palm firmly against his chest, gently pushing him back. “My parents are watching...” you reminded him in a hushed whisper, your cheeks flushing as you glanced toward the audience.

The Omatikaya had broken out into loud cheering and rhythmic clapping, celebrating the union. At the edge of the clearing, you caught sight of your father, his face tightly masked, while your mother looked on with a rigid smile.

The celebration back at Hometree was a raucous affair. Mo’at blessed the two of you with sacred oils, the healers chanting long prayers for fertility and strength before the feast and dancing truly began. You and Neteyam danced the mandatory mating dance, circled by couples who had been married for a very long time.

During a quiet moment in the festivities, your mother walked up to you and Neteyam to greet, but the purpose for it showed when she tried to excuse and pull you aside. Neteyam’s hold on your hand tightened, though, pulling you back to him. His eyes searched yours, and you didn't know where the sudden complete understanding of his subtle looks came from.

It was as if you have known him for so long now, you could practically read his mind. You squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile to let him know it’s okay, allowing your mother to pull you aside near the edge of the structure. “You must remember everything I taught you, daughter,” she murmured, her hands smoothing over your beaded top. “Serve him. Everything he wants to do, you will do. Tonight... You will submit to him. Do not anger a warrior of his status.”

You bit your lip, and before you could think of anything to reply, your father stepped up behind her, his posture imposing and cold. “You belong to a powerful line now. You must do with him as best as you can. Do not bring shame to my name by failing in your duties as a wife.”

You swallowed the bitter retort rising in your throat, lowering your eyes to play the part one last time. “I understand, Father.”

When you finally excused yourself to rejoin Neteyam, you found him standing near a pillar, carefully watching the interaction from afar. Your eyes snapped to Armem who was currently standing beside him, talking about something. As you approached, Armem looked at you, flashing a sly smile before she slipped away. You got distracted when you felt Neteyam’s hand reach out, his large fingers catching yours. You let him pull you to him, looking up into his face as his arms locked around you.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes alert on your face.

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

His eyes were snagged behind you one last time, and you had to force yourself to not look back, knowing you’ll see your parents. Your head snapped to the dais when you heard a beautiful rhythm of the laid gongs being played. The youth who had been dancing stopped, parting into two rows to clear a path directly toward you and Neteyam, their faces splitting into knowing, mischievous grins.

“What is that?” you asked, turning back to your husband, completely bewildered by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

Neteyam glanced at you, and for the first time since you had met him, he looked entirely caught off guard. His hand came up to his face, his fingers scratching his temple awkwardly as a dark flush crept across his cheeks.

“Uh, it’s... it’s for the blessing of our kelku,” he mumbled, clearing his throat and refusing to meet your eyes for a split second.

You blinked, but before you could question his sudden bashfulness, some elder women bumped at your side and on his side were elder men. Your eyes tried to scan the crowd, but you only saw Jake Sully and Neytiri still sitting on the dais, laughing at the sight, and it was so rare it took some of your inhibitions away.

They chanted prayers for fertility and the realization hit you like a splash of cold water.

In your clan, this part was usually a cold, transactional event where the newly mated woman was practically marched to her husband's tent like a prize. But here, the Omatikaya made it a celebration of life and passion. The drumming and the crowd’s chants faded as you walked up a series of woven pathways leading to a cozy, elevated hut. Mo’at and a few elder women led the blessing of the small space.

When you two were finally left alone, your eyes snapped up to Neteyam who immediately moved to light the central hanging firepot. The kelku was modest, slightly larger than the one that had been your sanctuary in the past weeks. This was beautifully structured, just large enough for a newly married couple.

“If you have any preferences for how it should look, or if you need specific tapestries and mats,” Neteyam said, looking around, “we will go to the weavers tomorrow to get whatever you like.”

A huge smile cut through your lips, nodding. “Thank you. I would like that.”

Neteyam went quiet for a moment, his gaze turning intense as he stepped closer to you. The playful, amused glint from the feast was gone, replaced by something much deeper.

“I don’t know if you wanted me to know this... but when we did the bond...” His eyes locked onto yours, completely unblinking. “I felt it, Y/N. I felt your strong emotions against your parents... Your people. Your home. The anger you held.”

You blinked. He felt it. The same way you had seen his memories and felt all his emotions. Through the bond, both of your shields had dropped entirely. You wondered exactly how much he had seen.

“I understand why you might not have liked it there,” Neteyam continued quietly, taking a thoughtful step back. “But I thought... well, perhaps I was wrong—”

“What is it that you thought?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you stepped toward him, desperate to know what he had deduced.

Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hands before raising his head with a resolute expression. “It does not matter now. This is your home. My people are your people. My family is your family. Do you understand that? You do not have to think about everything you left behind.”

You tilted your head, studying the sincerity in his face, and gave a silent, genuine nod.

“And besides,” Neteyam mumbled, a sudden, boyish smirk breaking through his serious demeanor. “I have something for you.”

He turned and walked toward the shadowed back corner of the kelku, reaching behind a stack of woven mats. When he stepped back into the light, your lips parted in utter shock. In his hands, he held a beautifully crafted longbow, complete with a leather quiver full of freshly fletched arrows.

“I got it... just in case you wanted to learn how,” Neteyam said, his smile widening as he raised the bow, his eyes twinkling with a brilliant, knowing light. “And... I saw a flash of it in your memory during the bond. You were practicing this when you were young. You were doing it in secret.”

His conclusion depended solely on the emotions he felt through the bond, but he was right about that and a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion overcame you. The sheer weight of your past, all the hiding and the fear of your father's wrath, shattered completely against the simple kindness of the man standing before you. He didn't want a submissive, silent maid. He saw your fire, and he was handing you the fuel.

Tears pooled in your eyes, blurring the sight of him. Giving up on every single act of restraint you had practiced since meeting him, you ate up the small distance between you and threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

Neteyam let out a soft, surprised breath before his large arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His hand moved up, his fingers gently caressing your long hair as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you sobbed softly into his shoulder, a genuine, radiant happiness blooming in your chest for the first time in your life. “Thank you, Neteyam...”

He held you tighter as he stroke your hair, his deep voice vibrating against your collarbone as he whispered, “I’ll be the one to teach you. We can start tomorrow.”

You bit your lip and nodded. You didn’t know how to tell him that you already know how to use this so you resolved to just tell him some other time. “Tomorrow?“ you chirped as you pulled back, your hands sliding down his arms until your fingers brushed against the smooth wood of the longbow still resting in his grip.

Gently, you took it from him and set it carefully beside your travel box, placing the weapon that symbolized your future next to the secrets of your past.

When you turned back to him, a soft, determined smile was on your face. The initial rush of your relief had quieted, leaving a heavy awareness of the space between you. The fire was casting a long, amber shadow across Neteyam’s broad shoulders and the sharp angles of his face, and your cheeks burned at how handsome he really was.

No man in your clan could have rivaled against him even if they tried. You stepped closer and his eyes dropped to the delicate river beads covering your chest, a sudden flicker of hesitation crossed his features. He remembered what he’d seen and felt through the bond. Your strong emotions against your parents and your people, the harsh words and suffocating rules. The rigid command that you must submit.

Neteyam reached out, his large hands gently catching yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. His eyes searched your face with an intense, fierce earnestness.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his deep baritone dropping to a rough whisper. “Listen to me. We do not need to do this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or any night soon if you are not ready.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily stunned by his restraint.

“Your parents no longer have a say on what you must do,” Neteyam continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “So, whatever yout mother told you or your father expects of you, none of that matters now. I want you to be comfortable here.”

A profound warmth bloomed in your heart, making your limbs all the way to your fingertips feel like it's made of jelly. The last lingering remnants of your defenses crumbled. This warrior, who had every right by your clan's rules to demand your compliance, was stepping back to give you a choice.

“Neteyam,” you spoke softly, your voice steady and entirely devoid of the timid persona you had faked for weeks.

You stepped into his space, breaking the distance he had purposefully created to give you room. You raised your hands, your palms pressing flat against his cheeks, your fingers sliding into the soft skin just beneath his ears. You tilted your head up, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, before moving to press another, softer kiss directly to his lips.

“I am not pressured,” you whispered against his mouth. You looked straight into his eyes, letting him see the fierce, unyielding certainty burning in your gaze. “And I am comfortable. I want to do this, Neteyam. I want you.”

A low, rumbling hum vibrated deep in his chest at your words. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. The carefully maintained restraint of a disciplined warrior giving way to the raw, possessive hunger of a man who had been captivated by you since the moment he saw you.

His hands moved to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulled you flush against his heat, his lips crashing down on yours in a deep, consuming kiss. You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his long braids, the beads clicking softly. Slowly, he reached for the ties of your intricately beaded top and with a gentle pull, the garment loosened, and he caressed it off you, letting the beads click softly against the floor.

Neteyam’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened as his gaze swept over your naked upper body, tracking the elegant curve of your waist and the steady rise and fall of your chest. The raw worship in his stare made you feel powerful, completely untamed, and so excited.

His large hands slid up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the sides of your chest as he leaned down to press hot, branding kisses along your collarbone, making you gasp softly. Your hands scrambled for his own gear, your fingers working through the fastens of his intricate cummerbund. You pushed the heavy gear away, your palms immediately finding the broad, smooth expanse of his chest, tracing the jagged ridge of his scar once more before bringing your lips to his.

He gathered you into his arms, his mouth never leaving yours as his hands worked on the ties of your loincloth around your tail. He pushed the fabric off your hips, caressing your soft skin before fluidly guiding you down onto the thick, soft layers of the woven sleeping mat. The cool fiber of the mat met your back, but you barely felt it beneath the crushing, intoxicating weight of his body settling over yours.

You bit your your lip as he hovered over you, his thighs bracketing your hips. You pressed your palm against his muscled abdomen and when he took in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth, you smiled at him, moving your hand down to tug at the rim lf his loincloth.

His head tilted, “You want it off?” he asked, tugging at your hand when you nodded unabashed. “Take it off, then.”

You bit your lip before pulling yourself up, coming face to face with his chest as you did. You kissed the soft skin at the center of it before your hand circled to untie his loincloth. He lowered his head down, both of his hands cupping your face as he pressed a hard kiss on your lips.

His loincloth came off with a hiss and he gently pushed you back down on the soft mat, deepening the kiss. His hand moved from your jaw to the back of your head, gently wrapping around the thick braid of your kuru. He pulled away from the kiss to meet your eyes, bringing it between you before he grabbed his own, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

You moved his hands to bring the tendrils together, and the moment the tsaheylu sparked to life, a gasp caught in your throat. The overwhelming flood of energy from the Tree of Souls was replaced by something soft, intimate, and profoundly deep, like a warm wave lulling both of your consciousness into a singular, shared heartbeat.

