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“You’re a hundred percent sure this is what you want?” Doctor Belladona asks you, but side-glances at Ace, who seems lost in his own thought standing at the corner of the room next to the door, before she looks back at you. You confidently nod, no doubt in your mind that this is what you want. “Let’s get you checked then and talk about what’s to come next.” She gestures with her hand for you to go and lay on the examination bed. “Ace.” She turns to him, but he doesn’t response to her. She calls him once again, but this time it is a bit louder, catching both of your attention.

He shakes his head and bilks twice before he looks at her, giving her a nod that he is paying attention to what she is saying now. “You can take a seat next to her.” A warm smile spreads across her face as she points to the chair next to the bed.

Ace glances at the chair and once again doesn’t say anything as he just nods and makes his way to sit. You follow him carefully with your eyes. He doesn’t seem well. His skin looks a bit pale, and you can see his left eyebrow twitching a bit. You are sure he is going through something in his head but won’t show it or say anything in front of you, probably because he doesn’t want you to worry about him. He is about to sit when you stop him as you reach over and grab his hand.

 “Could we just have a minute, please?” Turning to your doctor, you give her an apologetic look, but as always, she is understanding and just leaves the room. The moment you two are left alone you pat the bed, inviting Ace to sit next to you. He sits next to you without protesting and gives you a questioning look.

“Are you okay?” You tilt your head to the side, studying his face carefully.

“All good.” He shrugs, his voice not convincing at all.

“Bull.” You bitterly chuckle.

The corner of his lip lifts for a smile, but he can barely hold it for a second. “I’m not.”

Bobbing your head, you are a bit surprised that he actually admits it. “Yes, I can tell you’re not okay.” You tell him, but he is quick to correct you.

“No, I meant I’m not bullshiting you.”

A deep sigh leaves your lips. “Ace, you don’t need to do this.”

Now he is the one who takes a deep inhale and then exhale. “How many times I have to tell you that I’ll do this.” He clenches his jaw as he tries to keep his nerves under control. This doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“I mean you don’t need to be here right now if you don’t want to.” You hesitate for a second before placing your hand on his thigh close to his knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve done it twice alone already.” Your eyes lock with him. “I can do it again.” Even though you would prefer to do it with him this time, you can’t allow yourself to tell him this. Part of you is still feeling guilty for choosing yourself and what you want over what he wants.

Ace slowly nods. “You sure about that?” His eyes narrow, his hand now placed on top of yours on his knee; for the little time you two have spent together he has already learned that you tend to put others first even if you don’t feel like it.

The fake smile you have mastered over the years makes its way on your face as fast as you blink followed by a small nod, like that would settle it. Pulling your hand away, you wave it as it will be nothing new for you to go through. “I got this.” You reassure him once again, glancing away from him as you try to swallow the heaviness that settles in your chest for a moment. After all this is the answer you expect from him, yet you wish he has chosen to stay.

He leans closer and you feel his hot breath glazing the skin between your neck and ear, causing goosebumps to run up and down your spine as he speaks. “I hope you’ve enjoyed those two appointments alone,” turning your head to face him, you freeze for a second because of how close you are to each other, your noses just millimeters from touching, “because from now on, you have to do them with me by your side.” Ace winks at you as he pulls away and holds out his fist.

Your knuckles meet in a quiet fist bump, but neither of you moves right away. This brief touch lingered for a bit longer than it is intended to, with your fists still in the air as both of you stare at the way your knuckles fit perfectly, but the shared touch brings some kind of strange comfort to both of you. It is almost like you just made a pact – that from now on you have each other and that is all this is about, and this thought alone terrifies you; because for whatever reason, being around Ace gives you this calmness of feeling safe, something that you haven’t experienced in a long time, let alone with a man.

The moment is interrupted by doctor Belladona as she enters the room again, startling both of you a bit and pulling away from each other as if you have been caught doing something you shouldn’t do. “Are you ready to start?” She asks with a smile on her face. Both of you give her a short nod, as Ace gets up and takes a seat on the chair next to the examination bed, and you lay down lifting your shirt up reviling your belly.

His eyes immediately fell on it. The bump there is still invisible, after all you are still too early in the pregnancy, but him knowing that there is something growing inside of you that he caused in the first place scares the soul out of him. This all feels like a very bad dream, a nightmare even, but even when he digs his fingers into his arm, hard enough to make his skin sting and bloom red beneath his nails, the world around him doesn’t waver, and he cannot wake up. This is all real and his biggest fear is becoming a reality. On the background he can hear yours and the doctor’s voices but everything around him feels way too disconnected at the moment.

It takes all the energy he has within himself to move his gaze away from your belly and look at the ultrasound screen on the other side of the bed. His eyes focus on the small dot on the screen. It looks a bit bigger than the first time he seen it. Yet nothing from the inside of him seems to react in a positive way. He is sure that many men in his place would be jumping up to the ceiling or cry happy tears, but all Ace can see is the consequences of one reckless night.

His eyes slowly move from the screen to your face. Your eyes are a still puffy from earlier, but now there is not an ounce of sadness in them. You look contented. The soft smile placed on your lips seems genuinely sincere it even reaches the corners of your eyes. This smile is nothing compared to the ones he has seen before on you. He does wish that he could share the same emotions that you are currently feeling, but he just cannot. All he could feel right now is undeniable dread for what is to come in less than eight months from now.

“It’s a very healthy baby, this is one thing I can assure you both.” Doctor Belladona tells you with a smile. “But don’t skip the pills I’ve prescribed you ever again.” Her tone turns serious with a warning look on her face as she hands you some paper to wipe yourself from the gel.

“I won’t.” You nod as you are taking the paper from her and softly wiping away the cold gel off your belly.

“You two want a picture of the ultrasound?” She looks at you and then Ace. You turn your head to the side to check with him and he just shrugs.

“I guess yes.” He murmurs. Last thing he wants is a reminder of this, but he needs to get used to it.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t need to have one, but you chose to keep this to yourself and not speak about it in front of your doctor. “Yes, we would like to have some.” You turn back to her, and she nods and goes to press something on the machine that quickly prints two pictures of the ultrasound.

She looks at the pictures before she hands them to you. “Last time it was the size of a pea, now at week nine is around the size of a grape.” Taking the pictures in your hand, your heartbeat fastens a bit. “They grow fast, but do not worry. You should not start showing until the second trimester.”

Your head snaps toward her, and you quickly sit upright, convinced you must have misheard. “Wait, what?” Your eyes widen in pure shock. “B-but this is in like four weeks.”

Doctor Belladonna couldn’t contain her laughter as she gently pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry, you won’t just wake up one day and have huge belly, but around the fifth month of the pregnancy you will slowly start showing.” Her words clearly don’t ease your worry that has entered your mind just now. “Look, it is different from woman to woman. You might even start showing at the end of it, but even so if you plan to hide from friends and family usually most women fail around the end of the fifth month.”

And just when you think that you can enjoy a few weeks of not stressing yourself with the situation around your pregnancy, the realization of having to tell your parents way sooner than you have planned hits you like a truck. You are not ready to face them with the news at all. Knowing your parents they will lose their minds over the fact that you randomly got knocked up and then you decided to keep it, will definitely leads to an extremely big and unpleasant argument.

Not understanding the reasons for your sudden change, doctor Belladonna reassures you once again. “Don’t worry about your body now. It will bounce back fast to what it was before the pregnancy before you know it.”

Wanting to change the subject, so you can forget about this worry for now, you clean your throat and turn to your doctor once again. “When is my next appointment?”

“Until week twenty-eight, it’s every four weeks. My assistant will email you the date and time of your next appointment.” She tilts her head slightly toward Ace. “Is he okay?”

You glance over your shoulder. Ace is still frozen in place, as if he hasn’t moved an inch. “He just needs some time,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him. “Thank you again.” You reach out for a handshake with your doctor. “See you in four weeks.”

Scanning the room, you spot your handbag and pick it up before stepping in front of Ace and calling his name gently. He blinks once, then twice and finally looks up at you. “We can go now.”

He doesn’t say anything as he gets up and follows after you. His body is on an autopilot, while his mind is on the run.

Walking out of the hospital, you look back at him, and his state hasn’t changed one bit. “What have I done…” You murmur under your breath as you shift to face him. You suddenly stop on your track causing him almost bumping into you.

He stops short, blinking as if reality catches up with him. A faint crease appears between his brows as he looks at you, his head tilting slightly. The question in his eyes is if everything is okay, though he seemed too lost to put it into words.

“Ace, you don’t look okay.” Concern warms your features, plain in the way your eyes soften and refused to look away.

One corner of his mouth parted slightly, as though he was about to speak, then he just shrugs. “I’m fine. Just tired and I have a headache.” Bringing his fingers to his forehead he presses it hard. His head is killing him, at least for this he isn’t lying to you; only the part that he is fine.

A faint furrow appeared between your brows and your eyes lingered on him. Your lips press together in disapproval, as you slightly shake your head. “Look, I know that you didn’t want today to turn out like this, but if we’re going to do this together, we must be honest with each other.” Mentally, you tap yourself on the shoulder for finding the strength in you to say this out loud. You might be a bit calmer now, but still the situation is far from ‘calm’.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying his best to shut off all the thoughts running though his mind. He throws his hands up as he opens his eyes and looks at you. The gesture lacks any emotion; he is too tired to put any energy into it. “You’re right.” He lets go a deep exhale. “I did not want this,” he points with his eyes at your belly, “to go this way, but as I told you upstairs – we got this.” Running one hand over his messy raven black hair with a little pull on the roots, he reminds himself to stay grounded and not allow the anger he is starting to feel building up erupting on you. Seeing you slumping on the spot he is quick to add, “I just need some time to accept that this is happening, okay?”

Your fingers find a strand of hair and begin to tug at it. The old habit has lingered since childhood. It always resurfaces when you're overwhelmed and desperate to escape. Avoiding his gaze, you just nod. He probably hates you at this point, is the thought that runs into your mind, but you try your best to push it away. “I understand.” You quietly tell him, adverting your eyes from the pavement to the sky.

It’s been almost two hours since you two have been here. The sun is not settling yet, but its reflection is mirroring the buildings around you making the surroundings warmer, which is strange. You don’t feel warm, despite the hot weather and the warmer tones embracing you. You expect that once you make the choice that you wanted to make in the first place you will feel at ease, but how you felt two hours ago and how you feel now don’t feel much different. Now you have double the things to worry about, if not triple, but this is the choice you made and now you must endure everything that is to come.

A sudden call of your name and a gentle tug of your chin, Ace makes you look at him. “We’re both exhausted, aren’t we?” He offers you the most sincere smile he can pull from himself right now.

“How are you getting home?” You ask him, completely changing the subject, maybe for the better for both of your sakes.

“I have my bike over there.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. Lifting on your tiptoe, you look over his shoulder to where he just pointed at. Your eyes land on a red motorbike, making your pupils grow twice their size, then you look back at him and let out a little puff of laughter, which makes him chuckle. “What?”

Shaking your head, you waved a hand in front of your face and let out a soft giggle, amused by your own reaction. “When you said bike, I though you meant bicycle at first, and then I saw what you meant by it,” eyeing him up and down you gesture with your hand at him, “and I don’t get why I got surprised at first.” Your shoulders bounced with silent laughter, cringing at your own naivety. “You and,” opening your mouth, you pause for a second, then simply flap your hands toward the bike, "that-"

Ace interrupts you fast, “Me and that?”, he nods with his chin at you as he crosses his arms pretending to be offended, but it is obvious that he is finding this more amusing than accusing of whatever you are about to throw at him.

“I-it just makes sense.” You wave your hands between him and the bike.

Looking between you and the bike, he hums thoughtfully. How is this making any sense? What do you mean by this? Tilting his head to look at you, he opens his mouth then he closes it. He is too tired to dig into this, but he does find it entertaining in a way that whatever connection you make between him and his bike has piqued his interest. “Okay, how about this,” he says, as he nods his head for you to follow him as he starts walking, “you get to tell me more about what sense me and my bike make later this week. How does this sound?”

Stopping next to your car, you are taken a bit by surprise to hear this. You don’t expect him to want to meet up so soon after today. In your mind, next time you would have probably meet is for the next ultrasound, if he even wants to be there. You are pleasantly surprised that he would like to spend some time getting to know each other.

Not getting any response from you, Ace cringes a bit at himself. Maybe, this comes out too pushy. Maybe you don’t want to spend time together to get to know each other and just meet when it is time for your ultrasound appointments, if you even want him there.

Both of you begin speaking at the same time and stop at the same time, sharing an awkward laugh.

“You first.” You tell him, but he shakes his head and gestures at you.

“No, you first.” You’re about to protest, but Ace stops you. “Please. Just say what you wanted to say.”

Drifting your eyes to the ground to hide the smile that blooms on your face, you clear your throat before speaking up. “I-I wanted to say, that I would loved if we…,” shrugging awkwardly, not knowing exactly how to say what you want to say, you focus your gaze on your shoes and the way you shift your weight on your heels back to your toes, swaying your body a bit, “if we… you know… get to know each other?” Your voice cracks a bit at the end. You pray he doesn’t interpret this in the wrong way. “Like, I would love to skip all the lawyers involvement and we just get to be friends and you know,” finding the courage you finally look up and meet his gaze, “we get to co-parent without a schedule dictated by some judge, and skip all that unnecessary stress for you, me and Dot.” Your hand slides gently onto the bottom of your stomach, creasing it gently.

His eyes follow the movement of your hand. The reminder of the life growing inside of you giving him chills down to his spine. “Yea, that’s good.” Squeezing the back of his neck with one hand, he slowly nods. “We’re on the same page for this. I’d loved to skip all that mess, too.”

This time you don’t hide your smile. “Nice. Perfect.” At least one of your worries is scratched from the long to do list you must complete in the months left until Dot’s arrival. You slide your handbag off your shoulder and rummage through it looking for your car keys. Once you find them you unlock your car and without expecting it, Ace beats you to it as he opens the door for you. You thank him and get into your car.

Ace leans with one hand on the open door and the other on the hood of the car, taking in the sight of you. Even with puffy eyes, and almost no makeup left from the tears you had cried earlier, he cannot deny that he still finds you undeniably beautiful. “This is just a plus for the kid.” He thinks to himself but quickly shakes the thought away. “So, how does Sunday sounds to you?”

“Sunday sounds great.”

“Cool.” Taping the roof of your car, he pushes away from it. “Drive safe. Text me when you’re home.”

“You, too.” You tell him before he shuts the door and makes his way to his bike. Follow him with your eyes, you take a deep breath in and out. This man is definitely something, but you are not entirely sure if he is something good or not. Only time will tell if the man who happens to be the father of your unborn child is what your gut feeling is telling you so far – a good man.

The apartment door opens with a bang and slams even harder, the sound echoing in the whole building. Pressing his back on the door, Ace takes a deep breath in, hand still on the doorknob. Even with all windows left open, the air feels heavy and not enough. His skin is on fire, and he can feel his sweat soaking on his T-shirt. Pushing himself from the door, he takes off the shirt with one shift move as he walks in further in the apartment.

Despite the outside noise, the space around him feels too quiet. Every sound feels magnified – the wind blowing from the windows which slightly moves the curtains, the faint noise that can usually be heard from the street below, the hum of the refrigerator, the neighbors’ steps from the apartment above, everything sounds too quiet right now. Everything but his own mind.

The muscle on his legs starts to ache as he paces back and forth, legs feeling heavier with every step he takes. Livingroom, to the open kitchen space that connects it, to the hallway, and back. Back and forth, back and forth. He cannot find his place. Every time he wants to stop and take a breath, he is afraid that if he stops, he will fall apart.

His heartbeat increased so much that it feels like it has no longer a steady rhythm, but a hammering presence beneath his chest. His hands tremble, obvious to his eyes as he raises them to run his fingers through his hair, which stuck to his face as the cold sweat has taken over his entire body. Pulling on his roots the unbearable headache he has doesn’t seem to go away but only get worse. His stomach feels hollow and heavy at the same time, twisting in a knot that seems to tighten with every breath he tries to take. His jaw hurts from clenching it so hard. Every attempt to unclench it seems to fail and he feels like soon he might end up in the emergency for a broken jaw, if it is even possible for a person to break their own jaw from clenching it too hard.

The apartment suddenly feels small. The hallway seems smaller than it was in the morning and the living room starts to narrow its walls every time he enters it. His chest seems too small for his body, as if something wants to crawl out of his ribs.

Trying everything possible to anchor himself, he leans on the kitchen counter, digging his fingers into the surface as his knuckles turn white. All the knowledge he has on how to calm a person during a panic attack seems to fade away from his mind. Then a thought hits him; is he having a panic attack? Him of all people having panic attack? No, this is impossible. He needs to just breathe. If he remembers how to.

Digging his fingernails deeper into the countertop, he once again tries to anchor himself. “Try to breathe, try not to think”, he keeps on reminding himself.

And for one suspended moment he does so. He just stays motionless. Eyes fixed on the kitchen cupboards. Breathing. Listening to the pulse roaring in his ears. Skin hotter than it has ever felt before. His eyes hurt. Everything suddenly hurts. A loud curse rips from the bottom of his soul as he swings his hand and knocks off a glass left on the countertop making it fall on the ground and breaking it into pieces.

The anger he felt earlier starts to flow freely now. Hot and violent. Loud. Anger feels right. Anger feels easier than whatever he is feeling right now. It is times easier to feel this way than admitting the thing he has dreaded since he was a teenager is about to come true, and he cannot do anything to prevent it.

He starts to pace again. Faster now. Kitchen. Livingroom. Hallway. Back and forth, back and forth. His pulse so increased that it slowly starts making him feel dizzy. His hands are shaking violently at this point. Dragging them through his hair once again as he grips the back of his neck.

Nothing is helping – counting to ten even to hundred, taking one breath in and holding it and then out, shaking his body, it doesn’t matter. Nothing helps easy his mind or steady his heart.

Finding himself next to the countertop in the kitchen once again, he strikes it with his fist. Pain shoots up his arms, but it is not enough of a relief. So, he strikes it again. And again. And again. Welcoming the pain with each hit. Somehow the pain makes it easier to focus on the painful realization that he of all people will be becoming a father. That realization itself crushes something in him.

The apartment seems to sway around him. Not enough for him to fall, but just enough for him to realize how exhausted he feels out of nowhere. A sharp pain burst in his head as if he was being struck with an arrow. Pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead as if this would help to ease the pain.

The anger that has been carrying him around suddenly doesn’t feel enough. Stagging a step, then another, his breaths come out in a harsh burst, each one scrapping his throat. His knees feel weak and unreliable, so he reaches for the countertop but misses. He just stays there for a moment with all the strength he has left, as his body swaying. The piercing silence returns once again, but this time it is even sharper, making his ears hurt. “It’s happening. I’m going to be a dad.” His own voice feels distant as if it is not even his.

Then finally his knees gave up. He collapses on the floor. The impact with the hard wooden floor jarred his body, but he barely feels it as everything goes black.

Something rough and wet scraps across his cheek. Once. Twice. Pause. Then again. It is insistent and annoying. His face twitches and eyebrows frown. Despite all his effort to open his eyes and find where this weird sensation is coming from, the darkness consuming him feels thick and heavy. Not only his eyes feel heavy, but so does his whole body as he attempts to lift his hand to at least push away that thing from his face, but he cannot find the strength to even move his fingers.

A very familiar sound follows. A loud, sharp, demanding meow pierced his ears, followed by another lick this time on his forehead.

Slowly his consciousness starts to surface. Not waking so much as drifting upwards from very deep dark water. Except for the constant licks that his face continues to receive, Ace starts to feel the rest of his body slowly waking up as well. The floor under him feels harder than ever as if it is made of nails. The back of his neck throbs with pain from being bent at an awkward angle for who knows how long. The pain finds him faster than his whole consciousness does.

Ace pries one eye open. The apartment ceiling swims into the view. Blurred. Too dark, the only light creeping in coming from the window. He squints immediately. What has happened? Did his narcolepsy kick in again? He swears he remembers the apparent brighter. How long has he been on the floor?

Opening his eyes again, the world around him comes out in a blur. A shadow moves above him. Then a fuzzy round face appears. Whiskers brushed his skin as big dark eyes stare directly into his. His sight slowly adjusts to the surroundings. Kotatsu meows again and licks the tip of Ace’s nose. “Ew!” His voice rasps like sandpaper as he turns his head to the other side. Kotatsu on the other hand, doesn’t feel offended at all by his owner’s reaction. Instead, he bumps his furry soft head on Ace’s cheek, gently caressing it.

Finally gaining some control over his body, Ace lifts his hand and pets the head of his beloved cat with the same gentleness Kotatsu handles him with.

His throat is raw. It feels like he has spent hours screaming. His mouth is too dry to even attempt to swallow the pain away. Kotatsu wet tongue finds Ace’s cheek once again and attacks him with more licks now when he knows that his human is awake. Ace has enough of it and tries to push the, not small at all, cat away, but his body jerks with pain.

He sucks in a breath. His ribs hurt. Not from any injury, but from strain. The muscles between them ache from fighting for air for so long. Even breathing too deeply now sends dull pain radiating through his chest. The awareness crept back into his body. His shoulder feels numb where it has been pressed against the hardwood floor. Pins and needles tingles down his arm. His lower back throbs. One knee ache where it has been twisted beneath him. Every muscle in his body felt heavy and overworked, as though he has run the longest marathon known in history. Sweat has long since cooled, adding a surprisingly nice feeling to his aching body, but he can also feel the stickiness of it.

Somewhere outside, a car horn blares then a siren wails probably a few streets away before it fades into the city noise. Someone laughs outside the apartment building. A dog barks. Ordinary sounds you might catch on at this time of the night. Yet the sounds seem distant. Muffled. Ace stares at the ceiling and listened.

For a brief moment, he couldn't remember why he is lying on the floor. The confusion feels almost peaceful. Then the reason why returns. Not gradually. All at once. The panic. The pacing. The realization. His biggest fear.

His stomach twists so violently he thinks he might be sick. His chest still aches. His head still pounds. Pain lingers in his neck, his shoulders, his ribs. But emotionally, he feels disconnected from all of it. Like his mind has exhausted itself and simply shut down. He should be devastated. He should be screaming, breaking things, even crying will be a valid reaction. Instead, he lays motionless on the floor, staring through the cracks in the ceiling paint.

Minutes pass. Maybe longer. He can’t tell how long he has been on the floor at this point it might have been hours. Time seems to have stopped meaning anything. The apartment feels strangely distant despite being wrapped around him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, a trembling breath escapes him. Kotatsu, sensing that something is clearly wrong with his owner, snuggles himself in the crook of his neck. A soft purring fills up Ace’s ear. Ignoring the ache in his body, Ace turns his body to the side and with shaky hand pulls the orange fluff ball in a strong grip next to his chest, snuggling with him. Kotatsu’s purring is the only thing that seems to anchor his mind and body, but it also seems to be the only thing that slowly makes him calm down. Placing a gentle kiss on top of his fluffy head, Ace snuggles him even harder.

“I fucked up, buddy.” Ace says, his voice barely reaching above a whisper. “You have no idea how much I fucked up.” He squeezes his eyes shut, only to open them and look down at Kotatsu who looks up at him with such interest in his big round eyes as if he wants to know about what Ace is talking about. “I-I… I-I’m… I’m going to be a…,” his chest tightens once again, the word reaches his throat and stick there. He has thought about it a thousand times in the past few days. Heard it whispering in the back of his mind, yet speaking it feels impossible. His mouth goes drier as if it is possible. "I-I’m going to be a father."

The sentence falls into the silence. He freezes for a moment then laughs. Not because he finds it funny or that he suddenly feels happy that the one thing he never wanted to be in life is turning into reality, but because saying it out loud doesn’t make any sense. Saying it out loud feels absurd, as if reality has made a mistake.

He repeats the words again. And again. And again. The words echo faintly through the apartment. He listens to the sound of it fading. Nothing happens. The ceiling doesn’t collapse. The world doesn’t stop turning. A car passes by outside. A pipe creaks somewhere in the building. Life continues.

And somehow this makes it worse. The words sound foreign to him, as though someone else has spoken them. He knows they are true yet hearing them aloud feels dreamlike like he is detached from reality. His mind keeps waiting for the sentence to become something impossible to ever be said out loud by him again.

“I’m not cut to be a father, you know?” Ace turns once again to Kotatsu, who hasn’t moved an inch away from the unusual coldness coming from his owner’s body. “Fuck, I don’t even take good care of you buddy!” A bitter chocked chuckles escapes him. “I made the choice to take care of you, you are practically my baby, yet I’m barely around. What about that kid I didn’t even plan to have in the first place? I’m going to be worse than my own father!” Another painful arrow strikes his heart as he continues to speak. “Fuck, I’m going to be worse than the fuckin’ Roger!” He stares ahead as he mentions his own father’s name. The man he has promised to never become like, yet he will probably be worse than him.

The words hang in the air, impossible and undeniable. He waits for something. Another wave of panic. More anger. Anything. Instead, there was only a very sad realisation and a hollow ache in his chest.

A quiet meow catches Ace’s attention, as Kotatsu starts to attack his naked chest with his wet kitten kisses. As if he is sympathizing with his sorrow but doesn’t know how to calm his favorite human.

A deep sign comes out in a shaky breath from Ace, almost like a sob. Then something tickles the corner of his eye. He raises one hand to his cheek, while with the other he still has Kotatsu in a strong protective hug.

His brows frown as his fingertips come away wet. For a moment, he simply stares at his fingers. He must have hit his head. Then he touches his cheek. A tear has followed the path of the first. Then another. He isn’t crying. At least, he doesn’t feel like he is. There is no sobbing. No lump in his throat. No overwhelming wave of emotion. Just tears slipping from his eyes.

The realization leaves him strangely unsettled. Crying felt foreign. Unnatural. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Not after a heartbreak or loss of a family member. Not after all the years spent swallowing every fear and hurt until they settle somewhere deep inside him. The last time he cried might have been when he was a child. Before he learned that tears solved nothing. Before he taught himself to hold everything in.

Yet here they are. Falling without permission. Falling because whatever walls he has built over the years had finally cracked beneath the weight of all of this.

Turning to lay on his back on the hard floor, Ace picks Kotatsu up and raises him up in the air. The streetlights, being the only source of light, lets him have a better look at his cat. “You know what buddy,” with tears still falling from his eyes, Ace sniffs before he continues, “I should’ve done that myself.” He nods at the back paws of his furry friend, where his ‘family jewels’ used to be before Ace had castrated him.

As if Kotatsu understood what his owner is referring to, he juggles his body around trying to escape Ace’s grip, but no success. “Easy, easy there.” Embracing the big fluff ball once again, Ace takes a deep breath before giving his cat one last kiss on the head before he lets him roam around the apartment freely. “You know you’re the best thing that has happened to me in life so far, right?” He softly calls after him and Kotatsu meows back as if to let Ace know that the feeling is mutual, before he disappears around the corner.

Ace follows him with his eyes before he is completely out of his sight. Adverting his eyes then to the ceiling he tries to collect himself as the tears build and blurry his vision. Pressing the pillows of his fingers to his temple, he attempts to gain his strength back and at least manage to get up from the floor, despite the pain in his body and unbearable headache. “Man up, you can’t allow yourself to whine like some bitch.” He scolds himself.

Bracing himself on his elbows, he pushes himself up from the floor. The moment he shifts his weight onto his hands; a sharp pain sparks through his right wrist. A harsh hiss escapes his lips as he jerks the hand back, cradling it against his chest. He hasn’t noticed the pain until now, “Perfect," he mutters under his breath, scowling at the throbbing joint.

As if waking up blacking out on the floor isn’t bad enough, he has somehow managed to fuck up his wrist when he was taking his anger out on the countertop. The pain pulsed with every slight movement, a constant reminder of his own carelessness.

Ace rolls his eyes and shakes his head, more irritated with himself than concerned about the injury he has caused himself. Taking a slow breath, he awkwardly pushes himself into a sitting position, being careful to keep the weight off his wrist. Another dull ache flared through his arm, earning a grimace. He rubs at his face with his free hand before finally lifting his gaze, looking around the apartment with a mixture of annoyance and growing unease.

It has to be hours since he blacked out, but the events before that are in a bit of a blur in his mind. The last thing he manages to remember is saying goodbye to you at the parking lot at the hospital, then some moments of him taking out all his rage on whatever was in front of his eyes at home. Thinking of you, he searches his pants in for his phone and thankfully he finds it in the front pocket, surprisingly in one piece.

His phone is almost dead, but he can’t bother to get to charge it now as he sees a couple of messages. Both from you and his brother Sabo. He goes through the ones sent by you first.

7:04PM You || Just got home. Let me know if you got home safe :) 8:24PM You || Did you get home? 8:26PM You || I just realize, you said you need some time… don’t feel obligated to text me back… won’t bother you again, just wanted to make sure you’re okay …

Followed by another message.

8:31PM You || I know you probably hate me for today… and I know I said that I won’t bother you again, but can you at least please seen my messages, so I know that you’re alive?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ace squeezes his eyes as he curses himself. He is already fucking up. Looking at the time on the screen he wants to punch himself, as the last message is from fifteen minutes ago.

9:02PM You || Ace are you okay??? I’m genuinely worried about you! Pls, text me at least in the morning…

He tries to think of a good excuse, but nothing comes to his tired mind, so he quickly types in:

9:19PM Ace || I’m sorry. Had a very bad headache, fell asleep when I got home.

His message marks as ‘seen’ immediately after he sends it. A bubble that you’re typing appears on the screen, but he types faster:

9:21PM Ace || Don’t worry about me, okay? You shouldn’t stress urself :)

Your bubble disappears and then appears again. And then disappears again. This repeats a few times, when he finally receives a message from you.

9:24PM You || You’re allowed to be angry at me, you know that, right?

Yes, he knows this. He is more angry with himself than you, for better or worse. But also, he doesn’t have any energy to have this conversation with you right now, so he just sends a short answer message:

9:25PM Ace || Stop stressing! Gn :)

He doesn’t get any response from you, and he is not sure if he should take it as a good or bad sign, but he will be worrying about it tomorrow. All he wants to do now is take a cold shower and go straight to bed. After all he must wake up in less than five hours from now to go to work.

But before he gets up from the floor, he looks at the message his brother has sent him.

7:37PM Sabo || Should I start calling myself Uncle Sabo or..?

Reading this message alone is enough for Ace to throw the phone away, which thankfully lands on the couch. Sabo is ‘supposed’ to be the smartest of the bunch in their family, but sometimes Ace really asks himself which one of them is the dumbest. Given his current situation it is definitely him, but Sabo is not so far behind.

Ace stays sat for a moment, elbows resting on his knees as he waits for the last bits of dizziness to fade away. His chest still feels tight and head hurts, and he makes a mental note to himself to take a pill for the headache. He can’t comprehend that he has driven himself to unconsciousness. No matter how angry or lost he has felt before he has never blacked out, except from when his narcolepsy kicks in.

Slowly, he pushes himself on his feet. The room spins for a moment around him, causing him to take a quick pause, clearly lacking balance under his feet. Once he makes sure that floor won’t move under his feet, he makes his way towards the bathroom, desperate to wash away the sticky feeling of cold sweat off his body. On his way there, a glint of the kitchen floor catches his attention. The pieces of the broken glass that he has taken on his anger earlier are spread across the floor beside the countertop. He throws his head back and a loud weary sigh escapes him.

As much as he wants to ignore it and just take this much needed shower, he cannot risk Kotatsu stepping on the splinters and hurting himself. He crouches beside the countertop and starts to pick up the pieces in his hand. This sight makes him embarrassed and disgusted by himself. It is a proof of the version of himself he hates the most – the angry, hotheaded guy who acts on his impulses first and then, if ever, bothers to stop and think of the following consequences.

If hours ago, shattering the glass into million pieces brought him some kind of moment of relief and satisfaction, now is just a reminder of all the things he must take care of. The worst part is that he has no one to blame but himself for this behavior.

By the time he is done collecting every piece of it and making sure there is nothing left behind, he doesn’t feel any better or worse, but in his mind, there is one task less to worry about now.

With another sharp exhale he makes his way to the bathroom, longing for the hot water to hit his skin and hopefully ease his mind just a bit.

Stepping into the bathroom and flicking up the lights, Ace immediately squints as the brightness blinds him. Leaning over the sink, he opens the medicine cabinet and rummages through it in search for pain killers and hopefully some bandages because he has really fucked up his right hand.

His movement suddenly slowed down as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks terrible. His tanned skin has turned pale, his hair is a bigger mess than usual, dark circles are covering under his now bloodshot eyes. His whole face grimaces at the sight of him. For a moment he barely recognizes the face staring back at him.

Averting his gaze from his own reflection, he spots what he is looking for. He takes the painkillers bottle and shakes two pills in his palm, swallowing them dry. His reflection remains though; watching him with the same hallow and weary expression. Is this the face of a man that will be responsible for another life?

This thought follows him into the shower as he lets the steam of the boiling hot water embrace him and the water running on his body. He stands beneath the showerhead, eyes closed as he allows the heat to take over his aching body. Usually, a boiling hot shower like this one helps to wash off the bad days, but even this is not helping today. But there is no escape of today.

Ace lets himself absorb the noise of the running water as his mind screams loud once again. A father. The word is still so foreign to him. He rests his hand against the tiled wall and bows his head. His wet hair forms a small curtain around his face as if it would help to protect him from what is happening. He squeezes his eyes shut.

How can he become something that he never wanted to be in the first place? He has built his life so far with no intention of becoming a parent. How can he become a father, when his own was missing constantly from his life and he is far from the best example of being one to begin with.

Ace is not someone who thinks that he is, or will ever be, ready to guide another human through life or let alone raise them. Yes, everyone makes mistakes. Hell, he has made thousands of them in his life. And it isn’t the mistakes he is afraid of the kid might make one day. It is the fact that maybe, probably, one day his kid will look at him the same way Ace looks at Roger and hates the fact that they and him share the same blood… That they are made of his blood.

On top of it, Ace loves his freedom. He loves the fact that he is irresponsible and doesn’t care what tomorrow brings if he gets to live the way he wants to. He doesn’t want to be responsible for nobody but himself. And soon all of this will change. He can also name so many bad qualities about himself; he is impulse, he is a hothead, he is not patient, he has very low self-esteem despite everyone around him thinking quite the opposite. How is Ace supposed to be an ‘example’ for someone when he barely likes what he sees of himself?

How will he be able to look one day in his child’s eyes and know that he never wanted them in the first place? That instead of feeling joy and excitement, when their mother told him that she was pregnant with them, all he could feel at that moment was fear and denial. How can he look them in the eyes and tell them that if he had to make the choice they would have never been born…

A bitter laugh escapes him. That is what he loathes the most about this situation. He has no choice in it. The choice was entirely yours, and yes, you have put yourself first, but he wishes you didn’t choose this.

Of course, he could have been an asshole and talk you out of it, even threaten you, but despite how much he hates himself, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he had treated you like this. Plus, you kind of give him a choice. You have told him many times now that if he wants to, he can just ditch this responsibility, but Ace could never do this. The best quality he can say he has is that he never runs from anything (let alone such a big responsibility) but many might argue if this falls into the bad or good ‘quality’ category.

His thoughts are not getting any better or quieter. Hitting the tiles with his fist repeatedly, but not with force, he pushes away from the wall and turns off the water. The whole bathroom is dimmed by the steam, so when he gets out of the shower and wraps a towel around his hips, thankfully, the mirror over the sink is foggy so he doesn’t need to face his reflection.

Entering his bedroom, Ace doesn’t even bother to turn on the lights as the streetlights coming from the windows are enough to make his way around the room. The floor beneath him cracks as he stands in front of the wardrobe as he looks for a pair of basketball shorts to put on before hitting the bed. Finding what he is looking for, he unwraps the towel and lets it fall on the floor as he puts on the shorts. Before he closes the door, Kotatsu rushes into the room and jumps on the bed, making himself comfortable as he buries his body between the bed sheets. The way he snuggles himself in and turns into a big fluff ball makes Ace let out a short soft chuckle.

His body hits the softness of the bed. Spreading his limbs like he is being spread on a cross, Ace slowly blinks as he stares at the ceiling. Is he supposed to buy a crib soon and put it in the empty corner of the room? Or should he move out and move in to a new bigger apartment? Is that place supposed to be next to yours, so you have easier access to the baby when he is the one who takes care of it? How is he even going to take care of it? How are you two going to make it possible to begin with? Where do you even live? You two know nothing about each other… how are you going to make this work? How do you raise a child when you don’t even want one?

These questions don’t leave his mind. Turning his head to the side, he glances at the alarm clock on top of the nightstand next to the bed. It is already past midnight, and he starts work in four hours, yet despite how tired his body feels sleep doesn’t seem to find its way to him. Tuning and tossing around, trying to count sheep and trying to shut his thoughts, nothing helps and no sleeping position feels comfortable enough to fall asleep even for ten minutes.

Eventually his alarm buzzes at 3:00 am, though it doesn’t matter when he hasn’t even closed his eyes for a second and has been staring at the dark ceiling for hours consumed by his own thoughts. Hitting the snooze of the alarm, he slowly raises up and sits on the bed. His eyes feel raw and gritty, the awful feeling of being awake for so long, while his body aches with heavy exhaustion.  

Sitting on the edge of the bed, with elbows resting on his knees, he looks over his shoulders at Kotatsu who has been sleeping and purring peacefully all night long. “Lucky bastard,” Ace thinks as he reaches to scratch the fluffballs head.

Work doesn’t care if he has slept or not, so he forces himself to get up. The cold floor bit at his bare feet as he crosses the room. He moves on to his morning routine by instinct alone. Shower, even though he already has taken one just a few hours ago, Ace feels like he needs another. Brushing his teeth. Getting dressed. Putting his favorite cologne on. Each action feels detached as if he is some machine controlled by somebody else, while his mind reminds on yesterday. When he catches his reflection in the mirror in the bathroom, he feels like he has aged double in the past twenty-four hours.

His gear bag rests on its usual spot, next to the bedroom door, so he swings it over his shoulder and makes his way to the front door, but before that he stops by Kotatsu’s automatic food feeder and refills it with enough food for the next forty-eight hours.

Outside, the air is cold and damp with the last hours reminding of the night. The streetlights cast pale pools of warm lights across the empty sidewalks as he walks to his motorbike. Most people are still asleep in the comfort of their homes as the city during these hours is usually quiet. Unlike the loud storm of thoughts his mind and soul are fighting.

