୨୧

The fish aren’t biting today and you're two minutes away from crashing the actual fuck out. You sigh, tugging your borrowed flannel tighter around your shoulders as the wind kicks up, sending ripples across the quarry’s murky water.

Behind you, Carol hums something tuneless while scrubbing a shirt against the washboard, the rhythm steady as a heartbeat. "You’d think after all this time," she says, not looking up, "You'd be better at tellin’ when the fish are just plain stubborn. S’ not your fault, sweetheart."

You smile at her kindness, but it’s half-hearted. Your fingers fiddle with the frayed hem of Daryl’s shirt, the one he’d shrugged off onto shoulders this morning before heading into the woods, muttering about rabbit tracks he'd seen the day before. It still smells like him: sweat, gunpowder, and something stubbornly alive beneath it all.

Andrea tosses a pebble into the water, watching it sink. "How’s it you can stand him, anyway?" The question’s casual, but her eyes flick to you with real curiosity. "Man’s got a temper like a hornet’s nest."

Your cheeks flush pink, fingers tightening around the damp fabric in your hands. "Who, Daryl? Well… He’s not- " you start, then stop, unsure how to explain the Daryl that only you get to see, the one who tucks wildflowers behind your ear when he thinks no one’s looking, the one who builds little makeshift shelves in your tent out of scavenged wood and duct tape for the seashells you keep finding at the quarry.

They'll never understand him. 

Carol’s lips quirk as she wrings out a pair of pants. "Oh, I know that look," she says, softer now. "Same one Ed used to give me when we were just kids, ‘fore he decided bein’ mean was easier than lovin’." The words hang heavy between you, the ghost of her bruises left unmentioned. Your heart breaks into pieces for her. 

Andrea scoffs, tossing another pebble. "Still don’t get it. Guy snaps at Shane for breathing too loud, but you?" She gestures at the way you’re practically swimming in Daryl’s shirt, the sleeves rolled up almost six times. "He lets you steal his clothes like you're some kinda…"

"Pet," Carol supplies, grinning when you duck your head to try and hide the pink flush crawling up to your pierced ears. 

"M’ not his pet," you grumble, but your ears burn hotter when Carol laughs, soft, knowing. The laundry flutters between your fingers, wet and shapeless, and you focus on folding it just to have something to do with your anxious, shaking hands.

"He brings me coffee," you say suddenly as if it's an epiphany, voice small against the quarry’s echo. "Every morning. Even when we’re low. He- uh- he remembers how I like it." Three sugars, no cream, because before the world ended, the corner diner always got it wrong and Daryl would watch you grimace through each bitter sip like a stubborn mule until he'd reach for the sugar packets and fix it himself. 

Andrea’s pebble-throwing pauses. "Huh."

Carol’s hands still in the soapy water. "The man ever tell you why?"

You shake your head, pressing the folded shirt to your chest like a temporary shield. "Don’t gotta say it." The words come out quiet, barely louder than the water lapping at the rocks. "He shows me every damn day."

Carol’s eyes soften, but Andrea leans forward, elbows on her knees. "Yeah? How’s that?"

You bite your lip, tracing the stitching on Daryl’s sleeve where it’s come loose. "Last week," you start, voice gaining strength, "he came back from a hunt with his jacket torn up. Blood all over the sleeve." Andrea raises an eyebrow, but you rush on. "Not his. Walkers’. But he- " A laugh bubbles up, unexpected. "He still took it off before comin’ into the tent ‘cause he knows I don’t like the smell. Hung it on a tree branch like some kinda..."

"Gentleman," Carol finishes, grinning when you nod.

The conversation drifts away after that, dissolving into the quiet rhythm of washing and folding, but the warmth of Daryl’s secret kindness lingers under your ribs like a second heartbeat. By the time the sun dips low, casting long shadows across the quarry, you’ve retreated to your tent, the one tucked farther from the group, half-hidden by a thicket of pine. Inside, it’s a nest of mismatched blankets, scavenged trinkets, and the faint, stubborn scent of Daryl’s musk clinging to the fabric walls. You sit cross-legged on your shared rumpled sleeping bag, idly tracing the stitching of his shirt where it’s come loose at the shoulder, when the tent flap rustles, evening light filtering in briefly. 