Through the bond, you felt his absolute adoration for you. The radiant warm was so tangible you could almost touch it, and to see it reflected in his golden eyes made your eyes sting with hot tears. Neteyam let out a low growl of satisfaction through the bond, his lips catching yours again. The kiss was deeper now, amplified by the bond, every brush of his tongue and every stroke of his hands on your body echoing straight through your mind.

You kissed him back with equal fervor. His hand firmly pushed your thighs apart, fitting himself between them as his kisses trailed down your jaw and neck. You chuckled to hide a moan when his tongue traced a long stroke over the soft skin of your neck. He hummed against your skin and repeated the motion, making you arch your neck with a giggle.

He pulled back a little, his humored eyes staring into yours. “You're ticklish here...” he murmured, dipping his head to softly suck on that skin.

“Neteyam...” you pushed his head back and he chuckled, moving further down, kissing the side flesh of your breast.

You took in a sharp breath, arching your back and he enveloped its peak with the warmth of his mouth, earning him a loud moan from you. He squeezed your waist as he hummed, sucking at your flesh as he fondled the other one.

“You’re so soft, fuck...” he grunted as his lips nipped at your pebbled tip, licking his way to the other peak to give it the same attention.

You felt a warm liquid gush out of you, making you squirm under him. His hand moved from your waist to your center and the tickle caught you off guard that you bucked against his fingers. He groaned against your breast, his fingers caressing your velvety folds languidly.

“So wet...” he said in a low, gravelly voice, propping himself on one arm to hover over you again.

His knee pushed one of your thighs to the side to spread you wider as his fingers parted your folds exposing your slick heat to his gaze. He looked down at you, his gold of his eyes swallowed almost entirely by desire that made your pulse race. His face heated up when he stared down at your flush face and found your wide, trusting eyes looking back up at him. You could literally feel the heavy pulsing in the bond, telling you that he was feeling so much it was physically overwhelming him.

He bent his head, kissing you softly at fit, but it soon turned deep and hard. His mouth consumed yours, and under the cover of that distracting heat, he slid a single, long finger into your tight entrance. You gasped against his mouth, your body tightening, startled by the sudden penetration. Neteyam instantly stalled his hand. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face with fierce intensity, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort.

Instead of shrinking away, you leaned up and kissed him, your tongue boldly sliding against his to show him you were alright. A low growl vibrated in his throat, slipping a second finger into you. The sudden stretch made you bite his lower lip in a tight grip and he grunted, kissing you hard in retaliation as his fingers began to move in a slow, deep rhythm inside your slick heat.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and his other arm pulled your body completely flush against his muscled frame. The world narrowed down to the heavy friction in you and the overwhelming rush of his emotions pouring through the bond. Your kisses got sloppy and breathless as his fingers worked faster, making your hips tilt upward instinctively, your thighs quivering as the tension built.

Suddenly, Neteyam pulled his fingers away.

You let out a soft, frustrated whine, your hands immediately dropping to his wrist to pull his arm back down. “Neteyam...”

“I’ll give you something better,” he mumbled against your jaw, his breath hitching as he kissed his way down to your neck. You could feel his thick, rigid shaft resting heavily against your inner thigh, twitching with his own restrained need. He pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. “Are you sure about this, paskalin?”

You nodded quickly, reaching up to pull his head back down for a kiss, but Neteyam refused to budge. He held his ground, his face shifting into a deeply serious expression.

“I need your words,” he mumbled, his golden eyes locking onto yours.

You let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, your gaze turning just as serious, completely stripped of any games. “I am sure. I want to do this with you, Neteyam.”

The tension in his jaw broke, replaced by a dark satisfaction. He pressed a hard, bruising kiss on your lips, before his hands hooked firmly under your knees. He slowly pulled away, shifting his weight until he was kneeling directly between your spread legs.

Left exposed in the glow of the fire, you bit your lip, your eyes shamelessly tracing the powerful lines of his body. You reached a hand out, your palm sliding over his muscled abdomen again, feeling it contract beneath your fingertips. But you grew serious as soon as you felt the broad, blunt head of his shaft nudge against your warmth. You took a deep breath as he began to ease himself into you.

His thumb found the sensitive, swollen nub beneath your folds, softly and rhythmically caressing it to help him distact you. When your eyes rolled back and you helplessly bucked your hips upward to chase his thumb, Neteyam took the perfect opportunity to sink himself fully into you in one deep thrust.

A loud moan tore from your throat at the immense stretch of it, and at the exact same time, Neteyam let out a harsh, strained grunt through gritted teeth as your walls fiercely clamped and squeezed around him, resisting against his girth. He lowered his body down, desperate to soothe you with a kiss, but you were breathing in ragged, panicked breaths, your fingers digging tightly into the flesh of his back.

“Shh... baby, look at me. Breathe,” he hushed. Feeling how tightly you were gripping him, he made a slight movement to pull himself back out to give you relief, but you instantly wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place. You hugged him closer, burying your face in his neck.

“You’re so big...” you mumbled.

Neteyam groaned, the sound vibrating against your chest as he wrapped his massive arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “Sorry...” he whispered roughly, entirely sincere.

A wet chuckle escaped your lips despite the ache. “Are you really saying sorry because you have a big di—”

“Only because it’s making you uncomfortable,” he cut you off, his voice thick with embarrassment as he pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand tenderly wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead.

“Nonsense,” you huffed, a small, defiant smirk returning to your face. “I remembered I will be pushing out babies anyway, you know? I can handle the father.”

Neteyam’s dark eyes instantly lit up, coupled with a soft smile cutting through his lips, and at the exact same moment, a massive, explosive jolt of pure, euphoric warmth shot straight through the bond, nearly making your head spin. The sheer joy of hearing you speak of a future with him, of carrying his children, completely broke the last of his restraint.

You smiled, welcoming the deep, possessive kiss he crashed down onto your lips. He began to move as he kissed you, pulling back almost entirely, before driving back into you with a firm intensity. You moaned against his lips, meeting him at his pace and welcoming every single hard, bruising thrust.

The pace grew frantic and the glow of the fire casted your joined shadows against the woven walls of your new home. His large shadow has completely enclosed you, your legs in the hair as he gripped the back of your knees tightly, pushing them up to angle you perfectly, driving deeper and deeper until he was bottoming out against your core.

The kelku was filled with slaps of your skin meeting, your ragged moans, and his deep, animalistic grunts. Through the bond, a sudden, blinding wave of heat erupted from him. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his muscles locking up hard as he let out a loud, guttural roar against your neck. He buried himself to the absolute hilt as he came deep inside you, the thick, hot rush of his seed filling your core.

Your head fell back, crying out as your own release crashed over you in violent waves, your walls squeezing him tightly. Neteyam collapsed softly over you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck. Your own exhaustion lulled you to sleep just as Neteyam lifted his head to kiss you, making him huff in adoration as his eyes caressed your soft features.

“Out like a light,” he mumbled as he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “You’re so damn cute.”

The next day, the heavy, content silence of the morning was the first thing you registered, followed by the feeling of Neteyam’s large, muscular arm slung securely around your waist, pulling your body into a solid wall of heat that was his chest.

You shifted slightly and the gentle drag of your hair against his chin caused him to stir. Because the tsaheylu had remained connected through the night, the moment your consciousness cleared, a sudden, bright flare of pure excitement pulsed from his mind into yours. His eyes opened instantly.

“Good morning,” Neteyam murmured, his voice deep and rough from sleep. He pressed a warm kiss into your temple, his arm tightening around you. “How does your body feel?”

You took a long, dramatic breath and stretched your limbs, letting out a soft yawn that made his chest rumble with an adored chuckle. “A little sore,” you admitted, turning in his embrace to face him, a small, defiant spark in your eyes. “But I am still ready for the day. You promised me archery training.”

Neteyam smiled, his eyes sweeping over your face as he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck. “Archery can wait. The forest isn't going anywhere. Let's just stay here today.”

“We can't,” you laughed softly. Right on cue, the ring of the communal bells echoed through the upper branches of Hometree. “See? We have to go.”

“They will understand if we are late,” Neteyam mumbled against your skin, his hands lazily tracing the curve of your waist. “We are newly married. Everyone knows we were... occupied.”

Your cheeks instantly burned hot. “Neteyam!” You reached down and pinched his arm, hard enough to make him grunt. “That is all the more reason we must show up on time! I have a reputation to build here, and I will not have everyone looking at me knowing why we slept in.”

“Baby, I hate to break it to you,” he chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow, his long finger caressing the base of your throat, “but they are going to know anyway.”

Your fingers touched your neck, your eyes snapping up to him in question. “What?”

His finger trailed down to your bare chest and you gazed down, finding a distinctly tender purpling spot right above the swell on your left breast. You glared up at him, your hand raising to pinch him again, but Neteyam quickly raised his hands in retreat, a boyish, unrepentant smirk on his lips. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It’s just that... you’re so soft—”

“Well, it looks like a bug bite,” you pushed your lips forward, touching the marks and examining it, before peering up at him. “By a big bug.”

He chuckled, pulling you back to him. “Do we have an issue with big stuff?” he mumbled, his lips brushing your neck.

You shrink away from the ticklishness of his lips, moving to get your top instead. Despite his teasing, Neteyam helped you prepare by grabbing your loincloth and helping you with it. At your stubborn behest, the two of you walked down to the communal clearing for breakfast. Neteyam carried his heavy warrior's bow, but slung over his other shoulder was the beautifully crafted longbow he had gifted you, along with both of your quivers

You thought walking into the clearing would make you feel embarrassed, especially with how the youth started nudging each other and how the older hunters gave Neteyam teasing looks, but you felt nothing but pride as he held your hand as he led you to the high dais where his family sits. Tuk grinned and waved at you, while Kiri offered a teasing a smile.

You pursed your lips and kept your gaze low in front of your parents who are now conversing quietly with Jake and Neytiri, looking entirely out of place in the vibrant, loud atmosphere. Once breakfast concluded, you paid respects to both sets of parents, and you startled a little when Neytiri gently squeezed your hand, making you snap your eyes up to her.

She smiled, “You looked radiant, daughter.”

You blinked, throwing a quick sharp glance at Neteyam who chuckled before seriously nodding at Neytiri. “Thank you...” you mumbled.

As you stand there, your father’s sharp eyes instantly dropped to the two bows slung over Neteyam’s shoulder, then to the quiver of arrows resting against your hip. His expression hardened into a mask of pure, rigid distaste.