The fire station kitchen is alive as always. Coffee cups clink against the countertop or some of the tables, chairs scraping across the floor as people move around all the time, and conversations overlapping with familiar voices. Some are talking about their favorite sport team loosing last night, others about the plans they have for the weekend or some funny story to keep up the mood up this early in the morning.

Ace just sits there, watching people pass by and hearing them talk, but his mind is separated from his body. He is being asked something or greeted by colleagues, then answering automatically, barely aware of what he even responses with. Usually, he is in the middle of all the jokes and keeping the station alive, but not today. And this doesn’t go unnoticed by his best friends here.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Marco whispers to Thatch, who sits next to him as they both look with concern at their unusually quiet friend.

Ace dressed in his station clothes, just a plain black shirt and pants, sits across from them on the table, with a coffee cup wrapped around the palms of his hands, which he hasn’t bothered to even lift once to take a sip off. The circles under his eyes, and his hollow empty expression as if he has seen a ghost, aren’t hidden well even when someone passes by him and pats him on the shoulders and he gives them a very fake small smile to hide whatever is worrying him.

“He’s been stressed these past days, but whatever happened yesterday, must’ve been the cherry on the top.” Thatch says, his eyes glued to Ace who doesn’t seem to notice at all.

“Do you think it has to be something to do with the girl?” Marco emphasizes the last word as both him and Thatch remember your visit to the station a few days ago, and then the way Ace looked after he came back from the conversation you two had. Whatever that conversation was about it has taken a big tool on their young reckless friend.

The kitchen slowly starts to empty as most of the other firefighters go away to take care of the tasks that must be done for the day. Thatch and Marco take this as the perfect opportunity to finally ask their friend what is going on with him.

Marco snaps his fingers in front of Ace’s face a few times until he finally catches his attention. Even his face is slow with its reactions, as Ace barely lifts one eyebrow in question, looking at his friends confused. “What’s wrong with you Ace?”, Marco doesn’t waste any time and shoots the question straight away, “And don’t you dare say that you’re ‘fine’-”, he makes silent quotations in the air with his fingers, “because you obviously are far away from fine.”

“Marco is right man.” Thatch chimps in. “Since you’ve came back that day after she visited you’ve been distant.”

Ace just looks at them at first then averts his gaze away from them. Too tired, too scared and too ashamed to say out loud what is bothering him. This doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Come on, Ace.” Marco’s brows frown with concern as he can’t help but worry even more now. “You know, I see you as a part of my family and so is Thatch, so whatever it is we’ll be here for you.” Reaching over the table, he grabs Ace’s wrist and gives it a little squeeze to show that they got him no matter what, but Ace whines in pain, instinctively pulling away his arm. He has really hurt it but couldn’t find anything at home to fix it with.

“What’s wrong with your wrist?” Thatch nods his chin towards Ace’s arm.

“Hurt it last night.” Ace finally speaks up. His voice hoars. “I actually need to bandage it.” Still avoiding his friends gazes he gets up from the chair to escape, but both call after him.

“Just tell us what’s going on Ace!” Marco lifts his hands in the air in surrender. “Whatever is we won’t judge.”

Won’t they? Why wouldn’t? He judges himself for it, why wouldn’t the people who know him, wouldn’t? Does telling them fixing all this mess? No! But does not telling them help either? No, it doesn’t.

Clenching his fists he throws his head back and takes a deep breath, then turns and sits back on the chair. His mouth opens and closes a few times. The words just can’t find their way out. Thankfully, both Marco and Thatch are patient enough with him to give him the time he needs to let it out.

“She’s pregnant.” He blurs out the words in one breath. Both men sitting across from him just stare and slowly blink at him, the confusion on their faces turning into surprise. Ace slowly nods, as if to confirm that they heard him correctly.

Marco is first to dare speaking, “So… is it safe to guess that given your current state she’s keeping it?” Ace nods again, not having the strength to say it out loud.

“Ace, are you sure you’re the father?” Thatch jumps in with the question that Marco was about to ask himself. “Have you run a paternity test? After all you just slept once with her and then she just ran away.”

Marco nods his head a few times, agreeing with everything said by Thatch. “He’s right, Ace. Do you know if the kid’s yours for sure?”

Ace looks around and gestures at them to keep their voices low. Last thing he wants or needs is the rest of the fire station to know about his situation. “She said she’s only slept with me.”

“And you believe her?” Thatch loudly exclaims as he cannot believe how naïve his friend can be. Ace, on the other hand, shoots him another warning look. Not for what he is assuming, but for being loud.

“Yes, as stupid as it sounds, I do.” Running one hand over his face, he grabs a hold of his thick black hair and hides his head leaning on his forearms on the table. Propping his chin on his forearm, he just shrugs. “I know how ridiculous it sounds but believe me this girl has no reasons to lie about me being the one who knocked her up.”

“Why’s that?” Marco raises his one brow with curiosity.

“Her family is filthy rich. Do you think she has anything to gain from being knocked up by some guy like me?” A bitter chuckle escapes Ace’s lips.

No one is saying anything. They all let the noise from the outside consume the space as nothing seems right to be said. Both Marco and Thatch know about Ace’s past, and why he has never wanted a family of his own, so they can only imagine what is going on inside his mind now when his biggest nightmare is becoming a reality.

Ace can’t take more of this, and he doesn’t want to speak further on this matter, let alone look at the pity written on his friends’ faces, so he gets up from the chair. The loud screeching of its legs on the floor almost hurts the ears. “I’m going to find some bandage.” He lifts his right hand, pointing with his eyes at his wrist, before leaving the kitchen and his friends behind without saying anything more and making it clear that he wants to be left alone.

Marco and Thatch sit in silence and neither of them moves. The news has literally left them speechless. Neither of them knows what to do or say to Ace to make him feel better. It will take time for him to get used to the idea and let alone accept it, but both know one thing for sure; Ace would make an amazing father despite what he thinks of himself.

Marco is the first one to move, as he searches for something in his pants. Thatch side-eyes him when he notices Marco pulling his wallet up and handling him a fifty-paper bill. The realization of why his friend does this comes to his mind quickly as he takes the money. “This is the first time ever I cannot enjoy winning a bet.” He murmurs as he puts in his pocket.

“Mine guess wasn’t any better but knowing Ace he would have definitely preferred std’s over a baby.” Marco lets out a deep sigh as he pushes himself up and lets out a bitter chuckle. “Betting fifty on the gender of the baby?” He reaches with his thumb to Thatch.

“I say boy.” Thatch swipes the tip of his thumb with Marcos. “It’ll be his karma for being a menace as a kid.” “I say girl.” Marco can’t stop the laughter erupting from him. “I think that will be even more terrifying for him.”

END NOTE: Once again, thank you all for your patience and I'm really sorry I haven't updated the story for 6 months... I'll try my best to update at least every two weeks, but this really depends on the schedule in my personal life. This chapter turned out very Ace focused, but I'm quite happy with it. I hope you liked it and I managed to make you feel what Ace felt at least a little bit, hihi. I can't wait to write more about him and reader and how their relationship will develop with time. This is one of the last "sad-ish" parts for now, from now on expect a lot of awkward and cringe moments between those two and very bad humour. As always every like, comment, reblog or message you send me means the world to me, so always feel free to share how you felt about the chapters you read ♡ Love you all and take care ♡

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Enjin was as trashed as you were, maybe worse.

He let out a rough, blown-out laugh when you shoved him, though it was barely coordinated, more of a sloppy push that sent him stumbling back onto the mattress.

The bed groaned under his weight.

“Damn—” he huffed, breathless already. “Girl… you really finna be the death of me. On God.”

You didn't say a word.

Your own head was a carousel of alcohol and heat as you crawled up his body, your knees struggling to find a steady balance on his moving hips.

The friction of denim against his fly sent a jolt straight to your gut. You felt Enjin’s hips buck upward, a desperate search for contact that made your breath hitch.

“Fuck—” he groaned, voice cracking as his head tipped back. “Nah, nah… babe, don’t do that. That shit feel way too good…”

He knocked his head against the headboard—too hard—and winced with a crooked laugh.

“Okay—okay, keep goin’. Don’t stop.”

He reached up, his massive hand fumbling blindly, accidentally poking your cheek before his scorched palm finally found your neck.

He hauled you down into a kiss that tasted like cognac and tobacco.

It was messy.

All teeth.

You could feel the grit of his scarred fingers tangling in your hair, pulling with a tug that grounded you both.

You pulled back an inch, gasping.

"God— you’re like… just pure spirits. How are you— why are you still upright?"

He smiled against your mouth.

"Aww... you cute when you talk spicy.” Then, quieter, softer: “Told you… best thing I ever had.”

"… Liar," you huffed, fumbling blindly with his belt. Your fingers felt like lead; you kept grabbing at the leather instead of the buckle. “That girl earlier—bet she heard the same thing while I was… gone.”

Enjin let out a dry, drunken chuckle, his eyes struggling to stay open.

“Babe... I don' even know my own name right now.”

He tried to sit up and you pushed him back down, off-balance enough that your knee bumped his thigh and made him grunt.

“Wait—wait, lemme look at you first…” he murmured, fingers already hooking under your shirt.

He pulled it up with an impatient yank, getting it caught on your chin for a second before finally tossing it into the dark.

He froze.

Just stared.

Then a long, shaky whistle slipped out of him.

“Whew… damn.”

His hands hovered at your waist, trembling a little.

“Fuck… you don’t even look real right now.” a soft exhale. “Can’t believe you mine.”

You laughed and pressed your palm to his forehead, pushing him back into the pillow.

“Mm-hm. You say that to every pretty girl buying you drinks.” you slurred, trying to sound cold but failing as your voice wobbled into a shaky giggle.

"Babe... look't me, m'not lyin', you're the only thing I see."

His hands fumbled lower, hooking into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down with your jeans in one impatient go. You had to kick your legs out, tangling your toes in the lace for a second before they finally joined the pile of clothes on the floor.

You let out a soft hum, the heat from him soaking into you.

“Ohh, so that’s what this is. You jealous.” he whispered, his hands sliding down to squeeze your bare ass. "That’s like… so hot.“

He tilted his head back, exposing his neck.

"Go on then... if y're sooo worried... mark me. Let ‘em know, don't be shy now..."

You gripped his jaw, trying to keep his blurry face still.

"People ‘re gonna stare, y'idiot. Staring at... at your neck."

Enjin just let out a low hum.

"Let 'em…"

That cocky asshole grin was the last straw.

You lunged forward and sank your teeth into his bottom lip, biting down with a sharp force fueled by pure, exaggerated spite.

“Shit—!” He jolted, nearly rolling you both off the bed.

When you stepped back, a smear of blood was blooming on his lip. He swiped his tongue over it, looking electrified.

"Yeah... huu... I’ll need you to... do it again, babe."

He growled, suddenly realizing his shirt was still in the way, and yanked it over his head so fast he almost poked his own eye out, before kicking his pants off.

He shoved his boxers down, and your eyes dropped, tracking the movement through the haze.

"Enjin... You're so— hnnn... why ‘re you bigger today? Is it the... the Henny? You're huge... 'm gonna die, seriously."

“Nah… that’s just you, babe.” he panted, his hands fumbling with your bra, nearly ripping the lace because he couldn't find the clasp. "C'mon... open up for me... yeaaah... there we go...”

He buried his face against your chest, and left a messy trail of spit and a faint smear of blood from his bitten lip against your skin.

Immediately started leaving wet, jagged marks all over your breasts, sucking and biting at the soft flesh until bright red blossoms appeared.

“Forget all that other shit,” he mumbled. “Just me. Right here.”

He shifted his weight, his cock twitching against your thigh, slick with pre cum.

He wanted you to take it, but he was too drunk to aim properly.

You reached down, your hand wrapping around his dick with a firm grip.

"Look at me," you commanded, though your own eyes were struggling to stay focused.

"Lookin'... m'lookin', babe... always..."

"No one else, just me."

"Told ya... only you. Always been... only you. Fuck, babe... please. M’beggin’ ya. Put me inside... let me feel you—“

You lowered yourself slowly, your legs shaking so hard you almost slipped off him.

As he stretched you open, a jagged, broken gasp left your throat. It felt too much—too big—and the room started spinning again.

"Oh my god!... ughnn!... What the fuckk?!" a frustrated sob catching in your chest.

"… Fuckk!," Enjin choked out, his eyes rolling back. "Hah… There's my girl..."

You leaned forward, burying your face in his neck to muffle your scream, accidentally bumping your nose against his jaw.

"It’s too good…!" you whined, grinding your hips in a messy, uncoordinated circle.

Suddenly, his massive hand shot up, fingers tangling deep into the roots of your hair. He yanked your head back with a bit too much force.

"Awh! Shiiit—!" you cried out, your chest heaving, thrusting your breasts toward his face.

He pulled you down, his mouth finding you with a hungry heat while his other hand stayed locked in your hair, keeping you arched and exposed.

"Enjin... ughm!… Please..." you sobbed, the pleasure and the tug at your scalp sending you over the edge.

"M'gotcha... m'gotcha, babe," he mumbled. "Keep goin'... keep goin’, ride me... that's it..."

"But m’tired," you whined, your rhythm slowing as your muscles started to ache. "Ughn!… too big… I can't... I'm gonna fall over."

"No, no... you're doin' so good, babe. You're killin' me... feels so damn good. I want ya to use me, y'hear? Just use me up."

He grabbed your wrists, his grip a little shaky, and hiked them up to his own throat. He settled your palms right over the pulsing cord of his tattooed neck.

“Take it… Take it out on me,”

"I'm gonna... I’m gonna actually hurt you, you silly..."

"Do it," he growled. "C’mon, babe... squeeze. Show me m’yours.“

You tightened your grip, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his pulse.

Enjin didn’t waste time; his hands locked onto your waist with a desperate grip.

He started heaving you—lifting your hips with a shaky strength that lacked any grace, just slamming you back down onto his cock as he fought to stay centered on the bed.

"Yeah!" Enjin roared, the sound coming out strangled. "Hhnn!… Just like that… huu… slap me, I need you to... to slap me, babe.”

You let out a jagged, drunken laugh, delivering a sharp, stinging slap across his stubbled cheek. Enjin’s head snapped to the side, then a long, needy groan ripped out of him.

"…Babe, again... do it again."

"Wha— What?… hah… You're such... suchh a freak," you growled, hitting him again, though your hand caught his ear slightly.

Enjin didn't mind, his hips bucking upward with a violent power.

"That's it! Hah… Ride me wild... c'mon... ungh... fuck… fuck me..."

He delivered a heavy swat of his own to your ass—thwack—the sound visceral in the dark.

You grabbed a handful of his blonde hair, pulling his head back. "You're... hnn... the worst," you huffed, a shaky giggle bubbling up again. "Seriously... Enjin... the absolute... worst..."

"I know, love... huff... mmm... m’so lucky."

His drunken honesty started to spill out without a filter, his voice dropping into a low register.

"Y'know... hah... I hate kids. Little shits... loud, breakin' everythin'..." he babbled with a silly, honest grin. "Never wanted 'em... m’not that kind of man..."

He paused, his hands sliding up to stroke your thighs with a tenderness that felt completely at odds with how hard he was slamming into you.

"But if they was yours... hah... if they looked like mama... damn! I’d have a hundred. I'd build... huff... build ya a whole world. M'serious. A whole... fuckin' world just for you."

Hearing him say that, actually talk about a future made your chest tighten.

“Shut up,” you laughed, overwhelmed. “You’re drunk.”

"Yeah,” he said simply. “But I ain’t lyin’.”

His hands on your lower back suddenly shifted, fingers splaying out to find your clit.

He started to massage you there, his heavy palms moving in a slow, rhythmic circle that grounded you while he kept up the pace of his thrusts.

"You're close, i can feel it, babe... You shakin'." his eyes fixed on where your bodies met.

"Ugghnn…! Enjin... Fuck… Enjin, I'm!..."

"Yeah? Go on... cum for me, love" his voice thick with a desperate kind of joy.

He surged upward, his thumb pressing down with a final, crushing force against your clit while his other hand dug into your lower back, arching you against him.

The orgasm hit you like a physical wave.

Every muscle in your body snapped taut—and your internal muscles clamped down on him in a rhythmic vice.

The sheer, raw intensity of it, mixed with the heavy haze of the Hennessy, was just... too much.

It pushed past pleasure into something overwhelming, making your eyes sting until hot, messy tears finally spilled over, tracking down your flushed cheeks.

You tried to say something—his name, a plea, a curse—but nothing came.

He looked up, his eyes blurry and half-lidded, catching the way the light hit the moisture on your face.

"I know, babe... huff... I know it feel good..." he rasped, his thumbs wiping away your tears, accidentally poking your nose. "I'm doin' it right, ain't I? Aw, look at you... got you cryin’…"

He grabbed your waist, digging his fingers in so hard they’d probably leaving marks you'd see tomorrow, but he was too far gone to notice.

He started heaving you—literally throwing your body up and slamming you back down onto his cock, desperate to get even deeper while you were still throbbing around him. "Ughn!… Fuckk!... babe, m’comin'!"

Every impact was a wet, violent collision. He was seeing stars, his head thumping back against the mattress.

You had to white-knuckle his shoulders, your fingers digging into his tattoos just to keep from sliding off him as the bed skidded across the floor.

"Babe... huff... I love you..." he blurted out, the words slurring into each other. "Love you so much... I'm fuckin’... m f-fuckin' in love!—"

His sentence was cut off by a sharp, pained gasp as his hips delivered one final, bone deep buck upward.

You felt him twitch violently inside you, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself.

His voice dissolved into a long, shuddering roar that collapsed into a series of jagged, pathetic whimpers.

"Hnngh... yeah, babe... love you... fuck..."

He was still twitching, still pumping into you as he came for what felt like forever, his large hands squeezing you against him like he was trying to merge your bodies.

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of the bedframe settling and the gasps for air.

The blue light of dawn was finally crawling over the windowsill, turning the room into a hazy mess of gray shadows and dust.

You looked down at him, his blonde hair fanned out against the pillow and his yellow eyes blown wide with a glassy, post climax daze.

"You were… huff… freaky as hell," you whispered, your voice thick and slightly slurred. "Begging me to slap you? Hah… You're lucky... 'm too trashed to tell you... how weird you are.”

Enjin let out a chuckle, the vibration rumbling through his chest. "Hah… you loved it thooooo… Saw that face you made…”

He finally shifted, and you felt him slide out of you with a slow, slick friction that made you whine at the sudden loss of heat.

He rolled onto his side, dragging you along until you were tucked firmly against him, his massive arm falling across your waist like a fallen tree trunk.

"Sun comin' up already?" he croaked, squinting. "Uuuugh… M'brain feels like it's... it's tryna escape thru my ears..."

"I told you... no last round," you huffed, burying your face in his chest to hide from the light. "Now you have to go... meet the cleaners... looking like a mess. They're gonna see that lip and... and laugh at you."

“Nah, babe…" he slurred, eyes already closed. "Got the day off. World ain’t gonna end... 'f I stay right here... with you."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your thumb grazing his bottom lip where the blood had dried into a tacky smear.

"Does it hurt?" you murmured, a sudden pang of drunken guilt softening your voice. "I bit you... really hard, Enjin."

He let out a sleepy, lopsided grin, catching your thumb between his teeth in a playful, weak nip. "Hah... 's fine, babe. Worth it," he grunted, his breath warm against your skin. "Just means... 'm yours, right?"

You let out a soft hum, your heart giving a dizzying squeeze.

You could still feel the lingering warmth of him inside you, and a distant, logical part of your brain whispered that you should probably get up—find a towel or head to the bathroom before everything became a sticky disaster.

But your limbs felt like lead, the bed was too soft, and Enjin’s hold was like a heated cage.

Tomorrow, you thought, the haze of sleep finally winning.

"Oh, an' when we... we finally get up…" Enjin added, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly mumble. "I’m finna make you... best breakfast ever."

"Hm? You cooking while hungover?" you croaked, a shaky giggle escaping you. "Gonna burn... burn the whole place down, y'idiot."

"Hah… hush up…" he responded with a final, sleepy smirk. "Jus' stay... m’gotchu. Love ya, babe… soo much…"

He drifted back off almost instantly, his heavy snores already vibrating against your shoulder.

> END_OF_FILE.

[ A/N: this took me a bit to write cuz i wanted to include a lottt but didn’t wanna overload the fic either

i love writing enjin this down bad for the reader, and i’ll NEVERRRR fall for the slander that he’s some heartless womanizer, like yeah, maybeeee he was before, but i fully believe once he’s in a real relationship he’s loyal as hell

alsooo i got inspired by tamsy and got a labret (well, a vertical labret) and now i feel SOOO SEXYYYY. if u wanna boost your seggs by like 100%, do itttt

btw if y’all wanna know a bit about me… i’ve got an evil ex who still haunts me. that mf… i was loyal for 3 years and dumped him cus he was miserable: no car, broke, no future, no brain. now he goes around saying i was the worst thing that happened to him when i wasted the best of me on him… AND i WILL be sharing receipts, bcuz gossip is meant to be shared FULLY. look at the nonsense he’s been posting, this is just one of many

the video literally says: “You were never the one who stood by me through the process, you didn’t help me grow. losing you was my biggest gain, so don’t try anymore. goodbye forever.”

GODDDDD THE VICTIM ACT??? INSANE. if u wanna picture the kinda trash man that was with this beautiful gurl (me), go look up il nene de oro on pinterest or tiktok or wherever, he’s a singer from my country and yea… deadass looks like my ugly ex

alsooo i’m a huge music person. i’ve got like 7k songs saved on spotify 😭 i put a LOT of song references in my fics; lyrics, titles, vibes, all that. it’s basically my main inspiration. maybe one day, if SOMEONEE asks, i’ll drop my enjin inspired playlist ;) ]

> SECURE_LOGOUT... DONE.

But no — they waited — a few days.

It was Saturday — Elea’s day off. The sky was bright and blue, soft sunlight pouring into the kitchen through the half-open curtains. The house was quiet — peaceful. Upstairs, you were still sleeping with Elea snuggled tightly into your chest, her little fists curled into your nightshirt like she never wanted to let go.

Downstairs, Sylus was flipping pancakes with focused precision. His hair was tousled, his sweatpants hung low on his hips, and he moved like someone who had done this many times before — because he did. For you. Many times when both you were playing hide and seek with each other — on the rare occasions when you got to wake up with him.

The pan hissed, the smell of vanilla and warm batter filling the space. He glanced toward the staircase, half-hoping to see you groggily padding down with Elea on your hip. Just the thought made something ache — sweet and dangerous — in his chest.

SCREEEEEEECH!

A loud screech of tires tore through the morning silence like a chainsaw through birthday cake — messy, annoying & stupid. Sylus blinked once. The spatula paused mid-air, halfway through flipping a golden pancake that now looked offended by the interruption. He didn’t need to look out the window. No one gets to make that kind of noise in his neighborhood. Especially not while his girls were sleeping.

He turned the heat down with all the grace of a man holding back the urge to commit a felony. Upstairs, you were buried in blankets with Elea tucked against your chest like a warm little burrito, the two of you blissfully unaware of the chaos outside. And Sylus planned to keep it that way.

He didn’t storm. No, that would imply emotion. He marched toward the door with the deadpan focus of a man who had made peace with violence long ago. His hair was a little messy, his sweatpants slightly low, and the dark circles under his eyes promised nothing good. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was already planning where in the yard the bodies would go. Front lawn or backyard? The backyard had more shade.

If it was a delivery truck, the driver was getting punched. If it was a neighbor, they were getting evicted. And if it was Luke and Kierran doing some dumbass twin thing again? Well... he'd need to start charging them for the amount of brain damage they caused him on daily basis.

Sylus threw open the front door with all the enthusiasm of a man expecting a home invasion. And lo and behold — there they were. The chaos twins. The agents of disorder. The reason his blood pressure had a gym membership.

Luke and Kierran stood in full dramatic glory at the foot of the porch, decked out in all-black casuals like they were about to drop a surprise album. And of course — because God had favorites and Sylus was clearly not one of them — they wore those damn crow masks. Matte black. Beaked. Ominous. Absolutely ridiculous and attention seeking. Like a goth bird cult had decided to start a boy band.

One of them — probably Luke, judging by the chaotic energy radiating off him like cheap cologne — clutched a wild bouquet that looked like it had been snatched mid-run from a garden someone definitely didn’t own. The other held a ridiculous bunch of balloons shaped like ducks. They stood there grinning, probably — who could tell with the masks, like this was a completely normal, rational way to visit someone at seven in the morning on a Saturday.

“Surprise, Boss!” The duck-balloon twin sang out, lifting the bouquet over his head like it was a sacred relic and not half a dandelion tied with what suspiciously looked like a shoelace.

“We handled that stupid task you gave us.” The other one added, voice muffled under the mask, “So now you have zero excuses to keep us from meeting our baby niece.”

Sylus didn’t say anything at first. He simply stared. The kind of deadpan stare that had once made a man confess to a crime Sylus hadn’t even been investigating. Behind him, the smell of pancakes continued to waft from the kitchen. Inside, his soulmate and baby were sleeping like angels. And yet, here he stood — at the gates of madness — staring down two fully grown men who had apparently taken a blood oath to test his patience before sunrise.

He sighed, long and slow, the kind of sigh that carried generations of trauma.

“It’s seven a.m..” He finally said, voice low enough to scare a bear.

“But it’s Saturday.” They said in unison, like that was a federal excuse for trespassing and public nuisance.

“You can’t gatekeep her forever, Boss. That’s emotional hoarding.” Added the other one, pointing a dramatic finger at Sylus’s chest.

“You’re both mentally unstable.” Sylus deadpanned.

“Still more stable than your love life.” Kierran shot back with zero shame.

“Life was going so smoothly.” Sylus muttered like it was a prayer, or maybe a funeral eulogy for the breakfast he’d never get to eat warm again, “I had my wife, my baby, my pancakes—”

“Look at him.” Luke whispered, nudging his brother, “Already cracked. Just let us hold the baby and we’ll leave you two to your Romeo Juliet meltdown.”

Your voice sliced through the circus with all the grace of a guillotine.

“What on earth are you doing this early in the morning?”

Three grown men froze like children caught stealing from the cookie jar. Sylus turned slowly, like a man preparing for judgment. You stood in the hallway, hair tousled, one slipper missing, clutching a very drowsy Elea against your hip — both of you blinking in betrayal at the noise pollution in your home at this ungodly hour and the .

Elea rubbed her eyes and pointed a chubby finger, “Who are they, Mommy? Are they robbers?”

Luke looked genuinely offended, “Robbers? Excuse me, tiny madam, we are uncles. Dashing, delightful, emotionally available uncles.”

“Emotionally damaged.” Sylus corrected under his breath.

Before you could even process the fact that these two men had somehow infiltrated your house with the stealth of wrecking balls, they shoved past Sylus with all the elegance of a parade float crashing into a convenience store.

“Back up— what do you think you’re doing—” Sylus started.

“Introducing ourselves like civilised men.” Luke said cheerfully, nearly tripping on the rug as he balanced a grotesquely oversized bouquet that looked like it had robbed a florist at gunpoint, “Also, hi, Elea. I’m your coolest uncle.”

“I'm literally standing right here, you ass-hat.” Kierran muttered, not to be outdone, setting down a cluster of helium balloons that immediately floated up and began assaulting your ceiling fan.

“Correction.” Luke added smugly, “One of the two cooler uncles.”

Elea, blinking owlishly in your arms, suddenly smiled a bright, sleepy grin, “You brought balloons?”

Your soul left your body.

“Only for you, sunshine.” Kierran wiggled his fingers at her like he was greeting royalty.

“And we brought snacks too.” Luke added proudly, holding up a suspiciously crumpled paper bag, “but we got hungry and, uh… sampled everything. For poison. Safety first.”

Kierran nodded solemnly, “You're welcome, by the way. We saved her from a suspiciously violent-looking cupcake.”

Elea giggled. GIGGLED. Like she hadn’t just called them robbers 45 seconds ago, “Mommy, can they stay?”

You sighed and pressed a kiss to Elea’s forehead, “Of course they’re here for you, sweetheart. Who else could inspire such... dramatic entrances?”

Elea beamed, cheeks still warm and puffy from sleep, then began to squirm with growing excitement.

“Down, Mommy! I wanna show them my castle!”

Before you could respond, she wriggled free like a determined jellybean and hit the floor running — grabbing both Luke and Kierran by the hands without an ounce of hesitation, as though they’d always been part of her tiny kingdom.

“Come on, Uncles! I have dragons! And a tea party! And a glitter pony that eats mean people!”

Luke looked over his shoulder at you, utterly smitten, “She’s perfect.”

Kierran clutched his chest, wiping away an invisible tear, “She’s the chosen one.”

Sylus leaned against the wall, arms folded, his face unreadable but his tone dry, “Try not to destroy anything.”

“No promises!” Luke shouted as Elea dragged them away like a pint-sized general leading her newly recruited army into battle.

And just like that, your quiet home descended into delightful chaos — balloons tangled in light fixtures, laughter echoing through the hallways, and two overgrown children worshipping the floor your daughter walked on.

The house had gone still again — or as still as it could be with Elea's delighted shrieks trailing down the hallway like fairy dust. Her laughter echoed in the corners, clashing perfectly with the scent of something vaguely… burned.

You stayed frozen where you were, arms loosely crossed, trying to ground yourself in the chaos. You should have smiled. Should have felt joy at the sight of your daughter, radiant with happiness, pulling Luke and Kierran into her world like they'd always belonged there.

But instead, you felt the dread crawling back in. It settled low in your stomach, twisting.

“You’re quiet,” Came Sylus’s voice — calm, even. You hadn't noticed him come up behind you until his warm palm settled on your shoulder. He rubbed gently, slow and firm, like he knew you needed anchoring and not coddling. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You inhaled, held it, then let it out slowly — like maybe that would keep the panic from bubbling over.

“I’m scared.” You admitted, almost too quietly.

Sylus stilled. Then his voice dropped lower, more serious, "You know Luke and Kierran would never hurt her. Or you."

"I know." You said quickly, almost defensively — then softer, "But if they found out about her... what makes you so sure others won’t? Your enemies? Mine? The people who’d use her against us?"

You weren’t even looking at him and still you could feel the way his body responded. Protective. Sharp. Like a soldier hearing war drums again.

“I can send them away.” He said gently, “if that’s what you want. But listen to me — I would never let anything happen to you or Elea. Not ever.”

His voice had changed. It wasn’t cold like it used to be when he was hiding things, and it wasn’t soft like he wanted something in return. It was earnest. Too earnest. And that scared you more than anything.

Because for a second, just a second, you believed him.

You felt yourself leaning back, like your body remembered that it once found safety here. That once upon a time, this was home. That you had let yourself hope. Trust. But then— you jerked yourself upright.

No — no, no, no. You weren’t here for him. You weren’t his anymore. You weren’t that foolish girl who thought love was enough to hold back betrayal. You stepped away from his touch.

Sylus’s hand dropped. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“This isn’t about trust.” You said quietly, “I didn’t let you back in for me, Sylus. I let you back in for her.”

"Fair." He said. Quiet. No argument. No plea.

You hated how that made it harder to stay angry. You cleared your throat, looking toward the kitchen, desperate to shift the energy. And you found the perfect excuse. Too perfect.

"Something’s burning."

Sylus panicked — “Dear God, my pancakes.”

He spun on his heel so fast he nearly slipped. You followed, slower, arms crossed, lips twitching despite yourself.

From the stove came a horrifying sizzle-pop and a dark plume of smoke. Sylus yanked the pan up like it was an enemy combatant and stared down at the offensive stack of charred batter bricks.

He let out a soul-deep sigh, “They were meant to be strawberry-almond. Now they’re... charcoal trauma.”

You arched a brow, “How long were they in there?”

“Too long—” He glanced toward the hallway Elea had vanished down, “—damn Luke and Kierran. Should’ve known the second those two showed up it’d be a domestic crisis within the hour.”

You leaned against the counter, watching as he jabbed the spatula beneath the smoking mess. The pancakes resisted. They had become one with the pan.

“Pretty sure this one’s legally classified as a biohazard now.”

Sylus scowled, trying again. “Not my fault.”

You sighed, shaking your head at the mess, “Alright, move over. We’ve got a tiny dinosaur and two grown-up vultures to feed before they start raiding the pantry.”

Sylus stepped aside dramatically, hand to his heart, “Are you offering to cook for me again? Be still, my heart.”

You gave him a flat look as you grabbed the mixing bowl, “Don’t push it.”

He grinned anyway, grabbing a fresh pan and placing it on the stove with all the seriousness of a man preparing for war, “You know, cooking together is statistically the third most romantic domestic activity.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Right after folding laundry and arguing over thermostat settings.”

You couldn’t help it — your lips twitched again, dangerously close to a smile, “Is that what you fantasize about now? Domestic warfare?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low and shamelessly smooth, “Only with you.”

You ignored the heat creeping up your neck and poured the new batter into a bowl, “We’re making pancakes, Sylus. Not confessions.”

“That’s a shame.” He smirked, reaching for the vanilla extract, “Because I have a lot of those lately.”

You didn’t respond, too busy whisking like your life depended on it. Sylus, however, didn’t stop.

“Do you remember that time you were craving chocolate pancakes in the middle of the night?” He asked, carefully measuring the milk and pouring it in.

Your hands paused. Just for a moment.

[8 YEARS, 7 MONTHS AGO, CHANSIA CITY]

It was a few minutes past midnight.

The room was hushed, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the fogged windows. Shadows painted slow-moving murals across the walls, broken only by the golden halo spilling from the bedside lamp. Its glow kissed the sheets in soft amber, illuminating sweat-slicked skin, tangled limbs, and the dazed aftermath of want finally surrendered to.

Under the rumpled covers, your bodies were still pressed together — chest to chest, heart to heart.

Sylus hadn’t moved yet.

He was still hovering above you, arms braced on either side of your head. His skin was warm, damp, flushed with the fading heat of what had just passed between you. His breath came in slow, uneven waves, brushing your collarbone. His hair hung messily over his eyes, and a few strands tickled your forehead where your faces were almost touching.

Your thighs were still locked around his hips, unwilling — or maybe unable — to let go.

Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty. It pulsed with everything left unsaid — the hunger, the ache, the tenderness neither of you could name without ruining it.

Sylus’s eyes were on you, drinking you in like something sacred. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent, as if mapping the memory of your moans from earlier. You felt it in your bones — the way he looked at you. Like he wasn’t ready to come down from whatever world you’d just created together.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” He whispered, voice hoarse and low, so unlike his usual teasing.

You didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, lips parting on a shaky exhale as your fingertips grazed along his spine — lazy, featherlight. You could still feel the tremor in his muscles beneath your touch. He was always composed, always smug in his elegance. But not now. Now, he looked wrecked. Undone.

And it was because of you.

A slow smirk touched your lips, “You?”

“We've had many nights, darling.” He murmured, lips brushing your skin with every syllable, “and each time… each time it's something positively ruinous.”

You rolled your eyes — or tried to. You were too boneless to manage the full effect, “Ruinous?”

“Devastating, really.” He kissed your neck, slow and lingering, “You’ve reduced me to rubble.”

You giggled, sleep tugging at the edges of your bones, but hunger now creeping in. You shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position — but your stomach betrayed you first with a low grumble.

Sylus lifted his head, eyes gleaming with a mix of concern and amusement, “......Was that you, or is the building collapsing from the sheer force of what we just did?”

You smacked his arm, laughing softly.

He leaned in again, kissing your cheek, “Hungry, sweetheart?”

You gave him a sleepy nod, cheeks warm, “A little.”

“Well then.” He said, his voice that charming baritone drawl again, “I suppose I’ve no choice but to feed my lady.”

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the kitchen — or rather, wrapped around the man in it.

Sylus stood in front of the stove in nothing but a pair of loosely tied charcoal pajama pants, the low-slung waistband barely hanging onto his hips. His back was sculpted marble beneath golden lamplight, every muscle shifting as he flipped the pancakes like it was second nature. You could see the mole at the bottom of his spine.

And you — well, you were naked. Completely bare. Skin still flushed, lips swollen, legs a little unsteady. You hadn’t even bothered to wrap a sheet around yourself.

You stood behind him now, arms wrapped around his torso, cheek pressed to the warm space between his shoulder blades. Your fingers moved lazily across his chest, drawing invisible shapes, dipping lower each time — just enough to make him twitch beneath your touch.

“I said I’d make you breakfast.” He murmured, voice rich and impossibly deep, “Not be made into it.”

You smiled against his back, the curve of your lips brushing his skin, “I’m just watching. Learning. Observing.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but didn’t look back.

“You’re misbehaving.” He said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice, “Again.”

“Distracted, Sylus?” You whispered, letting your lips trail along his spine, then his shoulder. Your fingers slipped just beneath the waistband of his drawstrings, testing the edge.

He froze — only briefly but it was enough.

“You are trouble.” He said, his voice lower now, huskier — like it had dipped into something darker, “Wicked little thing.”

You hummed.

“I’m hungry.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, your fingers moving just a little deeper beneath the fabric, “Starving, actually.”

“For pancakes?” He asked, dry and deliberate.

“…Maybe.”

He set the spatula down — slowly, precisely — and turned in your arms, movements fluid but heavy with intent. His hands settled on your bare hips, thumbs brushing circles just below your waist as his eyes found yours, molten with heat and something far softer, far more dangerous.

“I’ll make you pancakes...” Sylus murmured, lowering his head so his breath ghosted over your lips, “...Once I’m done devouring you.”

And just like that, the pancakes were forgotten. And burnt......maybe.

[ PRESENT TIME, LINKON CITY]

You were barely done with pancakes when Luke and Kierran announced they had to leave for some important work. And you had no intention of inquiring about it. They broke the news as if they were leaving for war.

“I don’t want to go.” Luke groaned, dramatically slumped across the couch, face buried in a throw pillow, “I feel ill. I’m actually ill.”

“You were just fine two minutes ago when you broke my China vase.” You said flatly.

Kierran stood by the door like a man awaiting execution, clutching his coat like a lifeline, “Tell baby Elea I said goodbye. If I don’t make it back, burn my journals. Not the leather-bound one. The other one. You’ll know.”

“Elea is right here — tell her yourself — and we don't have any of your journal.” You replied, unbothered.