“Neteyam,” your father spoke, his voice carrying a heavy weight as he pointed at the weapons. “I hope you are not teaching my daughter that. Weapons do not belong in the hands of a chief's daughter.”

The air around the dais seemed to drop in temperature. Your mother looked at you with the same piercing gaze your sister was giving you, as though you were doing something so embarrassing, while Neytiri’s side eye dropped a temperature as it locked onto your father. Meanwhile, Jake sat back comfortably in his seat, waiting to see how his son would handle this.

You felt a familiar, cold instinct to shrink back, but before the fear could even take root, Neteyam stepped slightly in front of you, offering your father a calm, polite smile.

“That is exactly what I intend to do, Olo'eyktan,” Neteyam replied, his tone grounded yet carrying the absolute firmness of a future leader. “My wife is now the woman of an Omatikaya warrior. She is Omatikaya as much as I am. And in this clan, our women are trained in archery much like the next guy.“

Your father’s face went entirely pale, but his jaw eventually tightened, utterly paralyzed by the younger warrior's sheer insolence. In your birth clan, no young man would ever dare speak to the Olo’eyktan this way, but here, Neteyam answered only to Toruk Makto. You pursed your lips as you felt warmth spread in your chest, making you squeeze Neteyam’s hand.

Seeing her husband silenced, your mother stepped in, “And you, daughter? Do you agree to this? Is this what you want?”

You looked at your mother, then at your father, and for the first time in your life, you didn't feel the need to lie. You took a step forward, aligning your shoulder perfectly with Neteyam’s.

“I am a wife of the Omatikaya now, Mother,” you said as softly as you could, it sounded like a mock in your own ears, but your parents won’t know that. “I will listen to the will of my husband, and I will do my absolute best to learn under him.”

You chose your words wisely, ensuring that the very obedience they had drilled into you since childhood was what’s staring back at them now. Your parents were left speechless, knowing they would sound like hypocrites to command you otherwise. You are a mated woman now, and in their eyes, your husband’s words hold more sway than their own.

Neteyam didn't give them a chance to recover. He gave a respectful, brief nod to his own parents, ignoring the faint, amused smirk playing on Jake Sully's lips. “If there is nothing else, we will take our leave.”

As he turned and led you away from the dais, his large hand snaked around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side as you walked down the winding ramp.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered sensually, “You did well, baby. And there is indeed a lot of training under me.”

You blinked, your cheeks burning when you remembered last night. Once you were down the Hometree, Neteyam led you deep into a secluded clearing a mile away from Hometree, a training ground he had clearly set up just for you. At the far end of the clearing, several woven targets hung on trees.

“Alright,” Neteyam said, handing you your new bow. “Let me see your basics, baby.” He stepped behind you, his chest pressing against your back as his large hands guided your arms up.

You swallowed hard. This was the dangerous part. You had to play the part of a beginner. You had to act like you didn't know how to balance your weight, or how to gauge the wind. You pulled an arrow from your quiver, deliberately letting your fingers fumble slightly with the notch. You pulled the string back, purposely letting your left elbow sag, trying to remember what it was like when you were just learning.

“Like this?” you asked.

Neteyam didn't answer right away, his hands moving from your arms down to your waist, his thumbs tracing the alignment of your hips before he corrected your left elbow. “Yes. Try shooting,”

You gritted your teeth and pulled from your chest, keeping your elbow low again before shooting. Your arrow found its mark on the third tree, exactly as you intended. Neteyam’s hands tightened on your waist, lazily caressing.

“You know how to do this,” he whispered, low and entirely certain.

Your heart violently jumped into your throat, your hand gripping the bow tighter. He has a keen eye and it was your fault that you underestimated that. “I trained,” you mumbled.

“You’re not a beginner,” he replied, his head dipping low so his breath fanned across your neck, right over a dark mark he had left there.

Your lips twisted. “No, I’m not,” you said in a low voice, your head turning to him.

His eyes darkened as it looks through yours. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him. “Look at the target... and show me who you really are.”

You held his dark, intense gaze for a second before turning back to the targets. With a fluid, practiced motion, you reached into your quiver and nocked a fresh arrow, planting you feet firmly into the ground. You aligned your shoulders and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one smooth motion.

The arrow flew like a bolt of lightning across the clearing, passing the first two targets and striking the farthest one dead in the center. The woven target shuddered under the sheer force of the impact. Behind you, Neteyam watched with fascinated, wide eyes, a sudden rush of heat flooding his chest. You looked incredibly hot standing there, your posture unyielding and graceful.

He had always known you had fire in you. He had found you beautiful from the moment he first laid eyes on you, but seeing you like this, unapologetically in your element, made a massive swell of pride erupt through him. He had witnessed first hand what your parents were like, what your clan was like, and though he had initially thought that you were their perfect, submissive daughter, even then, he’d felt this spark in you.

It was only when you’d become one through the bond that he’d known the staggering depth of your resentment and anger toward your parents and your people. He had been determined to free you from their shackles and teach you whatever you wanted to know, but with this marksmanship you’re showing, you were already better than him and half the hunters in his clan, because you had achieved this excellence while being completely barred from it.

“Where did you learn?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer, suddenly realizing that a skill this sharp meant someone had to have taught you.

You turned to him, a genuine, fond smile breaking across your face. “My friend. Tarluk.”

The moment the name left your lips, Neteyam’s swelling heart staggered. A sharp, blinding spike of jealousy flared in his chest. Your sister had mentioned that name when she tried to corner him last night, but he was so worried about you, he’d paid little attention to it. Neteyam was never a jealous man, mostly because he had never been a lover before, and he had certainly never cared for anyone as fiercely as he cared for you. So, this sudden, possessive green monster rearing its head in his mind felt completely bizarre and unsettling.

“Tarluk...” he echoed, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Yes. He is a warrior back in my clan,” you said, your voice softening, turning mellow and tinged with a heavy layer of guilt. “He taught me everything he knows. And he is... imprisoned right now. That is how I repaid every bit of help he gave me.”

Some of his jealousy instantly evaporated, replaced by immediate concern. He smoothed his features, calming his racing heart. “Imprisoned why?”

“He tried to help me escape... on the very day the Omatikaya arrived,” you mumbled, looking down at your bow. “I didn't know my father was going to pledge me to you. In my clan, we have no say in who we mate with. My friends are alright with that life... but I was terrified. I tried to run away.” You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat before looking up at him with soulful, vulnerable eyes.

Neteyam stared down at you, his heart beating incredibly fast against his ribs as he traced the absolute trust written across your features. “And... are you still scared?”

You smiled softly, the warmth in your eyes answering him before you even shook your head. “No... I am not scared.”

A heavy, breathless huff of relief left his lungs. The tension completely drained from his body as he melted into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. He leaned down, pressing a deep, fiercely reassuring kiss to your lips. “You have nothing to be scared of, baby. Not here, and not as long as I am drawing breath. I will protect you from them. From everything.”

You smiled against his mouth, nodding against his chest. “There is something I want to show you once we are back home.”

You spent the next couple of hours in the clearing, completely shedding your facade. You showed him the extent of what you know, so he could gauge exactly what else he can teach you. By the time you walked back to Hometree, you were holding his hand, literally skipping cutely along the forest path, your old worries entirely forgotten. Neteyam watched you, a soft, lovesick smile on his face. Just as the two of you were about to break through the thick brush leading into the main clearing of Hometree, he caught your waist, pulling you back into the shadows for one more loving, deep kiss.

High above, standing on an empty platform, Neytiri stood beside Jake. She watched the two of you, a rare, incredibly soft smile touching her lips as she leaned into her husband's side, happy to see her eldest son so completely besotted.

Once you and Neteyam slipped back into the privacy of your kelku, you walked over to your leather travel box. You reached inside and pulled out the old longbow and the weathered quivers you had brought from your home clan, the ones you had kept hidden away.

Neteyam walked over, but the moment his golden eyes landed on the unique, intricate fletching of the arrows inside the quiver, he froze. His mind flashed back to the waterfalls near your clan’s lands, to the cloaked woman who had saved his life from an Agtik pack before disappearing into the mist just as he was gathering his wit.

He thought he was simply being irrational. He thought of the cloaked lady several times over the past moon, but his mind kept giving the lady your face. Even when he first saw you, he had a strong feeling that he knew whom he was looking at... It had surprised him, just as it had surprised his parents, when he decided to agree on your father’s plea for a betrothal before he had even heard the terms.

He was never one to decide on anything without thinking it through, but on this one, he had felt so certain it startled him.

“I knew it,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper of absolute awe. “It was you.” He looked from the arrows to your face, his eyes wide. “The cloaked lady from the waterfalls... it was you.”

You offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You knew how?”

Neteyam let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I was being imaginative, perhaps. But whenever I remember the lady at the waterfalls, I see your face. I thought it was just my mind reminding me that I am betrothed, but I almost felt certain it was you.”

You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to tell you... But I don’t want to hide anything from you,” you pushed your lips forward.

He felt like he was being allowed to walk through a secret passage leading into a room full of wonders. He had met you, had been saved by you, before he even officially knew your name. “Thank you for telling me,” he mumbled, pulling you to press a kiss on your temple.

Lo’ak had long found a mate among the Metkayina of Awa’atlu, and Neteyam had always wondered how easy it had been for him, that it had taken only one look. But now he understands. He understands what Jake and Lo’ak were talking about. You will see her and you will know. Thanking Eywa for the sheer providence and the incredible luck of hand she had given him would never be enough.

You were everything he had waited for.

A few days later, you watched your parents, your sister, and their rigid entourage finally prepare to leave the Omatikaya and was surprised to feel absolutely no sadness. Standing beside Neteyam as their direhorses turned back toward the woods, the only thing filling your chest was a profound, liberating sense of relief. You could hardly wait for the dust of their departure to settle.

As the days and weeks melted into moons, you and Neteyam fell into a beautiful, seamless routine.

Every morning, he would wake up before the dawn, his stolen kisses on your skin occasionally waking up up, but most times, he could successfully slip out for early border patrols without waking you up. And then, he would return hours later, waking you up with soft kisses before you both headed down for the communal breakfast.

Afterward, the two of you would escape to your private training ground. Because your archery and horsemanship were already flawless, Neteyam decided to teach you hand-to-hand combat skills instead. This was unknown to you. The Na’vis rarely fight using their bodies in close combats, but he explained that they were necessary skills taught by his father.

You took to it with a fierce, untamed focus, loving the feel of your body dodging his heavy frames, laughing whenever he used his weight to pin you to the soft grass, only to kiss you breathless as a penalty for losing.

By midday, when Neteyam had to report for scouting duties with his father, you spend your afternoons with Kiri and Mo'at, sitting in the quiet healing pavilion, learning the properties of healing roots, orchid poultices, and the spiritual songs of the Omatikaya. You found learning here much easier than learning under the rigid, highly paternalistic guidance of your mother.

Best of all, Mo’at listens to the healing knowledge and spiritual routines unique to your clan. These peaceful afternoons of study would bleed into quiet evenings that makes you feel that you were finally doing things to belong and not to conform.

When the next dawn broke, the rhythmic chirping outside filtered into the kelku, but you were already stirred by the familiar sensation of warm, soft lips pressing against your shoulder. A slow, lazy smile spread across your face, keeping your eyes closed.

When he sensed the shift in your consciousness, he lifted his head, his golden eyes dark and hooded with adoration. You felt his lips against yours and you kissed him back eagerly, your fingers tangling in the braids at the nape of his neck, pulling him flush against you. His large arm wrapped around you, almost lifting you to him as he deepened the kiss.

You broke away from the kiss to breathe, so his lips found the the sensitive column of your neck, trailing down over the slope of your breasts, lingering on your stomach, and finally, dipping lower. The past few moons had revealed this side of him, an obsession with your pleasure that bordered on reverent. In the beginning, you had been shy, overwhelmed by the fact that he would dare put his mouth there and the raw, uninhibited way he does so, but you had learned to love it.

Thus, you spread your legs, arching your back off the sleeping mat as he lapped at you like a man starved. His tongue and lips found your sensitive nub, sucking and licking until you couldn't help your moans, a sound that started low in your throat and grew sharper as the rhythm took you. You were biting your lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible, especially when he presses his tongue flat on you.

When you finally came, the release was a shuddering wave that made you gasp, and he licked every lingering essence as if this were the desert and you were a well of water. You lay there, sweaty and weak, your breath coming in ragged hitches as he moved back up your body, his mouth settling on the pebbled tips of your breasts, suckling with a possessive intensity. He finally pulled away to press a loving kiss to your forehead, his eyes searching yours.

Your hand instinctively dropped, grabbing at the heavy ridge of his crotch, feeling the sheer hardness of him. You let out a soft, mewling sound, squeezing him, and he let out a harsh, guttural grunt, closing his eyes for a moment to fight for control.

“I'll save this reward for later, baby,” he growled, his voice gravelly. “If I start now, I'll never make it to patrol.”

True to his word, he left for patrol, and you managed to drift back into a light, contented sleep. You only woke again when the sun dappled through the kelku, with the rustle of his footsteps coming in not long after. You looked up and smiled at him, pulling the covers off you and he groaned at the sight of you still naked.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said as he lowered himself down, leaning over you.

You pressed a hand against his chest, caressing his skin damp with the morning's efforts. You craned your neck to kiss him, and his hand slid over your waist. “I’ve been sleeping in too much lately. I need to train myself to wake up early again,” you mumbled against his lips.

“I’ll ask Mo’at for spice tea,” he responded, his head rearing back a little, his eyes fixed on yours seriously. “But you could always just sleep in. You’ve been working so hard with the healers...”

You chuckled, “You’re so serious,” you nuzzled your nose against his. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just adjusting.” You pulled him down for a kiss.

He let you kiss him, but he pulled back again, “But do tell me if it persists—”

“Yes, yes, I will. Now, kiss...” you cut him off, pulling him close again and he kissed you with more intent now.

Just as the heat grew heavier, the bells for the communal meal echoed through Hometree. Neteyam groaned, dropping his forehead against your collarbone, his frustration vibrating through his chest. You laughed, a bright sound that made his heart flutter. You pushed against his shoulders, and he knew better than to argue when it came to your reputation, he knew how much you valued being seen as a proper member of the clan and appearances during meals were your top priority.

You pouted at him, “It’s because you talk too much,” you said, grabbing your top.

His head dramatically fell back on the soft mat and you chuckled, your eyes dropping to his hard-on tenting at his crotch, clearly ready to burst but he knows it would have to wait. Almost immediately after the meal, you both headed to your the training grounds.

Moons of practice had transformed your hand-to-hand combat skills, proving to him just how fast you learn. But today, the training was secondary. You sat between his legs by a large root, finding a comfortable patch of moss to sit on. He broke open some sweet, nectar-filled fruits, sharing them as you talked about your childhoods: the lonely, quiet years of your past versus the vibrant, chaotic, and loud upbringing he had experienced with his siblings.

“Lo'ak was a menace,” Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head as he bit into a yovo. “When he was no bigger than Tuk is now, he decided he wanted to ride a syaksyuk. He climbed all the way to the highest branch of a tall tree, got stuck, and started crying because a mama syaksyuk started throwing sour berries at his head. I had to climb up and drag him down by his loincloth while Dad watched from below, just laughing.”

You laughed loudly, remembering the photo you saw of them as children. It allowed you to imagine a tiny, stubborn Lo'ak and an annoyed little Neteyam playing vividly in your mind. “You must have been such a serious little boy.”

“I had to be,” he smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “With Lo'ak trying to drown himself in puddles and Kiri talking to the plants, someone had to keep them alive. Kiri used to bury my daggers in the dirt because she said it ‘wanted to sleep.’ I spent half my childhood digging up the forest floor looking for my weapons.”

Your smile turned a bit wistful, a faint pang of envy twisting in your chest. “It sounds beautiful.” Your eyes dropped to the fruit in your hands, thinking of his youngest sister. “I feel a little bad for little Tuk, though. She didn't get to experience all of that chaos with you guys being so small together.”

“She makes up for it by being twice as loud,” Neteyam reasoned, his hand caressing a stray hair off your face.

You sighed softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the woven basket. “My sister... She was so much like my mother. I can’t remember a time we were ever... close,” you shrugged.

Armem is just one of the many women in your clan who think that everything about what is taught is right. The rules, the silence, the way women are expected to bend. She excelled at obeying everything and she knew you were just pretending, she just didn't know how to catch you in the act.

Neteyam’s arm pulled you tightly against him, his chest on your back rumbling with a deep, protective hum, his fingers sprawling over your hip.

“The night of our mating feast, moons ago,” he began softly, his voice dropping into a serious register, “I heard of Tarluk before you ever told me his name. Your sister told me about him when you were off talking to your parents.”

You froze, tilting your head up to look at him. “She did?”

“Yes,” Neteyam murmured, his jaw tightening at the memory. “She told me that you had run away with a warrior before the Omatikaya arrived. She told me Tarluk was your lover, and that you were coming to my bed dishonored.”

A heavy, mellow sadness settled over you. You rose slightly, propping your palm against his muscled chest to look directly into his eyes. “I can't believe she would tell you about it that way... Neteyam, Tarluk is not my lover.”

His large hand cupped your jaw with immense gentleness. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, his gaze steady and unyielding.

“I know, baby,” he whispered fiercely. “I believe you. I did not believe her one bit. I told her she should have been more loyal to you.”

You let out a long sigh, the final ghost of your past clan fading into the forest air. You pressed your palm flat against the heavy beat of his heart. “I never want to go back to my clan again... I never want to see that forest again.”

A slow, devastatingly handsome smirk grew on his face. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you a fraction closer. “You can't go nowhere without me now, baby,” he whispered. “You'll never go back there. This is your home. You belong to the Omatikaya. You belong to me.”

Your heart swelled so painfully with love that you had to look away to catch your breath. You smiled, deliberately breaking the heavy romantic tension by lifting a piece of the sweet fruit to your mouth, just as he was leaning in to kiss you.

Neteyam groaned, his eyes narrowing in playful frustration with that block you did. You chuckled at his reaction, turning the piece of fruit and pressing it against his lips instead. He paused, watching you with an intense, heated gaze, before he bit into it, chewing slowly without ever breaking eye contact.

You raised a brow, completely untamed and bold under his stare. Leaning forward, you darted your tongue out, catching a single drop of sweet juice that was rolling down his chin. His breath hitched, his hands instantly gripping your waist as a dark, possessive hunger flared in his eyes.

“You are testing me today,” he growled softly, his hands moving to your hips to maneuver you on his lap.

You caught his hand. “I have a question,” you asked as you pressed your back against his chest.

“Hm?” He buried his face on your neck.

“Why do you like doing...” you trailed, gesturing vaguely between your legs, your voice teasing.

“Doing?” he asked, his hand going where you gestured.

Your hips bucked, grabbing his hand. “I mean, your mouth. On there.”

Neteyam paused, angling his head to look at you with a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Is that really a question?” he asked as if it sounded like a joke.

“It’s an observation,” you barked but softly, cutely showing him your fangs. “It seems a bit... obsessive.”

He laughed, a rich, deep sound that made your skin tingle. “It’s like asking me if I love eating my favorite fruit,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips. “It’s what I crave. It’s what sustains me.”

“That’s dramatic. It’s not food,” you frowned.

His hug around you tightened as if he were suddenly getting cuteness aggression. “I love it, anyway. And think of my cock. You said you wanted to do things with it, right?“

You nodded, your pulse quickening a sudden, visceral thrill run through you at the thought of finally exploring that part of him.

“Suppose I want you to kiss it,” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, challenging hum. “Would you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, licking your lips.

He raised a brow, reaching into the basket and pulling out an utumauti. He peeled it, the sweet, earthy scent filling the air, and held it out to you. You stared at it, and instinctively, you moved your head to bite into it, but he gently moved it away, laughing at your eagerness.

“No,” he said softly, his voice thick. “Put it in your mouth.”

You blinked, your breath hitching. You looked from the fruit to his eyes, then nodded, opening your mouth wide. You took the fruit between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the sweet nectar before you wrapped your mouth around it, mimicking the depth he’d asked for.

He groaned, the sound raw and pained, as he watched you.

“Would you do that to me?” he asked again, his eyes searching yours for hesitation.

You pulled back, your heart hammering against your ribs. You looked at his loincloth, imagining the warmth and the power of him, and a desperate, hungry desire to give him that same level of pleasure he gave you bloomed in you

“I want to,” you breathed. Your tail, usually calm, began to wag behind you, a soft thump against the moss.

Neteyam let out a shaky breath, his expression softening into one of tender love. He leaned forward and kissed you, his hands trembling slightly as they went to the ties of his loincloth, stripping it away completely. Your breath caught in your throat. You had felt the sheer, heavy mold of him a hundred times over in the past moons, the thick, rigid heat that had driven you mad against your thighs and deep within your core, but seeing him completely bare in the daylight was breathtaking.