“You are so cruel, miss boss." Luke muttered, “So heartless just like boss. Stay away from humt.”

Elea, seated at the table with a cup of juice far too maturely held in both hands, looked up from her coloring book.

“You two are so dramatic,” She said with the quiet judgment of a weary mother, “You’re worse than daddy.”

You fought the smile, watching as Elea tiptoed between the two grown men, placing a small, deliberate kiss on each of their foreheads like a mother sending her sons off to boarding school.

“Return soon.” She instructed seriously, patting Kierran’s cheek like he was the one who needed comfort.

Luke looked like he might actually cry this time.

“I love you.” He whispered, clinging to her pinky finger.

“I know.” Elea replied, giving him her soul healing giggle, before turning around and walking away like a queen who’d just done charity work.

You pressed your knuckles to your mouth to keep from laughing. Kierran gave Sylus one last betrayed look, then opened the door.

“If anything happens to us.” He said gravely, “Tell our stories.”

Sylus didn’t even glance up from his cup, “You went to a logistics meeting.”

“And we may never return the same.” Luke added, dragging himself out like he was being exiled.

The door clicked shut.

You—or anyone, really—might’ve thought Luke and Kierran were being dramatic. That is, of course, if they hadn’t met Sylus Qin.

Because if the twins were theatrical in their departures, Sylus was something else entirely when it came to possessiveness. Dramatic didn’t even begin to cover it. You could almost hear him growl anytime a man so much as breathed in your direction. And this morning was no exception.

It started—innocently enough—with the delivery man.

Sylus had been in the kitchen, kneeling beside Elea’s little unicorn-themed backpack, carefully packing her school supplies like he was disarming a bomb. Pencil box. Lunchbox. Water bottle with matching glitter stickers. He even double-checked the tiny note he’d tucked inside her tiffin, signed with a barely noticeable heart.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

You answered it, humming as you opened the door to find the usual delivery guy—Mike. Friendly, middle-aged, harmless Mike with his baseball cap and clipboard. Just as you signed for the delivery, Elea peeked her head out from the living room, eyes bright.

“Is it uncle Mike, mommy?” She asked cheerfully.

You smiled, “It is.”

Elea grinned, then turned to Sylus—still crouched by the bag—completely unaware of the thundercloud brewing behind her.

“Daddy, did you know uncle Mike brought flowers for me and Mommy on Valentine’s Day?”

You didn’t even get the chance to look back before you felt his presence—looming, quiet, dangerous.

A chill slithered down your spine as the air behind you thickened with a very specific kind of masculine energy—the kind that usually preceded bloodshed in bad crime novels or ancient war epics.

“Flowers?” Came Sylus’s voice, low and eerily calm. The kind of calm that had warning sirens blaring inside your head.

You forced a smile at Mike, whose own smile faltered immediately. The man took a subtle step back, shifting nervously behind his clipboard like it might protect him from a dragon.

The poor guy looked like he was about to wet his pants. His eyes darted between you and the towering figure behind you like he was trying to calculate the odds of making it back to his van alive without being impaled on a spear—or a death glare.

You quickly threw him a hastened smile, trying to salvage the moment.

“See you later, Mike!” You chirped, far too brightly—your voice about three octaves higher than usual.

He gave a jerky nod, mumbled something that sounded like “y-you too.” and stumbled backward down the front steps like he couldn’t get away fast enough. His clipboard clattered against his leg, keys slipping from his hand as he fumbled with the van door. You could hear how shaky his breath was as he slammed the door shut from the outside, practically peeling rubber down the driveway.

Then—before Sylus could take a single step forward or even flex his jaw—you swung the door shut. Firm. Final. Like you were locking away a dragon in his cave.

You turned around slowly, pressing your back to the door like it was the only thing keeping the beast at bay.

Then you hissed in a low, scolding voice—barely above a whisper, sharp enough to cut— “What were you gonna do? You can’t just go after every guy just because he gave flowers to your daughter.”

Before you could blink, Sylus was on you.

His hands grabbed your waist with a bruising kind of urgency, pinning you between him and the door. His body caged yours completely, warmth radiating off him in waves. One of his knees nudged between your legs slightly—just enough to make your breath catch. His eyes burned, volcanic, feral, fixed entirely on you.

“Not just my daughter.” He growled, voice so low and rough it vibrated through your chest, “My wife, too. While I was halfway across the damn realm—deprived of my family—some other lowlife was giving flowers to my daughter and my wife.”

Your jaw dropped a little, “Sylus—he gave flowers to everyone. Even sixty-year-old Adam down the street. You know, the one with three cats and a knee brace?”

His eyes narrowed, “That’s even worse.”

You blinked, “How is that worse?”

“My girls deserve priority” He said, like it was the most obvious truth in the universe, “Not... some after thought charity.”

You stared at him, speechless.

“I missed birthdays.” He whispered, brushing your hair back gently, “I mussed recitals, anniversaries, valentines. I missed everything. And now I come home and find out some discount Cupid’s been filling my shoes?”

He leaned in closer, voice curling around your spine like smoke, “He got to see you smile. While I was gone.”

You wish you could go back to the days when you could blindly believe his lies. When his possessiveness felt like protection and not penance. When the absence didn’t weigh heavier than his arms around you.

A sharp remark sat poised on your tongue, bitter and honed. Maybe about how flowers weren’t the only thing he let someone else deliver. Maybe something crueler—something honest.

But then—

“Daddy!” Elea’s voice rang from the hallway, small and bright like a bell cracking through the storm, “Did you pack my glitter pen? The pink one with stars?”

You swallowed the words that could have scorched both your mouths. Sylus blinked. You felt him freeze—like the air was suddenly lighter and heavier all at once. His hands loosened at your waist, just a little.

Then he called over his shoulder, without taking his eyes off you, “I packed both of them, sweetheart. Even the one Mommy said was ‘too sparkly for humans.’”

From the living room came a victorious squeal. You should’ve laughed. Once, you would have. You would’ve leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and whispered how ridiculous he was. You might’ve even let him carry you to bed.

But now? You just nodded once and ducked under his arm. The hallway felt cold despite the summer heat outside. You could still feel the phantom press of his knee between your thighs, his breath on your skin, but your spine was steel now. Elea ran up to you, holding up her pen like a trophy.

“I knew he wouldn’t forget.” She beamed.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “Of course he didn’t. Daddy always remembers the important things.”

Sylus didn’t say anything. Not when you helped Elea put on her shoes. Not when she looped her little arms around his waist and made him promise to wave until the bus disappeared. Not even when her bus pulled away, and she pressed her forehead to the glass, watching the two of you get smaller and smaller from her window.

He just stood there, arms folded, face unreadable. You didn’t meet his eyes. Just turned on your heel and walked back into the house. By the time he shut the door, you were already in the bathroom. Lock clicked. Clothes peeled off like a second skin.

And then the silence settled over you again.

You slid into the tub—warm water enveloping your body, the smell of lavender rising into the air like a memory you didn’t have the heart to chase. Your head leaned back against the cold edge of the porcelain. Eyes closed. Not sleeping. Not thinking.

Just... breathing — or trying to.

The soft drip of the faucet echoed louder than it should. The pipes clicked somewhere in the walls. The house felt unfamiliar today, like you’d stepped into a replica of your life—too quiet, too curated, too distant.

You let your hands float above the surface. Tried to focus on the feel of the water.

Tried not to think about the way Sylus had looked at you this morning—like you were still his, like the months apart hadn’t happened, like he could will the distance to disappear.

You heard the bedroom door open and close and the bathroom door knob rattling before everything went quiet. You slowly and gradually submerged into the void.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The warmth was gone. Just cold metal beneath you. And something sticky at your back. Your breath hitched. Shallow. Raw. Your throat burned like it had been screaming for hours. But no sound came out.

Your belly ached. Tight. Unnatural.

Your hands were bound — you could feel the bite of rope or leather or something that stank like oil. A low hum filled the air. Fluorescent lights buzzed. A vent somewhere rattled above you, but the air wasn’t moving. You blinked. One eye didn’t open fully. Swollen.

And the room — Too white. Too red. Was that… hair? Strands of it stuck to the side of your face. Damp. Dark. Oozing. Yours. You tried to sit up — A sharp cry tore from your throat. Pain. Deep and rooted. Like something inside you was wrong.

“..e’s ..... con.....s....”

“.... it .p. L.... ... .. ... b..by ... ...... . ...... ..re ......”

You couldn’t scream. Just a breath. A broken, wet sound.

“S…y…” The syllable cracked in your mouth. Not a plea. Just a ghost.

A blurry figure moved across your vision. Black gloves. A vial. Something glinting.

“You ...... ... ..... d......”

You curled around your stomach as best you could, even tied down. Instinct. Protection.

“...ll… kill… b…by…”

“... .., .. ne.. ... .li.e. .... ..rely.”

Something pierced your neck. Ice ran through your veins. Your limbs gave in. Floating. Falling.

“.... ..ke ... .et. .... ... don..”

Your body trembled.

“... .... lo..k...ng ... .... ... him. .... .... watch ... rot .... ..... ..ne.”

Darkness. You slipped into it. And then surfaced again. Over and over. Time didn’t pass here. Only pain did. You opened your eyes — And for a second, you saw your reflection in a rusted mirror on the wall. Pale. Bloodstained. You didn’t look like a person.

Just a vessel.

.

.

.

.

You returned to reality choking.

Water poured from your lips as a strong pair of arms hauled you out of the tub. You didn’t know which way was up — the world was spinning, your chest tight, your throat raw. Cold air hit your skin like a slap.

Your legs buckled, but Sylus caught you before you could crumple.

“Breathe.” He commanded lowly, voice strained, “sweetie, breathe.”

You gasped, eyes wide, lashes dripping. Water clung to your hair, your face, your arms — your whole body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.

Sylus set you down onto the bathroom stool with a towel around you, his hands gripping your arms to steady you, firm but careful. His shirt was soaked. His jaw was locked. His eyes — furious, but not at you. At himself. At something else. At everything.

You couldn’t look at him.

The nightmare still clung to you like a second skin. The smell of blood. The echo of that voice — We are not done yet. We need them both alive. Let's see if the baby can tolerate a little more today.

“I—” Your voice broke. You weren’t even sure what you were trying to say.

He knelt in front of you, hand curling behind your neck to keep you steady. His palm was warm. Real. Present.

“What happened?” He asked quietly. Not demanding. Just trying to anchor you.

You blinked at him. There was no white room. No restraints. No needles in your neck. No blood in your hair. Just Sylus. Just this. But your stomach still hurt. Your hands still shook. You curled forward slowly, your forehead brushing his shoulder, chest hitching with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I just…” You started, but the words collapsed in your throat. You swallowed hard, gaze unfocused, “I just fell asleep.”

Sylus didn’t move.

His hands stayed on you — one steady at your arm, the other still braced lightly behind your neck — but his entire body was still, rigid, like he could sense the lie bleeding through your voice.

He exhaled slowly, “Asleep?”

You nodded, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor, “Yeah.”

Silence. The kind that filled up a room like smoke. Suffocating. Heavy. Your throat — constricted.

He didn’t press you. He never did. That was almost worse. Because it meant he was thinking. Weighing. Waiting. Trying to put the pieces together without making you run.

Water still dripped from your hair, soaking the towel and the hem of his jeans where your legs touched his. Your breath had steadied, mostly. But your hands hadn’t. And you knew he could feel that.

“I’ll get you some dry clothes.” He said eventually, rising slowly, methodically—like he didn’t trust himself not to say something wrong.

You caught his wrist. Not hard. Just enough. He paused.

“I’m fine.” You murmured, even though you weren't. Even though you were still sitting in a towel with half your soul trapped somewhere in a dream that wasn’t entirely a dream, “I just want to sit here for a second.”

Sylus let you be.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t protest. Just looked at you for a long moment — gaze unreadable, heavy with thoughts he didn’t voice — then rose and stepped out of the bathroom. The door didn’t close all the way. You knew that was deliberate.

You sat there, unmoving, the towel wrapped around you starting to chill against your skin.

The silence was too loud.

You heard it then — not your own breath, not the hum of the heater — but him. Just outside. Shifting his weight. Breathing through his nose like he was trying to calm himself. Like the image of you choking on water was still playing behind his eyes.

You hugged your knees. The nightmare had felt too real.

The smell of that room, like rust and ammonia. Your limbs too heavy. Your belly, still barely showing, aching like something inside had clawed its way through your skin.

Sy… ow…er.

The voice had been familiar. Too familiar.

You reached for your robe, trying not to think too hard, trying not to panic. You opened the door a crack. Sylus was sitting against the wall beside it. Arms resting on his bent knees. Eyes half-closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. He looked up the second the door creaked.

“I didn’t leave.” He said quietly, “Just in case.”

You nodded, “I know.”

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer, flickering — unreadable — before he stood.

“Change into something warm.” He said gently, like he was speaking to something breakable, “I’ll make you tea. The herbal one.”

You nodded again, barely aware of your surroundings. The nightmare clung to you like wet fabric — heavy, suffocating. Your hands moved automatically as you stepped back inside, slipping into the robe, eyes unfocused.

You didn’t see the way he paused as he turned. Didn’t notice the slight tremble in his fingers as they brushed the doorframe. Didn’t see how long he stood in the hallway, just breathing, grounding himself, shoulders stiff with restraint. You didn’t notice the way his throat moved, like he was swallowing something back. Or how his fingers curled briefly into fists before he walked to the kitchen.

You only heard the soft click of the kettle being set, the muted shuffle of his feet. Those small, normal things. They made the air feel a little less sharp.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the robe in your lap. You were cold. But you didn’t feel it. Your heart was still locked in that room — the smell of metal, the blurred voice, the pressure on your chest. It clung to your skin like ink that wouldn’t wash off.

You didn’t hear the way Sylus exhaled in the kitchen. Didn’t see his jaw tense. Didn’t feel how scared he was. You were too busy trying to piece yourself back together. One breath at a time.

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Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.

The dense canopy of Pandora's forest filtered the midday sun into dappled shafts of light, casting shifting patterns on the undergrowth as Neteyam soared above on his ikran. His form, honed by years of vigilant scouting, blended seamlessly with the creature's sleek blue hide, golden eyes scanning the perimeters of Omatikaya territory with unwavering focus. The wind whipped through his braided hair, carrying the earthy scent of moss and distant rain, but today, an unfamiliar tension hummed in the air like Eywa herself was holding her breath.

A flicker of movement below caught his sharp gaze. A cluster of Na'vi figures darting through the underbrush, their movements predatory and coordinated. He signaled his ikran with a subtle shift of his thighs and the beast banked sharply, descending in a controlled spiral toward a concealed ledge. Wings folded with a soft rustle as he dismounted, his bare feet silent on the mossy ground. Crouching behind a thick fern, bow already in hand, Neteyam peered through the leaves, his heart steady but alert.

What he witnessed chilled him.

A raiding party from the Mangkwan clan of fierce warriors painted in ritualistic ash, their bodies smeared with the dark residue of volcanic soil that marked their savage tradition. They had ambushed a small group of Olangi travelers. The Olangi clan, a peaceful foragers from a neighboring grove, were outnumbered and overwhelmed, their pleas echoing faintly through the trees. The Mangkwans moved with brutal efficiency, spears glinting as they subdued their prey, but it was the figure at the center that seized Neteyam's breath.

You.

Leading the raid with an air of unchallenged authority, your form cut an intoxicating silhouette against the chaos. Ash coated your skin like a second hide, obscuring the true hue beneath in swirling patterns that accentuated the sharp angles of your jaw. Even veiled in grime, your beauty pierced through with full lips curved in a predatory smile and eyes like smoldering embers, scanning the fray with calculated glee. Your body was clad in minimal hides, a beaded top that strained against the soft perky swell of your breasts, rising and falling with each commanding breath, and a loincloth that hugged the firm curve of your hips, revealing toned legs braced for action.

Neteyam found himself entranced, curiosity gnawing at him. What lay under that ash? Smooth azure skin, perhaps, glowing with the vitality of your clan or something rarer, more alluring?

But beauty masked cruelty.

He watched as you circled a kneeling Olangi male, his kuru held taut by one of your warriors.

The victim's pleas tumbled out in desperate sobs. "Please, we mean no harm. Eywa, mercy!"

Your laughter rang out, mean and cutting, a sharp trill that sliced through the air like a blade. "Your goddess has no dominion here."

It wasn't joyous, it was mocking, laced with sadistic delight as you raised your obsidian knife, the edge catching the light. The Mangkwans deferred to you utterly, their eyes on you as if you were their spiritual guide yet Neteyam knew you weren’t the clan’s leader.

During a prior scouting run with his father, Jake had pointed out Varang, the true Tsahìk of the Mangkwans. Tall and imposing with an aura of unyielding command. That wasn't you. So who were you? Varang's kin, perhaps her younger sister, wielding influence through blood ties? Or a favored enforcer, a prized weapon in her arsenal? The mystery only deepened his fixation, his gaze lingering on the way your ash-streaked arms flexed, muscles coiling like vines ready to strike.

The Olangi's kuru dangled vulnerably, the warrior presenting it for your ritual severing. A fate worse than death, severing one's bond with Eywa. Neteyam's jaw tightened, a surge of protectiveness igniting in his chest. He couldn't stand by, nocking an arrow with fluid precision, he drew back the bowstring, the familiar creak grounding him. His aim was true, released with a whisper, the shaft flew straight, embedding in the hand of the Mangkwan holding the kuru. The warrior yelped, dropping the kuru as blood welled, the Olangi collapsing in shock.

You hissed sharply, a venomous sound that reverberated through the trees, your head snapping toward the underbrush where the arrow had originated. Your ember eyes narrowed, piercing the foliage as if you could will the shadows to part. Though the leaves concealed him, your stare felt like it locked onto his golden ones, a challenge unspoken.

Neteyam held his breath, pulse thundering in his ears.

"How amusing." You chuckled lowly, the sound dripping with dark amusement a thrill of the hunt sparking in your veins, your lips twisting into a smirk that revealed sharp canines.

Shifting your attention, you glanced at the injured warrior clutching his hand, pain etching his features.

"Tend to that." You dismissed him with a wave of your hand, voice cool and authoritative boredom masking your intrigue.

No time for weakness in my ranks.

Grinning to yourself, a secretive curve of your mouth that hinted at games yet to play, you barked orders to your group. "Retreat! Take what we came for."

The Mangkwans obeyed instantly, their weapon’s clubs thudding against Olangi skulls to knock them unconscious, hands snatching woven satchels of herbs, glowing crystals, and carved totems as prizes of the raid. They melted into the forest like smoke but you lingered a moment, casting one final lingering look toward Neteyam's hiding spot. Your smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with promise of a predator sensing prey nearby before you turned, your form vanishing into the green.

Neteyam exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a heartbeat, muscles uncoiling as relief washed over him. Slumping against the fern, he berated his caution for being too close and too reckless. The raid's echoes faded, leaving only the rustle of leaves.

Then, cold steel kissed his throat.

His golden eyes flew open, meeting yours up close. Sadistic glee swirling in their depths like storm clouds over the sea. You had circled silently, a shadow among shadows, your blade now pressed under his chin, tilting his head back against the earth. The ash on your face cracked slightly with your predatory smile, revealing glimpses of smoother skin beneath, flushed with exertion.

The bow and arrows lay discarded beside him, the telltale fletching matching the one that embedded in your warrior's hand.

"Nice shot, forest boy." You purred, voice laced with mocking admiration and excitement bubbling beneath the snarl, your breath warm against his skin. "Had a good time interrupting my fun?"

He didn't answer, lips pressed into a thin line, inwardly cursing his lapse. How had you slipped past? His body tensed beneath you, but he held still, assessing.

You tsked, a sharp disappointed sound, your snarl twisting your features as you surged forward. With effortless strength, you pinned him to the ground, knee digging into his abdomen, the blade angling deeper. Its tip pricking his flesh just enough to draw a thin bead of blood. The metallic tang mingled with the forest's humidity, your weight settling over him dominantly, thighs clamping his waist in a vise of muscle and heat.

From this vantage, you were breathtaking.

The ash smeared across your cheeks like war paint but proximity unveiled nuances. The elegant slope of your nose, the way your braids framed your face, swaying with each controlled breath. Your body pressed against his firm one, soft perky breasts heaving through the scant hide while your thighs hugged him possessively, the firm ridges of muscle flexing. The loincloth rode up slightly in the struggle, teasing the shadowed juncture between your legs, a forbidden glimpse that stirred something primal in him.

Neteyam's gaze betrayed him, trailing downward despite the danger. Over the generous curve of your breasts, nipples faintly outlined against the fabric from the adrenaline rush, then to the powerful expanse of your thighs gripping him like you owned him already.

You hissed again, low and threatening as irritation flared hot in your being, the sound vibrating through your chest as you caught his wandering eyes. Leaning in closer, blade steady, your face hovered inches from his. "I'll cut your throat for that."

He stared up at you dazed, the world narrowing to the beauty before him. The cruel spark in your eyes, the subtle sheen of sweat tracing a path down your neck.

Words escaped him before he could cage them, voice rough with unintended awe. "You're beautiful."

Your eyes widened fractionally, the sadistic gleam flickering with surprise as an unwelcome heat coiled low despite yourself but you didn't falter. The blade nicked deeper against his skin, a warning as you ground your hips down experimentally, testing his resolve.

"Flattery won't save you, skxawng." You snarled, though your voice held a husky edge, curiosity warring with cruelty.

The pressure of your body against his sent unwelcome sparks through both of you, his cock twitching involuntarily beneath the confines of his own coverings, your breath hitching as you felt it.

Neteyam's hands, bound by instinct not to fight yet, flexed at his sides, golden eyes locked on yours now, unflinching. The forest seemed to hold its breath around you, the distant calls of ikran fading into irrelevance. He could smell the ash on you, mingled with the wild scent of your skin, earthy and intoxicating.

"Why do they follow you like that?" He asked, voice steady despite the blade, deflecting while his mind raced.

Attraction bloomed dark and insistent in him, a shadow creeping over his usual honor. You weren't just beautiful, you were a storm and he found himself drawn to the eye.

You laughed then, a mean throaty sound that vibrated against him, amusement laced with dark promise, tilting your head to study him like prey. "Maybe you're not as foolish as you look."

Your free hand trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his toned abdomen, feeling the ridges of muscle tense. The touch was teasing and cruel, testing boundaries that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Your breasts brushed his chest with the movement, soft and enticing, the ash transferring in faint streaks to his skin.

He swallowed hard, your blade's edge a razor reminder, but his body betrayed him, hips shifting subtly upward, seeking more friction.

"Let me go." He murmured, though it lacked conviction as desire thread through the plea, eyes darkening as they traced the curve of your hip, the way your loincloth shifted, hinting at the heat of your cunt beneath.

"And miss this?" You countered, voice dripping with sadistic playfulness as the thrill of power surged, pressing the blade just enough to draw another drop of blood.

But your eyes, those ember depths, held his. A challenge, an invitation to the darkness you both sensed brewing. The raid's adrenaline still pumped through your veins, mingling with this unexpected tension, your thighs tightening around him as if to claim victory.

Neteyam's breath came ragged now, the softness of your form contrasting the hardness of your intent, igniting a fire he hadn't anticipated. In that moment, amidst the ash and threat, the future Olo'eyktan's resolve cracked, a darker hunger awakening for the woman who could lead with cruelty and beauty in equal measure. The forest watched, silent witness to the spark that could consume you both.

"Who are you?" He repeated, his voice a low rumble with frustration edged in fascination, refusing to yield even as the steel bit into his skin. "Why do they follow you?"

You tilted your head slowly, braids swaying like dark serpents against your ash-smeared shoulders, your expression an enigma. Your eyes were narrowed to slits, unreadable as the depths of a hidden cenote. The motion caused your torso to shift, the beaded strands of your top grazing his chest once again with a whisper of friction, your soft curves molding briefly against the hard planes of his warrior's build.

After a deliberate pause, you leaned in closer, lips parting to reveal the edge of your teeth.

"I am Varang's younger sister." You murmured, voice smooth as polished obsidian, a hint of pride sharpening the words. "Her Tsakarem."

The revelation hung between you like a taut bowstring as Neteyam's mind raced.

Tsakarem, the heir apparent, groomed to ascend if fate claimed Varang. High standing indeed, woven into the spiritual fabric of the Mangkwan with threads of power and ritual. Your authority made sense now, the way your warriors had deferred, eyes alight with reverence. But it also sparked unwelcome questions in him. Were you already mated? Bound in tsaheylu to some brutal consort, your being entwined with another?

A surge of fury clawed at his chest but he shoved it down, jaw clenching as he focused on the way your thighs still gripped his sides, their toned length flexing with subtle control. Your eyes flicked to his face, catching the flicker of turmoil, and you pressed the knife deeper, the edge singing against his flesh as the thrill of dominance coursed through you.

"What clan are you from?" You demanded, your breath ghosting over his cheek, warm and laced with the metallic tang of anticipation.

"Omatikaya." He answered, voice steady despite the sting, his gaze never leaving yours, golden depths locking with yours.

You threw your head back and laughed, the sound rich and mocking, echoing through the undergrowth.

"Oh, the clan of that tawtute turned Na'vi?" You sneered, lowering your face again, lips curling in contempt. "The clan of Toruk Makto?"

"He's my father." Neteyam replied, a quiet defiance threading his tone pride warring with the vulnerability of your proximity, his hands twitching at his sides, resisting the urge to reach up and trace the curve of your jaw.

Your grin widened, sharp and predatory, teeth flashing as you savored the revelation, a spark of malicious delight igniting. The expression transformed your features, cheekbones sharpening and full lips stretching over a sadistic curve making you appear even more alluring in your cruelty.

"Ah, so you're a filthy sky demon then." You hissed, voice dripping with revulsion, loathing twisting like a vine in your gut at his unpure lineage. "How disgusting."

His heart clenched painfully at the look in your eyes.

Pure unfiltered disgust as if he were tainted by his human heritage, unworthy of the ground you straddled. It stung deeper than the blade, a rejection that fueled the shadows creeping into his soul. Yet even as pain lanced through him, he couldn't tear his gaze from the line of your neck, the way sweat beaded along your throat, tracing a path down to the valley between your heaving chest.

"What is your name?" You pressed, the knife steady, your free hand now resting on his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to anchor him, curiosity sharpening your focus amid the hate.

"Neteyam." He said simply, the word escaping like a confession, resignation mingling with an undercurrent of longing.

You laughed again, meaner this time, a throaty bark that vibrated through your core.

"Neteyam, the filthy sky demon." You mocked, rolling the name on your tongue like a curse. "My sister would be pleased that I bring the kuru of Toruk Makto's son before her."

Your eyes gleamed with dark promise, imagining the trophy, his kuru severed, a symbol of Mangkwan supremacy dangling in your marui.

Panic flickered in Neteyam's chest but it warred with an unwillingness to harm you. If he fought back now, twisting free and overpowering you, his hands might mar that flawless skin, leave bruises on your arms or that captivating face. Eywa, he wished for a disturbance, anything to shatter this moment without violence. As if the Great Mother heard his silent plea, the air stirred with the powerful beat of wings slicing through the canopy, followed by urgent voices calling his name, echoing from above.

"Neteyam! Where are you?" Lo'ak's shout cut through the trees laced with worry, while Jake's deeper timbre joined in, commanding and steady.

Relief nearly escaped him in a breath but he held it, watching your reaction.

You heard it too. The approaching ikran, the unmistakable cadence of Omatikaya warriors. A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral frustration boiling over like lava, your beautiful features twisting into a mask of fury.

"Interrupt me again next time." You growled, leaning down until your lips nearly brushed his ear, voice a venomous whisper rage simmering beneath the threat. "And I'll have your kuru hanging from my marui."

With a fluid motion, you dismounted him, your thighs releasing their grip, leaving a ghost of warmth where they'd clamped. Your body uncoiled, ash flaking from your limbs as you rose, knife still clutched in your fist. You shot him one last glare, hateful and disgusted, eyes raking over him as if committing his form to memory for future vengeance. Then without another word, you melted into the foliage, your form vanishing into the green shadows with the silent prowess of a seasoned hunter.

Neteyam lay there for a moment, staring at the canopy above, the imprint of your weight lingering on his hips like a brand. He missed it already, the press of your curves, the dangerous allure of your scent. A low groan escaped him as he shifted, arousal evident in the insistent throb beneath his loincloth, a betrayal of his body's response to your dominance.

Shaking his head to clear the haze, he sat up slowly, snatching his bow and arrows to drape across his lap, concealing the evidence of his desire.

"Bro, are you okay?" Lo'ak's voice broke the silence first, crashing through the underbrush with his usual reckless energy.

He skidded to a halt beside Neteyam, tail flicking in concern, while Jake approached more methodically, his gaze sweeping over the unconscious Olangi people sprawled nearby, their forms battered and queues mercifully intact.

"Yeah." Neteyam replied curtly, forcing composure into his tone as he adjusted his position, rising to his feet with deliberate slowness.

Jake turned to them, his broad frame casting a long shadow, eyes sharp with paternal scrutiny.

"What happened here?" He asked, voice gravelly worry etching lines around his eyes.

"Mangkwans raided the Olangi." Neteyam explained, slinging his bow over his shoulder, the wood cool against his heated skin. "They were about to cut off their kurus. I intervened from the brush, shot an arrow to stop it."

He kept the details sparse, omitting the blade at his throat and the intoxicating weight of you atop him.

Jake tensed visibly, muscles coiling under his blue skin like a predator sensing threat. "Who was leading the raid? Varang?"

Neteyam's mind flashed to your face, those ember eyes, the cruel tilt of your lips, the ash-veiled beauty that haunted him already.

"No." He said, voice even a shadow of obsession stirring. "It's her sister. The Tsakarem."

Jake and Lo'ak whipped their heads toward him in unison, surprise widening their expressions.

"You saw her?" Lo'ak blurted, brows shooting up intrigue sparking in his mischievous gaze.

Neteyam nodded once, curt and evasive.

He'd done far more than see you. He felt you, he breathed you but those truths stayed buried, coiling dark in his chest like a secret vow.

"Let's move." Jake commanded, already kneeling to check on the nearest Olangi, his hands gentle as he assessed wounds. "We need to help them. Bring them back to Omatikaya."

Neteyam inclined his head in agreement but as they gathered the dazed travelers by supporting limp arms and murmuring reassurances, his gaze drifted to the spot where you'd vanished. The undergrowth seemed to whisper your being, a siren call pulling at the edges of his honor. The future Olo'eyktan felt the first true fracture in his resolve, a darkness blooming not from duty, but from the cruel beauty who'd marked him without a touch.

As ikran cries heralded their departure, he mounted his own bond-beast last, the wind carrying him homeward yet his thoughts lingered in the ash-scented wilds, chasing the ghost of your snarl.

Meanwhile, you sprinted through the tangled roots and bioluminescent vines, heart pounding with a mix of fury and something sharper, more unsettling. The forest blurred around you, the towering trees with bark etched like ancient scars turned into the familiar scorched ones but your mind replayed the encounter.

Those golden eyes staring up at you unafraid, calling you beautiful amid the threat. Disgusting sky demon, you reminded yourself, snarling under your breath revulsion clashing with an unwelcome curiosity.

Your legs pumped with relentless energy, thighs burning from the raid and the brief wrestle, the loincloth chafing against sweat-slicked skin. Ash flaked from your arms as you vaulted a fallen log, landing with cat-like poise, your breaths coming in sharp bursts that made your chest ache.

Why had you let him live?

The question gnawed at you even as your marui came into view. Woven from volcanic fibers, perched on stilts over a steaming pool. Warriors milled about, tending stolen goods such as shimmering crystals piled in nets and herbs bundled for Varang's rituals. You slowed, straightening your top where beads had shifted, exposing a sliver of your midriff, the soft undercurve of your breasts rising with each calming inhale.

Your sister's voice called from within, authoritative and probing but you waved it off, slipping inside to wash the encounter away.

Water from a nearby basin splashed over your face, rinsing rivulets of ash to reveal the true azure of your skin, freckled with faint glowing spots that danced like stars under the dim light. You stared at your reflection in the rippling surface, cheekbones flushed from exertion, lips still curved in residual disdain, eyes smoldering with unresolved fire.

Neteyam.

The name echoed, stirring a heat you crushed down. He was the enemy, a filthy intruder on your domain. Yet as you traced a finger along the scar on your palm from past battles, you couldn't shake the memory of his body beneath yours, stirring instincts you hadn't anticipated.

Varang entered then, her taller frame filling the entrance, eyes narrowing at your disheveled state.

"Little tsmuke, the raid—success?" She asked, voice like grinding stone, concern veiled in command.

You met her gaze, forcing a smirk. "More than. We took what we needed."

Omitting the details, the blade, the almost-kill.

She nodded satisfied but you turned away, mind already plotting the next border push. Deep down, though, a thread of anticipation wove through your thoughts.

Would those golden eyes seek you again?

The Tsakarem of Mangkwan didn't yield to weakness but this sky demon had cracked something open in you, a fissure where darkness and desire might mingle unchecked.

The air in the Tsahik's marui hung heavy with the scent of healing herbs, bitter yarrow and soothing aloe mingling in the steam rising from clay bowls.

Neteyam sat rigidly on a woven mat, his broad shoulders tense beneath the dim glow of suspended lanterns that cast flickering shadows across the curved walls of pandora vines. The shallow nick on his neck throbbed faintly, a reminder of your blade's kiss but it was nothing compared to the deeper ache gnawing at his core.

His grandmother Mo'at, the revered Tsahik, was occupied elsewhere in the communal space, her hands deftly tending to the battered Olangi refugees who huddled in clusters, their bioluminescent markings dimmed by exhaustion and pain. Murmurs of gratitude and soft chants filled the air as she moved among them as a pillar of calm authority.

Instead, it was Alayni who attended to him, the young healer-in-training whose gentle presence had long been a fixture in his life.

She knelt before him, her slender fingers working with practiced care, dabbing a cool poultice onto the wound. Alayni was pretty in a soft unassuming way, her eyes a warm amber that often darted shyly from beneath long lashes. Her braids were neatly bound with feathers, signifying her devotion to the healing arts and her movements were fluid, almost reverent, as she applied the salve.

She had always been kind to him.

Slipping morsels of fresh fruit into his training satchel when he pushed himself too hard under the midday sun or lingering after lessons to ask about his day with a blush coloring her cheeks. His parents adored her, Neytiri saw in her the quiet strength of a future Tsahik while Jake appreciated her steadiness, a counterbalance to the chaos of their family. She was one of the potential mates they urged him to consider, especially now, with his ascension to Olo'eyktan looming in just a year.

Neteyam had entertained the idea once.

Alayni would make a good mate. Loyal, nurturing, her shyness a balm to his burdens. She had expressed her interest subtly but persistently. A lingering touch during healings, invitations to walk the glowing paths at dusk, her voice soft hope trembling in every syllable as she suggested they share a meal by the river. He had even agreed a few times, out of duty, their conversations polite but devoid of the spark that now eluded him entirely.

But that was before you. Before the raid, before your ash-streaked form had pinned him down, your eyes burning with contempt that only fueled the fire in his blood.

Alayni was pretty, yes, but she paled against the vision of you. Your fierce beauty a storm to her gentle breeze, your cruelty a magnet to his unraveling restraint. He wanted you with a ferocity that bordered on madness, even after mere moments in your presence. He craved you despite the disgust twisting your lips when you spat "filthy sky demon," he craved you despite the enmity of your clans carving chasms between you. You were the enemy, a Mangkwan Tsakarem destined to lead raids that spilled Omatikaya blood, yet the thought of your thighs straddling him, your blade at his throat, consumed him like a fever.

It was absurd, this pull. A betrayal of everything he stood for as the future leader but he couldn't deny it. His heart raced at the memory of your scent and his body stirred unbidden, a low heat pooling in his core.

As Alayni's fingers brushed the edge of the wound, her touch feather-light and caring, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her amber eyes searched his golden ones, wide with unspoken affection a flicker of longing softening her features. But Neteyam kept his stare fixed on the far wall, where woven tapestries depicted Eywa's embrace, his jaw set in quiet detachment.

His mind wandered relentlessly to you.

The curve of your hips as you dismounted, the snarl that bared your teeth, the way your laughter had vibrated through him like a challenge. How could he see you again? Touch you? The forest was vast, borders tense, but he would find a way. Scout the edges, risk the shadows, anything to glimpse that fire once more.

"There." Alayni murmured finally, tying off a thin strip of leaf bandage with delicate precision satisfaction warming her voice. Her hand lingered, sliding down to caress his arm in a gesture of concern, her palm warm against the corded muscle of his bicep. "Are you alright, Neteyam? That cut... it could have been worse."

Her fingers traced a subtle path, innocent yet hopeful, her breath catching slightly as she awaited his response. In her mind, visions danced. In a year, when Jake stepped down, she could be at his side, Tsahik to his Olo'eyktan, their kurus entwining in tsaheylu under the Tree of Souls. The thought made her pulse quicken, a giddy flutter in her chest.

Neteyam nodded curtly, his voice flat and dismissive impatience edging his tone as he rose to his feet, the mat rustling beneath him. "I'm fine. Thank you, Alayni."

He didn't meet her eyes, already turning toward the entrance, the weight of his bow slung across his back a familiar anchor.

"Neteyam." She called out softly standing as well, her form silhouetted against the herbal steam, disappointment tinged with persistence. "Do you want to take a walk later? The glowworms by the falls are blooming. I thought... we could talk."

Her hands clasped together, twisting nervously, the beads on her wrists clinking like a plea.

He paused at the flap of the marui, the humid air of the village filtering in, carrying the distant calls of ikran. His mother would beam if he accepted, see it as progress toward the merging they craved. But today, the will eluded him, drowned out by the echo of your mocking laugh.

"I have something to do." He replied over his shoulder, the words clipped regret buried under resolve.

"Oh." She echoed faintly, the syllable hanging like a wilted petal, a quiet hurt settling in her posture as she watched him go.

Neteyam stepped into the bustling heart of the Omatikaya village, the high trees weaving a cathedral of leaves overhead, but his thoughts plotted a solitary path. He would scout the borders at dawn, venture closer to Mangkwan lands than wisdom allowed. Risk be damned, he needed to see you again, to unravel the enigma that had ensnared him.

The next day dawned with a veil of mist clinging to the forest floor, the air crisp and alive with the symphony of awakening life.