You pulled yourself up onto your knees between his legs, your hand reaching out, your fingers trembling slightly as you wrapped them around the base of his thick length. Neteyam drew in a harsh, ragged gasp as your thumb stroked up the underside of his shaft.

“Baby...” he choked out, his fists clenching into the dirt at his sides.

You looked up at him through your lashes, completely captivated by the power you held over such a powerful warrior. Slowly, you leaned forward, your lips parting as you pressed a soft, wet kiss to the very tip of him, catching the sweet, clear bead of his arousal on your tongue.

Neteyam let out a low, guttural roar that echoed into the canopy, his hips instinctively jerking forward at the agonizingly perfect warmth. You smiled against his hot skin, opening your mouth wider, and began to show him exactly how much you wanted to pleasure him.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of his pleasure, sliding your lips along the thick length of his shaft. Every dip of your head earned you a ragged, breathless praise from Neteyam, his fingers lightly tangling in your hair as he guided your pace. By the time your mouth filled with the hot, heavy rush of his release, his chest was heaving as a broken groan ripped from his throat. He pulled you up into a tight, crushing hug immediately after, holding you against his racing heart.

“Fuck...” he mumbled as he let out a broken chuckle. “You can’t do that again... I came so fast it’s embarrassing.”

You glared at him, but a naughty smile still cut through your lips. “But what if it’s my favorite now, too?”

The peaceful moons that followed seemed to blur into a soft, golden dream. You have now settled comfortably in the Omatikaya, especially among the children, that you spend some afternoons in the shade of the lower branches, watching Tuk and a few other children.

Tuk was in the middle of chasing a friend when she suddenly spun around, her tail swishing with sudden curiosity. “Y/N, are you pregnant?” she asked out of nowhere, her big eyes wide with innocent hope.

You blinked, a fierce blush instantly crawling up your neck. “No, Tuk, I am not.”

“Aww,” she pouted, kicking a soft patch of moss. “I thought you were. Leera’s mom is pregnant. She’ll have a playmate very soon!”

You watched her sprint away, but her words lingered in your mind like a persistent echo. You weren't exactly worried, but as the days passed, you couldn't help but wonder. It wasn't for a lack of trying; you and Neteyam were at it every single day, his possessive hunger never waning, yet your body remained unchanged.

To soothe your restless thoughts, you took up weaving again, a craft you deeply missed and hadn't practiced much since leaving your clan. Sitting alone in the kelku, your fingers worked mechanically, interlacing thick, soft fibers into a structured, sturdy pattern.

You were just finishing a section when the woven flap rustled. Neteyam stepped inside, his shoulders tight with a lingering trace of stress from a long council meeting. The moment his golden eyes landed on you, however, the tension visibly melted from his face.

Seeing the lingering exhaustion in his posture, you immediately dropped the what you were doing and stood up, reaching out to guide him down to the sleeping mat. Your fingers firmly moved on the tight knots in his shoulders, applying a soothing pressure to calm him down.

Neteyam let out a long, shuddering sigh, tilting his head back against your stomach. “What were you weaving, baby?”

“I am trying to weave a baby wrap,” you murmured softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But do not get too excited yet. I am not with child. I am just... preparing.”

A soft, boyish smile cut through his tired features, and his lips pushed forward, pressing a tender kiss into your temple.

“What is wrong?” you asked, your fingers slowing their movement on his shoulders. “You look heavy.”

“Nothing you need to worry about, baby,” he responded smoothly, reaching up to squeeze your hand. “Just a tense council meeting. Some border disputes. It is fine.”

In the weeks that followed, however, you realized it wasn't entirely fine. The reality of clan infighting across Eywa’eveng was beginning to seep into the edges of the Omatikaya. Yet, the Omatikaya were almost too chill about it, confident in their strength. You only noticed the subtle shifts: the increased frequency of hunters and warriors moving in and out of the boundaries, and the way Neteyam constantly seemed on edge.

The breaking point arrived on a stormy afternoon.

Shouts echoed from the lower canopy, frantic and laced with a terror you had never heard from the Omatikaya before. You rushed down to the lower platforms, your breath catching in your throat as a party of warriors moved through the crowd. They were carrying several severely wounded hunters.

And in the center of the frantic group, carried on a human-made stretcher, was Neteyam.

He was barely conscious, his skin a pale, sickly blue, his chest heavily stained with a thick, dark smear of blood. Your breath was knocked out of your chest as a suffocating, icy fear instantly seized your heart, dragging your mind back to the terrifying vision you had seen in his memory. Jake and Neytiri pushed through the crowd, their faces pale with panic. But as the healers began to move Neteyam toward the human biolab for emergency treatment, Neytiri suddenly stopped. Her fierce, golden eyes snapped to you standing in the crowd.

Before you could move, she lunged forward, her hand clamping onto your forearm in a brutal, iron grip.

“Did you know about this?” she demanded, her voice shaking, cold with an explosive anger.

“What?” your voice shook, your eyes wide with shock and confusion.

“Your people betrayed us!” Neytiri hissed, her fangs fully bared, her face inches from yours. “Your father shot Neteyam! He ambushed our patrol at the border! I knew this alliance would bring nothing good. My son dove into this headfirst, not even thinking, for whatever petty reason—!”

“Mama! Don't get mad at Y/N, please!“ Tuk screamed, sprinting through the crowd and throwing her small arms around Neytiri’s hips, crying.

Jake came rushing back out of the biolab doors, his eyes wide as he realized Neytiri hadn't followed the stretcher inside.

“Neytiri,” Jake called, his voice booming as he grabbed her elbow, pulling her away from you. He looked at your pale, trembling form, his expression turning into one of profound alarm. “Jesus, baby, what did you tell her?”

Neytiri let out a sharp, ragged breath, her chest heaving as she finally ripped her gaze from yours, staggering on her steps before walking away and going into the biolab.

Jake turned to you, his voice urgent but grounded. “Go inside, Y/N. Go see him. He’s alright, but you need to be in there.” He looked down at his youngest daughter. “Tuk, stay with her.”

You couldn't move. Your legs felt like lead, your ears ringing with the horrific revelation. Your father had shot him. The treaty of alliance, the marriage, the peace, it had all been a calculated deception to lower the Omatikaya's guard against other clans who wished to bring it down.

Tuk buried her face into your stomach, her little shoulders shaking with violent sobs. The sight of her grief broke the paralysis holding you. You slowly knelt on the damp wooden platform, pulling the little girl into a tight embrace, murmuring soft, comforting words against her hair until her crying began to slow into quiet whimpers.

Once she quieted down, you pulled back slightly, cupping her small face in your hands. You forced your voice to sound steady, invoking the very strength Neteyam always saw in you.

“Tuk, listen to me,” you said, your eyes locking onto hers with absolute seriousness. “Your braveness is needed right now. The Omatikaya is in chaos, and your brother needs a warrior to guard him. I need you to stay right here, by the laboratory doors, and make sure no one enters who shouldn't. Can you do that for me?”

Tuk sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, her small jaw tightening with a sudden, fierce determination. She nodded firmly. “I will guard him, Y/N.”

“Good girl,” you whispered, kissing her forehead.

You stood up, turning away from the laboratory. You didn't walk inside. Instead, you turned on your heel and moved swiftly, back up the winding ramps toward your kelku. The moment you stepped past the woven flap, the dam broke. Tears of unadulterated fear, pain, and burning rage spilled over your cheeks, hot and furious. You couldn’t even sob or wail. You wanted to be there for Neteyam.

Hold his hand and give him strength. But what you were about to do cannot wait. You moved with a cold, terrifying precision born of a lifetime of faking compliance.

You walked straight to the weapon rack. You gripped the smooth, dark wood of your old longbow and slung the weathered quiver over your shoulder, checking the heavy, sharp fletching of your arrows. Your father thought he had traded away a submissive pawn to buy himself time. He thought you were a weak, compliant girl who would weep in a corner while his treachery tore a clan apart.

He was going to find out exactly who you were.

You rushed down the hidden, less-traveled pathways of Hometree, bypassing the frantic crowds entirely. Breaking into the dark, rain-slicked undergrowth of the forest, you raised your hand to your lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle.

Within moments, the heavy thud of hooves echoed through the brush, and your direhorse broke through the foliage. You vaulted onto its back, your fingers grabbing your kuru and connecting it to his in one swift motion. With a fierce tap to its flanks, you turned the direhorse toward the borders, tearing into the black, stormy night.

You were going back to your clan. And you were going to kill your father.

The wind screamed in your ears, tearing through your hair as the direhorse threw its powerful weight forward, kicking up wet earth and leaves. For hours, you rode through the stormy night without a single pause. The rain-drenched trees of the Omatikaya territory gradually gave way to the dark, clouded woods of the suffocating borders of your birth clan.

Your body ached, your muscles tightly coiled with exhaustion and a cold, lethal focus. By the time the distant glow of your old clan's cooking fires pierced the dark, the storm had settled into a heavy mist. You didn’t slow down to hide or sneak through the brush like a frightened girl. You rode straight into the heart of the main clearing, the heavy thud of your direhorse's hooves drawing the immediate, sharp attention of the night guards.

Several warriors stepped forward, bows raised, but they froze when the light allowed for a better view of you, drenched in rain and covered in mud. From the largest tent, a tall, imposing figure stepped out, a heavy mantle around his shoulders.

Your father’s sharp eyes locked onto you, but you could see in his eyes that he was not threatened. You gave that to him. But that will change. He stepped closer, stopping a few paces away, completely unbothered by the heavy bow in your hand. To him, you were still the girl who always had her head down, the girl who bent to her mother's rigid will.

“Is he dead? Is that what this visit is for?” your father taunted, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face as he looked up at you. “If so, then that is good news for our council. Job well done, and you can finally come home, daughter.”

You remained mounted on your direhorse, your posture regal, unyielding, and completely still. Your eyes, normally soft and trusting, were now as cold and sharp as blade.

“I feel sorry that I had to sacrifice you...” he continued, his voice dripping with a sickening condescension. “Let you be defiled and used over and over again by that disgusting half-blood. I am glad to see that you're not pregnant... that is great. We can wipe away that stain, remarry you to a real warrior, and—”

“What a loud noise,” you interrupted quietly.

Your father paused, his brows snapping together in sudden fury at your insolence. “What did you just say to me?” He looked at the old longbow in your hand again, a mocking chuckle vibrating in his chest. “You dare bring a weapon into my presence? You think you can make an aim on me after your pitiful training sessions with that demon? The one I personally shot?”

“For the record, dear father,” you said, your voice entirely devoid of fear, a slow smile tilting the corners of your lips. “Neteyam didn’t teach me archery... I learned this from under your nose.”

In the blink of an eye, faster than any warrior in the clearing could even register, your hand blurred. You drew an arrow from your quiver, nocked it, and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one fluid, terrifyingly practiced motion.

Your father's eyes widened a fraction, his breath catching in his throat as he realized, too late, the absolute precision of your stance.

“Look,” you whispered.

You let go of the string and the heavy arrow flew with blinding speed, striking your father dead in the left side of his chest. The exact, precise spot where he had shot Neteyam.

He let out a sharp, agonized gasp, staggering backward as his hand flew to the shaft buried deep in his flesh. His eyes bulged, filled with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of anger and shock. He opened his mouth to scream for his warriors, his foot stepping forward to lunge at you.

Before his foot could even plant into the dirt, another arrow tore through the air, piercing straight through his foot and pinning it deeply into the muddy ground. He shrieked, a raw, pained sound, his balance entirely stolen from him as he began to fall. Desperate, his hand flew down to the knife strapped to his thigh, trying to draw it.

A third arrow struck his wrist, completely shattering the bone and before he could even touch the hilt.

You looked down at him from the height of your direhorse, your expression completely detached as he writhed in the mud beneath you.

“My husband is not dead, but you will be.”

Without a single hint of hesitation, you nocked one final arrow and released the string. The final arrow struck cleanly between his eyes, causing his body to slump back into the dirt, his blank gaze staring up at the stormy sky.

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

When the heavy sedation finally wore off, Neteyam opened his eyes to the harsh, sterile white light of the human biolab. His vision blurred, then sharpened, focusing on the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. The sun of midday was already dawning through the windows.

His first thought was entirely instinctual. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the one face that always brought him peace.

“Y/N...” he grogged, his voice barely a gravelly whisper.

The lab doors hissed open, and Jake stepped inside, his expression deeply lined with fatigue. Behind him, Neytiri stood, her usual fierce posture replaced by a rare, heavy layer of visible guilt. Little Tuk was curled up on a chair in the corner, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

“Dad,” Neteyam breathed, trying to push himself up on his elbows. His hand flew to his chest, feeling the thick, white bandages binding his skin. “My wife?”

A heavy silence blanketed the room. Everyone had spent the last several hours frantically combing through every tier of Hometree after Jake had ordered a full-scale search, desperate to find you before his eldest son woke up, but no one had seen a trace of you. Even Neytiri, now that her blinding panic had subsided and her mind was clear, realized the catastrophic mistake she had made by cornering you and implicating you in the ambush.

For the past several weeks, the Omatikaya council had had intelligence about a brewing conflict. Your birth clan apparently part of a larger, aggressive faction of clans seeking to destabilize Toruk Makto’s influence, viewing his family as “half-bloods” who didn't belong with the true people of Eywa. Throughout those tense council meetings, Neteyam had staunchly, fiercely defended you.

When the elders and even his own mother suggested that your betrothal was a calculated set-up to make him vulnerable, Neteyam had never wavered. He knew your heart. He knew that you knew absolutely nothing about your clan’s movements, and he had begged his family to let him handle it, to protect you from the clan's suspicion.

But Neytiri's explosive grief at seeing her firstborn bleeding had shattered that protection.

“Neteyam,” Neytiri stepped forward, her voice trembling in a way he had never heard before. “The night you were brought in... I lost my mind,” Neytiri confessed. “I confronted her. I told her that her father shot you, and I... I accused her. Tuk said she left not long after. We think... maybe she went to find them. Maybe she'll come back...”

“Left?” Neteyam echoed, the word ripping out of his throat like a physical wound. The monitor beside his bed began to beep in a frantic, erratic rhythm. He tore the IV lines straight out of his arm, ignoring the sharp sting of blood.

“Neteyam, lay back down!” Jake barked, rushing forward to plant his heavy hands on his son's shoulders.

“No! She doesn't want to go back there! She told me she never wanted to see that place again!” Neteyam roared, fighting his father's grip with a desperate, wild strength, despite the pull on his stitched flesh. “I have to find her—”

“I’ve already sent out scouting teams to track her trail,” Jake argued, his voice laced with helplessness. “But the storm washed away the tracks. Some came back empty-handed. We don't know where to look, son.”

Neteyam’s chest tightened, a suffocating mixture of physical pain and raw, blinding panic making his head spin. He was hoping against hope that you hadn't gone back to your birth clan. He knew how much you hated it.

Just as he was stepping off the bed, the lab doors hissed open again. One of the clan's seasoned tracking warriors stepped into the room, drenched in mud and breathing heavily.

“Olo'eyktan,” Navem reported, bowing his head to Jake but looking directly at Neteyam. “Word has just come from the western border. Korto... is dead. He was assassinated in the dead of night inside his own camp. They said it was his eldest daughter.”

The warrior glanced at Neteyam. He felt the air completely knocked out of his lungs. He staggered, his knees buckling slightly as he stared at the warrior in absolute, stunned disbelief. His mind reeled, completely torn between two overwhelming realities: the terrifying fact that you had ridden alone into enemy territory in the middle of a storm, and the realization that you had executed a flawless assassination entirely on your own.

Neytiri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

It was Jake who broke the stunned silence, his tactical mind instantly kicking into gear. “Looks like we have a lead,” he said, his voice grim but focused. “Tell the aerial teams to scour every border between here and the plains. We need to get ahold of her before her father's loyalists do.”

Neteyam didn't wait for his father to finish. Ignoring the burning agony in his chest, he bolted out of the biolab. Jake and Neytiri chased after him as he sprinted up the winding pathways toward the ikran roost.

“Neteyam,” Jake called, throwing the comms through the air. Neteyam caught it with his good hand. “Wait for the scouts to give you an update!”

“Thanks, dad,” Neteyam yelled back, his voice raw.

“Come home safely. Both of you...” Neytiri begged from the platform below, her voice cracking.

Neteyam leaped onto his Ikran, his bond snapping into place with frantic urgency.

The flight was a blur of agonizing waiting. Neteyam cursed himself for choosing his Ikran over a direhorse, realizing too late that the thick canopy made it nearly impossible to spot a single figure from the air. For thirty agonizing minutes, he flew in erratic patterns, his heart hammering against his ribs, until the comms clicked to life.

“Neteyam, we have a visual. She’s at the rocky creek near the old boundary. We are moving to secure her—”

“No!” Neteyam barked into the mic, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Do not approach her. Give me the coordinates. I will deal with my wife on my own.”

Receiving the location, he drove his ikran into a steep dive, landing the beast in a clearing a short distance from the water. He threw himself off the saddle, his long strides breaking through the damp ferns as he sprinted toward the sound of rushing water.

And there you were.

You were sitting on a wet stone by the edge of the creek, looking incredibly small, pale, and exhausted. Your eyes were heavily swollen and puffy from a night of what seemed like endless crying. Your old longbow lay on the moss beside you. You were crouched low, scooping cold water into your palms to wash your mouth, when the rustle of leaves caught your attention.

Your eyes snapped up, locking onto his towering figure across the shallow water. You gasped, instinctively flinching and rearing back.

New, hot tears instantly swelled in your eyes as your gaze landed on the thick white bandages wrapping his torso, and the dark red spot of blood seeping through his chest. A wave of profound, crushing shame washed over you. Your father had done that. Your bloodline had brought that violence to his family. It didn't matter that you had killed the monster; the stain of the betrayal felt permanent.

“Don't come near me,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you held up a trembling hand when he stepped straight into the freezing, ankle-deep water, his gaze brazen and unyielding.

“Why?” he asked stubbornly.

“It's just... you shouldn't be with me,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around your own torso as if trying to hold yourself together.

He tilted his head, his expression softening into something intensely possessive. “Too bad. I want to be with you.”

“Neteyam, please,” you cried, shaking your head violently as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. “It is a disgrace! My people are traitors. My father wounded you, he almost took your life! My blood is that of a traitor’s... and I am so scared... I am so terrified that this life inside of me will take after my blood—”

“What?” Neteyam stopped dead in the middle of the creek.

The word hit him like a physical blow. You were rambling, your words pouring out so fast that his head began to spin, a sudden, loud ringing filling his ears. His golden eyes slowly dropped from your face, tracking down the length of your body until they rested on your flat abdomen. He closed his eyes for a single, heavy second, drawing in a long, deep breath through his nose to steady his racing mind.

The gravity of what you had just done crashed over him. You had traveled a distance that should have taken days in a matter of hours. You had risked your life, riding alone into a hostile camp, carrying out a flawless execution under the noses of an entire warrior council. You could have been captured. You could have been killed.

And through all of that terrifying danger, you were carrying his child.

“You are pregnant?” he asked, his voice dropping into a small, breathless whisper as his eyes snapped open again.

“I... I didn't know,” you whimpered, your fingers wrangling together in a fit of nervousness. “I just learned it now. I threw up so much... I don't know, I can feel it...”

“You are pregnant,” he repeated, a massive, overwhelming whoosh of air rushing out of his lips.

That's it. He lunged across the remaining stretch of the shallow creek, his powerful legs churning through the water until he reached your side. Before you could even take another step back, his large, good arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward until your body slammed directly into the solid wall that was his body.

He pulled back just enough to cup your jaw with his fingers, tilting your face up, and kissed you hard. It was a deep, fiercely possessive, and desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his relief and love into your lips.

“Baby,” he breathed against your mouth, his forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved. “You are amazing. And you are lethal. You have always been. But I need you to never, ever do something like this again.” He let out a breathless, emotional laugh. “A bullet and an arrow haven't killed me yet, but you doing this might actually finish me off.”

You buried your face into his neck, sobbing uncontrollably as the immense weight of the last hours finally collapsed. “I wanted to be there last night,” you wept, your hands carefully gripping his shoulders, mindful of his injury. “I wanted to hold your hand so much... but I needed to catch my father at the very height of what he thought was his victory. I had to end it.”

Neteyam wrapped his arm tighter around you, burying his face into your hair, his own tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I love you,” he mumbled fiercely into your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

You pulled your head back, looking up into his golden eyes, your own twinkling with a mixture of exhaustion and profound love. You pushed up on your tiptoes, capturing his lips again, deepening the kiss as you mumbled, “I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much.”

When the kiss finally broke, Neteyam gently wiped the stray tears from your cheeks. “Do you want to go back home now?”

You nodded instantly, the word home finally feeling absolute.

“Are you... are you mad at my mother?” he asked softly, watching your expression carefully.