Neteyam mounted his ikran early, the creature's leathery wings cutting through the canopy as they soared toward the contested fringes. His heart thudded with anticipation, golden eyes scanning the terrain below, rivers snaking like veins, clusters of ferns hiding potential threats.

Hours passed in fruitless search. There were no raiding parties, no ash-painted warriors, only the indifferent pulse of Eywa's domain. Disappointment settled heavy in his chest, a dull ache as he urged his ikran toward home, the wind whipping his braids like accusations of folly.

Just as resignation crept in, a flash of color caught his eye. A solitary figure by the river's bend, nestled in a sun-dappled clearing. His breath hitched, deep in his gut he knew it was you.

With a sharp command, he guided the ikran into a steep dive, landing silently in a thicket nearby, the beast's talons sinking into moss without a sound. Dismounting swiftly, Neteyam crept forward, his warrior's grace muting his steps, excitement pounding in his veins like war drums. The underbrush parted under his careful hands, leaves whispering secrets as he approached, heart racing with a mix of thrill and trepidation.

There you were, reclining on a bed of soft moss beside the lazily flowing river, the water's gentle murmur a lullaby. Sleep had claimed you, your body lax in repose, unguarded in a way that stole the air from his lungs.

For the first time, your face was bare, no war paint or ash to veil your features, washed clean by the river's touch. Your true azure skin gleamed under the filtered sunlight, smooth and unmarred, dotted with subtle bioluminescent freckles that shimmered like scattered stars across your high cheekbones and the bridge of your nose. Your lips, full and slightly parted, curved in the faintest hint of relaxation, a stark contrast to the snarls he remembered. Long lashes fanned against your lids, framing eyes hidden now but etched in his memory as embers of defiance. Strands of your dark hair, freed from the raid's bindings, cascaded over the moss like midnight rivers, framing the arch of your neck.

You were breathtaking, vulnerability wrapping around your fierce beauty like a fragile shroud. Out here, alone, with only the river as sentinel, you seemed almost ethereal. Chest rising and falling in slow even rhythms, the soft swell of your breasts straining gently against the thin weave of your top with each breath. No armor, no blade in hand, just you exposed to the world, to him. Anyone could stumble upon you like this. A hunter, a rival, a man like him and do... something.

The thought sent fury through Neteyam, his gaze lingering, possessive and hungry. His eyes trailed downward, drinking in the rest of you with unrestrained fervor.

Your arms were folded loosely beneath your head, elbows bent, revealing the toned length of your limbs, muscles subtly defined from years of wielding weapons and commanding warriors. The curve of your waist dipped invitingly where your top rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of taut midriff, the skin there flawless and warm-toned, inviting touch. Your legs stretched out languidly, one knee bent in sleep, the other straight, showcasing the powerful thighs that had pinned him so effectively, now relaxed, their azure expanse glowing faintly in the light. The loincloth rode high on your hips, simple yet accentuating the flare of your form, the fabric clinging to the subtle contours beneath.

Every inch of you spoke of strength wrapped in allure, a siren in repose, and Neteyam's breath grew shallow, his body responding with a surge of heat, fists clenching at his sides to restrain the urge to close the distance.

You stirred faintly in your slumber, a soft sigh escaping your lips as a breeze rustled the leaves overhead but your eyes remained closed, lost in dreams unknown.

Neteyam lowered himself silently onto the moss beside you, the soft earth yielding under his weight like a conspirator in his forbidden vigil. The river's gentle current whispered nearby, a serene counterpoint to the storm raging within him.

His golden eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed first on the rise and fall of your chest then drifted upward to your face. His gaze lingered on those parted lips, plush and inviting, a stark vulnerability amid your warrior's form. They begged to be claimed and the thought sent a shiver through his frame, his tail flicking restlessly behind him.

Lower still, his eyes traced the delicate beaded necklace top that clung to your torso, the strands of iridescent woven fibers draping just enough to shield the peaks of your breasts from full view. Yet the swell of them was evident, they were firm and rounded, rising with each breath in a rhythm that mesmerized him, the azure curves peeking teasingly at the edges where the beads shifted. They were soft yet perky, a contradiction to the ferocity he knew you wielded and he imagined their weight in his palms, the warmth and plushness yielding under his touch.

Further down, the simple loincloth of supple hide and vines rested high on your hips, concealing the most intimate sanctum of your body, the place he yearned to uncover as selfish curiosity burned in him.

What secrets lay beneath that barrier?

The smooth contours of your mound, perhaps flushed with the same azure hue, the delicate folds he fantasized would glisten with your essence. He wondered at the scent. Maybe it would be musky and wild, like the forest after rain mingled with your unique fire and the taste? Maybe it would be sweet and tangy on his tongue, a forbidden nectar that would drive him to madness. His breath hitched, a low heat coiling in his abdomen as he shifted closer, the air between you thickening with unspoken tension.

Unable to resist any longer, Neteyam extended a hand, his callused fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that belied the darkness creeping into his soul. Your skin was impossibly soft there, like the finest moss under moonlight, and as he caressed the curve of your face, you nuzzled into his palm instinctively, a sleepy murmur escaping your lips.

The simple act undid him, it was a glimpse of innocence beneath your cruel exterior. He grinned, fangs peeking through his lips, a mix of affection and hunger lighting his features, marveling at how cute you were in this moment, stripped of your armor and snarls. This woman, who had threatened his life with such venom, now sought comfort in his touch without knowing it.

Biting his lower lip to stifle the growl building in his throat, Neteyam leaned down, his braids falling forward like dark curtains. He had to taste you, just once, to etch this reality into his being. His lips pressed softly against yours in a tentative peck, the contact electric. Your mouth yielding like ripe fruit, warm and plush, sending a jolt straight to his core.

And yet it wasn't enough, the hunger gnawed deeper.

Emboldened, he traced his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip, lewd and deliberate, savoring the faint saltiness before parting your lips further and sliding inside. He explored with unrestrained greed, his tongue curling against yours, sucking gently as a groan threatened to escape him, pleasure rumbling low in his chest. The intimacy was intoxicating, as if you were already mates bound in tsaheylu, your flavors mingling in a dance that blurred the lines of enemy and desire.

You stirred beneath him, a haze of sleep fracturing as awareness flooded in. Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes widening in shock at the invasion.

There he was, the Omatikaya warrior from the raid, Neteyam.

His face inches from yours, his tongue delving deep into your mouth with shameless possession. The wet heat of him, the bold suction on your tongue, it was an assault wrapped in seduction, his breath hot against your skin. Disbelief warred with fury as you registered the intimacy, your body tensing like a coiled spring. Your hands flew up to shove at his chest, palms pressing against the firm planes of his pectorals, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath.

But Neteyam only groaned aloud now that you were awake, a sound of raw need vibrating against your lips, his large frame pinning you gently but firmly as he deepened the kiss. His mouth claimed yours harder, tongue thrusting to muffle your rising protests, swallowing your gasps in a fierce tangle that left you breathless. The world narrowed to the slick slide of him, the scrape of his fangs against your inner lip, the way his body heat seeped into yours like an unwanted brand.

Finally, he pulled back, a glistening thread of saliva bridging your lips, shimmering in the dappled light. He grinned down at you, eyes dark with triumph and yearning etched in the curve of his mouth.

"I've been searching for you." He murmured, voice husky and low, intensity lacing every word as if confessing a sacred vow.

Rage ignited in you like dry tinder to flame. With a feral snarl that bared your sharp teeth venom dripping from the sound, you lashed out, your leg snapping up to kick him squarely in the ribs. The impact sent him reeling sideways, a grunt escaping him as he rolled onto the moss. Your hands scrambled to your side, fingers closing around the hilt of your dagger, yanking it free in a blur of motion. You surged to your feet, blade glinting as you loomed over him, your form coiled for violence, breasts heaving with each furious breath that strained against the beaded top.

"You filthy demon." You hissed, voice laced with disgust, hatred sharpening your tone like your weapon, the dagger poised at his throat. "How dare you do that to me? Touch me like some lowly beast in heat?"

Your free hand wiped at your mouth as if to erase the lingering taste of him but the flush creeping up your neck betrayed a flicker of something else. Intrigue at the boldness of his claim, the way his words hung in the air like a challenge.

Neteyam didn't flinch even as the tip of your blade nicked his skin anew, a thin bead of blood welling up. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his muscular torso flexing under the thin straps of his chest covering, golden eyes locked on yours with unyielding fervor.

"I can't stop thinking about you." He confessed, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered desperation underscoring his plea. "From the moment you pinned me down, your fire... it haunts me. Tell me your name. Let me know who has captured me so completely."

His gaze roamed your form again, not with shame but with open yearning, tracing the wild tangle of your hair framing your furious expression, the taut lines of your abdomen glistening with a sheen of river mist, the powerful stance of your legs planted wide in defiance.

Disgust roiled in your gut, hot and acrid, at this Omatikaya intruder who dared invade your solitude and your body with such audacity. He was the enemy, son of the sky demon Toruk Makto, a threat to your clan's dominance and yet, the memory of his tongue, the heat of his mouth, lingered like a poison you couldn't quite spit out. Intrigue twisted through the revulsion, what madness drove him to seek you out, to kiss you as if you were his destined one?

Your grip tightened on the dagger, knuckles paling fury warring with a treacherous curiosity in your eyes.

"You think you can waltz in here and claim what isn't yours?" You spat, stepping closer, the blade pressing harder against his jugular. "I should gut you here, leave your corpse for the viwiswasp to feast on. You're nothing but a pest, a filthy sky spawn with delusions."

But even as the words lashed out, mean and cutting, a part of you hesitated. The way his chest rose and fell, mirroring your own ragged breaths, the earnest plea in his voice that clashed with the warrior's resolve. You wanted to kill him, to end this absurdity with a swift strike, to reclaim the control he'd stolen in that kiss. Your arm trembled slightly, your beauty twisted into something lethal as your lips curled in a sneer, eyes blazing with the cruelty that defined you as Varang's sister, the Tsakarem destined to lead with iron will.

Neteyam's hand rose slowly, not to defend but to reach for you, fingers brushing the air near your wrist longing softening the edges of his gaze.

"Kill me if you must." He whispered, voice thick with emotion a dark passion fueling his defiance. "But know that even in death, I'd want you. Your fire, your cruelty, all of it. You're no enemy to me, you're the one who's awakened something I can't ignore. Your name... please."

He wanted to love you, to pull you into his world of shadows and bind you there, consequences be damned.

Your heart thundered in your ears, a war drum echoing the chaos of betrayal and unwanted heat that his touch had ignited. The dagger trembled in your grasp, its razor edge kissing the pulse point at Neteyam's throat, where his azure skin flushed with a mix of exertion and unbridled want. His golden eyes held yours unblinking, a predator's stare that refused to yield even in the face of death.

If giving him this scrap of yourself, of your name, would sever this madness then so be it.

"If I tell you my name…" You growled, voice low and edged with finality threat weaving through each syllable like thorns. "You must leave me alone. Swear it on Eywa or I'll carve your heart out here and now."

But you didn't wait for his oath, the words spilling from your lips like venom you needed to purge.

"(Y/N). Now leave me be or I'll make sure you die by my blade."

The name hung in the humid air, a reluctant offering that tasted like ash on your tongue. Your lips curled into a savage snarl, fury twisting your features and fangs glinting as you wrenched the dagger away and spun on your heel. Your bare feet sank into the cool moss, propelling you toward the river's edge, where the water's gleam promised escape from his suffocating presence. Every muscle in your body coiled with the urge to flee, your hips swaying in a warrior's stride, the loincloth brushing against your thighs like a reminder of the vulnerability he'd exploited.

"I can't do that." Neteyam called after you, his voice a rough timbre that cut through the rustle of leaves desperation cracking the edges of his resolve.

He rose fluidly, his form unfolding like a shadow detaching from the earth, broad shoulders rolling as he took a step forward, undeterred by the blood trickling down his neck.

You whirled around, disbelief flooding your veins like ice water, your wild mane of braids whipping across your shoulders in a dark cascade. The motion made your beaded top shift, the shells clinking softly against the curves of your chest, drawing his gaze for a fleeting heated instant before you jabbed the dagger toward him accusingly.

"Why do you keep insisting?" You demanded, your voice rising in incredulous outrage confusion sharpening into a blade of its own. "Are you stupid, forest boy? We are enemies, I’m born of a clan that spills blood for sport and yet you want me?"

Your free hand gestured wildly between you, emphasizing the chasm that no words could bridge. Beauty radiated from you even in anger, the full swell of your mouth still tinged with the ghost of his kiss, a flush blooming across your collarbones like forbidden wildflowers.

"You and I could never be." You continued, the words lashing out with cruel precision, scorn dripping from your tone like poison. "My sister, Varang, would sooner see you flayed alive than accept you as the one to claim her tsmuke. She'd rip out your eyes for even dreaming it. And your precious Omatikaya? They'd never accept me. A Mangkwan, the Tsakarem who leads raids into your lands. What a fool you are, chasing shadows that will only lead you to ruin."

In your mind, he was a pathetic spectacle. This golden-eyed warrior, son of legends, reduced to begging at the feet of his foe. His persistence grated against your pride, a fool's errand that mocked the iron walls you'd built around your heart. You turned away again, shoulders squared, the dagger sheathed at your hip with a decisive snap, determined to outrun his folly.

"I don't care." Neteyam replied, his words steady and unyielding, a quiet fire burning beneath the surface, stepping closer until the heat of his body brushed the air at your back.

But you didn't listen, didn't let the plea sink in. You vanished into the underbrush, the forest swallowing you whole, leaving him with the echo of your name and the sting of rejection.

Ever since that day, he haunted your steps like a specter woven from Pandora's own mists. Neteyam followed you through the tangled wilds of Mangkwan territory, a silent shadow at times, his presence a prickle at the nape of your neck when you scouted alone. Other moments, he'd emerge from the foliage, voice soft yet insistent, murmuring words meant to chip away at your defenses.

"The way you move through the trees, it's like you're part of them." He'd say one afternoon, golden eyes tracing the graceful flex of your calves as you leaped across a fallen log, your frame twisting mid-air with effortless poise.

Or in the hush of twilight, as you sharpened your arrows by a flickering fire, he'd linger at the periphery, commenting on the stars reflected in your gaze, how they mirrored the fierce spark within you.

He was persistent, a relentless force driven by a singular goal. To soften you, to peel back the layers of cruelty until the woman he'd glimpsed in your sleep, the one who nuzzled his hand, emerged fully.

His approaches varied, sometimes bold with questions about your hunts, drawing out tales of Mangkwan prowess that made your chest swell despite yourself. Other times, quiet vigils where he'd simply watch, his muscular form leaning against a trunk, the scars on his arms catching the light like badges of battles fought for a cause, now fixated on you. Each encounter left you seething yet a treacherous warmth stirred in your core, his unwavering attention a balm to the isolation of your role as Tsakarem.

Weeks blurred into a tense rhythm, his pursuit weaving into the fabric of your days until one night, under a canopy heavy with the scent of night-blooming vines, you found yourself cornered.

Not by force but by the weight of his words.

You'd been tracking a hexapede through a secluded glade, the moon casting silvery paths on the dew-kissed ferns, when he appeared, blocking your path with a vulnerability that disarmed you. His braids were tousled from the chase, framing a face etched with raw honesty, the broad planes of his chest rising and falling as if he'd run for miles to reach you.

"Every duty, every breath I take without you feels empty." He confessed, voice a husky murmur, longing threading through like vines around your resolve. "You're not just an enemy, (Y/N). You're the fire that lights my darkness, the cruelty that makes me feel alive. Let me show you, let me prove that clans mean nothing when Eywa binds two souls like this."

His hand reached out, not to grab but to hover near yours, the calluses on his fingers speaking of battles and bows, his golden eyes locking onto your lips with an intensity that made your pulse stutter.

The air thickened, charged with the unspoken pull that had simmered since that first kiss. Against your better judgment, you stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until his breath ghosted your skin.

What was it about his persistence, the way he saw past your snarls to the beauty you wielded like a weapon?

Your body betrayed you, leaning in, the soft peaks of your breasts brushing his chest through the thin barrier of beads, sending sparks racing down your spine. His lips met yours in a tentative press then deepened as you responded, tongues tangling in a heated dance that tasted of forbidden fruit and shared secrets. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, the world fading to the firm press of his hips against yours, the low groan he emitted vibrating through you like thunder.

But reality crashed in like a tidal wave. Images of Varang's disapproving glare, the blood-soaked raids between your clans, the impossibility of it all. You remembered who you were, the Tsakarem, Varang's unyielding sister, not some lovesick dreamer.

With a gasp, you shoved him back, your palms slamming into the unyielding wall of his abdomen, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath. He stumbled, eyes wide with shock and hurt confusion flickering in their depths but you didn't let him speak.

"Do not come see me again nor follow me." You commanded, voice breaking with a mix of resolve and regret steel hardening your tone to mask the tremor.

Your chest heaved, the beaded strands shifting with each ragged breath. You backed away, beauty sharpened by the pain of denial. Eyes stormy with unshed tears, lips swollen from the kiss, the lines of your body poised for flight.

"You and I... we could never be. Go back to your forest, Neteyam. Forget me or the next time I see you, my blade won't hesitate."

You turned and melted into the shadows, leaving him kneeling in the glade, the echo of your rejection a wound deeper than any dagger could inflict. "(Y/N), wait—"

The night closed around you but his presence lingered like a scar, a persistent ache that neither distance nor denial could fully erase.

Weeks dragged on like vines choking the life from a once-vibrant tree and Neteyam hadn't caught even a whisper of your shadow flitting through the undergrowth. It was as if Eywa herself had woven you into the ether, erasing every trace of your presence from the tangled borders where your worlds collided. The forest, once a realm of purpose and patrol, now felt hollow, its bioluminescent glow mocking the void you'd left in his chest.

He patrolled the edges of Omatikaya territory with mechanical precision, his bow slung across his back, but his golden eyes scanned not for threats, but for the sway of a familiar form cutting through the mist-shrouded ferns.

Distraction clawed at him, a relentless predator that turned his thoughts into a storm of obsession. Training sessions blurred into forgotten commands. He'd miss cues from his father's strategies, his mind replaying the ghost of your lips against his, the way your body had arched into the kiss before rejection shattered the illusion. Your beauty haunted him, the elegant sweep of your neck as you snarled threats, the curve of your hips that spoke of battles won and raids led with unyielding command.

It consumed him, this dark hunger that twisted his once noble heart into something feral, nights spent pacing his marui pod, fingers tracing the air where your warmth had once pressed against him. Sleep evaded him, replaced by visions of your eyes flashing defiance, your full mouth curving in cruel dismissal.

His family noticed the fracture in their golden son, the way his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, his once-sharp focus dulled like a blade left too long in the rain. Meals passed in silence, his portions untouched, until Lo'ak, ever the bold sibling, cornered him one evening by the central fire pit. The flames danced across their azure skin, casting flickering shadows that mirrored the turmoil in Neteyam's gaze.

Lo'ak dropped onto the woven mat beside him, his tail flicking with casual concern, lean muscles shifting under his arm bands as he leaned in.

"Bro, are you okay?" Lo'ak asked, voice laced with brotherly worry, a teasing edge softening the probe, his ears twitching forward. "You've been off lately like you're hunting ghosts or something."

Neteyam nodded absently, his jaw tightening as he poked at the embers with a stick, sparks rising like fleeting hopes. The motion was rote, his mind elsewhere, tangled in the memory of your scent.

Lo'ak wasn't convinced, his brow furrowing as he studied the distant look in his brother's eyes.

He nudged Neteyam's arm, the contact grounding but insistent. "Did something happen during the Mangkwan raid before Dad and I found you? Spill it."

Neteyam stilled, the stick snapping in his grip as the question yanked him back to that fateful clash. The ash-streaked warrior who'd pinned him with a blade, your body a taut bowstring of lethal grace. The memory ached like a fresh wound, your name a thorn embedded deep in his being.

He exhaled sharply, golden eyes darkening with the weight of confession.

"The Tsakarem of Mangkwan." He murmured, voice rough with longing, a raw edge betraying the storm within him. "I want her. (Y/N)."

Lo'ak's eyes widened, stupefied, his mouth parting in shock as he processed the impossibility. His golden brother, the perfect heir, ensnared by an enemy? The very heart of Mangkwan cruelty?

He leaned back, running a hand through his braids, disbelief etching lines across his face. "Bro... you know Dad and Mom would never approve. She's one of them. The ones who raid our allies, spill blood like it's water. What the hell, Neteyam?"

Neteyam's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly under his skin, a fortress against the truth that echoed your own words like a cruel refrain.

He knew it, his Dad’s stern lectures on duty, his Mom’s unyielding gaze on clan purity but it did nothing to quench the fire you'd ignited. Your rejection replayed in his mind, the push of your hands against his chest, the storm in your eyes as you declared your worlds irreconcilable. It only fueled the madness, making him crave the challenge of breaking through your walls.

As the brothers' tense exchange hung in the air, a soft rustle drew their attention.

Alayni emerged from the shadows of the surrounding pods, her steps hesitant, shy glances darting toward Neteyam like fireflies seeking light. Her frame was draped in healer's vines, the gentle swell of her hips swaying with quiet grace, her face framed by loose tendrils that caught the firelight, highlighting the soft blush on her cheeks. She carried a small pouch of herbs, a pretext for her approach, but her eyes betrayed the deeper intent.

Lo'ak spotted her first, a mischievous grin splitting his face as he clapped Neteyam on the shoulder, the pat teasing and knowing amusement dancing in his tone. "Looks like your admirer is here for you. Don't mess this up, golden boy."

With a wink, he rose and sauntered off, leaving Neteyam to the awkward solitude.

Neteyam rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his features, but he schooled his expression as Alayni settled beside him. Closer than usual, her knee brushing his thigh in a tentative claim of space. The warmth of her proximity was gentle, unthreatening, her fingers twisting the pouch nervously as she met his gaze.

"How are you?" She asked softly, voice a melodic lilt shyness threading through like delicate vines, her full lips curving in a hopeful smile. "It feels like I haven't seen you around since I treated your wound. You've been... distant."

Neteyam shrugged, his broad shoulders lifting in a noncommittal motion, the scars on his arms flexing subtly under the fire's glow.

"Duties." He replied curtly, voice flat as an evasion masking the turmoil, his mind already drifting back to you, the one whose touch lingered like a brand.

Alayni leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his ear, preparing to bridge the gap with words of care, her hand hovering near his as if to offer solace. But before she could speak, shouts erupted from the treeline, harsh cries of victory and the thud of bound feet against the earth.

Neteyam's head snapped up, heart thudding against his ribs like a war drum as he spotted his father and the warriors returning, their forms silhouetted against the fading light.

The captives trailed behind, ash-streaked skins marking them as Mangkwan raiders, their bodies slumped in defeat. Five in total, wrists bound with sturdy vines, but one sight stopped Neteyam's breath.

You.

Unconscious, your form cradled in the arms of a warrior, head lolling against his chest, the ash paint smudged across your high cheekbones and the elegant line of your jaw. Your braids hung limp, framing a face pale from exhaustion, the resilient curves of your body draped in tattered raiding gear that clung to the subtle flare of your waist and the firm strength of your thighs.

The others were dragged roughly, but you were carried like a precious cargo, even in enmity.

He scrambled to his feet, abandoning Alayni mid-breath, her confused expression lost in his haste. Legs pumping, he wove through the gathering crowd, following Jake and the warriors into the large containment hut at the village's edge. The structure loomed, woven from sturdy branches and hides, its interior dim and partitioned for holding foes.

The captives were deposited inside. The four males shoved into a far corner, their glares defiant as their hisses of Mangkwan curses filled the air.

You were placed apart, in a secluded alcove screened by a heavy cloth drape, your unconscious form laid gently on a mat of woven reeds. The warrior who carried you stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow, as Jake oversaw the securing of the space.

"Dad, what happened?" Neteyam demanded, voice edged with urgency concern sharpening his tone like a drawn arrow, stepping into the hut's shadowed confines, his tail lashing behind him.

Jake turned, his massive frame blocking the entrance momentarily, eyes weary from the skirmish but sharp with command.

He wiped a streak of dirt from his arm, the muscles there corded from years of battle. "We were about to capture Varang. Had her cornered in the ravine but the female blocked it, took the hit meant for her. Bought enough time for their Tsahik to escape."

The female. You. The only one among them, your role as shield a testament to the fierce loyalty that bound you to your sister in fire and ash.

Neteyam's gaze flicked to your still form, hidden now behind the cloth, a pang twisting in his gut.

"She's the Tsakarem." He supplied, the words heavy, a mix of protectiveness and dread lacing his revelation.

Jake's eyes widened, surprise flashing across his stern features as he processed the implications, his hand pausing mid-gesture. "She's important to the Mangkwans then. Varang will probably come after her. Ransom or rescue, doesn't matter. We can't let that slide."

"She will." Neteyam confirmed, stepping closer, his voice low and resolute, the ache of your vulnerability fueling his words. "That's her younger sister. Varang won't rest until she's free."

Jake nodded at the confirmation, his expression hardening into strategic resolve, clapping a hand on Neteyam's shoulder in brief solidarity. "We will keep a tight watch then. I'll ask them questions later. See what we can pry loose about their next moves."

With that, he turned and strode out, the warriors filing after him, leaving the hut in tense silence broken only by the captives' low growls from the corner.

Neteyam lingered, the air thick with the scent of sweat and earth from the raid. He approached your alcove, parting the cloth with a steady hand, the fabric whispering against his fingers. There you lay, tied loosely at wrists and ankles to prevent escape upon waking. Vines that bit gently into your skin, marked by fresh bruises blooming like dark petals along your arms and the arch of your collarbone.

Still as beautiful as he remembered, even in captivity. Your lashes fanned against your cheeks, full lips parted slightly in unconscious repose, the soft rise and fall of your chest drawing his eye to the swell beneath your disheveled top, beads scattered like fallen stars.

He wanted to see you again, to clash words and wills in the wild freedom of the forest but not like this. Bound and broken at the mercy of his clan. Not with his family's eyes now fixed on you, a prize in their war. Kneeling beside you, the mat dipping under his weight, he reached out, callused fingers tracing the curve of your cheek, brushing away a smudge of ash to reveal the smooth glow beneath. Your skin was warm, alive with the pulse he knew so well, and the touch sent a shiver through him, desire warring with regret.

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Gentle, lingering, tasting the faint salt of battle and the sweetness he'd stolen before.

"Foolish girl." He whispered against your mouth, tenderness laced with dark possession, his breath mingling with yours in the dim light.

The words were a caress and a claim, his thumb stroking the plush line of your lower lip as he pulled back, golden eyes devouring the sight of you, vulnerable yet unbroken. In this moment, with the world outside plotting your fate, he vowed silently to shield you. From his clan, from Varang's wrath, from everything but the bond that refused to die.

You stirred faintly under his touch, a soft murmur escaping your throat, but consciousness eluded you still. Neteyam remained, a sentinel in the shadows, his heart a battlefield where love and enmity bled into one.

Hours slipped by in the dim hush of the containment hut, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke from the raid. Flickering torchlight danced across the woven walls, casting elongated shadows that twisted like serpents in the undergrowth.

You stirred slowly, the haze of unconsciousness peeling away to reveal the ache throbbing through your limbs, a dull fire from the blow that had felled you, protecting Varang's escape. Your eyelids fluttered open, gaze sharpening as the world came into focus. The sturdy reeds beneath you, the vines binding your wrists and ankles in a loose but unyielding embrace, and worst of all, the two figures looming nearby.

Neteyam knelt close, his golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on hunger, broad shoulders tense under his warrior's harness, the lean cords of muscle in his arms flexing as he leaned forward. Beside him stood Jake Sully, Toruk Makto, his massive frame radiating authority, scarred torso marked by battles long past, tail swaying with restrained impatience.

A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral disgust curling your lips like a predator's warning, your body coiling against the restraints as you bared your teeth. The sight of them, your captors and enemies, ignited a blaze in your chest, your form tensing, the subtle strength in your thighs pressing against the mat as you tested the bonds.

Jake crossed his arms, his gaze steady and unyielding, a hint of weary respect in his tone. "Your warriors stabbed themselves refusing to talk. You are the only one left."

You met his eyes, a smirk twisting your full mouth despite the vulnerability of your position, the line of your jaw lifting in defiance. Ash still clung in faint traces to your high cheekbones, accentuating the beauty of your features.

"Their loyalties bind them to us." You replied, voice smooth and laced with pride, a mocking edge sharpening the words, your chest rising with a steady breath that drew attention to the swell beneath your tattered top.

Jake tsked, shaking his head, the sound rough like gravel, underfoot frustration etching faint lines around his eyes. "You're one stubborn clan."

You hissed at him, the sound sharp and venomous, hatred flashing in your stare, ears flattening against your skull as you glared at the legend before you, the human-turned-Na'vi who embodied everything your clan despised.

"You will remain here, captive." Jake continued, his voice firm, command underscoring the decree. "You'll be our leverage if your sister ever decides to attack."

A growl rumbled deep in your chest, directed solely at him. The Toruk Makto, the anomaly who dared threaten your bloodline. Your fingers curled into fists within the vines, nails digging into your palms, the taper of them drawing faint crescents on your skin.

Jake sighed, the exhale heavy with the weight of leadership, and clapped a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the gesture paternal and trusting as a subtle nod of handover. "Keep watch on her. The responsibility is on you."

Neteyam nodded, his expression composed outward, calm masking the thrill surging through his veins, but inside, glee bubbled like a hidden spring. He alone would guard you, tend to you, unravel the fortress of your resistance. As Jake strode out, the flap of the hut falling shut behind him, the space shrank to just the two of you, the air humming with unspoken tension.

"Baby." Neteyam murmured, voice low and intimate, affection warming the endearment as he shifted closer on his knees, his warm breath ghosting over your bound form.

You recoiled, disgust twisting your features, revulsion flaring hot in your gut, your head snapping back as far as the position allowed, the cascade of your braids shifting across your shoulders.

"Don't call me with that filthy tawtute terms of yours." You spat, words dripping venom as anger sharpened each syllable, your torso arching away from him.

He ignored the barb, golden eyes gleaming with unshakeable resolve as he leaned in, the scent of forest and him invading your senses. "Why did you let yourself get captured?"

You snarled baring fangs, fury igniting your gaze like struck flint, straining against the vines that held your wrists above your head, the motion pulling taut the supple curve of your arms.

"I am protecting our tsahik." You hissed, loyalty a shield as unyielding as your will, your voice echoing the sacred bond to Varang.

His lips curved into a grin, wide and boyish yet edged with something darker, delight sparkling in his eyes, the sharp angles of his face softening in the torchlight. "I've missed you."

You rolled your eyes, the gesture exaggerated, exasperation warring with the unwelcome flutter in your chest, turning your face away, the slope of your neck exposed in the motion, beads from your disrupted adornments clinking softly.

"I've missed your lips." He added, voice dropping to a husky whisper, desire threading through like vines claiming a tree, his fingers reaching out to trace the plush contour of your mouth, calluses rough against the sensitive skin.

You shook him off with a jerk of your head, the touch igniting sparks of unwanted heat irritation flaring alongside a traitorous shiver.

"Do not touch me, demon." You commanded, tone icy, loathing masking the conflict stirring within you.

But he only grinned wider, happiness radiating from him like bioluminescent blooms, his joy unmarred by your barbs as he settled back on his haunches to simply watch you, the weight of his gaze a caress in itself.

The days that followed blurred into a rhythm of captivity and unwelcome intimacy, the hut your world narrowed to woven walls and the single guardian who haunted your every waking moment.

Neteyam was the only face you saw, his presence a constant. Bringing woven baskets of fruit and roasted meats, feeding you with deliberate care. His fingers would brush your lips as he offered bites of sweet berry, the juice staining your chin, and you'd snarl with defiance in every bite, snapping at his hand like a cornered ikran, yet he persisted undeterred, his touch lingering on the delicate skin of your jaw.

He touched you freely, hands roaming while you snarled and twisted as fury boiled beneath your skin, the vines holding you fast to the mat or a sturdy post when he deemed it necessary. Stolen kisses came unbidden, his mouth claiming yours in quick heated presses when your guards were down, tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you bit back with rage fueling the clash of teeth.

He was utterly smitten, golden eyes devouring every inch of you with the way your chest heaved with indignant breaths, the flex of your thighs as you kicked futilely, the wild beauty of your stare that promised retribution.

One afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the hut's slits in golden shafts, he untied your ankles just enough to pull you onto his lap, your back pressed against the solid wall of his chest. His arms encircled your waist, strong and unyielding with possessiveness in his hold, the heat of his body seeping through your sparse coverings.

You snarled writhing, disgust and something perilously close to anticipation warring within, but the bonds on your wrists kept you captive to his whims.

"Shh, just relax." He murmured against your ear, tenderness laced with command, his large hands sliding upward, cupping the soft perky mounds of your breasts through the thin beaded top.

His thumbs circled the peaks, teasing them to firm points, desire evident in the hitch of his breath as he massaged your breasts with slow deliberate strokes that sent unwelcome jolts through your core. The sensation was maddening, the rough pads of his fingers kneading the yielding flesh, tracing the alluring undersweep before pinching lightly, drawing a gasp you couldn't suppress betrayal in the sound.

Your body arched involuntarily, nipples hardening under his touch, the azure skin flushing with heat as he lavished attention, his lips grazing the curve of your shoulder.

"See? You like it." He whispered, smug satisfaction coloring his voice, nipping at the tender skin there, his hips shifting subtly beneath you, the growing hardness pressing against your lower back.

You growled low, humiliation burning alongside the forbidden pleasure, twisting your head to glare at him, but the fight in your eyes dimmed fractionally with each passing day.

Weeks wove onward, the passage marked by the changing light outside and the subtle shift within you.

The snarls grew less fervent, your body anticipating his arrivals from the brush of his fingers to the the warmth of his frame, though you'd never admit it, never let the fondness crack your armored facade. You'd avert your gaze when he fed you, lips parting almost eagerly for the morsels, or lean into his massages despite the huffs of protest, a secret thrill coiling in your belly.

His touches became a ritual with his hands exploring the lines of your sides, thumbs dipping into the dip of your waist, or tracing the strong taper of your legs, always pushing boundaries while you feigned outrage.

One evening, as the stars began their vigil beyond the hut, Neteyam had you straddled across his thighs once more, your bound hands resting on his shoulders for balance.

The air hummed with humidity, your skin glistening faintly, the elegant fan of your lashes lowered as his palms worked their magic on your breasts again. This time bare, the beads pushed aside to expose the soft rounded swells. He kneaded them with reverence, awe in the gentle pressure, rolling the sensitive buds between fingers slick with shared sweat. His mouth following to lave hot open-mouthed kisses along the valley between.

Your breath hitched, conflict evident in the stutter, hips rocking subtly against him, the friction igniting sparks that blurred the line between hate and hunger. He groaned against your skin as need roughened the sound, one hand sliding down to grip the firm curve of your ass, pulling you closer as his tongue flicked teasingly.

It was in this haze of intimacy, bodies entwined like mates in the privacy of the alcove, that Alayni slipped into the hut unseen, her steps silent as a healer's grace. She had come under pretense of checking the captives' wounds, her pouch of salves clutched tightly, but the sight that greeted her froze her in the shadows.

You and Neteyam, lost in each other, his hands worshipping your form, your head thrown back in a moment of unguarded surrender.

Fury ignited in her chest, hot and consuming jealousy twisting her features into a mask of rage, eyes narrowing to slits.

Neteyam was supposed to be hers. The shy glances she'd cast, the wounds she'd tended with lingering touches, the dreams of bonding under Eywa's gaze. And now, here he was, defiling that future with you. An enemy, a Mangkwan witch, doing filthy things that should have been hers alone. Her fingers tightened on the pouch, knuckles paling, as she watched his mouth claim a nipple, your soft moan piercing the air like a betrayal.

But anger birthed cunning.

Alayni's lips curled into a smirk, cold and calculating as vindictive glee sparked in her gaze, she backed away silently, melting into the night. She knew just what to do, whispers to the right ears, seeds of doubt sown in fertile soil.

Varang would come for her sister but before that, she'd ensure this forbidden flame was snuffed out, one way or another.

The days dragged on in the stifling confines of the hut, your world reduced to the flicker of torch flames and the relentless pull of the vines that bound you. Whispers from beyond the woven walls hinted at unrest, scouts reporting movements in the ash-choked territories but you paid them little mind, your thoughts a whirlwind of simmering resentment and the unwelcome echoes of Neteyam's touches.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Alayni moved like a shadow through the camp, her steps light and purposeful as she sought out a Mangkwan scout. With a healer's gentle facade masking her venom, she slipped him a message etched on a leaf. The location of the Omatikaya's hidden holding ground, the precise hut where you were kept. Satisfaction curled her lips as she watched him dispatch immediately after hissing at her.

Varang would come, of that she was certain, and once you were ripped away, the stain you'd left on Neteyam's heart would fade, leaving her path clear.

She bided her time with calculated grace, weaving herself deeper into the fabric of the Sully family.

Mornings found her at Neytiri's side in the healer's marui, her hands steady as she ground herbs for poultices, her voice soft with feigned humility, adoration shining in her wide eyes as she praised Neytiri's wisdom. Evenings brought her to Jake, offering insights on the refugees' wounds, her touch lingering just a fraction too long on his arm as she murmured concerns for the clan's future.

Approval warmed their gazes, nods of encouragement that fueled her ambition. Everything unfolded as she envisioned. His parents' favor solidified, pressure mounting on Neteyam to seal the bond before the shadows of war encroached further.

One humid afternoon, as the sun dipped toward the canopy in a blaze of amber, Alayni slipped into your hut unannounced, the flap rustling like a conspirator's whisper.

You lay there, wrists still secured to the low beam overhead, your frame stretched out on the mat, the faint sheen of sweat tracing the elegant hollows of your collarbones. Your azure skin glowed softly in the diffused light, the subtle freckles across your shoulders like scattered stars, and your chest rose in steady rhythms.

She knelt beside you, her posture demure yet predatory, knees folding gracefully onto the earth as her tail flicked with restrained triumph. Her fingers brushed the edge of the mat, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your body.

"So this is where my soon-to-be mate has been occupying himself with." She said, voice honeyed with mock pity as a saccharine smile curved her lips, eyes glinting with malice.

You stared at her blankly, eyes narrowing slightly as you took in her features.

"Who?" You asked tone flat, your head tilting just enough to let a braid slip over your shoulder, brushing the firm flesh of your bicep.

Her grin widened, sweet as overripe fruit, revealing the gleam of her teeth as she leaned closer, the scent of healing herbs clinging to her like a veil.

"Neteyam." She purred, the name rolling off her tongue with possessive delight, triumph lacing the revelation. "We will be mated earlier than planned, as per his parents."

Something twisted in your chest. A sharp unexpected clench that stole your breath like thorns snagging delicate vines. Your heart stuttered, a betraying ache blooming beneath your ribs, but you schooled your features into impassive stone, the high planes of your cheekbones unchanging, your gaze steady as unyielding rock.

All this time, his whispers, his hands mapping your skin like sacred territory, his stolen kisses that left you breathless and conflicted, they were lies woven around another. A potential mate waiting in the wings while he toyed with you, the enemy captive.

Sick demon bastard.

"Put him on a leash then." You replied, forcing a grin that mirrored hers, malice flashing in your stare like lightning over ash plains, your voice dripping with feigned amusement. "So your future mate will stop coming to pester me."

The words tasted like bile but you held the expression as you met her stare head on.

Meanwhile, across the camp in the central marui, Neteyam stood rigid before his parents, the air thick with the scent of spiced tea and unresolved tension.

Jake's broad frame filled the space, his scarred arms crossed over his chest while Neytiri sat poised nearby, her fingers tracing patterns on a woven mat, golden eyes watchful.

The news fell like a stone into still water. A mating with Alayni, sealed in just one month's time, earlier than tradition dictated, a safeguard against the uncertainties of leadership should fate claim both Jake and Neytiri in battle.

"It's for the clan, son." Jake said, voice gravelly with finality, concern etching deeper lines into his brow, clapping a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the weight meant to ground him.

Neytiri nodded, her tail curling supportively around her leg gentle resolve in her tone. "Alayni is devoted and strong, she is who we have chosen. She will stand beside you as Olo'eyktan's mate."

Fury burned through Neteyam's veins, hot and unquenchable, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscles bunched along his sharp jawline.

He didn't want her. Not her shy glances, not her dutiful presence, they were chains disguised as comfort. No, his thoughts raced to you. The fire in your snarls, the beauty of your form yielding under his touch, the forbidden pull that consumed him. You, with your pretty eyes that pierced like arrows, your body a landscape he longed to claim eternally.

He said nothing, golden eyes darkening with suppressed rage, turning on his heel without another word. The marui's flap snapped shut behind him as he stormed toward your hut, craving the solace of your presence, the one anchor in this storm of obligation.

He pushed through the entrance, the dim interior unfolding before him like a betrayal frozen in time.

There you were, bound and defiant, but your face. Oh, Eywa, your face, it was lit with a grin that sliced deeper than any blade. The malicious glint in your eyes was back, amplified tenfold, a savage spark that echoed the day he'd first seen you amid the raid's chaos, ash-streaked and commanding.

Beside you knelt Alayni, her expression a mask of innocence shattered by the scene.

"Look, your future mate is here." You said, the words laced with venomous glee as your grin widened, teeth flashing as you tilted your chin upward.

The coldness in your stare pinned him, stripping away the fragile warmth he'd coaxed from you over weeks of stolen intimacies.

Neteyam stiffened, his broad chest heaving with a sharp inhale, the lean planes of his abdomen tensing beneath his harness.

You knew. The progress, the softening glances, the reluctant leans into his embrace crumbled to dust before his eyes. Alayni had poisoned it all, her meddling a dagger to his desires.

His gaze flicked to her, fury igniting like dry tinder. Without a word, he lunged forward, large hand wrapping around Alayni's slender wrist in a grip of iron, frustration boiling over in the tremble of his fingers. He dragged her up and out, her body stumbling in his wake, the flap whipping shut behind them.

You watched them go, the grin on your lips turning colder and sharper, like frost on volcanic glass a hollow ache gnawing at your core despite the armor. They did look good together, her demure form tucked against his towering strength, a picture of clan-approved harmony. And that truth stung more than any admission, a barb lodging deep, twisting with the realization of your own foolish vulnerability.

Outside, in the shadowed alcove between huts, Neteyam released Alayni with a shove, whirling on her as a hiss escaped his throat, low and guttural rage vibrating through the sound, his ears pinning back flat against his braided hair.

"What did you tell her?" He demanded, golden eyes blazing, the sharp angles of his face hardened into lines of accusation, his tail lashing like a whip.

Alayni glanced up at him through her lashes, the gesture shy and fluttering, feigned innocence veiling the satisfaction in her depths, rubbing her wrist with delicate fingers.

"That we will be mated in a month." She replied softly, voice trembling just enough to evoke pity, a subtle pout forming on her lips.

Neteyam growled, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder, frustration etching fury across his features, stepping closer until his shadow engulfed her.

"You ruined everything." He snarled, fists clenching at his sides, the cords of muscle in his forearms standing out in stark relief.

"I was just saying the truth." Alayni countered, chin lifting with quiet defiance, resolve strengthening her tone, eyes locking onto his. "Especially since it's been blessed by your parents. It's for the good of the clan, Neteyam."

He opened his mouth to retort, words of denial and desperation bubbling up, but the air shattered with a deafening roar. Explosions ripped through the camp, blooms of fire and ash erupting from the perimeter like vengeful spirits unleashed. The ground trembled, screams piercing the night as warriors scrambled, bows drawn and ikran screeching overhead. Mangkwans, fierce shadows descending from the shadows, their forms painted in war cries and fury.

They had come for you.

The chaos erupted like the fury of Eywa's wrath, the night sky fracturing with bursts of flame and acrid smoke that clawed at the senses.

Neteyam froze at the threshold of the marui, his hand outstretched toward the flap, every fiber of his being screaming to reach you, to shield you from the encroaching storm. But another explosion thundered closer, shaking the woven platform beneath his feet, the ground vibrating with the impact of Mangkwan ikrans diving from the shadowed cliffs. Warriors' cries pierced the air, sharp desperate calls to arms and he knew with a sinking dread, that duty bound him first.

His golden eyes lingered on the shadowed interior for a heartbeat longer, the pull toward you a magnetic ache in his chest before he spun away, muscles coiling like a predator's as he sprinted into the fray. m

Alayni stood forgotten in the dust, her form shrinking in his wake as he vanished among the leaping shadows of Omatikaya defenders.

Inside the marui, the world tilted on its axis. You had barely settled back against the mat, the vines around your wrists a familiar rasp against your skin, when the first boom reverberated through the walls, deep and ominous, like the rumble of volcanic depths stirring awake. Your eyes snapped open, head lifting as the air grew thick with the scent of scorched earth and distant blood.

What was this? Another raid? Or something far worse, born of the tensions that had simmered since your capture?

The flap burst open without warning, a silhouette materializing in the torchlight like a specter from the ash plains. Tall and imposing, her frame clad in the jagged armor of Mangkwan war paint, stripes of obsidian gleaming across her broad shoulders and down the powerful lines of her thighs.

Varang, your sister, the unyielding force of your clan, stepped forward, her presence filling the space with an electric menace, her tail lashing once in sharp triumph.

"Little tsmuke." She rumbled, voice low and edged with possessive glee, a fierce grin splitting her face, revealing the sharpened points of her canines as her amber eyes locked onto yours with predatory affection.

Your breath caught, a surge of relief flooding through you like cool rain on parched soil, your body shifting upright despite the bindings, the subtle flex of your toned abdomen drawing the loincloth's edges taut against your hips.

"Varang." You whispered, the word laced with raw vulnerability, hope flickering in your gaze, your full lips curving into a tentative smile that softened the sharp beauty of your features. "You came for me?"

She moved with purposeful strides, her large hands reaching for the vines with swift efficiency, slicing through them with a hidden dagger that flashed in the dim light. The fibers parted with a soft snap, and freedom rushed back into your limbs, a tingling warmth spreading from your wrists as you rubbed the faint red marks blooming on your azure skin.

Varang's grin widened, menacing and triumphant, her broad chest heaving with barely contained energy, the intricate scars across her collarbone catching the fire's glow like badges of conquest.

"Yes." She said, tone brooking no delay, commanding resolve in her stance as she gripped your arm, pulling you to your feet with effortless strength. "Come."

You followed her out into the night, the marui's warmth giving way to the chaotic symphony of battle.

The village platform teemed with motion. Omatikaya warriors leaping between branches, their forms blurring as they nocked arrows and unleashed volleys into the descending horde. Mangkwan fighters swarmed from the treeline, their ikran shrieking as they clashed mid-air, talons raking through flesh and wing. Explosions bloomed sporadically, grenades of volcanic powder hurled by your kin, igniting the underbrush in furious orange. The air hummed with the twang of bowstrings and the guttural roars of combat, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the earthy musk of sweat-soaked bodies.

Your bare feet padded softly over the woven walkways, heart pounding in sync with the frenzy, your unbound arms swinging freely for the first time in weeks, the cool night breeze kissing the exposed curves of your waist and the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the beaded strands.

Then, amid the turmoil, you spotted her. Alayni, huddled against a nearby post, her slender frame trembling in the flickering light, wide eyes darting as if seeking an anchor in the storm.

Varang strode past without a flicker of acknowledgment, her focus laser-sharp on escape but you couldn't hold back.

A snarl tore from your throat, low and feral fury igniting in your gaze, your lips peeling back to expose teeth in a vicious baring, the line of your neck tensing as you leaned toward her.

Varang's hand clamped down on your shoulder, firm and unyielding, halting your advance mid-step.

You glanced up at her, confusion etching across your face, the high cheekbones flushing faintly with the heat of your anger.

"She was the one who told us where you were. I would have cut her kuru off but we will be wasting time." Varang explained, voice a gravelly murmur as disgust curled her upper lip.

The revelation hit like a spear to the gut.

This fucking bitch, going to such depraved extremes just to claim Neteyam? Betraying her own people, inviting destruction upon them for a twisted shot at his bond?

Rage and amusement simmered in your veins, hot and unfiltered, but you channeled it into a smirk, slow and menacing, your eyes narrowing to slits that gleamed with cruel intelligence. You stepped closer to Alayni despite Varang's hold, your posture shifting into one of mocking poise, the graceful sway of your hips accentuating the lithe power in your legs.

"You became a traitor to your people just to have him?" You taunted, voice silky with venom as a low chuckle bubbled up, your head tilting to let a braid sway against the smooth plane of your shoulder. "Do you think you'd be mated with him once they found out you were the one who caused this destruction, their deaths?"

You giggled then, the sound cruel and crystalline, echoing like shattering glass amid the distant clamor, your laughter laced with derision as you watched her eyes sharpen, the shy facade cracking to reveal the venom beneath.

Alayni's features twisted, her soft mouth compressing into a thin line, but she forced a grin in return, brittle and defiant, her hands clenching at her sides, knuckles paling against her blue skin.

"No one will know." She hissed, the words dripping with false sweetness, a predatory glint flashing in her gaze, her chin lifting in haughty challenge. "Because you won't be here anymore to tell him."

You met her stare with a taunting calm, your smirk unwavering, the corners of your mouth quirking upward in serene mockery, your body relaxed yet poised, the subtle rise and fall of your chest betraying none of the storm within.

Varang's fingers dug into your arm then, urging you onward with a sharp tug, her massive form shielding you as she propelled you toward the edge of the platform.

"Enough." She growled, impatience sharpening her tone, her free hand gesturing toward her waiting nightwraith in the shadows.

Hesitation gripped you like invisible chains, heavier than the vines ever were.

Over those endless days and nights, fondness had crept into your heart for Neteyam. Unwanted and insidious, a warmth that bloomed in the wake of his persistent touches, his whispered promises that now rang hollow. You had grown accustomed to the way his golden eyes softened for you, the reverence in his caresses tracing the valleys of your spine, the heat of his body pressing close in the dim hut.

But to stay?

To linger as their prisoner, forced to witness him bound to this scheming viper in a month's time? No. The betrayal stung deeper than any wound. He had lied, omitted the truth of his impending mating while his hands roamed your skin, murmuring of futures intertwined, of desires that now felt like cruel jests. Your chest tightened, a sigh escaping your lips, soft and resigned, your shoulders slumping ever so slightly, the curve of your back arching as you drew in the smoky air you were familiar with.

You ran then, matching Varang's powerful strides, your legs carrying you with renewed vigor over the swaying bridges, the wind whipping through your hair and cooling the flush on your cheeks. The battle raged around you, but your focus narrowed to escape. The distant calls of your ikran, the path to freedom amid the chaos. Behind you, the marui faded into the night, a chapter closing with bitter finality.

Minutes stretched into an eternity of skirmishes before Neteyam could break free, his bow still humming from the arrows he'd loosed into the fray, his chest heaving with exertion, streaks of soot marring the defined ridges of his torso. He raced back to the marui, ignoring the sting of superficial cuts along his arms, his mind a singular blaze.

You.

Bursting through the flap, he scanned the interior, the empty mat, the severed vines scattered like discarded shackles. His heart plummeted, a cold void yawning in his chest, the lean muscles of his frame going rigid as denial clawed at him.

He whirled out, golden eyes landing on Alayni, who lingered outside, her posture a picture of feigned distress, arms wrapped around her slender waist as if to ward off the night's terror. He ignored the way she reached for him, her fingers brushing his elbow and fixed her with a glare that could shatter stone.

"Where is she?" He demanded, voice rough and edged with panic, his jaw clenching, the sharp planes of his face taut with desperation, tail flicking erratically behind him.

Alayni's expression crumpled into one of artful fragility, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears, lashes fluttering as she gazed up at him, her voice emerging soft and quivering, laced with sorrowful conviction. "She ran away, Neteyam. Her sister came and freed her. I told her you wouldn't want her to leave but she was happy to be free. Said she didn't want to be here... nor be in your presence."

Silence crashed over him like a tidal wave, his breath stalling in his lungs, the world narrowing to the echo of her words.

You really didn't like him. All those weeks,the stolen moments where your body arched into his, the fleeting softness in your gaze, the reluctant sighs that he mistook for yielding, they were illusions, born of captivity's coercion. You had endured him, nothing more, your responses a prisoner's survival, not a spark of true connection. The fire that had burned in his soul for you flickered and died, leaving only ashes in its wake, his heart turning to ice, numb and unyielding.

His broad shoulders sagged imperceptibly, the golden light in his eyes dimming to shadowed resolve.

Alayni stepped closer, her hand finding his arm again, this time with gentle insistence comfort threading her tone, a subtle smile curving her lips as she pressed the advantage. "It's okay, Neteyam. She is a Mangkwan, she's been wanting to escape. At least our people will have no problems anymore, and in a month, we will be mated."

He didn't pull away, the words settling over him like a shroud.

Acceptance seeped in, cold and inevitable, you did not want him, and perhaps it was time to let the obsession fracture, to forge ahead with the path laid before him by clan and kin. The battle's din faded to a distant roar as the warrior's mask slipped back into place, burying the remnants of his shattered longing for you.

Since then, weeks had slipped by like shadows fleeing the dawn, each day etching deeper lines of detachment into Neteyam's once-vibrant spirit. The lush canopy of the Omatikaya village hummed with its eternal rhythm, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of ikran wheeling overhead, but for him, the world had dulled to a muted haze. His golden eyes, once alight with the fire, now stared out with a steely impassivity, scanning horizons not for wonder, but for threats to be neutralized.

The raid led by Varang had receded into memory, its scars healed on the village platforms, yet the wound it inflicted on him festered unseen, a quiet erosion of the warmth that had defined him.

Tuk, with her boundless energy and innocent delight, felt the chill most acutely. She bounded up to him one evening as he sharpened his blade by the communal fire, her small hands clutching a fresh weave of beads, iridescent stones and feathers intertwined in a pattern mimicking the bioluminescent vines that glowed at night. Her tail swished with eager anticipation, freckles dancing across her cheeks as she thrust the creation forward, her wide eyes sparkling with hope voice bubbling with excitement.

"Neteyam, look! I made this for you, it's like the stars we saw last eclipse!"

He paused, the whetstone halting mid-stroke against the obsidian edge, his broad shoulders tensing beneath the woven straps of his chest harness. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened, tracing the delicate craftsmanship in her tiny fingers, the way the beads caught the sunlight and shimmered like captured fireflies. But the spark didn't ignite, no smile curved his lips, no playful ruffle of her hair followed.

Instead, he nodded curtly, resuming his task with mechanical precision, his jaw set in a firm line, voice flat and distant, devoid of the affectionate lilt she craved. "It's nice, Tuk. Put it with the others."

Her face fell, the joy draining like water from a punctured gourd, her ears drooping as she clutched the beads closer to her chest. She lingered for a beat, searching his profile, hoping for the brother who would scoop her up and declare it the finest gift Eywa ever bestowed. But he turned away, eyes fixed on the blade's gleaming surface, and she scampered off, shoulders slumped, the weave trailing forgotten in her wake.

The once-loving brother and son had hollowed into a shell, his movements efficient but soulless as if the essence that bound him to family and clan had been leeched away. All because of you, your escape a silent verdict on his delusions, a rejection that echoed in the empty spaces of his nights.

He threw himself into duties with relentless fervor. Leading patrols along the outer borders, training young warriors in the art of silent strikes, overseeing the weaving of new nets for the ikran handlers. His body moved with the grace of a predator, but his mind was a fortress, walled against reminiscence of you.

He avoided the routes where fate had first tangled your paths, the shadowed glades where Mangkwan raids had brushed too close to Omatikaya lands. No longer did he linger at the river's bend, where the water ran swift and clear, its banks lined with ferns that whispered secrets to the wind. Those places, once alive with the thrill of pursuit and stolen glances with you, now held only ghosts. He charted new paths, deeper into the heart of the forest, where the air grew thicker with the scent of moss and blooming nightflowers, forcing his focus to the tangible such as the snap of a branch underfoot or the distant roar of a thanator claiming territory.

Jake and Neytiri watched from afar, their concern a quiet storm brewing in stolen moments by their marui.

Jake's brow furrowed as he cleaned his rifle, a human relic he rarely touched these days, his massive frame leaning against a post, eyes tracking Neteyam's solitary figure vanishing into the treeline. The change had been stark, a full revolution from the son who joked with Lo'ak over shared kills to this impassive sentinel. It started after Varang's assault, the explosions that had torn through the night like Eywa's judgment, and though the Mangkwan leader had retreated with her forces, the aftermath lingered in Neteyam's silence.

"He's not himself." Jake murmured one evening, his voice rough with worry, arms crossed over his broad chest and the lines around his eyes deepening as he gazed at Neytiri.

Neytiri nodded, her braids swaying as she stirred a pot of herbal stew, the steam rising in fragrant curls that carried notes of healing roots. Her golden eyes, sharp and knowing, held a mother's intuition, tracing the invisible threads connecting her son's withdrawal to the captive who had slipped away.

"I think it is the Mangkwan tsakarem." She said, conviction lacing her tone, her tail curling thoughtfully around her ankle, fingers pausing on the wooden spoon as a memory of your face surfaced. "I believe she has woven herself into his thoughts. The attack... it freed her but it broke something in him."

Jake sighed, rubbing a hand over his braided mohawk, the weight of leadership pressing on him as surely as the humid air. They had suspected as much, the way Neteyam's gaze had lingered on the empty marui, the subtle flinch at mentions of Mangkwan scouts. But pushing him now, with the mantle of Olo'eyktan looming in a year's shadow, would only drive the fracture deeper.

"Let him be." He decided, voice resolute yet tinged with reluctance as be stood to clasp her shoulder, his callused palm warm against her skin. "He'll find his way. Duty will anchor him."

Alayni, meanwhile, bloomed in the vacuum of his detachment, her happiness a radiant veil masking the shadows of her deeds.

Two weeks until the mating ceremony and the village buzzed with preparations of fresh flowers woven into garlands and chants rehearsed under the great tree's glow. No one knew of her betrayal, the whispered coordinates she had passed to Varang's men, the calculated risk that had invited chaos to claim you and clear her path. To the clan, she was the dutiful future tsahik, her shy smiles and gentle hands a perfect counterpoint to Neteyam's stoic resolve.

She walked beside him now on a routine patrol, her steps light and synchronized with his longer strides, the sway of her hips accentuated by the fitted loincloth that hugged her slender curves. The sun filtered through the canopy in dappled patterns, gilding her azure skin and highlighting the subtle bioluminescent freckles dusting her collarbone. Alayni glanced up at him often, her dark eyes alight with unspoken triumph as a soft giggle escaped her lips, brushing a leaf from his arm, fingers lingering on the firm swell of his bicep.

"The forest feels peaceful today, doesn't it, Neteyam? Like Eywa is blessing our union already."

He nodded absently, his gaze fixed ahead on the winding path, the play of light and shadow across his chiseled features unchanging.

Accompanying her was duty, escorting his future mate through the clan's territories, ensuring her safety amid lingering threats from rival clans. His hand rested on his knife hilt, posture alert, the lean lines of his torso shifting with each measured step, sweat beading along the ridge of his spine from the midday heat. To him, it was rote, a task etched into the rhythm of leadership, devoid of the spark that had once ignited at your proximity.

But to Alayni, every moment was victory incarnate.

She had won, the enemy tsakarem fled, the obstacles in her way shattered, and soon his kuru would bond with hers under the eyes of the clan. Her heart raced with giddy elation, a flush warming her cheeks as she imagined the ceremony. His strong hands on her waist, the tsaheylu sealing their fates. She linked her arm through his pressing closer, the soft press of her breast against his side a deliberate intimacy, voice breathy with feigned shyness yet her eyes gleamed with possessive delight.

"I can't wait for the weaving of our kurus. It'll be perfect, won't it? Just us, forever."

Neteyam murmured agreement, the words automatic as his mind was elsewhere, on maps of patrol routes or on the warriors awaiting his command.

He tried with iron will to banish thoughts of you from the recesses of his soul. He would be Olo'eyktan soon, the weight of the clan on his shoulders, mated to Alayni in a union forged for stability and strength. There was no space for yearning, no indulgence for a ghost who had recoiled from his touch, who had fled at the first chance, eyes cold with disgust rather than desire. You hadn't loved him, your responses had been chains of circumstance, feigned to survive the cage of captivity.

The realization was a blade at his chest, twisting deeper with each suppressed memory.

Yet, in the quiet hours when the village slumbered and the stars wheeled overhead, your image weaseled in unbidden. He would lie on his mat, the thatch roof above him a barrier against the night's whispers but sleep evaded him. Visions assailed of the arch of your neck as you tilted your head in defiance, the silken glide of your skin under his fingertips during those stolen intimacies, the reluctant parting of your lips that he had mistaken for surrender. An ache bloomed in his chest like thorns embedding in its flesh, a hollow throb that echoed the void you had left.

He clenched his fists, nails biting into palms, forcing his breath steady as his eyes squeezed shut, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he willed the phantom away.

Duty. Clan. Future.

The mantra repeated, a shield against the erosion but the cracks persisted, widening with every heartbeat of his.

In the days that followed, the preparations intensified. Alayni flitted about with renewed purpose, her laughter ringing clearer as she helped Neytiri select ceremonial beads, her fingers deftly sorting the vibrant strands. Neteyam joined when required, his presence a steady anchor amid the festivities, but his smiles were rare, reserved for elders and children who demanded them.

Jake pulled him aside once, during a strategy session by the war council, his father's hand heavy on his shoulder voice gruff with concern, eyes searching his son's face for the boy he remembered. "Son, whatever haunts you, face it. Don't let it consume the leader you're becoming."

Neteyam met his gaze evenly, the golden depths unyielding as his shoulders squared with a nod crisp and final. "It's handled, sir. The clan comes first."

But as he walked away, the forest closing around him like a living shroud, the ache resurfaced again as a persistent whisper of what might have been, tangled forever in the undergrowth of his resolve.

Hours went by, the eclipse had long since painted the sky in deep indigo, the bioluminescent vines along the village platforms casting a soft ethereal glow that did little to ease the knot of worry twisting in Neytiri's chest.

She lay beside Jake in their marui, the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad back a testament to the exhaustion of leadership, his braided kuru draped loosely over the woven mat. But sleep eluded her, her golden eyes flicking toward the entrance flap, where the night sounds of Pandora filtered in.

Neteyam was late, far past the hour warriors returned from solitary vigils or patrols. Her eldest, the pillar of their family, had become a ghost in his own home, his steps silent and his words fewer than the stars above.

With a quiet resolve, she rose, her lithe form unfolding gracefully, the faint scars from old battles tracing faint lines along her arms like maps of survival. She draped a light shawl over her shoulders, the fabric whispering against her azure skin, and slipped out into the cooling air. The village slumbered, maruis dimly lit by inner fires, but her hunter's instincts guided her toward the outer platforms, where the great tree's roots intertwined with the earth.

There, perched on a low branch overlooking the valley, she found him. Neteyam with his back to her, broad shoulders slumped under the weight of invisible burdens. He stared upward, the starlight reflecting in the wet trails of tears carving paths down his cheeks, his golden eyes distant and shattered.

Her heart clenched like a fist around a thorn, a sharp ache blooming as she witnessed tears streaming freely from the face of her unbreakable son. In all her years, through battles and losses, she had never seen him cry. Not as a fierce young warrior facing his first hunt, not even when Kiri's visions had shaken the family to its core. These past weeks, he had been a hollow vessel, his laughter silenced, his touch withdrawn, but this vulnerability cracked the shell wide open, exposing the raw wound beneath.

She approached softly, her bare feet padding against the mossy wood, and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling his solid frame against her chest.

"My son." She murmured, her voice a gentle caress laced with sorrow, her chin resting on his shoulder, braids brushing his ear as she held him close. "What ails you? Speak to your sa'nok."

Neteyam sighed, a heavy exhale that carried the weight of unspoken tempests, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He leaned into her embrace, the tension in his neck easing fractionally, but words remained locked behind clenched teeth.

How could she understand?

The gravity of his love for you, a Mangkwan woman, an enemy incarnate had pulled at him like an undertow, drowning his sense of self. Each day chipped away at his resolve, the choice between duty to clan and the selfish pull of his heart a torment that left him adrift. He was losing pieces of himself in the effort to bury the ache, to forge ahead as the future Olo'eyktan.

"I am tired." He finally whispered, his voice cracking as he wiped at his face with the back of his hand, the muscles in his jaw flexing as fresh tears welled. "I cannot do this anymore, Mom. The weight... it's crushing me."

Neytiri's heart fractured further at his confession, the raw despair in his tone echoing the cries of a wounded ikran. She tightened her hold, her arms encircling his torso, fingers splaying across the firm planes of his abdomen as if to anchor him to the world.

She had suspected for weeks that this shadow over him stemmed from you, the woman who had been his captive, the one whose escape had coincided with his unraveling. Whispers of your name in council meetings, the way his gaze sharpened at mentions of Mangkwan movements, it all pointed to a bond forged in secrecy and strife. But she said nothing, offering only the silent strength of her presence, her tail curling protectively around his leg. In the quiet, she sent a fervent prayer to Eywa, her mind weaving pleas through the neural network of the land.

Great Mother, guide my son through this storm. There must be purpose in his pain, a path unseen amid the chaos.

The night deepened around them, mother and son entwined in shared silence, until exhaustion finally claimed him, his head lolling against her shoulder. Neytiri guided him back to the marui, her steps steady despite the turmoil churning within.

Soon, dawn broke with the first calls of prolemuris swinging through the canopy, painting the forest in hues of gold and green. Neteyam rose with the sun, his face a mask once more, his eyes hooded and expression schooled into impassive resolve.

Today, duty demanded he scout the eastern fringes, perilously close to the glades where he had first glimpsed you weeks ago, your form a vision of lethal grace amid the raid's fury. He had avoided those paths like a festering wound but intelligence from outriders reported Mangkwan activity stirring anew and evasion was no longer an option.

He joined Jake and Neytiri at the ikran roost, along with a cadre of warriors.

Neytiri watched him from afar as he checked his bowstring, the morning light catching the subtle sheen of sweat on his brow from the humid air. Memories of the previous night flooded her, the vulnerability in his tears, the plea in his voice and now, seeing him revert to this emotionless sentinel, her worry deepened like roots delving into soil. His movements were precise and efficient but there was no spark, no anticipation in his posture.

Alayni hovered at the periphery, her presence a flutter of nervous energy amid the preparations. She had risen early, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of impending union, and now she approached Neteyam with a sway in her step, the beads of her top clinking softly. Without hesitation, she pressed her lips to his cheek, the kiss lingering a beat too long, her hand brushing the curve of his arm, voice soft and adoring, eyes sparkling with feigned innocence as she pulled back slightly.

"Stay safe, Neteyam. Come back to me whole."

He nodded, the motion mechanical, his golden eyes sliding past her without warmth, fixed instead on the horizon.

Neytiri observed the exchange, her tail flicking in subtle disapproval, the contrast between Alayni's eagerness and her son's detachment a stark reminder of the fractures in his spirit and the duty they had handed to him.

The group saddled their ikrans, the massive creatures rumbling with impatience, wings unfurling like sails in the breeze. Neteyam mounted with fluid ease, his thighs gripping the creature's sides, the bond forming through their queues in a pulse of shared intent. With a collective cry, they ascended, the wind whipping through braids and loincloths as the forest shrank below, giving way to the vast expanse of floating mountains and vine-draped cliffs.

The skies were clear at first, the patrol weaving through thermal updrafts, Jake leading with hand signals sharp and commanding.

But peace shattered like fragile crystal, an ambush erupting from the clouds and the forest below, Mangkwan warriors on their own direhorses and winged mounts descending in a hail of fire-arrows and poisoned barbs. Flames licked at the air, ignited by incendiary tips, while the sharp whistle of shafts cut through the roar of wings.

Neytiri and Jake unleashed war cries that echoed across the valleys, primal and fierce, their ikrans diving into the fray. Neteyam clenched his teeth, the familiar surge of battle adrenaline sharpening his senses, but beneath it thrummed a deeper tension, his heart pounding not just from the clash, but from the scan of faces below, searching for yours amid the chaos.

No sign of you and the absence twisted like a knife at him. Disappointment that you weren't there for him to see once more and yet relief that you remained untouched by this violence.

He urged his ikran higher, bow drawn in a blur, arrows flying true to fell two attackers in mid-air, their bodies plummeting with guttural cries.

On the ground, Neytiri broke from the aerial skirmish, her ikran landing with a thud amid the underbrush as she spotted Varang, her form a whirlwind of aggression with war paint streaking her face in crimson patterns.

They clashed blades, Neytiri's movements a dance of lethal precision, her body twisting to evade a swipe snarling with protective fury, eyes blazing as she parried, the clash of metal ringing like thunder. Jake and the other warriors followed suit, dropping to engage the Mangkwan foot soldiers, the forest erupting into a symphony of grunts, screams, and the sizzle of flames devouring foliage.

Neteyam circled above, his ikran banking sharply to loose another volley, the wind tearing at his queue as he targeted a rider closing on Kiri's position.

It was going well, the Omatikaya numbers swelling as reinforcements crested a ridge until a shadow flickered in his periphery. An arrow, swift and unerring, punched into his chest just below the collarbone, the impact a searing bloom of agony that stole his breath. His grip faltered, the bow slipping from numb fingers, and he tumbled from his ikran, the world spinning in a vortex of sky and green.

Neytiri gasped, her head snapping upward mid-fight, horror etching her features as she saw her son plummeting as a dark silhouette against the sun. Jake's roar joined hers, raw and desperate as his face contorted in dread, fists clenching around his knife as he shouted orders to cover.

Neteyam fell far, the ground rushing up mercilessly as his body slammed into the earth with a sickening thud, head bouncing against a root, his vision exploding in stars before blackness edged in.

"Neteyam!" Neytiri's scream tore from her throat, a mother's anguish that pierced the din of battle.

The spot where he fell into was an inferno's cradle, flames from stray arrows encircling the clearing, vines crackling and popping as they fed the blaze. Smoke billowed thick and acrid and without intervention, the fire would claim him, his labored breaths already ragged from the embedded shaft and the impact of the fall.

You arrived on the fringes of the skirmish, the scene unfolding like a nightmare etched in firelight. Your eyes widened at the sight, Neteyam crumpled amid the chaos, his chest heaving around the protruding arrow, blood staining the azure expanse of his torso in rivulets that soaked his harness. Your heart clenched as a vise of unwelcomed emotion squeezed it tight, the pulse of it echoing in your ears over the clash of weapons. Torn, you gripped your bow tighter, gaze flicking to your sister locked in combat with Neytiri then to your warriors pressing the attack.

Aid them, your people and your blood or the enemy who had haunted your thoughts, his touch a ghost that lingered in fevered dreams?

He's the enemy. Let him burn, let the flames erase the complication he brought to my life.

You turned your back, the wind catching the loose strands of your braids, whipping them across your face like accusations. But your body halted, muscles locking as if Eywa herself rooted you in place.

You couldn't—wouldn't—leave him to this end.

The weight of what passed between you, the tangled web of resentment and reluctant pull, demanded closure. This would be the last, a one final act to sever the thread, to walk away unburdened. With a curse under your breath, you ran to him, your legs carrying you through the underbrush.

The heat battered you as you reached the flames' edge, the air shimmering with intensity but you plunged in, hauling his weighty form by the arms. His body was heavy, limp yet solid, shoulders broad and unyielding even in unconsciousness, the corded strength of his arms dragging across the scorched earth.

You pulled him free, grunting with effort, the muscles in your back flexing under the strain. Laying him on clearer ground, you assessed the damage. The arrow jutting from his chest, fletching charred at the edges, blood pulsing steadily from the wound, soaking the ground in dark pools.

You bit your lip, the sharp sting grounding you as concern warred with caution.

The severity was dire, his pulse thready under your probing fingers. But you were not just a mere warrior, you were also a healer and a tsakarem, healing coursed through your veins like the forest's lifeblood even with the violence in your being.

Kneeling beside him, your hands moved with practiced urgency, pressing woven leaves from your pouch against the entry to staunch the flow, murmuring ancient invocations to Eywa for mercy. The herbs' bitter scent mingled with the metallic tang of blood, your fingers smeared crimson as you worked, the curve of your neck arching forward in concentration, eyes fierce with determination.

Varang spotted you from across the fray, her snarl twisting her features mid-clash with Neytiri, eyes narrowing in disbelief and fury voice booming over the din, laced with betrayal as she parried a strike. "(Y/N)! What are you doing? Come, we have to leave!"

Neytiri, locked in the duel, glanced toward the sound, her gaze landing on you bent over her son, a flicker of stunned gratitude warring with the battle's rage in her.

More Omatikaya warriors surged forward, tipping the scales, forcing the Mangkwan to retreat.

You didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the call. Your focus absolute, hands pressing firmly to seal the wound, willing his life to hold.

Varang shot you one last glare, venomous and pained, before snarling at Neytiri with a guttural promise of unfinished business and then she signaled the fall back. Her warriors melted into the trees, their forms thundering away, leaving the air thick with smoke and the echo of conflict.

Your focus narrowed to the rise and fall of Neteyam's chest, each shallow breath a fragile tether to life, the arrow's shaft now crudely bound but the wound beneath pulsing with insistent threat. Sweat beaded along your temple, tracing a cool path down the arch of your cheekbone, your eyes locked on his face, the sharp angles softened in unconsciousness, the full curve of his lips parted as if in silent plea.

You didn't notice the delicate swirl of an atokirina, that ethereal seed of Eywa, drifting lazily on an unseen current, hovering above you both like a benediction unspoken.

Neytiri saw it, though. Her golden gaze catching the pale spinner as it lingered, a luminous point against the hazy sky, before floating onward. Her breath hitched, a profound shiver rippling through her frame, her shoulders seeming to pulse in quiet awe.

Eywa's will.

She broke from the fray with Jake at her side, their footfalls urgent through the trampled ferns, weapons still gripped tight but lowered in the face of this revelation.

You sensed their approach before you saw them, the rustle of leaves and the heavy cadence of warrior steps pulling your attention. Instinct flared of enemies closing in and you hissed low, a feral sound vibrating from your throat as you shifted away from Neteyam, your body coiling like a viper ready to strike. Your tail lashed behind you, the tip slicing the air with agitation, while your fingers twitched toward the knife at your hip, the leather sheath warm against your hip bone.

They were still foes, the Omatikaya who had chained you and humiliated you and you'd meet them with fangs bared, your toned legs braced against the earth, ready to spring.

Jake opened his mouth, his broad jaw setting with the intent to command, but Neytiri's voice cut through first, steady and resonant, her eyes fierce yet softened by gratitude, one hand extended palm-up in a gesture of uneasy truce. "You will come with us."

He paused, confusion flickering across his scarred features, but he moved without protest, kneeling to gather Neteyam's limp form. The future leader's weight sagged in his father's arms, head lolling against Jake's shoulder, the azure skin of his neck exposed in vulnerable slackness.

Other warriors converged, their ikrans circling low with throaty calls, assisting as Jake hoisted Neteyam toward the nearest mount, muscles bulging under the strain along his arms and back, the harness straps digging into his flesh.

You snarled at Neytiri, the sound raw and defiant, your tail flicking sharper now, brushing against the back of your calves as your fangs glinted in the dappled light. Your posture was rigid with suspicion as you rose to your full height, the beaded strands of your top shifting with the heave of your chest. "I will not be your captive again. Touch me and I'll carve my freedom from your hides."

Neytiri regarded you, her own tail curling thoughtfully at her side, the fire in your eyes mirroring the unyielding spark she knew from her own youth, the same blaze that had drawn Jake to her across clan lines.

Mercy stirred in her chest, unbidden and perplexing. Was it the debt of your aid to her son or the atokirina's silent sign that compelled her?

She straightened, her silhouette cutting a commanding figure against the fading smoke, voice firm and laced with an undercurrent of respect as she turned toward her ikran. "You will not be captive. You saved him, pulled him from Eywa's grasp. I believe the Great Mother has plans. Come, you waste time."

Suspicion coiled tight in your gut, a serpent ready to strike, yet beneath it hummed an inexplicable pull. A whisper urging yes, born of exhaustion, of the chaos you'd wrought by choosing him over your kin.

You hissed once more, baring your fangs in a final warning as your lips curled back, the sharp points catching the light as your ears flattened against your skull. "Lie to me and I will not hesitate to draw my blade even if it means my end."