You shook your head, a soft, understanding smile touching your lips. “Mad? Why? I understood her anger, and I understood her reaction. She was simply a mother who was terrified of losing her firstborn child. I would have done the same.”

Neteyam’s chest swelled with an intense, overwhelming pride. The sheer capacity of your heart, after everything you had endured, left him entirely awed. He held you tightly against his good side as he guided you back toward his ikran. Your direhorse was left to be brought back by the Omatikaya warriors who had been tracking you from a distance.

When the ikran finally landed on the high platforms of Hometree, Jake, Neytiri, and Tuk were already waiting at the roost.

The moment the beast settled, Neytiri stepped forward, her face tense, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she prepared to offer a formal, deeply humbled apology to you, but Neteyam didn't give her the chance. The moment he dismounted, his large frame moved directly in front of you, shielding your body from his family's view.

“I need to take her straight to Mo'at,” he announced, his voice firm, carrying the absolute authority of a mate protecting his own. “She needs to be checked immediately. Especially given her... sensitive case right now.”

Tuk tilted her head, her big eyes darting around Neteyam’s torso to look at you. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

You smiled warmly, stepping out from behind your husband's protective shoulder to look down at the little girl. “I am okay, Tuk. And I have some very great news for a brave warrior who guarded her brother so well.”

The family followed in a quiet, tense procession as Neteyam led you straight to the quiet upper tiers where Mo'at sat by the hearth. She didn't even need to touch you. The moment her wise eyes landed on your posture, and the subtle, protective way Neteyam’s hand was resting against the small of your back, a knowing, radiant smile broke across her weathered face.

“You are here to confirm a pregnancy? I had been waiting to be asked for moons.”

Tuk instantly let out a joyous shriek, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “A playmate! I knew it!” she cheered, her laughter echoing through the quiet pavilion.

But while Tuk celebrated, the confirmation only made Neytiri’s chest tighten with a deeper, agonizing wave of guilt. She realized that your ride into danger had been undertaken at such a vulnerable state. Later that evening, as the stars began to blanket the skies, Neytiri found you sitting alone on the edge of the healing platform. She approached silently, her ears pressed back in true humility.

“Y/N,” Neytiri began, her powerful voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. “I have no words to excuse my behavior. I allowed my fear for my son to blind me and I am... deeply sorry for the pain I caused you.”

Your expression was entirely peaceful as you reached out, placing your hand over hers. “There is nothing to apologize for, Neytiri. We both had the exact same interest at heart. His safety amd protection. You reacted out of love for your son, and I reacted out of love for my husband. If I were in your position, I would have done far worse.”

Neytiri stared at you for a long moment, a profound respect cementing between the two of you as she squeezed your hand in return. “I have no doubt, daughter. I have no doubt.”

The rest of your pregnancy was a beautiful journey. Your bond with Neytiri had grown deeper as moons passed by, replacing the cold, rigid relationship you had with your mother. Although, there were times you missed her, there was no one in that clan you still wanted to see except for Tarluk.

The last of Neteyam’s intelligence reports regarding Tarluk said that he had escaped after your father’s assassination and the short period of anarchy that followed it. Neteyam assured you that he had sent word to allied clans to give him notice should a lone man wander near their borders.

You had refused to stress yourself further as your pregnancy progressed though. Not when Neteyam has became utterly insufferable in his doting. He refused to let you carry anything heavier than a piece of fruit and  followed you to every single healing lesson with Mo'at.

“You are leaning too far forward,” Neteyam murmured, his deep baritone vibrating right against your ear. His large hand reached around your waist, gently but firmly pulling your torso back against his solid chest. “Mo'at said you need to keep your spine straight so the weight doesn't strain your lower back.”

You let out a soft huff, a small smile tugging at your lips even as you tried to maintain your serious expression. “Neteyam, I am grinding roots, not fighting an ikran. My spine is perfectly fine.”

“I am just making sure,” he replied smoothly, completely unbothered by your teasing. He took the heavy stone pestle right out of your fingers. “Here. Let me do the heavy grinding. You shouldn't be straining your wrists.”

And he did not miss an evening without pressing his face against your growing belly, whispering long stories to the life moving inside you.

“Pea is quiet tonight,“ he whispered, his voice incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he used with the hunters. He flattened his large palm over your skin, his eyes closing as he felt the steady, rhythmic pulse of the life inside you.

“This little seed was kicking all afternoon while you were at the border,”  you murmured, your fingers gently tangling into the dark braids at the nape of his neck. “I think Pea misses the sound of your voice.”

Neteyam’s lips tilted into a proud, boyish smile against your skin. He nuzzled his nose against your stomach, clearing his throat quietly.

“Listen closely, little one,” he began, speaking directly to your belly. “Today, Papa flew high into the floating mountains. The wind was fierce, the kind that tries to steal your breath. I brought with me Mama’s longbow, and when you are big enough, I am going to show you the clearing where your mother showed me how fiercely she can shoot. She struck the farthest target dead in the center, the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.”

You felt a sudden, familiar flutter beneath his palm. A distinct, sharp little thump from the inside.

Neteyam’s eyes snapped open, his golden gaze lighting up with absolute, pure wonder. “Did you feel that? Pea heard me."

“As always,“ you whispered, your heart aching with a love so profound it felt heavy.

He leaned up, shifting his weight so he was hovering over you, his eyes dark with an intense, unyielding adoration. He pressed his lips to yours, a slow, deeply reassuring kiss that tasted of the sweet fruit you had shared earlier.

“You are everything,” he murmured against your mouth, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. “Both of you.”

When your labor finally arrived several moons later, he had completely lost his cool. He was so frantic, so entirely out of his element, pacing the pavilion and checking your vitals every two seconds, that Mo'at and Kiri eventually had to physically shove him out of the tent because his chaotic energy was stressing you out more than the contractions.

But when the final moments came, he was right there beside you. He held your hand with a trembling grip, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of terror and absolute reverence as you gave one final, powerful push.

A sharp, clear cry echoed through the kelku, cutting through the warm night air.

Mo'at smiled, carefully lifting the tiny, squirming bundle and wiping her down before placing her directly onto your chest. Neteyam leaned over you, his hot tears spilling onto your shoulder as he looked down at his newborn daughter. She was perfectly made, a beautiful little girl with your delicate features, but he can see how she got his defined stripes.

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."

"Hello, I'm Dr. Santos. I heard you took a fall," said the doctor as she stepped into the cubicle, parting the curtain gently. She was alone, which surprised you—this was a teaching hospital, and doctors were rarely alone for long.

You knew you weren’t a major case, but you’d still hoped someone else might come along. Someone more familiar.

Dr. Santos was pleasant enough. She checked your vitals, your reflexes, and ran through the usual assessments. When everything came back normal, she explained that she was waiting on your lab results before deciding whether you could go home or if more tests were needed. She offered a gentle smile before slipping back through the curtain.

You sighed heavily. You knew exactly what was wrong : a mountain of deficiencies, severe sleep deprivation, and the fact that you hadn’t eaten all day—maybe not even the day before. You had told all that to the paramedics but they had refused to let you go.

“Um, sorry,” Dr. Santos said, pausing before she left completely. She turned back with a curious look. At this look, you raised an eyebrow. “I couldn’t help but notice your name, Miss Abbot. Are you related to Dr. Abbot? Are you his daughter?”

You rolled your eyes. You couldn’t really blame her, she must have been new. You hadn’t seen her before. Still, it felt a little unprofessional, though you decided not to comment.

“I’m his ex-wife. Don’t call me Abbot,” you replied—a bit too sharply, but you couldn’t help it. The day had already been bad enough.

“Oh, okay,” she murmured, she’d made things awkward.

“Listen,” you called after her before she was out of earshot. “It’s nothing personal, but is Michael , uh, Dr. Robby, on shift?”

When she nodded quickly, you let out a relieved sigh. “Could you call him here for me? Or Dana?”

“Sure, of course,” she said softly, and disappeared through the curtain once more.

Further down the hall, Dr. Santos reached the nurses’ station, scanning the area for Dana or Robby. Finding neither, she winced, replaying the conversation in her head. She hadn’t worked with Dr. Abbot for long, and yes, she’d noticed the ring—but the woman she’d just seen seemed far too young to have been married to a man his age.

Checking your file again, she saw you were into your early thirties and cringed even harder. The information had been right there. She’d just missed the perfect chance to keep her mouth shut. In her defence, she thought you were not even over 30 yet.

“You need something?” Perlah asked from behind the counter, sitting next to Princess. Both nurses watched as Santos visibly spiralled into an internal breakdown.

Glancing around, Santos switched to Tagalog so the others wouldn’t understand.

“I fucked up,” she muttered. “I called Abbot’s wife his daughter.” She looked genuinely pained just admitting it out loud.

When Princess said your name as a question, she frowned in worry. Santos nodded miserably.

Princess immediately stood up, scanning the room. “She’s here?”

Santos handed over your chart, and the nurses quickly looked through it. Nothing unusual—just another fainting spell. You’d been having them for years, never really taking care of yourself, even though your husband was a doctor.

Still speaking in Tagalog, Perlah smirked. “You didn’t actually call her Abbot, did you?”

“She asked if she was his daughter, you didn't hear?” Princess said, laughing loudly at Santos’s despair.

“What’s going on?” a man’s voice said from behind Santos.

“Dr. Robby!” she exclaimed, jumping at the sudden sound. Quickly, she snatched the tablet out of the nurse’s hands. “I—uh, I have a patient who asked for you by name. Could you take a look at her?”

Frowning, Robby pulled his glasses from the pocket of his scrubs and gently took the tablet from his student’s grasp. Normally, he didn’t do favours—he didn’t examine patients just because they remembered him or he had been recommended. But when his eyes landed on the name at the top of the file, followed by a last name he knew all too well, his frown deepened.

It eased slightly when he saw the reason for your visit, the usual mess.

“Thank you, Santos. I’ll handle this one,” he said quietly, turning and heading toward your cubicle : South 12.

One second, you were walking down the street, rushing to catch the last bus of the night. It was late, and your shift at the restaurant had just ended. You were cold, exhausted, and craving the comfort of your own bed on that bitter winter night.

But God had other plans.

The next thing you registered was the ground beneath you—cold, hard—and a man’s voice cutting through the fog in your head. A bright light flickered across your eyes, then vanished, then returned again.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” the man asked from above you.

Your head was resting on something that wasn’t soft but wasn’t uncomfortable either. The right side of your skull throbbed—a deep, rhythmic pain, as if your heartbeat had migrated behind your eye. Your vision was blurred, the world hazy and spinning. You could feel nausea rising like a wave.

“Can you hear me?” he repeated, more urgently this time.