She met your gaze without flinching, recognizing the kindred fire, the warrior's unbreaking will. With a nod, she mounted her ikran, the bond queue connecting in a soft neural sigh, wings unfurling with a leathery snap.

You approached cautiously, every sense alert. The warmth of the creature's hide under your palms as you swung up behind her, your thighs clamping around its sides, the curve of your hips settling against Neytiri's back. The ascent was swift, wind tearing at your braids, carrying the scent of singed earth and distant rain as the group soared towards their home.

The village emerged like a living tapestry below.

Jake dismounted first upon landing, Neteyam's body cradled securely in his arms, the young warrior's limbs dangling limply, blood crusting along the wound's edges. He ran toward Mo'at's healing marui, feet pounding the woven platforms, Neytiri and you following at a urgent pace.

Eyes turned as you passed, Omatikaya faces hardening at the sight of your Mangkwan markings, the ash remnants of war paint streaking your arms and thighs, whispers rippling like wind through reeds. You ignored them, chin lifted defiantly, your strides long and purposeful, the sway of your hips fluid despite the knot of unease in your belly.

Inside the marui, the air hung thick with the aroma of medicinal pastes and smoldering herbs, shelves lined with jars of glowing extracts. Mo'at moved with ancient grace, her wrinkled skin etched with the wisdom of seasons, drawing Neteyam onto a low pallet woven from supple vines. Her hands, gnarled yet precise, peeled back the hasty bandages you'd applied, assessing the damage with a cluck of her tongue as her eyes narrowed in concentration, fingers probing the inflamed flesh around the arrow's path.

You shifted uncomfortably near the entrance, arms crossed over your chest, the soft swell of your breasts pressing against the crossed forearms, your bare midriff taut with tension.

What madness had brought you here, into the heart of enmity? Why save this man, the one whispered to be bound to another in mating rites, his future woven without you?

Once assured of his survival, you'd slip away, beg for Varang's mercy, atone for the betrayal etched in your choice to heal, to drag him from flames.

Neytiri noticed the storm brewing in your eyes, the way your shoulders hunched slightly under invisible weight. She guided you to a woven mat beside her, her touch light on your elbow as she settled cross-legged.

"Sit. The weight you carry shows in your eyes."

Jake hovered nearby, his confusion etched in the furrow of his brow, arms still bearing faint smears of his son's blood as he glanced between you and Neytiri, tone edged with bewilderment. "Neytiri, why bring her? She's Mangkwan, an enemy blood in our home."

Mo'at's voice rose then, steady and authoritative, cutting the tension as she worked a poultice into the wound her movements rhythmic, the paste's earthy scent filling the space. "He is in critical condition. The arrow pierced deep, nicking the lung's edge. Without the temporary aid to stem the bleeding, he would have crossed to Eywa's embrace already."

Both parents turned to you, realization dawning as Neytiri's gaze held quiet thanks, Jake's a grudging respect.

"And the head trauma is severe, his skull bruised from the fall so visions may haunt him upon waking. He will recover but stress must be barred from his path. No extremes of anger or despair, lest the balance tip and fracture his spirit. Do not put him in situations where he will experience such."

Jake and Neytiri nodded solemnly, Jake's hand squeezing his mate's shoulder, resolve hardening his features. "We'll guard him like the tree itself."

You sat quietly, the breath easing from your lungs in a slow sigh of relief, your fingers unclenching from where they'd dug into your palms, leaving crescent marks on the soft pads.

He would live, the man whose golden eyes had pierced your defenses, whose touch lingered like a forbidden echo.

Neytiri looked at you then, not through the lens of a deadly warrior but as a mother whose heart swelled with gratitude, her expression softening, the lines around her eyes crinkling with unspoken emotion. "You have our thanks. Your hands brought him back to us."

Rising, you met her gaze steadily, your voice even despite the turmoil tail curling loosely at your feet, posture straightening with resolve. "He breathes. My part is done. I will leave now before your people remembers what I am."

She shook her head gently as her braids swayed, tone insistent yet kind, a hand gesturing to the marui's depths. "Stay the night. The forest paths grow treacherous after battle and dawn will light your way clearer. Tomorrow, go with Eywa's guidance."

Hesitation gripped you as visions of Varang's wrath flashed along with her snarl of betrayal but the offer Neytiri gave bought time, a buffer against the storm you'd unleashed. You nodded curtly, the motion causing a loose braid to slip over your shoulder, brushing the gentle slope of your collarbone.

Mo'at interjected, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she pointed to a partitioned alcove, the entrance draped in soft kelp weaves. "There is space in the marui for you. Rest there, no harm under this roof will fall upon you."

You inclined your head uncomfortably, the unfamiliar kindness chafing like ill-fitted armor, and retreated to the indicated area.

The partition muffled the outer sounds, but voices filtered in with familiar cadences of concern, perhaps Neteyam's siblings clustering with worried murmurs or that scheming Alayni's honeyed tones probing for weakness.

You sighed deeply, sinking onto the low sleeping platform, the woven fibers cool against your skin. Gazing at your hands, still faintly stained with his blood and nails chipped from the frantic extraction, you felt the weight crash down.

What have I done?

Varang's face loomed in your mind, her loyalty unyielding and yet you betrayed her, your blood for him. A traitor in your own eyes, cast adrift by a mercy you couldn't explain, the contours of your form curling inward as doubt gnawed at your thoughts.

The first light of dawn filtered through the woven walls of the marui, casting a soft glow that danced across the kelp partitions like whispers from the great tree itself.

You stirred from a fitful sleep, the platform beneath you cradling the subtle curves of your body with its resilient fibers, though no true rest had really come.

The air hummed with distant murmurs, low voices laced with concern, the rustle of movements that spoke of vigil. Neteyam's family, no doubt, gathered in their quiet desperation.

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes adjusting to the dim interior, a stray lock of ebony hair falling across your forehead, brushing the high plane of your cheek as you sat up. The faint ache in your muscles from the previous day's chaos lingered, a reminder of the flames you'd pulled him from, your frame still bearing the subtle smudges of ash along your arms and the line of your neck.

Pushing aside the drape with a steady hand, you stepped into the main chamber, the cool floor mats yielding under your bare feet, toes curling slightly against the texture. There they were, clustered around Neteyam's pallet. Neytiri's poised form kneeling closest, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his azure skin, while Jake stood sentinel nearby, his broad shoulders tense.

The siblings hovered at the edges, Tuk's small hands fidgeting with a beaded string, Lo'ak's jaw set in watchful silence, and Kiri sitting to the side with a faraway look.

You remembered them from his stories when he was pestering you and you remembered how you tried so hard to tune him out as you rolled your eyes.

Neteyam's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his features serene in repose, full lips slightly parted as if dreaming of battles yet unfought.

Your gaze locked with Neytiri's across the space, her golden eyes holding a depth of unspoken understanding, the faint lines at their corners deepening as she rose fluidly. The others' stares prickled your skin. They were curious and wary, the weight of enmity pressing like unseen hands, save for Jake whose attention remained fixed on his son, oblivious or perhaps deliberately so.

You held your ground, chin lifting subtly, the soft undulation of your torso accentuated by the morning light as it played over the beaded strands draping your chest.

Her voice emerged, a hand extending in quiet invitation as she closed the distance, the warmth of her presence cutting through the chill of suspicion. "Are you about to head out? The paths await but let me see you safely beyond our borders."

You nodded once, the motion causing your braids to shift, one grazing the delicate hollow of your throat.

Before words could form, her fingers encircled your wrist, firm but not forceful, the calluses of a huntress brushing your smoother skin. "Okay, I'll take you with my ikran. The skies are clearer at this hour."

Together, you moved toward the exit, your steps synchronized in wary alliance, the chamber's herbal scents fading behind you. Halfway there, Tuk's voice pierced the air like a sudden arrow, high-pitched with unbridled joy as her tiny frame bounced as she pointed, eyes wide with wonder.

"Neteyam! You're awake!"

Neytiri gasped beside you, a sharp intake that reverberated through her body, her grip tightening momentarily on your arm before releasing as she whirled, long legs carrying her back in a blur of urgency. His family converged instantly, a protective circle forming around the pallet, voices overlapping in a cacophony of relief.

Jake's baritone cut through as his hand raised in caution, posture rigid as he scanned his children's eager faces. "Easy, give him space. Let him breathe."

You didn't turn, didn't allow the pull of curiosity to drag you back.

Relief flickered in your chest that he lived, that his spirit is unbroken but seeing him now, vulnerable and surrounded by their bond, stirred too much. Your tail flicked once, a subtle lash against your calf, as you fixed your gaze on the exit, the woven flap beckoning like freedom's edge.

A groan echoed from the pallet, low and pained, followed by Neytiri's voice, thick with emotion as tears glistened on her lashes then spilling down the curve of her cheek as she cupped his face, her thumbs tracing the strong line of his jaw.

"Ma Teyam, my child, you're awake. Eywa has returned you to us."

Neteyam's first words hung in the air, raspy yet insistent, freezing you mid-step as his voice threaded confusion and longing, golden eyes blinking open to search the faces around him. "Where's my mate?"

Your heart clenched like a fist around a thorned vine, a sharp twist that stole your breath, the muscles of your back tensing beneath the thin straps of your top.

He meant her, that conniving soft-spoken healer, the one fate had chained him to.

The betrayal you'd wrought for his sake soured further, urging you toward escape, but Neytiri remained entangled in the moment, her form a barrier you couldn't breach without drawing eyes.

He spoke again, urgency sharpening his tone as he propped himself up slightly on one elbow, the defined planes of his abdomen flexing under the strain, beads of sweat gathering along his collarbone. "Where is my mate? Why is she not here? Where is (Y/N)?"

Silence crashed over the marui like a sudden storm, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of a nearby incense burner. You couldn't believe the words echoing in your ears. Your name on his lips like a claim, a delusion born of fever or fracture. His family still shielded him, their bodies a living wall, blocking any chance of his gaze finding you.

What madness gripped him?

Jake broke the hush, his voice measured, laced with concern as he kneeled closer, one large hand resting on Neteyam's shoulder, fingers splaying across the flesh there. "Kid, what do you mean mate? Talk to me, clear your head."

Neteyam frowned, confusion etching furrows across his forehead, his ears twitching slightly as he tilted his head, the kuru at his back shifting against the pallet as he scanned the circle of faces. "Huh? She's my mate. What do you mean what do I mean, Dad? We chose each other, it is done."

Neytiri exchanged a fleeting glance with Jake, her expression a mask of reassurance as she smiled gently, though her eyes held a storm of questions as she leaned in, her braids falling forward to brush his arm. "What's the last thing you remember, Ma Teyam? Tell your sa'nok, help us understand."

He groaned again, wincing as he pressed a hand to his temple, his fingers threading through his hair as his voice faltered, piecing together fragments like scattered leaves.

"We were together in the forest... deep in the glade, away from eyes. We mated, bound our kuru. I remember the warmth of her, falling asleep in her arms... then nothing. I woke up now. Why am I here? Where is she?"

Jake's mouth parted, words forming on the edge of his tongue but Neytiri's hand clamped onto his forearm, urgent and unyielding as her nails digged lightly into his skin, a silent reminder of her mother's grave warning, her gaze flicking to the tsahik for affirmation.

No stress, no shadows to cloud his fragile recovery.

Mo'at inclined her head subtly from her perch nearby, her weathered features serene, the wisdom in her eyes underscoring the peril of truths unspoken.

However, shock rippled through you like a current, your pulse thundering in your ears, the arch of your neck flushing with heat.

What sorcery had befallen this demon blood?

The forest encounter, the stolen touches, and the heated whispers had been a fever dream of his desire, not a true bonding. Yet here he proclaimed it as reality, your name woven into his delirium.

Your fingers curled at your sides, nails biting into palms, the soft pads whitening under pressure.

Jake rose then, his frame casting a long shadow as he leaned toward Neytiri whispering low, his jaw clenched in resolve. "I'll get Norm, let him scan the boy's head, figure out what's twisted in there."

He straightened, striding past you with purposeful steps.

You shifted sideways instinctively, pressing against the wall's curve, your body folding into the shadows to evade Neteyam's searching eyes, the faint scent of his blood still clinging to your skin like a ghost.

The drape parted again, admitting Alayni in a rush of hurried grace, her form halting abruptly at the sight of you lingering near the threshold. Her face fell, features draining of color, eyes widening in a flash of alarm as her lips parted in silent accusation, her tail coiling tight behind her as panic etched sharp lines around her mouth.

What is she doing here?

The enemy in their sanctum, everyone would know her schemes, the whispers of betrayal she'd sown.

You couldn't suppress the satisfied smirk curling your lips, a predatory glint in your gaze as you savored the tremor in her composure, the way her fingers twisted the hem of her wrap.

She glared daggers, a venomous spark in her eyes, before hurrying inside voice pitched with concern, dropping to her knees beside the pallet, her hand reached out to caress his cheek, nails grazing the smooth azure expanse. "Neteyam, are you okay? We've been so worried—"

He recoiled at her touch, jerking back with a hiss as his body tensed, shoulders hunching as if her fingers burned, golden eyes narrowing in instinctive rejection. "Don't touch me. My mate would not like that, keep your hands to yourself."

Alayni froze, confusion clouding her features as she glanced around the circle, her posture crumbling slightly. The gentle swell of her chest heaving with rapid breaths, seeking answers in their stunned expressions. First, you're here like some honored guest, unwatched and unchained and now Neteyam denying their bond, as if the ceremonies planned for days hence meant nothing.

"What do you mean? You have no mate, Neteyam. We will be mated in several days. It's all arranged, for the clan—"

His stare was blank and unyielding as he leaned away further, the muscles along his arms corded with tension, voice flat with conviction that brooked no argument. "I am mated, Alayni. Do not disrespect me and her by saying that. I've chosen, Eywa witnessed it."

Alayni's mouth opened for protest, words tumbling forth in a desperate rush as her hands gestured wildly but Lo'ak's fingers closed around her wrist, firm and ungentle, his grip steady as he pulled her back with a warning growl low in his throat.

"Enough, let him rest. You're making it worse."

Neytiri forced a smile then, thin and strained as she rose to her full height, her frame interposing as she pried Alayni from Lo'ak's hold, guiding her toward the entrance with a maternal hand on her shoulder.

She had once favored the girl.

Her respectful demeanor, the sweet softness that promised stability for her son, the shy affections that bloomed like night flowers. It was why she'd championed the union, envisioning harmony in their future. But now, Alayni's invasiveness grated, a threat to the delicate balance of Neteyam's healing. What she'd once seen as endearing now loomed as disruption, especially with the girl's recent clinginess fraying nerves that are already taut.

Her tone remained even, laced with polite finality as she steered Alayni through the drape, the fabric whispering against their forms. "Go now, child, rest and prepare for the day's duties. He'll need quiet to mend, we'll call when he's stronger."

Alayni resisted briefly, a flicker of indignation in her eyes, but Neytiri's unyielding gaze quelled it. As she was ushered out, you caught her eye from behind Neytiri's shoulder, your smirk deepening into something triumphant as your lips curved wickedly, the sharp tips of your fangs peeking as you watched her retreat.

Stupid bitch, starting to pay her karma.

The satisfaction bloomed warm in your chest, a counter to the earlier ache at the unraveling the web she'd spun.

The marui's air thickened with the scent of medicinal herbs and lingering tension as footsteps approached from beyond the drape. The flap parted with a soft rustle, admitting Jake first followed by a figure that made your eyes narrow in instinctive distrust.

He was another of those sky people avatars, shorter and bulkier than the Na'vi around him, with blue skin stretched over an unfamiliar musculature, his movements jerky and mechanical as he hauled a satchel bulging with strange, gleaming devices. In your eyes, he was just another demon in disguise, his eyes too round and probing behind a mask of false familiarity.

Neteyam's family parted slightly to allow them access, his golden gaze widening in confusion propping himself up on his elbows despite the wince that tugged at his full lips, the cords of his neck straining as he tilted his head.

"Dad? Norm? What's all this?" His voice carried a mix of bewilderment and faint alarm, the sharp angles of his shoulders tensing beneath the thin covering draped over his torso.

Jake placed a reassuring hand on his son's arm, the gesture firm yet gentle. "Just a check-up, son. Norm here's gonna make sure everything's healing right, no big deal."

Norm nodded efficiently, unpacking his tools with practiced haste. A handheld scanner humming to life, its blue light flickering like captured bioluminescence, and thin probes that beeped softly as they connected to Neteyam's temple and chest. The warrior submitted with reluctant patience, his ears flicking at each unfamiliar sensation as his chest rose and fell in shallow rhythms, the bandaged expanse over his ribs shifting with each breath.

You remained unseen, a ghost in the periphery, gratitude coiling in your gut that he hadn't glimpsed you yet, sparing you the complication of his fractured gaze.

The assessment dragged on, Norm murmuring readings under his breath, Jake hovering like a sentinel. Finally, they withdrew, the group filing out into the humid morning air. Norm repacking his gear with a satisfied grunt, Mo'at gliding behind with her staff tapping rhythmically, Neytiri close at her heel, her posture a blend of maternal poise and veiled anxiety.

Curiosity tugged at you drawing your steps toward the exit despite the risk. You hovered just inside, the soft swell of your hips swaying faintly as you strained to catch their words, the faint breeze carrying snippets through the kelp weave.

Norm's voice filtered back, clinical and detached gesturing vaguely at the air as if diagramming an invisible wound.

"Selective amnesia, most likely from the trauma to his skull. Concussions like that can scramble memories, make him fill in gaps with what his mind wants to believe. It'll probably clear up with rest but no pushing him. Avoid contradictions, let it fade naturally."

Mo'at's response came sharp and authoritative, her aged frame straightening one hand raised in admonition. "Precisely. No stress, Jake Sully. His spirit is fragile as fresh-woven thread, negative winds could unravel it further."

Jake glanced over his shoulder then, his eyes locking onto yours through the partial drape.

You met his stare blankly, your expression a mask of cool indifference, the line of your jaw set firm, lashes casting shadows over your irises.

He sighed heavily, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder as he rubbed a hand over his hair before nodding to Mo'at. "Understood. Thanks, Norm. Appreciate you coming out here on short notice."

He clapped the avatar on the back, steering him toward the path, their forms receding into the foliage.

Mo'at turned fully to you then, her wrinkled features softening into a knowing smile as she extended a gnarled hand in gentle summons, the beads on her bracelets clinking softly. "Come, child. He searches for you. Eywa's threads bind him still even in confusion."

Hesitation rooted you for a beat, your bare feet shifting against the mat, toes flexing into the fibers as doubt warred with obligation. But you moved forward, weaving through the siblings' loose circle, your presence rippling the air like a stone in still water. Neytiri observed from the side, her arms crossed over her chest, the arch of her back rigid with unspoken calculations.

Neteyam's eyes ignited at the sight of you, a spark of pure recognition and warmth flooding their golden depths as his face brightened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a boyish smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. "Baby, where have you been? I've been calling for you. Come here, let me see you."

Words failed you, caught in the tangle of your throat like thorns. Your pulse quickened, the delicate skin at your wrists flushing as you glanced desperately at Neytiri. She stepped in seamlessly, her voice a soothing murmur kneeling beside him. "She was just helping Mo'at with some herbs, Ma Teyam. Nothing to worry over. You're safe now, all of us here."

He nodded absently, already shifting to rise as his elbows dug into the padding, his torso twisting with intent, the play of muscles along his flanks evident even through the strain. But a sharp hiss escaped him as pain lanced through his chest. He glanced down, fingers probing the white bandages wrapped taut around his ribs, tracing the edges where faint bloodstains bloomed, his brow furrowing in dawning alarm.

"What happened? Why am I... like this?"

Neytiri's response flowed quick and fabricated, her tail flicking once in reassurance as she pressed him back gently, palms flat against his shoulders. "A minor fall during a hunt, nothing more. You're mending well but rest is key. No straining this body of yours."

Lo'ak chimed in from his perch nearby, his tone laced with concern as he leaned forward, one hand hovering as if ready to steady him. "Yeah bro, don't push it. You've been out cold, give yourself a break."

Tuk, unable to contain her awe any longer, stared up at you with unabashed wonder, her small fingers twisting in her lap, round cheeks dimpling as she beamed, the innocence in her voice cutting through the heaviness.

"You're pretty like the glowing vines at night."

Neteyam caught the words, his grin widening into something radiant and possessive as he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest despite the wince it provoked, his gaze raking over you with unabashed adoration. "She is, isn't she? Eywa blessed me beyond measure with the most beautiful woman as my mate."

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, a traitorous warmth that clashed with the snarl building in your chest. Your fangs ached to bare but Neytiri's sharp glance pinned you, her eyes narrowing imperceptibly, a silent command as she rose.

"I'll speak with her first, important matters."

She drew you aside into a quieter nook, the privacy of the woven screen shielding your exchange, her sigh heavy with exhaustion as her shoulders slumped slightly, the taper of her ears drooping as she met your eyes. "Please, play along just until his memories return. It's a delicate weave we're threading here."

A hiss bubbled up, low and frustrated, your claws flexing at your sides, a flicker of resentment darkening your features.

This wasn't the plan. It was only saving him from the flames and slipping away into the wilds. But now pretending this farce of a bond?

It deepened the chasm with Varang, a blade twisted further into your sister's trust, your loyalty fracturing like dry earth under storm.

Yet you exhaled sharply, the breath stirring the beads at your throat. "Just for today then I'll leave. I've lingered too long already, debts are paid."

Gratitude softened Neytiri's gaze, her hand squeezing your forearm in quiet alliance. "Thank you. Eywa sees your heart."

Eywa, their false goddess.

You refrained from speaking it and returned to the pallet together, his siblings' eyes tracking your approach.

Mo'at interjected then, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she gestured toward the exit with her staff, the carved wood glinting. "He may leave the healing hut now. Rest in your family marui where care is close."

Neteyam's confusion creased his forehead anew as he tilted his head, his kuru swaying as he pushed to sit fully, ignoring the twinge in his side. "Why the family marui? I have our own, shared with my mate. That's where I belong, with her."

Neytiri froze for a heartbeat then mustered a feigned grin, her lips curving upward in playful conspiracy, though tension lined her jaw. "Oh yes, of course you can sleep there. Silly of us to forget."

Relief lit Neteyam's face, a grin splitting wide as he eased to his feet with Lo'ak's support, his brother's arm slung around his waist, the lean power of his legs steadying as he leaned into the aid.

You walked in silence beside Neytiri, your steps measured, the sway of your form guarded against his occasional glances.

She guided the group to a nearby empty marui, its entrance framed by dangling vines that swayed like welcoming tendrils, the interior sparse but inviting with a low cot piled with fresh furs.

"I'll bring your things later." Neytiri explained smoothly as she waved a hand at the empty space, her posture relaxed in fabrication. "You forgot them before, rushing off to tend to (Y/N). Always so devoted."

Neteyam nodded, his attention fixed on you. Golden eyes tracing the cascade of your braids down your back, the subtle glow of your skin under the filtered light, though you kept your gaze averted, fixed on the horizon.

Kiri approached then, her touch feather-light on your arm in a soft pat, wordless solidarity in her empathetic eyes before she stepped back.

Tuk waved enthusiastically as she bounced on her toes, her laughter bubbling. "Bye! Take care of him, he's grumpy when hurt!"

Lo'ak gave a curt nod and Neytiri mirroring it with a final meaningful look before they departed, leaving the marui's quiet to envelop you.

You lingered at the entrance, the woven threshold framing your silhouette, arms crossed over the gentle rise of your chest as Neteyam settled onto the cot, his form reclining against the bolsters, long legs stretching out, the bandage peeking from beneath his wrap as he watched you expectantly.

"Baby, what are you doing all the way over there? Come here. I've missed you too much already."

You restrained the urge to roll your eyes, the old grudge simmering within you. Alayni's shadow, the secrets he'd buried back then, it fueled a quiet fury that tightened your lips. With deliberate slowness, you crossed the space, perching on the cot's edge at a careful distance, the furs dipping under your weight, your thighs pressing together in restrained tension.

He frowned at the gap reaching out, his hand encircling your waist with insistent warmth, drawing you nearer until your hip brushed his, the heat of his body seeping through the thin barriers. "Why so far?"

Without waiting, he leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there before his lips pressed soft lingering pecks along the column of your throat, tracing the pulse that fluttered beneath.

You shifted away slightly, a hand rising to his chest, gentle but firm against the bandaged expanse to halt him. "You must not move so much, your wound will reopen if you keep this up."

"I don't care, the ache is nothing compared to being without you." He dismissed it with a low hum undeterred, nosing deeper and inhaling your scent like a lifeline, his free arm looping around your midriff to anchor you. "You always smell so good."

Your eyes rolled despite yourself, exasperation sharpening your tone as you leaned back just enough to create space, though his hold persisted. "Do you not listen? Rest means rest, not this."

A grin curved his lips, playful and unrepentant as his eyes sparkled with mischief. He tilted his head, the sharp line of his jaw brushing your shoulder. "I do listen but my mate is just so irresistible. How can I resist when you're right here, pulling me like the tide?"

The words ignited a storm within you. The urge to drive your claws into his chest, to end this delusion with finality, to flee into the jungle's embrace, and beneath it all, a treacherous pull to lean in, to claim those lips and drown the betrayal.

Your breath hitched, eyes flashing as your voice dropped to a warning growl. "If you do not stop, you will sleep in your family's marui tonight, without me."

He chuckled, the sound rich and affectionate, as he tugged you flush against him now, his head resting on your shoulder, one hand tracing idle patterns along your arm, savoring the silken texture of your skin. "I don't want to be away from you, ever. Even for a night. You're my world, (Y/N). Tell me you feel it too. The bond, the pull. We've always been this way, haven't we?"

You stiffened, the weight of his touches pressing like chains, his body molding to yours, warm and insistent, nuzzling closer as if to weave your scents together anew.

"Neteyam..." It came out softer than intended, a conflicted murmur as your hand hovered over his, torn between pushing away and letting it linger. "Just... be still. For now."

He hummed contentedly and undaunted, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone, his fingers interlacing with yours, thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow circles. "As you wish but I'm not letting go of you."

The marui fell into a charged hush, his affection a balm and a burden, the line between pretense and peril blurring with every shared breath.

You spent the entire day ensnared in Neteyam's unyielding embrace, his body a constant insistent presence against yours. He was every bit the spoiled brat his amnesia painted him to be. Demanding, playful, and utterly oblivious to the storm raging within you. From the moment the morning light had fully crested the horizon, he refused to release your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours in a grip that was both tender and possessive, the calluses on his palms rough against your smoother skin.

"Feed me." He murmured during the midday meal, his voice a low rumble and laced with mischief.

He propped himself up on one elbow, the lean muscles of his forearm flexing as he gestured to the woven basket of fruits and roasted kelp strips. His golden eyes sparkled with expectation, the sharp angles of his cheekbones highlighted by the soft luminescence filtering in. You hesitated, the curve of your shoulders tensing beneath the lightweight shawl draped over them, but his pout, lips pursing in exaggerated plea, drew a reluctant sigh from you.

Slicing a piece of sweetfruit with your knife, its juice glistening on the blade like dew, you held it to his mouth. He leaned forward eagerly but paused just before taking it. His breath warm against your fingertips, eyes locking onto yours with feigned innocence.

"A kiss first." He demanded softly, tilting his head so his kuru brushed your thigh. "For every bite. It's our thing, remember?"

Irritation flared hot in your chest, your free hand itching to deliver a sharp smack to that smug jawline as the taper of his ears twitched in anticipation. Yet, beneath the annoyance, a treacherous warmth bloomed low in your belly, spreading like sunlight through mist. His affection, fabricated or not, wrapped around you like the humid air itself. You leaned in grudgingly, pressing your lips to his in a brief chaste touch, your mouth soft against the firm warmth of his, the faint taste of herbs from his earlier tonic lingering.

He hummed in satisfaction, finally accepting the fruit, chewing slowly while his gaze never left your face.

This ritual repeated through the afternoon. Bite after bite, kiss after kiss, each one pulling you deeper into the pretense. His laughter bubbled up between mouthfuls, light and carefree as his chest vibrated with the sound, though he winced slightly when it jostled his bandaged ribs, the white wrapping stark against his azure skin.

"You're too good to me." He said after one particularly lingering peck, his hand sliding up your arm to trace the delicate ridge of your collarbone. "How did I ever deserve you, baby?"

You only answered with an eye roll, willing yourself to calm.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the interior in hues of amber and violet, he grew more reflective, his clinginess evolving into quiet confessions. He pulled you onto the furs beside him, your legs tangling with his as he recounted the day he first laid eyes on you, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, fingers idly stroking the cascade of your braids that spilled over your shoulder.

"It was during that raid, I thought you were the most beautiful creature Eywa ever wove, all fire and grace in one breath. Even with your blade at my throat, I couldn't look away."

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, your pulse thrumming in your ears as you absorbed his words. The memory twisted in your mind, the confrontation, the kiss that had ignited everything yet led to this tangled web. Finally, you broke the quiet, your voice steady despite the knot in your throat shifting slightly, the soft swell of your hips pressing into the furs as you turned to face him.

"What do you think of Alayni?"

He blinked, surprise flickering across his features, the smooth plane of his forehead creasing. "Alayni? She's... nice. She's been around since we were children, always helping with the young ones or joining hunts. Reliable, like a sister almost."

The answer hung there, innocuous yet loaded. You pressed further, curiosity sharpening your tone with your eyes narrowing, lashes casting faint shadows on your high cheekbones. "Do you like her?"

His eyes widened, golden irises flaring with incredulity, leaning back as if the question physically pushed him.

"Like her? How could you even ask that when I burn for you alone?" He shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him, though it carried an edge of disbelief. "She's shown her interest. Blushing around me, weaving extra beads for my gear but I don't see her that way. Never have. My heart's been yours from the start."

You wanted to roll your eyes, the truth bubbling beneath your restraint.

Oh yes, but you were set to mate her if fate hadn't intervened.

The words clawed at your tongue but you swallowed them, maintaining the fragile peace.

He studied your expression, a sly smile curving his lips as he reached out to cup your chin, thumb brushing the plush curve of your lower lip. "Are you jealous? Tell me baby, does it sting knowing others vied for me?"

A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral as you bared your fangs briefly, the lines of your neck corded with tension as you pulled back from his touch. "No. Jealousy is for the weak. I'm merely curious about your tangled loyalties."

His smile deepened, brimming with adoration as his eyes softened, he drew you nearer, his broad palm splaying across the small of your back.

"Alayni was just one of the candidates my parents pushed before I met you. They thought her steady, a good match for a future Olo'eyktan." He paused, gaze distant, reliving the memory of when you left. "I came to the marui where you were that night, heart heavy because I'd just learned they'd chosen her. I didn't want it, I wanted you. So I went there to confess everything, to seek comfort in your arms but I saw you with her first. She told you, didn't she? But twisted it to make it seem like it was decided long ago, that I was playing you all along. She lied, (Y/N). It wasn't set in stone, I was ready to fight it from the moment I knew."

Your eyes grew wide, the revelation crashing over you, pupils dilating in shock as pieces clicked into place.

So he hadn't been deceiving you, not entirely. The betrayal you'd nursed, the fury at his supposed duplicity... it shifted, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.

"I almost went through with it, you know. Why you fled with your sister that night, she said you wanted nothing to do with me. I believed her, let the pain fester." He chuckled then, the sound bland and tinged with bitterness as his shoulders rolled in a shrug, the play of tendons in his neck visible as he tilted his head. "But then you came back, told me the truth... we mated, formed tsaheylu under the stars. It was perfect until I woke up like this with no recollection of why I'm bandaged."

The words hung false in the air, his mind's desperate weave to fill the voids. None of it had happened, the bond a phantom of his selective forgetfulness. Frustration boiled within you, a scream trapped behind clenched teeth, claws aching to rake through flesh, to lash out at the cruel irony.

But you schooled your features into neutrality, jaw setting firm as you met his gaze evenly. "I... see."

Undeterred by your reserve, he pulled you closer, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as his nose traced the sensitive hollow there, inhaling deeply as if committing your essence to memory. With a gentle tug, he guided you both down onto the furs. Mindful of his injury. you positioned carefully at his side, your head resting on the unbandaged plane of his shoulder, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with yours.

"I see you." He whispered fervently, lips brushing your temple in soft reverent kisses, each one a feather-light promise. "Since the day you held that blade to my throat, your fire called to mine."

You bit your lip, the sharp sting grounding you amid the whirlwind, teeth pressing into the tender flesh, a faint metallic tang blooming as you held your silence.

His affection enveloped you like a cocoon, warm and suffocating, lulling the day into evening's embrace.

The next morning dawned with a hush, the first rays piercing the marui's weave before Neteyam's eyes fluttered open. You stirred early, slipping from his arms with the stealth of a shadow, your movements fluid and silent, the contours of your legs uncoiling as you rose, bare feet padding softly against the cool floor.

Pausing at the threshold, you cast one last look back at him, his handsome features softened in sleep with his lashes fanning dark against his cheeks, the strong bridge of his nose casting a subtle shadow, lips parted in quiet breaths that stirred the air.

A pang twisted in your chest before you turned away, vanishing into the misty paths without a backward glance.

You wouldn't wait for Neytiri. By then, Neteyam would stir, his questions a net you couldn't afford to tangle in further. The jungle welcomed you back, vines parting like old allies as you wove toward the treeline, the weight of departure lifting with each step. Just as the clan's central paths faded behind you, a figure emerged from the underbrush.

Alayni, her posture rigid with venom, arms crossed over her chest as she blocked your way, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Had fun playing mates with mine? Taking advantage of his amnesia like the snake you are?" She spat, her voice dripping with accusation as she stepped closer, the aggressive sway of her hips belying the fury in her clenched fists.

You grinned at her, slow and evil, letting the malice curl your lips as your head tilted "Just as much fun as he had. Clinging, kissing, whispering sweet nothings. You should thank me for keeping him occupied."

She hissed lunging nearer, her breath hot and ragged as her fangs flashed. "Why are you even here? Skulking around like you belong?"

Your snarl matched hers, a guttural warning as your tail lashing behind you, claws extending slightly as you held your ground, the poised strength in your stance unyielding. "Don't worry, I'm leaving and never coming back. You won't have to betray your people again, teaming up with my sister to raid your own clan just to dispose of me in your twisted way."

Her grin twisted maliciously, a flash of triumph in her eyes lips pulling back in a sneer, one hand gesturing dismissively. "It was worth it. Every scream, every flame because it means Neteyam will be mine."

You pouted mockingly, the expression dripping with sarcasm as you puffed your cheeks slightly, eyes rolling in exaggerated pity.

"You had your people slaughtered, homes reduced to ash, all to eliminate me and claim him? You're not just delusional, you're a traitor through and through. Soon, your clan will uncover your rot and they'll see you for the venomous wretch you are."

Disgust curled your features, a final withering glance raking over her figure, the lines of your face hardening before you spun on your heel. Without another word, you melted into the foliage, the jungle swallowing your form whole, leaving her seething in the undergrowth.

The jungle's embrace felt mocking as you pushed through the dense foliage, the vines brushing against your arms like accusatory fingers. Your clan's territory loomed ahead, the familiar spires of woven huts rising against the canopy but the air hummed with a tension that set your nerves alight.

Once, the gazes that met yours were filled with awe, reverent whispers trailing your steps as the Tsakarem, the chosen one destined to weave Eywa's will into the clan's future next to your sister. Now, those same eyes shifted uneasily, darting away or narrowing in suspicion, the subtle flinch of shoulders and the hurried averting of faces speaking volumes.

You had betrayed them, after all, by dragging that Omatikaya warrior from the flames, his blood staining your hands as surely as your mercy had branded you a turncoat. Just as Alayni had sold her own people to the shadows for a chance at Neteyam's side, so had you fractured the bonds of your kin. The weight of it settled in your gut like river stones as you stepped into the clearing.

Whispers rippled through the gathered figures. Warriors pausing mid-stride, healers glancing up from their herbs with lips pressed thin.

Dread coiled tighter when she appeared.

Varang, your sister, emerging from the central marui like a specter carved from obsidian. Her presence commanded the space, broad shoulders squared beneath the weight of adorned armor, the scars across her arms a testament to battles won. But it was her face that chilled you. Blank, devoid of the fiery rage that usually ignited her amber eyes or twisted her full mouth into a snarl. This emptiness was worse, it was eerie and calculating, a void where her vicious fury should have roared.

"Tsmuke." You murmured, voice cracking despite your effort to steady it knees bending slightly as you lowered yourself in supplication, the soft curves of your torso shifting under the thin straps of your top. "Forgive me. I... I couldn't let him die there. Eywa's will—"

"Eywa's will? The boy had you believing that false goddess who abandoned us?" She approached, her movements deliberate, the powerful swing of her tail betraying nothing.

Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your kuru with a gentleness that belied the threat as her nails grazed the sensitive neural tendrils, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as she caressed it like a fragile vine. The touch was almost tender for her being yet it carried the promise of something darker.

"You are a traitor to your people." She said flatly, her voice a low monotone that echoed unnaturally in the hush as her eyes locked onto yours unblinking, the sharp angles of her jaw set like carved stone. "To your own sister. I should claim your kuru for that, sever it clean, or perhaps your head to remind all of divided hearts."

Horror bloomed cold in your chest as she drew her blade, raising it with fluid precision, the metal glinting in the dappled light, her biceps flexing with restrained power as she looped the edge toward your kuru. You breathed out sharply, bracing for the pain, your muscles tensing along your spine as your heart pounded against your ribs.

But she halted, the blade hovering inches from you before she withdrew it, letting your kuru slip free from her grasp. Her expression remained a mask of indifference, shoulders rolling back as she sheathed the weapon, the beads in her hair swaying with the motion. "You are not welcome here anymore. I have no use for divided loyalties, there is no place for traitors among the Mangkwan. Leave this place and if you ever return, I will not hesitate to forget you are my blood."

The words landed like a spear to the core, your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach as a wave of nausea churned, you rose unsteadily, legs wobbling beneath the strength of your thighs. You bit your lip hard, the sharp sting drawing a bead of blood that you tasted metallic on your tongue, and turned away without another plea. The clan's stares burned into your back as you walked, first heavy steps then a numb stride, your heart a leaden ache in your chest.

Exile.

You belonged nowhere now, a ghost adrift in Pandora's vast wilds, your cruelty once a shield now a hollow echo of your being.

Hours blurred into an endless trek, the jungle's symphony fading to a distant hum as exhaustion clawed at you. Your feet ached against the uneven terrain, the sway of your hips slowing with each mile. The sun climbed and dipped, painting the undergrowth in shifting patterns, until the rush of water drew you onward.

The river, the same crystalline vein where Neteyam had found you before, time and time again, his persistence a thorn in your side. It curved invitingly, fringed with glowing ferns but solace it offered right now was a lie.

You collapsed onto the mossy bank, knees buckling as the fight drained from you curling into yourself, silent tears carved warm paths down your cheeks. Sobs caught in your throat, muffled against your knees, the isolation crashing over you like the current's foam.

"This is what happens when you try to leave me."

The voice sliced through the quiet, low and resonant, startling you upright. Your head snapping up, braids whipping across your damp face, eyes wide with wary as you scanned the shadows.

There he was, Neteyam, stepping from the treeline in all his imposing glory, the sunlight gilding his azure form. But this was no vulnerable soft version, his face was etched with darkness, his golden eyes hooded and intense, the usual warmth replaced by a predatory gleam as his broad chest rose steadily. The faint scars on his arms standing out as he moved with purpose, his tail flicking like a whip.

"What are you doing here? How did you—?" You stammered, scrambling back on your hands as your palms sinked into the cool mud.

He chuckled, a dark velvety sound that sent chills racing across your skin. He closed the distance with unhurried strides, his long legs eating the ground. Crouching beside you, he invaded your space effortlessly, his heat radiating like a forge. One knee pressing into the earth, forearm resting on his thigh as he leaned in, the sharp cut of his jaw tilting toward you.

"I followed you." He said simply, amusement curling his lips fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to touch you, eyes tracing the tear-streaked glow of your cheeks. "I wasn't asleep when you slipped away."

Confusion swirled with the resolve in your chest. You straightened, forcing firmness into your voice as your chin lifted defiantly, the subtle curve of your neck exposed as you met his gaze, refusing to cower. "Leave me be, Neteyam. This isn't your concern."

He tilted his head, a knowing grin spreading across his features though the shadows in his expression deepened the hollows of his cheeks. "You're mine. Why would I leave you alone? We've danced this evasion too long, it's time you accept it."

A snarl tore from your throat, raw and unrestrained. The culmination of betrayal, exile, and this relentless pursuit bubbling over. Your fangs bared, the muscles of your shoulders coiling as you lunged forward slightly, claws extending in warning. You didn't care anymore about Neytiri's pleas to play along, to shield him from stress or negativity. Your world had shattered and his delusions were the final straw.

"I'm not yours! We aren't mated, none of it was real. You're supposed to be with that woman, Alayni. You hit your head in that fall. It's selective amnesia twisting your memories, making you think we're bonded when we're enemies. Demon blood runs in you and you're tainting everything, leave me alone!"

The words spilled out in a torrent, your chest heaving with the force of them as your breath comes in sharp bursts, the soft peaks of your breasts straining against the fabric as fury flushed your skin a deeper hue.

You expected shock, denial, perhaps anger but he remained calm, face blank as a still pond, absorbing every accusation without a flicker. His arms folding loosely across his torso, the defined ridges of his abdomen shifting subtly with each even inhale.

"Are you done, baby?" He asked softly, the endearment laced with dark affection, voice dipping low, one corner of his mouth quirking as he watched you unravel.

Confusion made your lashes fluttered along with disbelief as you looked at him. "Did you not hear what I said? It's all a lie, your mind's broken!"

"I heard you loud and clear." He replied evenly, unfolding to rise slightly, towering over you even in his crouch as his shadow fall across your form. "You think I'm stupid? That I don't know the truth of it all? I know everything, baby."

Your mind reeled, questions piling like storm clouds as your pulse thundered in your ears, fingers digging into the earth for stability as you searched his face for deceit.

What game was this?

He leaned closer, grin widening with a flash of something primal in his eyes. It was dark and unyielding possession, his pupils dilating as the golden hue sharpened like a predator's stare.

"I do not have selective amnesia." He tapped the side of his head, the words dropping like stones into deep water.

"What?" The syllable escaped as a whisper, shock rooting you in place as your body goes still, the taper of your waist tensing as realization dawned.

"Do you not get it, baby?" His grin softened into something almost tender, hand reaching out to caress your face lovingly. His palm cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the high plane of your cheekbone with feather-light pressure, calluses rough against your silken skin. "It was all a ploy, (Y/N). The confusion, the clinging, the fabricated memories. I orchestrated it to keep you close without resistance from my family, the clan, or even you. I needed you unbound, willing in my arms, away from the barriers who wants to keep us apart."

Shock rippled through you, the extreme lengths he had gone to. For you. This enemy, this forbidden flame, leaving you breathless. Your eyes widening, the vibrant irises reflecting his intensity as your lips parted in stunned silence.

Insanity woven from obsession stared back at you in his gaze.

"You're insane." You breathed, shaking your head in denial trying to twist away, the sleek strands of your braids swaying as your shoulders rolled back, seeking distance from him.

He chuckled again, the sound rich and unrepentant, pulling you flush against him with effortless strength. His arms encircling your waist, his chest a solid wall of warmth pressing into your softer frame, tsking softly as you resisted. "You made me this way."

You pushed against his chest, not with full force but enough to test the boundary, your palms flattening against the firm planes of muscle there, feeling the steady thrum beneath azure skin marked by faint healing scars.

"You're still gonna be mated to Alayni." You insisted, voice edged with defiance lips pressing into a thin line, the subtle quiver of your chin betraying the storm within. "We are not truly mated. She's what your parents want, what the clan demands. This changes nothing."

Neteyam tilted his head, golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that bordered on reverence, but his gaze drifted inexorably downward, fixating on the full curve of your lips. His pupils darkening as he leaned fractionally closer, the sharp line of his nose nearly brushing yours, ignoring your protest like a whisper lost in the wind. He didn't flinch, didn't argue, instead a soft hum escaped him as if your words were mere ripples on the surface of his resolve.

"She won't be." He murmured finally, voice low and threaded with certainty as one of his hand sliding up your back, fingers tracing the delicate ridge of your spine through the thin weave of your top. "Once my parents and the clan know what she did, Alayni will be cast out like the poison she is."

Shock rippled through you anew, widening your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of bluff breath catching, the slope of your shoulders tensing beneath his touch.

"What do you mean?" The question tumbled out, laced with suspicion.

Did he know? Had the threads of deception of that bitch unraveled further than I realized?

A grin split his features, slow and predatory, revealing the gleam of his fangs as amusement danced in his irises, tail curling possessively around your calf.

"I heard every word from your conversation with her earlier." He confessed, the admission rolling off his tongue like a secret long savored. "How she betrayed our clan, orchestrated the attack that brought death and ruin to so many. She sold us out for her own ambitions, your escape included."

The pieces clicked into place, stealing your breath.

When you'd risen that morning, believing him lost to sleep in the cot, he hadn't been. He'd lain still, eyes cracked just enough to watch you slip away, granting you a mere twenty seconds' head start before rising silently. His instincts had guided him through the underbrush, shadows cloaking his pursuit until he caught the murmur of voices.

Yours and Alayni's, sharp with accusation.

He'd lingered at the edge, ears attuned to every damning syllable. Alayni's confession, her gloating over the attack she'd ignited, the way she'd twisted your departure not as rejection of him, but as her calculated strike to claim what she coveted. Rage had simmered in him then but so had resolve, fueling his steps as he trailed you deeper into the wilds.

From there, he'd shadowed you to the Mangkwan borders, concealed among the vines as you faced Varang's cold judgment. Witnessing your banishment, exiled for the mercy you'd shown him had ignited something primal in his chest. His heart had burst with a twisted joy, not from your suffering, but from the irrefutable proof of your bond.

You'd chosen him over blood, over everything. No longer could you deny the pull between you.

He wanted to laugh at how successful his plan had worked.

It all stemmed from that fateful night, long before the ploy took shape. He'd woken in the dim glow of the marui, the haze of injury lifting just enough to catch his parents' hushed voices. Jake's gruff concern, Neytiri's soft recounting of your heroism.

You, the Mangkwan Tsakarem, his enemy, had saved him.

For weeks, his world had been a void, convinced you'd fled because you couldn't bear his touch, his clan's shadow tainting any future with you. But hearing of your sacrifice breathed life back into him, a spark that demanded action.

Right then, amid the quiet vigil of his family, he'd devised the selective amnesia. A performance to bind you to his side without the chains of duty or suspicion snapping shut. When morning came, he'd stirred with feigned confusion, clinging to you as his “mate,” weaving tales of a bond forged in secret. His grin had widened inwardly as belief took root. Lo'ak's wary glances, Jake's reluctant nods, even Alayni's frantic interjections when she knew, it all swallowed the lie whole.

His grandmother’s counsel had sealed it, her wise eyes warning against stress that might fracture his fragile recovery. He knew his parents would honor that, allowing you unrestricted access under the guise of healing him. No forced mating with Alayni, not while he played the vulnerable son. And his mother... she'd softened, her fierce maternal love yielding to the sight of him animated again, how she saw the hollow shell of who he was weeks past was banished by just your presence.

She wanted her son whole and you'd become the key to that illusion.

He intended to exploit every fracture, every concession. You were his obsession, the fire that consumed his thoughts, and he would claim you fully. No matter the cost, the lies, or the darkness it demanded from him.

You breathed out shakily, the weight of his machinations settling over you like a shroud, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, the soft swell of your form molding against his as resignation flickered in your gaze.

"So you know." You whispered, not a question but an acknowledgment, the fight ebbing from your limbs.

He nuzzled your nose then, an affectionate gesture laced with possession as his breath fanned warm across your skin, the bridge of his nose gliding gently against yours in a promise of intimacy.

"She will pay for taking you from me." He vowed, voice husky with a blend of love and unbridled obsession, eyes half-lidded, the raw edge of his tone vibrating through you.

You heard it all in his voice, the devotion twisted into something fierce and unrelenting, the madness born of longing.

He was the architect of your chaos. The raid's echoes, Alayni's schemes, Varang's blade at your kuru, all traces led back to this pull between you. Yet, against the ache of loss, attraction bloomed unbidden within, a heat coiling low in your belly. Now knowing the depths he'd plumbed, the deceptions, and the risks just to ensnare you... it stirred something reciprocal. His love was a storm, dark and consuming, but genuine in its fervor.

Darkness wasn't alien to you. As Varang's shadow, you'd wielded cruelty like a blade, reveling in its sharp clarity. Your clan, your sister, they were ghosts now, severed by your choices. What remained? Emptiness or the shelter of his embrace? He'd toppled empires of tradition for you and in his arms, you could rebuild from the ruins.

Your gaze lifted, locking onto his with a newfound resolve, lashes fluttering once as you held his stare. Slowly and deliberately, you drew him down as your lips parted to capture his in a kiss. Hesitant at first then deepening with the surrender you'd long resisted.

Surprise flashed in his eyes, a brief widening before satisfaction curved his mouth against yours. Hands tightening on your hips, pulling you flush as he responded with fervor, tongue teasing the seam of your lips in hungry invitation. He kissed you back like a man starved, pouring weeks of pent-up yearning into the press of mouths and the tangle of breaths.

His body ignited, mind flooding with visions of you.

The plush give of your breasts against his chest, the rounded allure of your hips begging for his grasp. He craved to peel away the barriers, to uncover the dusky peaks of your nipples for it to harden under his gaze, to part your thighs and breathe in the musky essence of your arousal, to lap at the slick heat until you shattered in his mouth.

The kiss ignited like dry tinder under a spark, Neteyam's mouth claiming yours with a ferocity that left no room for retreat. His tongue swept in, bold and demanding, curling around yours in a slick dance. You gasped into him, a sound he swallowed by the deepening press of his mouth. Your hands fisting the straps of his woven belt as denial flickered one last time in your chest. But his grip on your waist tightened, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips, pulling you impossibly closer until your curves molded to his unyielding frame.

"Mine." He growled against your lips, voice roughened by weeks of suppressed hunger.

He sucked on your tongue then, drawing it into his mouth with a wet obscene pull. His teeth grazing the sensitive underside, his low moan vibrating through you as saliva pooled and trickled at the corners. It was filthy and possessive, his obsession laid bare in the way he devoured you as if your very essence was the antidote to his torment.

You pulled back fractionally, breath ragged, the arch of your neck exposed as you tilted your head. Strands of dark hair cascading over one shoulder, catching the river's glow in silken waves.

"Neteyam... this is madness." You whispered, voice laced with lingering resistance, lips swollen and glistening from the onslaught of his hungry mouth. "We can't—Alayni, your clan—they'll never accept—"

His laugh was low and predatory, rumbling from deep in his chest as he nuzzled the curve of your jaw. Hot breath fanning your pulse point, fangs scraping lightly in a tease of possession.

"Fuck Alayni. Fuck the clan. You're the only one I see, the only one I crave." He captured your mouth again but this time his hand roamed lower, cupping the rounded swell of your ass through the thin fabric of your loincloth, kneading the flesh firmly eliciting an involuntary arch of your back. "Look at you. Soft, perfect, made for me. I've dreamed of this body every night, wanted to touch myself to the thought of burying myself inside you. Give in to me, baby. Surrender to what we both want."

His words coiled around you like vines, a manipulative silk weaving through your doubts. You were no innocent. Cruelty had been your armor but here, stripped by his gaze, vulnerability cracked through. And the heat building between your thighs betrayed you, a slick ache that made your denial ring hollow.

"I... I shouldn't." You murmured, even as your fingers traced the ridges of his abdomen, your nails dragging lightly, feeling the taut flex of muscle.

"But you will." He coaxed, voice dropping to a husky whisper as lips brushed your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine. "Because you feel it too, this pull, this need. Let me show you how good it can be. Just say yes and I'll make you forget everything else."

His free hand slipped under your top, callused palm gliding up your ribcage to cup one breast, his thumb circling the peak through the fabric drawing a sharp inhale from you as it pebbled under his touch.

Your resistance crumbled under the weight of his desire. You nodded, a small surrender, and he wasted no time. With deft fingers, he untied your top, letting it fall away to reveal the soft perky mounds of your breasts, nipples dusky and erect in the cool air.

Neteyam's breath hitched, eyes widening with reverent hunger as he stared with pupils dilating, a low groan escaping as he traced the curve with his gaze, committing every detail to memory.

"Eywa... so beautiful." He breathed, voice thick with awe leaning down to capture one peak in his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud while his hand kneaded the other.

Pleasure shot through you like lightning, your head falling back and throat bared, a soft whimper slipping free as your fingers threaded into his braids. He lavished attention on your chest, alternating between sucks and gentle bites leaving faint red marks that bloomed like petals on your azure skin, his obsession evident in the way he murmured praises against your flesh.

"These tits... fuck, I've wanted to taste them since the first time I saw you. So full, so responsive. Want to watch how they bounce for me."

Your body responded traitorously, hips grinding against his thigh as arousal soaked through your coverings. He sensed it, a wicked grin curving his lips as he pulled back eyes dark with intent, trailing kisses down your sternum.

"Eager already? Let me see all of you." His hands worked at your loincloth, peeling it away to expose your core as your thighs parted instinctively, the cool air kissing your heated folds.

For the first time, he beheld your pussy. It was swollen, glistening with need, the musky scent rising like an intoxicating fog.

Neteyam inhaled deeply, nose brushing the softness of your inner thigh, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss, a shudder rippling through his broad shoulders. "Oh fuck, your scent."

He buried his face closer, tongue darting out to lap at the juices trailing down your thighs, savoring the tangy essence with a filthy groan.

You cried out, legs trembling as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, the flat of his tongue pressing firm, coaxing more of your arousal to drip in his awaiting mouth. "Neteyam—ah!"

The sensation was overwhelming, his mouth relentless in sucking your folds, circling the bundle of nerves with expert flicks. His fingers parting you wider, exposing every inch to his voracious hunger. Your juices leaked freely now, coating his chin as he feasted, the lewd sounds of his slurps and your moans filling the air.

"Taste so fucking good." He rasped between laps, voice muffled against your heat, one hand pinning your hip while the other teased your entrance. "Dripping for me, aren't you? This pretty little cunt leaking like it knows it's about to be claimed."

He spat then, a deliberate dollop of saliva landing on your frothing core as he watched it mix with your slick before diving back in, tongue plunging deep to gather every drop.

Ecstasy built swiftly, your walls clenching around nothing, but he pulled away just as you teetered on the edge lips shiny, eyes gleaming with dark promise. "Not yet. I want to feel you come around my cock first."

Rising to his knees, he shed his own coverings, revealing his massive length. The flared head already beading with precum standing proud against his abdomen, the sheer size making your eyes widen in a mix of awe and apprehension.

You reached out tentatively, fingers wrapping around the girth barely encircling it, feeling the velvet heat pulse under your touch.

"It's... huge." You breathed stroking experimentally, thumb swiping over the tip drawing a hiss from him.

"All for you." He panted guiding your hand, hips bucking into your fist as he watched your face. "Gonna stretch you so good, fill you up until you're ruined for anyone else."

He positioned himself between your thighs, rubbing the head along your slit, coating himself in your combined wetness, teasing your swollen clit with each pass.

"Wait—Neteyam, we can't... not fully." You protested weakly, even as your body arched toward him in anticipation.

"We can and we will." He murmured manipulatively, nipping your lower lip as his eyes locked on yours with hypnotic intensity. "Just the tip first then the rest of my cock, baby. Let me in, surrender this much and I'll make it worth it."

He pressed forward slowly, the broad head breaching you and stretching your walls with a burn that bordered on pain before morphing into exquisite fullness. You moaned, nails raking down his back leaving red trails that made him growl in approval.

"Too much... oh." You gasped but your legs wrapped around his waist urging him deeper.

"That's it baby, take me." He cooed inching further, watching your face contort in pleasure, his own features twisting with restraint. Once fully sheathed, he paused letting you adjust to the bulge forming low in your belly, his hand pressing against it feeling himself inside you. "Look at that, my cock making a home in your tummy. You're made for breeding, aren't you?"

You mewled at his words and he began to move then, slow thrusts that built to a punishing rhythm with his hips snapping in lewd slaps, the riverbank echoing the sound. Love bites peppered your neck and shoulders, his teeth sinking in just enough to mark, scratches from your nails mirroring on his skin, a canvas of mutual claim.

"Fuck, you feel so good. Gripping me like you never want to let go." His words were shameless as raw sweat beading on his temple.

Pleasure mounted coiling tight until you shattered as your walls convulsed around him, a cry tearing from your throat and body arching off the ground, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

He didn't stop, chasing his own release with frantic drives. "Coming inside you. Gonna flood this pussy, make it mine."

He spilled, hot ropes of cum painting your depths, sloshing audibly with his final thrusts, the excess leaking out around his base obscenely.

But one round wasn't enough.

He flipped you onto your hands and knees, re-entering with a single brutal stroke, hand fisting your hair gently, arching your back as he pounded deeper.

"Again. Need to feel you milk me dry." He demanded, spitting into your open mouth this time, watching you swallow with a filthy grin.

The second climax hit you harder, mind fogging as he filled you anew, your tummy bulging visibly now, a lewd testament to his claim. By the third round, you were fucked dumb. Limbs heavy, moans incoherent with eyes glazed, body limp as he rutted into you from behind, one hand rubbing delicious circles on your clit.

"So good for me. Dumb on my cock, just how I like you." He praised, nipping your ear, his free hand roaming to squeeze your breast and pinched your nipple.

In your haze, he moved with purpose. Gathering your kuru, he connected it swiftly with his own. Tsaheylu forming in a surge of connection that bound your souls, the bond electric, amplifying every sensation as he thrust through your overstimulation. You felt the gravity of his love and obsession with you. How he wanted to etch himself into your being until he’s all you’ll ever know. How he was ready to defy everyone and leave his clan just to be with you. How he wanted to fill your pussy over and over again until you give him a big family. He burns for you and he will burn for you if he must.

You whimpered realizing too late but the pleasure drowned the protests bubbling up in you.

"Now it's real." He whispered triumphantly, voice laced with obsession and his eyes wild as the bond deepened. "Mated for life, no escaping me anymore. I'll take you home and no one can touch what's mine."

"Neteyam, what have you—" You slurred but he silenced you with a deep kiss, tongues tangling as he drove toward another peak.

"I'll make you a mama." He vowed between thrusts, manipulative edge sharpening his tone as his hand splayed over your lower belly pressing the bulge. "Keep getting you pregnant every damn time. Swelling with my seed so everyone knows who you belong to. Your sister, Alayni, the whole damn clan, they'll see you're mine forever. You just have to give in fully baby, surrender yourself to me."

The words, the bond, the relentless pleasure, it broke you.

Or perhaps remade you.

As he came again, cum sloshing deep and overflowing in thick rivulets down your thighs, you clung to him, your denial shattered. You were mated truly now and escape was a faded dream. In his arms, you found a twisted peace. His darkness mirroring your own, binding you to him.

Your body trembled in the aftermath, every nerve alight with the echoes of ecstasy and the profound weight of the bond now thrumming between you. Neteyam's cock remained buried deep in your walls, a deliberate barrier sealing his cum within your tender overworked folds. The raw heat of your core clenching sporadically around him, holding back the warm flood that threatened to spill. A soft whimper escaped your lips as overstimulation lingered like a sweet ache.

"Shh, baby." He murmured soothingly, his voice a low rumble against your ear as one large hand stroking the sweat-damp curve of your spine. "You did so good. So perfect for me."

His tone wrapped around you like a cocoon, possessive yet tender, the darkness in his eyes softened by satiated affection for you.

Your vision swam in a haze of bliss, eyelids heavy as you gazed up at him with your lashes fluttering, the lines of your face flushed with exertion, a faint sheen of perspiration highlighting the subtle glow of your skin.

"Neteyam—" You breathed, the word half-protest, half-plea, your voice husky from cries long silenced by his kisses.

He grinned then, a slow, predatory curve of his lips as he drank in the sight of you.

Naked and utterly claimed, scattered love bites blooming like violet bruises along your collarbone and the swell of your breasts, faint red welts from his nails marking your hips where he'd gripped too fiercely in the throes. Your beauty struck him anew, wild and unmarred by the world's judgments, every curve and stripes a testament to the obsession that had driven him to this.

Leaning down, he captured one dusky nipple between his lips again, suckling with gentle insistence as his tongue flicked the sensitive tip drawing a fresh gasp from you as sparks reignited low in your belly. He released it with a soft pop, only to claim your mouth in a lingering kiss. Lips molding to yours, the taste of shared passion still lingering on his tongue, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

Without withdrawing, he shifted, strong arms banding around your waist to pull you upright with him. His cock still lodged deliciously inside, shifted angles that sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, your walls fluttering in response. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle there, the stripes on his arms pulsing faintly in the dim light, a mirror to the bond's electric hum.

He stepped into the shallow river, the cool water lapping at your joined forms as he waded deeper. Cradling you against his chest, the current swirling around your thighs and teasing the sensitive juncture where you remained connected. Droplets clung to his broad shoulders, tracing rivulets down the defined planes of his torso as he began to wash you both. His free hand dipping into the stream to cup water over your marked skin, gentle swipes cleansing the evidence of your frenzy, though his eyes never left yours, still dark with lingering hunger.

All the while, he stole nasty smooches from your lips. Quick heated presses that deepened into tongue-tangling explorations as his fangs grazed your lower lip, a low hum of approval vibrating from his throat each time you yielded to his advances.

"My mate is so fucking pretty." He growled between kisses, voice thick with raw adoration as his gaze raked over you, from the tousled waves framing your face to the subtle sway of your hips in the water. "All full of my cum and marked. Look at you baby, mine in every way now."

You felt him stirring within you, thickening once more as arousal rebuilt. The lazy twitch of his hips pressing him deeper, sloshing the trapped seed inside you with obscene wet sounds that made your cheeks burn. A groan built in your throat, the sensation both soothing and igniting, your body betraying any semblance of fatigue.

"Do you not get tired?" You groaned, the words tumbling out as he mouthed at your nipple again, his teeth nipping the pebbled flesh, his hot breath fanning across your chest while the water buoyed your weight.

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations straight to your core as he lifted his head to meet your eyes, his own gleaming with unquenchable fire. "I'd fuck your pussy every day and still complain it's not enough."

The shameless declaration hung in the air, filthy and fervent, his hand sliding down to cup your ass, urging a subtle grind.

Your cunt pulsed at his words, a fresh wave of slick easing the way as desire coiled anew. Your inner muscles squeezing his cock involuntarily drawing a hiss from his parted lips. He responded in kind, fucking up into you with languid thrusts. Each roll of his hips deliberate, the friction building as your clit ground against the coarse texture at his pelvis, sparks blooming in your pussy with every press.

"You're so beautiful, baby." He whispered reverently, voice laced with awe, his free hand cradling the nape of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw as he held your gaze.

The water splashed softly around you, a rhythmic counterpoint to the deepening cadence of his movements.

Capturing your mouth once more, he parted your lips with his tongue, only to pull back slightly. Spitting a deliberate saliva into your open mouth, watching with hooded eyes as you swallowed, the act intimate and depraved. Then he dove in, sucking on your tongue with voracious pulls. Teeth grazing, saliva mingling in a messy heated exchange that left you breathless.

The pace quickened, his thrusts growing firmer despite the lazy intent. Your bodies rocking in the current, the bond amplifying every sensation until pleasure crested like a wave. You came first, a muffled cry against his lips as your walls clamped down. Stars fracturing your vision, limbs tightening around him in shuddering release. He followed moments later, spilling anew with a guttural moan. Hot pulses joining the existing warmth, the fullness overwhelming as it sloshed within you.

This time, he withdrew gently, the sudden emptiness making you whine softly. A trickle of his cum escaping to mingle with the river's flow. He cleaned you up for real then, thorough and attentive, rinsing away the remnants with cupped handfuls of water. Fingers careful over your sensitive skin, tracing the insides of your thighs before helping you into fresh coverings from his nearby pouch. He dressed himself swiftly, the woven fabric hugging his powerful frame, his kuru draped over one shoulder still tingling from the bond with you.

Scooping you into his arms, he cradled you bridal-style against his chest. Your head nestling into the crook of his neck, the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulling you. You snuggled closer instinctively, limbs heavy with exhaustion, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours like a balm.

He grinned down at you, that obsessive light in his eyes undimmed as his fangs peeked through before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Go to sleep, baby." He coaxed softly, voice a gentle command as one hand rubbed soothing circles on your back while he began the trek back towards his clan. "When you wake up, we'll be back in our marui as mates. Nobody can set us apart now."

Your eyes fluttered closed, the fight drained from you entirely. A quiet warmth blooming in your chest at the depth of his love, twisted as it was, mirroring the shadows in your own heart.

"You're still a disgusting demon to me." You mumbled, the words laced with weary affection rather than true venom you used to hurl at him.

He chuckled, the sound rich and fond echoing softly in the night, adjusting his hold to keep you secure as your breathing evened out. "And you're still beautiful to me."

As sleep claimed you fully, the world faded to the rhythm of his steps, the bond a unbreakable tether pulling you into his darkness.

His smile turned into a dark smirk as he continued to walk with you in his arms. He wasn't done yet. His plan still yet to unfold. He wasn't gonna rest until he's sure nobody will be an obstacle and he sure knows who to start with first.

Alayni will be an example of how far I'm willing to go for you, baby.

He laughed to himself as he realized, he really was obsessed with you.

Next the hunter must track, keeping everything listed prior in mind. If the yerik tracks stray too close into palulukan territory, the hunter should retreat. If the hunter stumbles into angtsìk grounds, they must remember to show no fear.

Once the hunter has safely tracked a yerik, they should remember to watch their footing. To step lightly, and avoid sticks, leaves or other flora that can alert the yerik that something is around. It is best to find an angle that allows you to stay hidden, a clean kill from a concealed location always fills your chest with pride. 

When the hunter is concealed they can then nock their arrow. A slow pull on the bowstring minimizes noise, and leads for more time to correct your aim. But a skillful hunter can nock, draw, and release an arrow before the yerik can even raise the defensive fans that sit upon their heads. 

A true aim leads to a clean kill. A spoken prayer to Eywa, sending the yeriks spirit back to hers. And thanking the yerik for its sacrifice, for feeding the clan, and providing precious materials in the form of hides.

Finally the hunter must decide on if they will haul the entire yerik back to the home tree; or if they will only take the most valuable cuts of meat, and the largest spans of hide to carry back and leave the rest for other forest creatures to feast on.

You rarely chose to leave any of your catch. Years of training left you strong, you could easily haul your kills home. It did not matter if it left an ache in your shoulders, or if a twinge settled in your lower back.

As you approach hometree you begin to wonder if you should have at least taken a bit of the breast meat. You knew it was Neteyams favorite, and it would be a good way to show him not only your hunting prowess, that you are attuned to him. That you see him. 

It is a nice thought. To court someone you have been pining after most of your life. But then you find yourself too close to hometree to dismount the yerik from your shoulders and you chuckle at how much your mind wandered on the way home. 

You make your way through the clan, greeting people as you make your way to the carvers. They would slice the hide from the yeriks body and hang it to dry before cutting up your kill into as many satisfying, equal portions as possible to be prepared for the cookfire tonight. 

Mou comes to greet you, “Thank you taronyu.” He grabs the yerik from where you’ve placed it. “Do you wish for a specific cut? Perhaps you would like some of the hide?” 

It was traditional for the carvers to ask if the hunter would like a specific piece of their kill. But that would also take away the significance of offering a piece of meat as a courting display. 

“I do not wish for it. You know you do not have to ask me that every time I bring you a kill, Mou.”

He laughs at you, finding your blank tone amusing, “It is tradition.”

“It is stupid. Have I ever asked you to do this for me?”

“No, but one never knows when ferocious hunters like you may grow lazy.” 

 Mou tosses a grin over his shoulder as he hauls your kill away and towards the group of waiting carvers. He was never one to take your brazen demeanor as rudeness, he knew you spoke your mind and let your feelings be known even in uncomfortable situations. 

You scoff at him as you leave. As if you would ever become lazy. How could he have the audacity to even think of such a concept?

The clan is bustling as you shift through; children are running around with their wooden toys, singers are practicing the ancient songs, there are bigger hunting parties returning with their kills, even the weaving circle is louder than usual. 

It brings a slight grin to your face, seeing the people happy makes you happy. You had more than enough time to take a quick nap, and then head to the river to wash up before dinner would be served. Maybe if you skipped the nap you could take your beloved ikran out for a flight and wash at one of the hot springs that sparsely resided in the Ayram Alusìng. 

Yes.

That would be nice, it could ease the tension in your shoulders. 

It is settled. Instead of heading back to your kelku, you pivot to climb up hometree. The ikrans rest at the highest level, but you’ve been climbing almost as long as you’ve been walking so you would reach it shortly.

As you arrive at the base of hometree and start to find some solid footing a call of your name comes across the clearing. Your eyes close, a sigh heaving through your lips. With a turn of your head you survey the area, you know the voice, and have heard it almost everyday since she learned how to speak. 

You spot Kiri weaving her way through the clan, her hand raised in a beckoning motion. “Come search with me for some paywll.”

“They are far Kiri. We will not arrive back before the cookfire starts.” 

She is face to face with you now, her tail undulates as she speaks. “You have never minded missing a bit of the cookfire.”

Your lips purse, a crease forming between your brows in mock debate.

“Please.” Kiri grasps your hand before turning around and tugging you behind her.

Laughter bubbles uncontrollably out of your chest, “Kiri – Wait! I have not said yes yet!”

“You would have said yes regardless, now come. I will carry the gourd now, you may carry it back when it is full.”

You were only supposed to be txantxewm, lingering over her shoulder to shoo predators away. Now she wants you to work too! Unbelievable. 

It’s hours later when Kiri and you approach hometree again. You’ve ended up carrying not only the gourd filled with medicinal liquid, but also the leaves of paywll, which are packed into a basket that rests on your hip.

You pass the cookfire on your way to the Tsa’hiks kelku. It’s lively as ever; drums are being beaten creating a tune for the singers to perform to, there's a group of clan members dancing, and the younger members have begun to section off into groups. 

Kiri is half a step in front of you, excited to drop off the items her grandmother requested and finally be done with her Tsakarem training for the day. You allow your eyes to skim over the faces, searching for Neteyams, you’d like to know where you should move to after you deliver the materials to Mo’at.

It takes you a few moments to find him. He’s settled all the way across the gathering, surrounded by other young hunters, a few climbers and weavers as well. He normally sits on the edge of the group, saving space on one of his sides for you. You’re unsurprised to see he’s flanked by Fay’ru, the other male trying to get into the future Olo’eyktan’s good graces.

You’re unable to conceal your look of shock at Ka’vina sitting on Neteyams other side. She has never joined your group before, always softly tucked into the weavers circle or sitting with her sister where the singers congregate. You school your expression before someone can see you trying to dissect Ka’vina from the inside out.

Neteyam had always rejected anyone from closing him in. He would kindly redirect them towards another seat, reminding them that he had saved his closest friend the seat they had just tried to sit in. 

Neteyam was a strong warrior, a strong hunter, and as his father would say he has a ‘backbone’. So there would be no reason for him to allow her to sit in your spot. 

But he was of age, in his prime years. 

He was strong. He filled out his body well in recent years. He gained some of his fathers unnatural width. His old armbands no longer fit, having to become bracelets or being stored away for his future children. His cummerbund also barely fit now, but he refused to part with it until it absolutely no longer fit. 

He was kind. He took on responsibilities of other clan members when he could see them struggling. He helped the elders with carrying their baskets, he had even carved them walking sticks to steady them on their paths. 

He was the youngest hunter to ever get a clean kill on a sturmbeest. Very few of the current hunters had prowess that rivaled his. He frequently led the younger hunters when they went out, making time to help them hone in on their skills. 

Neteyam also frequented the training grounds, not for his own skills. He had been bestowed the honor of training new warriors. Of teaching them the ways of the Omatikaya, making sure they had every required skill to complete their Iknimayas. 

Ka’vina was a stark opposite.

She spent most of her time around hometree, never venturing out into the forest unless accompanied by a warrior. 

She weaved many things. Tewngs, chest coverings, chokers, bracelets, armbands, cummerbunds, bowstrings, baskets, hammocks, floor mats. The list could continue on and on.

She was knowledgeable of healing herbs, the best spices to use on meats at the cookfire, aware of how to properly prepare some tough to handle roots and fruits for consumption as well.

However she was naive. 

You knew she did not know how to hunt. Did not know how to skin a yerik, how to aim at a herd of sturmbeest; you were not even sure she knew what animals were aggressive and which were kind.

Her hands were soft, not even calloused with the countless hours spent weaving. You didn’t think she even wielded a bow. Hardly believed that she knew a knife could be used to do anything other than chop roots. It showed how simple her life was, how different she was from Neteyam. How different she was from you.

Then it dawned on you. Neteyam must be courting her. As they say ‘opposites attract’ and her softness would be a perfect compliment to the firm hand he would come to lead with. 

A piercing feeling shot into your chest. 

You’ve been following Kiri silently this whole time. She had glanced back at you occasionally, mostly to make sure you were still following her, but she could tell you didn’t want to speak based on the carefully crafted expression on your face. 

Mo’at greets you as you duck into the tent, on autopilot you respond.Then you’re asking her where she’d like the gourd and the basket, placing them down with a delicately crafted care before bidding your goodbyes. 

“I will join you at the cookfire shortly.”

“Ah. I will be heading home.” You shake your head, the beads braided into your hair clacking with the motion. “Let me know if you require aid harvesting more herbs. Goodnight Kiri, Tsa’hik.”

With sudden, jerky motions you duck back out of the tent. You can hear Kiri protesting, trying to encourage you to at least pick up a niktsyey before heading home. It’s pleasant to know that she cares, but you don’t think you could face Neteyam so shortly after your realization.

Unfortunately you have to walk past the cookfire again to reach your kelku, it being on the opposite side of the village from the Tsa’hiks. You were a skilled hunter, a warrior when needed, and you knew how to camouflage, how to avoid being seen. 

Taking a steadying breath, you head more towards the forest, where it would be easier to blend into the flora. Easier to slip past your friends. Easier to avoid the new reality you’d have to live in.

You’re only a few steps away from rockier terrain when a five fingered hand grasps your wrist. Whipping around you come face to face with Lo’ak. 

He’s grinning, clearly happy to catch you and hinder you from heading home, “Come, I need your support in an argument with Vor’lan.”

He doesn’t listen before starting to drag you towards his friends. What is it with these Sullys and refusing to wait for an answer!

“Lo’ak. I am tired, I have been out all day.”

“That is fine. It will be quick, and you can have my last niktsyey as payment.”

You scoff, “No. I have not had time to wash, I do not wish to be around people.”

“My friends do not care.” He turns to face you briefly before continuing to drag you, “To be fair, they will probably still drool over you.”

“Lo’ak!” An incredulous gasp tears from your throat.

A boyish laugh leaves him, “It is true! So do not worry about the smell, just back me up okay?”

In reality you could dig your heels into the dirt and yank your wrist free of his grasp. You were still stronger than him, your muscles more taut, more prepared to fight back than his. But the soft spot in your heart reserved for the Sully kids aches. So you allow him to drag you to where his friends reside at the cookfire.

You allow him to shove the niktsyey into your palm, along with a carved up filled with something that he definitely should not be drinking. The food and drink loosen you up, allow you to relax a little bit, to find a way to enjoy the company you’re in. 

When Lo’ak retells his story about the tslikllte he caught, all of his friends doubt him. No one believing he saw one of the creatures this far inland. But then he’s looking at you, “She was there, tell them! Tell Vor’lan specifically how I bested it.”

You take another swig of your drink, swishing it around your mouth as you decide how much to talk up Lo’ak. “I was not there when Lo’ak stumbled upon it.”

“Hey! You so wer -”

“Hush. When I arrived you were already wrestling the poor thing.” You gulp down a few more sips before beginning to swirl the drink around in your cup.

You’re barely helping Lo’aks case and he has to defend his honor, “I had thought it to be dead already!”

“Any skxawng should know that they can hold their breath. Nevermind that does not matter. I have never seen a grip as strong as Lo’aks.”

His friends are leaning in closer now, staring intently at you, the expressions you make, the way your eyes flit over each of them. 