All you managed was a faint hum. Speaking felt dangerous—like opening your mouth might unleash the sickness clawing at your throat.

“I’m Doctor Jack Abbot,” he said, his voice calm but alert. “Can you tell me your name?”

You whispered it, barely audible, before gagging again. “Gonna throw up,” you croaked—and then you did.

The doctor reacted instantly, rolling you onto your side and supporting your shoulders so you wouldn’t choke. The vomit splattered across his shoes and one strap of his backpack—the same one he’d been using as a makeshift pillow for your head.

When you finally looked up at him, your vision cleared just enough to see the mess, and tears of embarrassment burned your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered between shallow, trembling breaths. You felt faint, hollow, desperate to just close your eyes and let it all fade.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he said softly, his tone steady and kind. “I’ve seen worse, I promise.”

He sat you up gently, guiding you upright so you wouldn’t accidentally rest your hand in your own vomit. Squatting in front of you, he pressed two fingers against your wrist—index and middle—checking your pulse, frowning a little.

He was handsome, in a quiet, rugged sort of way—older than you by at least a decade, if not a bit more. There was something about him that spoke of experience, of someone who had taken a beating from life and somehow come out the other side still standing. Though he couldn’t have been much over thirty-five, streaks of grey threaded through his hair that was still mostly brown, and faint crow’s feet deepened at the corners of his eyes. Freckles dusted his skin, and a light stubble shadowed his jaw.

“You hit your head pretty hard when you fell, ma'am,” he said gently, releasing your wrist and setting it softly on your thigh. “With the nausea, you’ll need a CT scan and some blood work, just to make sure we understand what’s going on.”

And just like that, he pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the green dial button.

You stopped him before he could press it. You didn’t need a doctor—you’d seen plenty already. You already knew why this was happening.

“It’s anemia,” you whispered, voice thin and shaky. “And a fucking bunch of other deficiencies. Don’t need the ER.”

You pushed yourself up, first to your knees, then to your feet—unsteady, swaying like a newborn deer. The world tilted for a moment, and before you could fall, Jack was there, silent and steady, his hands firm on your shoulders to keep you upright.

He had risen with you without a sound, as if he’d been expecting it.

“Anemia or not, you still hit your head hard enough to cause blurry vision, disorientation and nausea,” he said flatly, not giving you room to argue. “You could have a concussion and if that’s left untreated, it can do some real damage.”

You sighed, watching as he pulled a random towel from his bag to wipe off his shoe and the strap of his backpack. The gesture made you cringe with guilt. Anyone else on this street would’ve taken advantage of you fainting—grabbed your bag, your wallet, maybe even your phone—but he hadn’t.

He didn’t know you. He could’ve just checked that you were breathing and left you there. But you guessed that kind of indifference went against whatever oath he’d taken when he became a doctor. It felt strange, almost disarming, to have this random—and admittedly very handsome—man caring about your health.

Most doctors you’d seen barely looked at you, dismissing your symptoms with a wave and a just eat more iron. They weren’t great, but they were the only ones you could afford.

Now he was picking up his phone again, thumb hovering over the dreaded green button, and panic clawed at your throat.

“I can’t afford the hospital,” you blurted, wincing at how pathetic you sounded. “It’ll ruin me.”

But really, what did he expect? You were a twenty-year-old almost-dropout, working late shifts at a crappy restaurant just to keep a roof over your head. Shitty clothes, shitty apartment, shitty food habits, shittier family—the whole package. You couldn’t just walk into the ER and walk out with a $10,000 debt. Your credit score could barely handle a phone plan.

He hesitated, thumb still suspended above the screen.

Exhaustion was washing over you now—heavy, sinking. You’d already fainted once, and all you wanted was your bed. Just to lie down for a few hours and forget the world existed until you'd have to go to school tomorrow.

No, fuck that. You weren’t going to class tomorrow either. Skipping another lecture meant inching closer to losing your scholarship, but right now, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

He sighed and locked his phone, slipping it back into his pocket. His eyes stayed on you, watchful, conflicted. You could practically see the battle playing out behind them. The doctor in him wanted to act, no matter what you’d just said.

“No, fuck!” you blurted suddenly, your gaze snapping away from him.

Your stomach dropped as you watched, helpless, the last bus of the night drove past the two of you.

Tears stung your eyes, your throat tightening with frustration. This was your fault. You shouldn’t have stayed, shouldn’t have wasted time arguing with him. The moment you’d opened your eyes, you should’ve just run—disoriented or not—straight to that damn bus stop.

Missing that bus meant a forty–minute walk back to your flat. After the day you’d just had, you weren’t even sure you could manage that. In defeat, you opened the Uber app on your phone. A twelve–minute drive for twenty bucks—fucking expensive.

“I’ll drive you home,” the doctor said, grabbing his bag by the handle, not the strap. “If you don’t want to go to the ER, at least let me drive you home.”

And you did.

Even though every rational part of your brain screamed it was a terrible idea—dangerous, even—despair had a way of dulling your instincts. You let him. You let him drive you home. You let him give you his number in case you developed symptoms overnight. You let him hand you a small bottle of pills from his bag.

You let him take care of you.

Now, you were sitting in the passenger seat of his car, fidgeting with the pill bottle while he listed off all the possible concussion symptoms and there were a lot, and you listen carefully. When he finally finished, you glanced up at him, exhaustion heavy in your voice.

“Where’s your practice?” you asked, still studying the label on the bottle. You were trying to decide if you’d just stumbled into finding a decent doctor—or if he was one of those who worked on the fancy side of town, near the hospital.

He scoffed softly, a faint smirk curving his lips. “Don’t have one, sweetheart.”

What?

Your head snapped toward him so fast it almost gave you whiplash. Panic shot through your chest, your heart skipping a few beats. He wasn’t a doctor? He’d said he was a doctor. You looked down at the pills again—there was no way you were taking anything from that bottle. You’d throw them out the second you got inside.

Before you could come up with a polite excuse to thank him and bolt, you heard him laugh quietly from behind the wheel.

“I’m a medic,” he said, glancing at you with that same infuriating smirk. “In the army.”

As if to reassure you further, he reached into the back seat, rummaged for a moment, then dropped a military ID into your lap. There it was. Jack Abbot, his photo a few years younger but still undeniably him. All his information was printed neatly on the plastic card.

Oh. Yeah. He really was twelve years older than you.

Weirdly, that realization made you squeeze your thighs together just a little. Unconsciously.

At the top of the card, his rank was listed—or rather, it wasn’t. Just five bold, capital letters : MEDIC.

“Oh,” you breathed out, relieved. He could’ve mentioned that earlier, would’ve saved you the brief heart attack.

That realization hit you like a delayed punch : you’d just gotten into a stranger’s car and given him your real address. He didn’t seem like the type to show up unannounced, but still—he was a man, a soldier, the kind that get protected by the system. The thought sent a small shiver down your spine.

“Go home and sleep, kid,” he said when you stayed quiet. “And call me if anything feels off. I’m in town for another month before I’m off again.”

You nodded meekly, gathering your bag and placing his ID carefully on the dash. Looking back at him, you managed a small smile — a quiet thank you — before reaching for the door handle.

Before you could step out, a warm, steady hand closed gently around your wrist.

“I mean it,” he said, voice lower now, the tone leaving no room for doubt. “Anything. It’s already killing me to let you go without a CT scan, so… don’t die on me, okay?”

“Promise,” you said softly, meaning it. For once, you were genuinely grateful—grateful he hadn’t forced you into a hospital, and even more grateful that, just for a moment, someone had treated you like you mattered.

That night, you went to sleep convinced you’d never see him again—just another fleeting moment with a stranger who’d been kind. You didn’t know you’d end up calling him the very next day, after an hour spent throwing up.

You didn’t know that call would be the start of a thirteen–year relationship.

The curtain was yanked open, startling you as you sat on the bed, half-distracted by a game on your phone. Waiting,for what, exactly? You weren’t even sure anymore.

“Not gonna lie and say it’s a pleasure to see you,” Robby said as he stepped inside, giving you a quick once-over, his eyes scanning for any symptoms Dr. Santos might have missed. When he found none, his expression softened. He stepped closer and pulled you into a brief hug. “Never under these circumstances, but… it’s still good to see you.”

You sighed into his shoulder and hugged him back, just as quickly. It really was nice to see a familiar face.

“I told them to take me to West Penn,” you started, naming the other town hospital, “but the paramedics refused. Said it was your zone.”

The look he gave you was pure disbelief—unimpressed, knowing you were full of it.

“Okay,” you admitted with a small eye-roll. “I told them not to take me to a hospital, and after they said no, I asked for West Penn. I was married to a doctor for twelve years, Mike. I know what’s wrong with me.”

He didn’t look convinced, not that you expected him to. Doctors never liked that line. Neither did nurses.

“Clearly not, if you ended up here,” he said, sliding his glasses onto the bridge of his nose before glancing at your chart on the tablet. He sighed, no lab results yet. It was a busy day.

“How long has it been since you last passed out?” he asked, turning away to grab the blood pressure monitor.

“I don’t know… over a year, I think.” His back was still to you when you hesitated, debating whether to add the next part. “I didn’t eat today. That’s why I fainted,” you mumbled, already regretting it the second the words left your mouth.

Robby’s reaction was instant. He froze mid-step, then spun around to face you, eyes wide and a deep frown creasing between his brows.

“I felt under the weather this morning,” you rushed to explain, your tone softer—not because he was angry, but because you could feel the worry radiating off him. “It’s nothing like before, Mike. I promise.”

He sighed, whatever was running through his head, he kept it to himself. Silently, he wrapped the cuff around your arm and took your blood pressure. His brow furrowed when the numbers flashed slightly above average, though that could’ve meant anything—stress, exhaustion, or the sheer weariness written all over your face.

Someone called his name from outside, and he sighed again. Standing up, he reached out and placed a gentle hand on your head, a quiet, instinctive gesture of comfort. Almost paternal.

“Still waiting on your labs, but I’ll be back, okay?” he said, setting the monitor back in its place. “Try to rest a bit. I’ll have someone bring you food.”

You nodded, leaning back on the gurney. “Think you can find a blanket?” you asked with a small smirk, knowing full well he would.

He smiled at the question, rolling his eyes as he headed out, leaving you behind.

You closed your eyes, letting out a slow breath. It was comforting, being surrounded by people you knew—friends, even—but the comfort only went so far. What you really wanted was to be home.

Your gaze flicked to the clock on the wall. Two hours until 7 p.m. already. Anxiety curled tight in your stomach. You didn’t want to still be in this hospital when that hour came.