“The tslikllte are coated to make them slick, and yet, Lo’ak never faltered. He managed to keep it in his grasp even as he removed a hand to retrieve his knife.” You begin to rest against the log everyone had gathered around, knowing that your job was done and you can fall into a nice limbo until you retire for the night, “The taste was like nothing I have experienced before, I couldn’t be happier to have tried it.”

Their conversation flows freely after that. They talk about climbing tomorrow, which mountains are best, where they can get the best views, or the best ones to try tricks on their ikrans around. It then flows to why they chose the colors that decorate their arrows. It ebbs briefly into relationships, and who’d they’d like to court after completing their dream hunts. It takes a turn into how some of them would rather mess around with many people before settling and that brings a chuckle to your tongue.

The conversation had been settled into which piece of a sturmbeest was best when it suddenly goes quiet. All eyes are focused behind where you and Lo’ak sit and would make you nervous if you weren’t such a strong warrior; scratch that, it would make you nervous if you did not have so much of the fermented drink settled in your belly.

You’re about to open your mouth and ask what has everyone staring when there's abruptly hands on your shoulders. The voice that follows sends a shiver of rigidity down your spine. 

“What are we talking about, hm?”

One of Lo’aks friends speaks up, “The best part of a sturmbeest.”

“Ah, it is easily the thigh.” Neteyams hands begin to lightly massage your shoulders, feeling the tension that formed, “You do not mind if I steal her, right?”

It was a rhetorical question, and everyone knew it. You may have loved Lo’ak, willing to do almost anything he had asked. But you were still Neteyams closest friend, it was a no brainer that you would hightail it out of there as soon as you were asked. Still out of respect, they shook their heads, bidding you a goodbye. 

“I am exhausted Neteyam, it would be best if I head back to my kelku now.” You’ve stood to make your point. Turning around to face Neteyam, hoping he did not see the cracks in your composure. 

“I will be quick,” He smiles at you, one of the genuine ones that shows his true inner happiness, “ there is someone I want you to meet.”

Oh. You absolutely could not go over there. The stories you knew of Ka’vina were enough to satiate your need to ever meet her. 

Neteyam begins to tug you by your hand, as both his siblings had earlier. These damn Sullys and not taking a hint! 

This time you dig your feet, you don’t let him drag you towards that woman. Your reaction would ruin your reputation in the clan.

“I really am tired, Neteyam,” You turn to Lo’ak, “Did I not say the same to you before you dragged me here?”

Lo’ak nods, remembering how you had complained hours earlier. He doesn’t understand why you’re denying Neteyam though, he doesn’t think you’ve done that in all his years of knowing you.

“Then I will walk you home.”

He turns in the direction of your kelku, seemingly pleased to just be in your presence after not seeing you all day. You let him drag you a few steps, just far enough that you’re sure his brother and his friends can no longer hear you.

“I wish to walk alone.”

Neteyams tail slows to a still in front of you, his ears flick forward to catch any and everything you say, “...But I have not seen you all day.”

What are you supposed to say? ‘I know, I’ve lived this day as well?’ or better yet, ‘I have seen you, but chosen to not acknowledge your presence as it makes me sick.’ Neither option feels right so you stay silent.

“I wish to walk you home so we can talk.”

“I do not have energy for conversation.”

“You had energy when entertaining Lo’ak’s friends.” Irritation is obvious in his tone, and his tail begins to whip back and forth harshly.

“I was not saying much, just sitting in their presence.” You finally meet his eyes, trying to drive home your point, “Just let me walk by myself tonight, please.”

The disappointment settles heavily on Neteyams features as he comes to terms with the fact that you will not allow him to do this, he grunts some noncommittal reply before heading back towards his friends who remain at the cookfire. 

You should have left after that, stomped your way to your kelku, grabbed a nice warm pelt, and tucked into your hammock. Instead you watch Neteyam through the crowd, eyes following as his figure settles back onto the log, and he allows Ka’vina to settle into his side a bit more than is considered friendly. 

The stabbing pain settles back in your chest. It pulses a bit the longer you watch but it does not matter anymore. You would have to fall into a new routine in the morning, sure that Ka’vina would not want you close to Neteyam as they start courting.

Before you know it four eclipses have passed and you’ve successfully avoided Neteyam for all of them. You hunt early in the mornings, leaving before most of the hunting parties have even woken up for the day. You return with your kills lighter than normal, taking enough meat to satiate yourself until the next day.

When you complete your duties you take to flying. Not the usual routes that the hunters would take, or the ones that the warriors would patrol around, just drifting with the wind patterns. Your face ends up windburnt from how much time you’ve been spending up there.

If your head isn’t literally in the clouds, you take to climbing. The hobby wasn’t your favorite, and that’s what made it the perfect diversion. You could head back out to the forest, finding a good tree to observe Eywas beauty from. Sometimes, you’d just climb hometree, heading all the way to the top to give your ikran some special treatment. 

Regardless of how, you strayed from your normal paths. If you avoided them, Neteyam shouldn’t be able to track you down. And hopefully he would get the point, would understand that your paths were unwinding from each other, that they were branching off in different directions for the first time.

It hurts to avoid him. But it was better than facing him. Better than seeing him with Ka’vina. Better than watching their love flourish, and hearing the gossip spread about what a perfect pair they make. 

The fifth day starts like the rest. You wake, change your tewng and chest piece, eat some fruit you had foraged the day before, slide on your knife holster and knife, and toss your bow across your back. 

As you emerge from your kelku a sense of loneliness sits in your chest. You missed hunting with your friends. Missed fooling around with them at the cookfire. Missed accompanying Kiri on her foraging. Missed doing stupid shit with Lo’ak under the guise of being a responsible figure. You really missed Neteyam.

Missed flying with him. Missed hunting with him. Missed training with him. Missed indulging Tuk with him. Hell you even missed rebraiding his hair. 

But your heart can only take so much. The images of him with Ka’vina flow freely into your head, reminding you of why you needed the distance, of why you needed to become a ghost in your own home. 

A shout of your name halts you in your tracks. The Olo’eyktan has one of the most noticeable voices in the whole clan. You take a deep breath before turning to face him

“Good Morning, Olo’eyktan.” You raise your hand in the traditional greeting, “What can I do for you?”

Jake greets you back, “None of that formal shit kid,” then he’s yanking you into a hug. Your arms wrap sheepishly around his back, uncomfortable with the gesture due to the state of your and Neteyams relationship.

“You can say no, but Neteyams a little tied up at the moment so I was hoping you could train the young ones for a little while?”

As if you could say no to the Olo’eyktan. Jealousy claws at your heart, Ka’vina has Neteyam so busy with his courting that he can’t even tend to his duties? 

“Of course, I will head there now.”

This would be good. Your friends would probably be there, and it could solve your loneliness problem, maybe you could even get a few good spars in and disguise them as ‘training demonstrations’. A skip finds your step on your way to the training grounds and for the first time in many eclipses you feel excited. 

A small part of you hopes that Lo’ak would be there, that he’d force you to go on an adventure with him after training. And you could ask to bring Kiri along, satiating most of your need to hang out with the Sully kids. 

You can’t think about the Sully kids without including Neteyam. You want to reminisce about happy memories, want to think about all the future good memories to come, but then Ka’vina inches her way into your mind. The image of them together at the cookfire, sitting too close for comfort.

But you won’t see them, they’ll be too busy taking strolls through the forest. Or maybe they’re flying their ikrans in spirals around each other. Perhaps they were climbing through the ayram alusìng, going higher and higher until they reached the alluring hot springs. 

It’d be preferable to not think about the way Ka’vina would undress. 

Would she save her modesty and undress after submerging, hoping that her loincloth and chest covering would dry before they emerged again? Or would she make a show of it, slowly unclipping her chest covering, slowly dragging it down to reveal her breast. Would she move onto the loincloth and make a show of that too?

And Neteyam. Would he watch, become so enticed with the show that he couldn’t avert his eyes? Or would he be the gentleman he was raised to be, letting Ka’vina undress and submerge in the warm water, allowing the steam time to curl over her body before finally turning around and entering the spring himself.

Oh Eywa, you were going to be sick. Why would you torment yourself with such thoughts? 

A few steadying breaths flow into your lungs. The nausea is still present, but you know once you start teaching that it will subside for good.

You see the familiar shape of Tal’kren. He is performing on the archery targets, taking them from odd angles and showing off to the young ones before their lesson begins. You nock an arrow and wait, deciding when the best moment would be to make your presence known.

Tal’kren takes aim and you eye his stance to figure out which target he is aiming at. You determine it must be the target woven between many trees, the one nearly 100 meters away, farther than any of the young hunters could even dream about reaching.

You let your arrow soar just milliseconds after his does. From the angle everyone is watching from they cannot see your arrow trailing his. Tal’kren’s arrow sinks into the bullseye of the target with a satisfying thump.

Your arrow splits his a millisecond later with a much more satisfying crack. Fifteen heads start turning, searching for who released the arrow.

“Pxi kan, taronyutsyìp,” Tal’krens voice rings out. Finding you much before the trainees did. 

You smile, laughing, “I am not little, just taronyu is fine.”

Tal’kren claps a hand on your shoulder before bringing you in for a hug. As you pull back, he keeps the hand on your shoulder “I assume you are my partner for today?”

“I am,”  You want to show camaraderie, and encourage the trainees to cultivate similar relationships so you make no move to remove his hand from your shoulder. “The Olo’eyktan has asked me to step in for the foreseeable future.”

The young trainees murmur excitedly; your name is one that is usually spoken in soft whispers so for you to join in on their sessions for a while seemed like a blessing from Eywa. They could complain, wishing it was you and Neteyam training them, that they could have both of the best future warriors teaching them.

But they normally had Neteyam, had spent months learning from him and Tal’kren. Now they could learn your ways, and they could learn how to make their own unique style based on the two of you.

Days pass like this. The trainees soaking up your knowledge. Letting you adjust their stances, pull their strings more taught, sharpen the arrowheads that dulled from constant use. 

Today you’re standing face to face with Opani when you hear the familiar timber of Neteyams voice. Your ears flick in annoyance, because of course Neteyam had to show up, but then you’re focusing on the young warrior in front of you.

Looking down towards the target you can see she is off, leaning more left than she should. It may be because of your proximity so you chide her gently, “Adjust to the right, if you were to take the shot now you would not hit a kill shot.” 

She exhales roughly through her nose, you believe it to be from nerves and not irritation so you do not scold her. Then she shifts, leaning slightly more into your personal space. As she releases the arrow you hear Neteyam’s voice again. 

This time you flick your head to angle it over your shoulder. Where was he? Why did it sound as if his voice was getting closer?

Beside you Opani releases a shout of joy, and that forces you to face front again. She's already staring at you, jumping a little from excitement. Flicking your eyes to the target you can see she hit the bullseye perfectly. 

You ruffle her braids, giving her some words of encouragement before telling her to go retrieve her arrow and try again. After she runs off you redirect your attention in Neteyams direction.

You must be off your game, any skilled hunter should be able to differentiate from all current sounds around them. Yet, you somehow managed to miss Ka’vina’s voice. Seeing her renders you motionless; Your ears press against your skull, your tail falls flat, eyes drifting over every piece of her.

It takes you a few moments to notice Neteyam is in front of her, his back to you. They assume the same positions you and Opani were just in. It feels different this time though. 

With you and Opani it was obvious that you were teacher and student. With Neteyam and Ka’vina it seemed as if it was a date. Instead of their movements being out of necessity, they had a sensual tone to them. 

Neteyam uses his hand to raise Ka’vinas elbow higher, he watches the arrowhead carefully to make sure her aim is true. She turns towards him, saying something that you can’t hear. 

You can see how he raises his fingers to grasp her chin. He tilts it back towards the target, encouraging her to always keep her eyes where her arrow is aimed. 

The feeling that settles in your stomach makes you disgusted with yourself. They’re a well suited couple. Anyone with eyes could tell you that. They would make a good Olo’eyktan and Tsa’hik. 

A good couple to lead the Omatikaya. 

And here you were, upset at their presence. Upset that they were falling into love in the public eye. Upset that Neteyam hadn’t even told you he was considering courting Ka’vina.

You wondered which piece she wore was Neteyams courting gift. Was it the bracelet, the deep brown twine, mixed with blue and green beads that match her skin and the tones of the forest?

Or was it the choker, lined with polished river rocks lining her collarbone? 

You couldn’t let your mind linger any longer. Couldn’t allow it to make you detest your closest friend. 

So you find Tal’kren, alert him of some sudden illness you’ve come down with, and leave for the day. You could rest, and allow your mind to drift to other things. It would be smarter to head to the Tree of Souls. To make an honest prayer to Eywa for her to help you move on. 

She would help you, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to let go yet.

You wanted to seem more alluring, something to attract attention at the clan gatherings. Not that you were actively seeking a mate, but it would be nice to see who is interested. Nice to see how many options you had, if any. 

You knew you were rough around the edges. Knew that you spoke harsher than most liked. That your hands were rough from years of use. That you had nasty scars littering your body. That you had more muscle than the typical lithe Na’vi woman. 

And you knew it had to make you less desirable. That the men must have wanted someone easier. Someone who thought before they spoke, and chose their words carefully so you could fall upon them like a pillow instead of a rock. 

But that does not mean that everyone would dislike you, there has to be someone in the clan who sees your beneficial qualities. Someone who you could live your life with. 

If there wasn’t you would prefer to know sooner rather than later. To decide if you should seek out a mate from a different clan.

So you seek our Kiri. A skilled weaver, knowledgeable in the proper herbs to stain cloths, and good company. 

You had decided on a nice deep red. It was a color not typically worn by the Omatikaya as it did not blend in with the forest fauna - therefore it would draw the most attention.

“So, I have not seen you around the gatherings much.” Kiri drawls, keeping her head towards her weaving but angling her eyes to see you.

Your fingers don’t stop their meticulous patterns, “I have been there. Just last night I ate with Lo’ak.”

“Yes, but you skip at least 4 cookfires a week.”

“I tire easily, you know of my many duties.”

Kiri scoffs, but decides against responding. Her silence allows you to pick up a new bead, weaving it onto the side of where the cloth will hang. You’ve decided on white beads, and silvery polished river stones. They compliment the red well, they will also bring more attention to your waist, clacking and clashing with every step.

You decide on a symmetrical look. Two braided strands on each side. The farthest one shorter than the one that rests closest to the cloth. It will look nice.

Will it matter? Will the males of the clan really focus on the little details or only focus on what rests underneath? 

You knew Neteyam would notice, that he would mention that the symmetry helped your internal equilibrium. Helped keep you centered in the rough moments. Not that you couldn’t function if your garments were asymmetrical, but he knew you were always a hair more sure of your aim.

But you were not wearing it for him. So what he thought did not matter. However this left you with a good idea on what to focus on when approached. Knew what you wanted to hear, and what you did not. 

As you tie off the last bead on the tewng a sense of accomplishment falls upon you. You gaze upon your work lovingly; proud that even though your hands are rougher than the weavers, you can still produce a good piece.

It’s during your admiration that Kiri speaks again, “I require more twine.”

“The great mother has bestowed you with two legs and two arms, you can go retrieve your own twine.” 

“I will fall out of rhythm, and then who knows how long it will take me to complete this piece.”

Your sharp words never phased Kiri, never shoved her away. You guessed it was good enough reason to go and retrieve more twine from the weavers circle. 

As you stand and begin to pad away, you can hear Kiri shout some sort of thanks and you lift your hand in acknowledgement. 

You were aware of many women in the weavers circle. Most of them are siblings to people you’ve hunted with, some girls you grew up with, others were elders who taught you how to weave at the beginning of your life. 

A polite, simple greeting would do. You could say hello as you’re reaching for the twine. Exchange niceties, as you unspool the amount you guessed Kiri needed. And unsheath your knife and cut the twine before any deep conversations began to form.

You keep your head down as you reach for the twine and greet the circle. Everyone murmurs a similar greeting back and you are content to leave it as that. They know why you are here and do not need to indulge in conversation. 

“Ma’numeyu, how have you been?” Rinak is speaking, drawing your eyes up from where the rest. She taught you how to weave when you were just a babe, toddling around camp looking for things to do. 

“I have been well, and you Rinak?” 

“I am also well numeyu, but I am disappointed that you have not eaten with me in many moons.”

You unsheath your knife, angling it safely to tear through the taught line of twine, “I am sorry. I will eat with you tonight if you will have me.”

“Of course I would.” Rinak chuckles, as if amused by the idea that she would shun your company away. 

You smile back at her, pleased with how easily this has went. You have not run into Ka’vina or any of her friends, and have not had to exchange fake niceties with them. This will be counted as a win in your book. 

But then you turn, ready to stand and head back to where you and Kiri have been hanging out as you weaved. And there, at the far side of the circle rests Ka’vina. Sitting knee-to-knee with her is Neteyam. He is weaving something, what you cannot tell, but Ka’vina is intently studying it.

Neteyam is looking at you though, his head tilted as if he is curious, and his hands only loosely grip his work. It is as if he is hunting; his eyes remain wide even after he blinks, not wanting to miss any movement from his prey.

You meet his eyes, frozen in place from his gaze. It would be improper to run, but it would be too awkward to walk over and say hello at this point. The tension grows around the circle, other members slowly noticing the way that the two of you are staring at each other. 

The tension snaps like a bowstring when Ka’vina tugs on the piece in Neteyams hand. His eyes bolt to hers, ears flicking forward to catch every word that she says. That is your moment to move, so you run with it.

One of your hands raises as you bid everyone good weaving and goodbye. You force yourself to maintain a normal pace, not wanting Neteyam to see you run away. For him to know how openly you despise choice. 

Upon returning to Kiri, you silently drop the twine, pressing a hand to her shoulder in greeting as you pass. She does not speak however, simply tying the two pieces together so she can continue working on her piece. 

You’ve tucked your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them as you stew in your thoughts. Kiri must have known about Neteyams chosen one by now. Ka’vina must have been formally introduced to the Sullys, and therefore Kiri. And Kiri was the best judge of character, if she were to say Ka’vina was a good pick, you would believe it.

A whispered call of her name leaves your lips. You hope she misses it. Hope that it blends in with the pleasured yelps of the children, or the distant roars of the ikrans, even the chatter of the passing group of hunters. 

But it does not, and Kiri responds much louder than you would like. 

“What is it?”

“What are your thoughts on Ka'vina?” You can feel her eyes boring into the side of your head, but you refuse to look at her.

“She is a good weaver.”

This is common knowledge, Kiri must know you do not care about it. “What else?”

“If she did not wish to weave, she could easily join the singers.”

She must be egging you on. Wanting you to expose what you really feel before she says anything. You would think that a hunter as skilled as yourself would have more patience. You snap all the same, falling right into Kiris trap, “Yes. I know this. Everyone knows this. I want to know what you think about her deeply.”

“I think she is a good person. That she has many skills to help around hometree, and is known to assist the children and elders, but is unwise when it comes to other tasks.” Kiri is still staring at you even as she finishes her piece, “Why do you ask?”

You could not tell her the reason. Even if she sensed it, it would be wrong considering that Ka'vina was to be her sister. It could be worked out, where had you seen Ka'vina? Where had she piqued your interest?

“She has come around the training grounds recently and I could not think of why.” Finally you let your eyes drift to Kiris, hoping that there are no emotions swirling in your amber pools, “It makes sense with what you said. She needs to become fluent in many skills, not just a few.”

Kiri stares at you, eyes flicking over your face. Then to your ears, and briefly to your tail. Trying to assess how you feel internally from your body language. When she senses no showing of a lie a smile graces her face.

Then she's tossing the piece she crafted into your face. You grab it before it can slide and meet the dusty ground. As it rests in your palms you notice the red, white, and polished river stones that accent it. 

“I made it so you could have a matching set tonight.”

At that, you gape at her. She had gone through all this trouble for you? 

“Well don’t just look at me! Do you like it?”

“Yes, very much. Thank you Kiri.” You’ve stood now, crossing the small clearing to toss yourself onto her as a full body thanks. 

“You skxawng get off of me!” 

The two of you tousle a bit, acting like children getting into their first scuffle. But then you are off of her, and running in the direction of your kelku to get ready for the cookfire tonight. 

It is almost eclipse, which means you have enough time to change slowly, put your braids up in a different style and meander your way back to the center of hometree.

On your way back Tal’kren calls for you. He must have also stopped at his kelku before heading to the cookfire.

“Hello Tal’kren, how were the trainees today?” You call back over your shoulder, refusing to stop for him, but walking at a slower pace nonetheless.

“They were fine. No more rowdy than usual. Though they listened les-” Tal’krens voice trails off, and when you turn to look at him he is already staring at you, “What are you wearing?”

You’re approaching the cookfire now, but you still choose to indulge him, “It is new, how do I look?” You give a childish spin, showing all angles of your new outfit. 

You can feel more eyes than just his as you sit and wait for a response. But it is not worth searching for who is staring at you when you have a perfectly fine archer right in front of you. If you’re lucky he will say something that will make you believe he has more going on in his head besides arrows, bowstrings, and bows.

“It is very sevin,” Tal’kren gulps, a light shade of indigo coming to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, “You are sevin.”

It was not the best compliment, but you would not deny that it made something flutter in your stomach. It was nice to be seen as something other than a txantxewm taronyu. 

“Thank you Tal’kren.” You begin to walk towards where you know Rinak likes to sit, “I will see you after I have eaten, yes?”

“Yes. I will be with some of our other friends over here.” He gestures in a general direction, not moving until he sees you nod in acceptance of his words. 

The night moves smoothly from then. You talk with the elders, inform them of the current happenings of your life, what new herb you decided you liked on your meat. They in turn spoke about other things you may enjoy, what fruits could enhance the flavor of certain meats, special herbs only the most skilled climbers could eat.

It was nice to speak with them, to gain some wisdom, but it was even nicer sitting around with people you knew. 

First it was Lo’ak. His group sat between Rinak and Kiris groups, and he had made fast work of snagging your arm as you passed by. They indulged you in more fermented juice, happy to provide whatever you desired to keep you with them.

You missed the way that Loak's young friends eyed you. Missed how their eyes traced over your chest covering. How they seemed to stop at every bead, or rock, that dimpled the pattern. He had said they ‘drooled over you,’ but in your eyes they were just children, and there was no way they’d be interested in you.

Then Kiri and her group came to join. She had said something about how it was ‘Forbidden to hide from her’ when she crafted you such a beautiful piece. Her friends eyed your new cloths with jealous eyes. The color combination was something they had not considered to be allowed.

You still ignored their gazes. Knowing they mostly wanted to know what weaving pattern Kiri used, and what herb was used to dye the clothes and twine. Not that they cared about you as a person or the body that rests underneath the cloths.

There was a good mix of people, the feeling of the group never becoming tense or uncomfortable. There was currently an exchange of the bravest, most death defying things they had gotten away with. 

You had decided that was your time to go join Tal’kren. If you heard too much about what Lo’ak or Kiris friends got up to, you would feel the need to implore them to be safer. So you asked them to top off your drink before you headed off. 

As you approach, only two pairs of eyes flick to you. The first being Neteyams, it would seem as if his eyes followed you the entire way from across the fire, but that would be a silly thought. Especially considering Ka’vina was still pressed closely into his side.

The next is Tal’kren. He grins widely as you get closer to where he rests on the log. Already moving to rise before you even fully reach him, “Would you like to sit?”

“It is fine, may I brace my back on your legs though?” You did not wish to have the rough bark mar your skin.

He plants his feet a bit away from the log, steadying them before nodding, “Of course.”

Their conversation is equally as lively as the other groups. Once again discussing trick shots they have taken during sturmbeest hunts. 

They first discuss the ones that do not count. This only means they got scolded for it after as it did not result in a kill, was reckless, wasted resources, disrupted the formation, or all of the above.

Once the group had ran through those, they switched to ones that did count. Ones that ended in a kill, clean or not. These were much more important, as the elders would try to scold you, but they had rarely any footing because the clan was still fed. 

The only person who could not produce a story was Ka’vina, and it did not bring a sense of pity to your chest. Instead it just reminded you how different she was. Even if she did participate in the hunts, would she want to engage in such activities? What did she even consider fun?

You’ve been avoiding where she and Neteyam were sitting. It was not against them, but you were unsure of how you would act, and you preferred to keep this night enjoyable.

So when someone grasps your bicep and yanks, you are shocked. Before you even have time to identify who it is you’re being tugged backwards.

“Hey-” You stumble over a rock, nearly falling to your knees before you regain your composure, “Just wait a second!”

“I will not.” Neteyams voice is gruff, like he had to force the words through clenched teeth.

You’re furiously pulling your arm now, the cookfire is glowing dimly in the distance, and you cannot believe the audacity of this man. “You will!” 

With that final motion, you are able to tug your arm free. And you spin rapidly to face Neteyam, appalled at his actions.

“What was that?”

“It was necessary.”

“By Eywa, in what world was that necessary?”

Neteyam does not grant you a response. He stands in front of you, huffing a little bit with his eyes towards the ground. His ears flick at every sound, and his tail lashes aggressively behind him. 

“You are a grown man, and I know your tongue has not been cut out, so speak.”

His eyes meet yours briefly before softly uttering, “They were looking at you as if you were a piece of meat.”

“I cannot understand mumbling Neteyam,” When he doesn’t make any move to speak again you turn to leave.

“I said they were looking at you as if you were a piece of meat.” The last words spit from his mouth like acid, like they physically pained him to say.

“So what if they were?”

“They should not do such things.”

“Why is that?” You come close to him. Because of the height difference you still have to peer up at him, but you hope your intimidating presence is enough to cut him down a bit, “Why should they not look at me?”

“It is unbecoming of a hunter. They should know better.”

And you laugh, right in his face. “Unbelievable. You are truly, unbelievable Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan.” Then you stalk off, rushing in the direction of your kelku, hoping you can make it in and tie the flaps shut before the tears run down your lashline.

One would think they would want to spare the feelings of someone they grew up with. That they would find a way to soften the blow, not make the impact harder. 

If he found you so undesirable, why could he not find another way to say it? 

The winds flow freely through your hair. You had unbraided it, wishing to wash it before braiding new beads and feathers into it. 

You’re flying on your ikran, heading to one of the hot springs you’ve been aching to dip into for weeks now. Your favorite one rests inside a cave on one of the mountains. 

There is just enough space for your ikran to land, truly hiding the space from anyone who doesn’t know it exists. However it also meant that you could never know who’s inside without entering yourself. 

But you had left long after the clan had settled for the night. Only the embers of the cookfire remained, and you passed many sleeping members of the clan on the way up hometree. There was no doubt that you would be alone.

You step slowly into the space, admiring the bioluminescence that lit up the cave. Stripping quickly you almost dive into the water with your haste. The hot water instantly releases some tension in your shoulders.

There are natural ledges around the border of the pool, you find one and take a seat. You’ve been very busy recently and deserve the chance to relax.

Before you can get too comfortable you take to scrubbing your scalp. The goal is to remove any dirt, dust, or grime that may have gotten caught up in your tightly wound braids. But that quickly switches to giving yourself a scalp massage.

The motions are nice. They would be even better if it was someone else completing them however, you were not a complainer. You’re unsure how long you sit there for, but you’re sure enough time has passed that you can scrub away at your body now.

Any caked on grime or blood, has become soaked through with the warm water. It slides off your skin easily, showing the vibrant blue shade underneath. You begin to feel more like yourself again, as if you’re shedding your old skin and coming into a new one.

When you turn around, eager to retrieve your waterskin and change positions you're faced with another body. You must have mistaken the sounds of someone else entering the spring with the sounds of your own splashing. 

You scoff, “What are you doing here?” 

“It is a free hot spring.”

“Yes, but should you not be getting your beauty sleep?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

All the tension you felt leave your body came back. You had specifically came so late as to avoid any of this. Why couldn't Eywa give you a break, just this once. With a deep breath you shut your eyes tightly, and let you head fall against the border.

You would not allow Neteyam to bother you. You have waited many moons to come here, and you would leave when you were ready, not because you were forced out.

Soft ripples distract you from where you’ve let your thoughts drift. Your ears snap to attention, trying to discern if the ripples are moving closer or farther from your location.

Your eyes shoot open when you realize that Neteyam is moving closer to you. “What are you doing.”

You do not pose him a question. You speak the words like a warning, giving him the chance to turn back.

“I am coming deeper so the water may reach my shoulders.”

“Go to that side of the spring then. Do not come closer.”

For a moment you think he will continue moving towards you. That he will attempt to cage you in against the wall and himself, but he moves to where you told him to go. When he gets there you expect him to stay silent. 

You have nothing to say to him, nothing nice especially after the cookfire a few nights ago. And whatever he has to say to you, you do not wish to hear. 

Minutes tick by in silence. It is not comfortable, some may even say it is suffocating, most would leave. You got here first however, and you refuse to vacate when you came under such perfect conditions to be alone.

Let's be realistic, there were plenty of hot springs he could have picked, why did he come here? He could have left after seeing you already submerged! Quietly backed out, and climbed upon his ikran to find another spring. 

The thought irritates you more. It makes you grind your teeth, the anger beginning to simmer in your chest. 

“I wish to talk.”

Neteyam had said those same words to you forever ago, when this all began. They had meant less than they do now, but you still feel the same way.

“I do not.”

“Well, we must talk. There is no other wa-” 

When you open your eyes, you find Neteyam already staring at you intently, “You cannot force me to talk with you. You are not Olo’ekytan yet, and you do not command me in hunting parties, therefore I do not take orders from you.”

He softly calls your name. If you didn’t know any better you would assume there is a quiver to it, a bit of unsureness. But that would be a silly thought, and you promptly will yourself to stop thinking it.

Suddenly Neteyam is moving closer again. Slowly but surely moving into your side of the spring. When he reaches the halfway point you raise your hand slightly, muttering a quick ‘don’t’ in warning. 

That does nothing to deter him. His shoulders begin to glisten from no longer being submerged, droplets cascading down his arms and clavicles in rivulets that remind you how thirsty you had been just a few minutes ago.

Oh Eywa! What were you thinking? As you get your thoughts back under control Neteyam shifts ever closer. His body comes to rest just a few feet in front of yours. Slowly inching closer, truly trying to cage you like an animal.

“I said to not come closer.”

“And I said we need to speak.”

He thinks you will just sit here? Allow him to force you into speaking? Believes that your nudity embarrasses you enough, that you will allow him to speak?

There is some space between the cave wall and the border of the pool, and if you angled yourself properly you could follow it the entire way back out to where your tewng and chest covering rested. And if you called for your ikran as you were dressing you could be back to hometree within the half hour.

It is decided.

You scooch backwards, using your arms to lift up onto the ledge. It is then that Neteyam finally stops.

Neteyams eyes flick over your body. Your chest, where your nipples have begun to peak in the cooler air, the water that drips down your navel, the way your hips look without the tewng covering them. He does not speak, but an indigo tint falls on his cheeks, rises up his neck, and also hits the tops of his ears.

You stand, wringing out your hair so it does not drip on you as you fly. Pointedly ignoring Neteyams presence, but when he does not continue in his harassment you turn your eyes towards him again.

He is flustered, that much you can tell. At first it makes you a little happy, knowing that you actually do have an effect on him. Then you remember Ka’vina, and the feeling leaves.

“Oh you are disgusting!”

Neteyam sputters out of his trance, “What?”

“Staring! At an undressed woman. Alone! Especially when you are courting another.”

“Oh, yes, yes, sorry.” Then he avoids his gaze, focusing on the water directly in front of him instead.

“Wait.” His eyes raise back to yours, “My courting?”

“Yes. With Ka’vina.”

A disbelieved laugh leaves his lips, “I am not courting Ka’vina.”

“There is no need to lie. I will not tell her about this.”

“I am not lying.” He rises a bit more, grabbing your hand, “Come back in and I will explain.”

You laugh at him, “I am not going back in there with you.” 

Eyes flick back towards the entrance of the cave, remembering your earlier plan. The urge to execute that plan comes back. The urge to suddenly be tucked into your woven mat with pelts submerging you in warmth, stronger than anything else.

As you’re debating your escape plan Neteyam sneaks up on you. He places a hand on your thigh another on your waist, and hauls you back into the water. You hiss, smacking his chest.

“You cannot move so rashly!”

“I would like to know how you came to the belief that I was courting Ka’vina.”

You try to thrash a bit. To use the slickness of the water on your behalf, but Neteyams grasp is unrelenting. He does not let you move an inch.

When you try to at least sit down, he still does not let you move. “I will not speak until I can rest.”

“You must lean back then. It would be unpleasant to sit directly down.”

It is then that you realize you are on Neteyam's lap. A flush adorns your face now, realizing the predicament that you’re in. But his grasp still isn't letting up, so you lean back on your haunches. Carefully maneuvering to avoid any unwanted touching. 

“Now explain.”

“I saw the two of you at the cookfire, a few moons ago.”

“Yes, I was integrating her into our group.”

“Because you were courting her,” Your hand raises to cover Neteyams mouth, if he wanted you to explain he would have to hear it in entirety before trying to contradict your words.

“I only realized because she had taken my spot next to you. And then the two of you at the training grounds, the way your hand lingered on her.” You move your palm from covering his lips to grasping at his chin, the same way he had done to Ka’vina. 

Tossing his head to the side you continue, “Then you were with her at the weaving circle. You had allowed her to critique your work, allowed her to undo the knots and braids you had worked on. You don’t even like to weave.”

Neteyam is peering up at you, his lashes fluttering lightly, “May I speak now?”

You nod, not trusting your voice anymore.

“I was around her because she needed help completing her iknimaya, many of the other karyus have tried and she has failed many times.”

“Her iknimaya?”

“Yes, her other karyus were too rough, they did not attune to her learning style.” One of his hands begin to travel up and down your side, “I was involving her with our friends so she could have other people to lean on.”

Your eyes stray to the side, embarrassment creeping up your spine. But Neteyam keeps staring at you, “She needed help with archery for her dream hunt. And I needed help with weaving. I wanted to make something beautiful, that would last, that could withstand harsh weather, and harsher movements by the wearer.”

The hand moving up your side travels up, ghosting over the side of your breast, and lightly settles on the side of your neck.

“It was a mutual exchange of skill.”

Your embarrassment at misunderstanding makes you snap at him, “Yes, I understand that Neteyam.”

Your voice comes again, lighter and nicer this time, “You do not desire her, even slightly?”

“Not even slightly. What else would make you think that?”

“She is soft.”

Neteyam mulls over your words. Ka’vina is soft, her body is soft, her words are soft, her weaves are soft, the way she aims her bow is soft, so he agrees, “Yes, she is soft. But I do not want soft.”

“Why?”

“Because no one knows me like you. No one can anticipate my movements like you. They cannot hit flying targets as well, and they do not like to sharpen their arrows so they pierce their kills more efficiently. I have wanted it to be you since we were children, since my parents explained the concept of a mate to me.”

“That is stupid. You were too young to understand then.”

Instead of being upset at your misplaced anger, Neteyam just smiles. Then his lips curl into a smirk, “May I kiss you?”

“May you… what?”

“Kiss you.”

Instead of answering you lean forward and press your lips to his. You’re motionless, and it’s awkward. But then Neteyam begins moving his lips, opening them slightly and tilting his head to deepen it.

Before you know it your hands are pressing against his face, trying to memorize the feel of him after months of not being close. You finally pull away when you start to feel light headed. Your eyes are hazy darting across all of his features as you greedily suck in air.

You lean back in. This time Neteyam licks into your mouth, he tastes like the smokiness of the meat that was served at the cookfire tonight. It’s something you believe you could get used to.

This is something you think you could get used to. 

You’d do it anywhere. Here in the hot springs, back in your kelku, in Neteyams kelku, out in the forest, hell you’d even do it at the training grounds if Neteyam wanted. 

Truthfully, you’re a bit mad at yourself. How long could you have been doing this for if you had just spoken to him? How much farther could you have gone? It did not matter now, and you clearly were not the best at thinking through scenarios. 

When Neteyam leans back again you nearly whine. The fact that such a noise wanted to emerge from your throat shocks you. What was this man doing to you?

“Would you like to see what I was weaving?”

You’re lightly panting, allowing your tongue to lave over your swollen lips. “What?”

“What I was weaving with Ka’vina -”

“Do not mention Ka’vina when you just had your tongue in my mouth.”

Neteyam laughs, “I will not, but she did direct me in perfecting your courting gift,” His grip lets up a bit so that he can begin caressing you softly, “It is over with my tewng. If you will still have me.”

“Of course I will still have you, do not make jokes.” You stand, grabbing Neteyams hand, and suddenly you’re tugging one of the Sully’s around. “I am excited to see what you have made for me.”

“It will fit you well.” He kisses you one more time, acting as if he would not get the chance to after he bestows the gift upon you, “And then everyone will know you are mine.”

A realization dawns on you. The other night, Neteyam had not been mad at you for crafting a new loincloth and chest covering. He was mad at your comrades, your friends, for eyeing you in such a way, “You were jealous the other day?”

“Very much so. They were just looking at you, not seeing you.” Another peck, “I see you, that is why I deserve to court you.”

You laugh. It is a soft sound, one of the only soft things you can identify about yourself. And you don’t allow the hard parts of you to bring you down. Don’t allow them to make you insecure about how you would fit with Neteyam. He likes you as you are, and that is enough.

Forehead nuzzling to his, you repeat his words, “And I see you.” Unable to resist, you kiss him one last time before making a demand, “Now let me see my gift.”

Neteyam laughs ever amused at your personality, but he does not voice any opposition. He would continue to feed into you for as long as the two of you shall live if it meant he got to see your grin. Got to see your fangs peek out over your bottom lip, and your nose scrunch up in delight. 

Yeah, Neteyam was exactly where he wanted to be.

Translations: Yerik - hexapede Palulukan - Thanator Angtsìk - Hammerhead Titanothere Nantang - Viperwolf Taronyu - Hunter Ayram Alusìng - Hallelujah Mountains Kelku - Home/House Paywll - Water plant Txantxewm - Terrifying Tsa’hik - Spiritual Leader Tsakarem - Tsa’hik in training Tewng - Loincloth Niktsyey - Food wrap Tslikllte - Mudcrawler Fish Skxawng - Idiot, Moron Pxi kan, taronyutsyìp - Sharp aim, little hunter Taronyu - Hunter Numeyu - Student Sevin - Pretty

a/n: i wrote like 7k words straight on this. i really hope yall like it. if u find anything i should be warning ab please lmk!

Dividers by @cafekitsune