Daryl ducks inside, his silhouette backlit by the dying sun. He’s got a rabbit slung over one shoulder, its fur matted with dried blood, and a paper-wrapped bundle tucked under his arm. “Ain’t much,” he grunts, tossing the bundle into your lap. It’s warm, cornbread, probably scavenged from some abandoned pantry, and still faintly soft. “Figured you’d forget to eat.”

You unfold the paper carefully, revealing a hunk of cornbread, slightly crumbled at the edges. “You remembered,” you whisper in awe, because it’s Tuesday, and before the world ended, Tuesdays were cornbread nights at the diner down the road from your apartment. Daryl just shrugs, but his ears go pink as he busies himself with skinning the rabbit, his knife flashing in the dim light.

He works in silence, the only sound the steady rasp of blade against hide, until he pauses, glancing at you sideways. “Ain’t like you to hide out here, doll,” he says, voice rougher than usual. “Lori’s got that stew goin’ you like. Carol’s been askin’ after you.”

You pick at the cornbread crumbs in your lap, avoiding his gaze. “Wasn’t in the mood for company,” you murmur, but the lie tastes bitter on your tongue. Daryl’s knife stills mid-stroke, his brow furrowing as he studies you, really studies you, the way he does when he’s tracking something through the underbrush.

“Bullshit,” he says bluntly, wiping his hands on his jeans before scooting closer. The rabbit carcass lies forgotten as he nudges your knee with his own. “Spit it out.”

Your throat tightens. “They were talkin’ about you today,” you admit, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Andrea said she didn’t get how I could stand your temper. Carol called me your pet.”

Daryl’s nostrils flare, but it’s not anger that flashes across his face, it’s something raw and vulnerable, like a wounded animal caught in a trap. “They ain’t exactly wrong,” he mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck where the sun’s burned it pink. “Know I ain’t easy.”

"You're easy with me," you say softly, reaching out to trace the sunburned curve of his neck before you can stop yourself. Daryl goes still under your touch, his breath hitching like you've pressed against a bruise. "That's all that matters to me.”

His jaw works silently for a moment before he exhales through his nose, rough and ragged. "Still." The word comes out ground between his teeth. "Don't like 'em talkin' 'bout you like that. Like you're less than me, like I control you." The knife in his hand twitches, blade catching the fading light.

You catch his wrist before he can start skinning again, your thumb brushing the pulse point beneath his leather wristband. "They don't know, honey," you croon. "How you bring me coffee. How you built those little fucked up shelves for my shells." Your voice drops to a whisper, the tent walls suddenly too thin. "How you kiss me like I'm something precious even after all this time together."

Daryl's pupils blow wide, the knife slipping from his fingers to thud against the sleeping bag. "Christ, woman,” he breathes, and then his large hands are framing your face, calloused thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the shape of you. "Ain't never had nothin' half as good as you, you know that," he says, voice cracking on the last word.

His forehead presses against yours, the heat of his skin seeping into you like sunlight through leaves. You can smell the sweat and pine sap clinging to him, the metallic tang of walker blood still lingering under his nails. But when his lips brush yours, hesitant, almost reverent, it’s all you can focus on.

"You’re doin’ it again," you murmur against his mouth, fingers curling into the frayed edges of his vest.

"Doin’ what?" he grumbles, but his hands are already sliding down to grip your hips, tugging you flush against him.

"Talkin’ like you don’t deserve me. You know I hate when you do that." You nip at his bottom lip, grinning when he growls and kisses you harder, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a desperation that makes your toes curl.

Daryl pulls back just enough to glare at you, his breath hot against your lips. "Ain't talkin' like that…" he mutters, but his hands betray him, sliding up under the stolen flannel to trace the dip of your waist. "Just statin' the facts, sugar."

You arch into his touch, biting back a whimper when his calloused thumbs brush the underside of your breasts. "Your facts are stupid," you whine, and he snorts, dragging his mouth down your neck just to hear you gasp. The stubble on his chin rasps against your skin, the sensation sending sparks down your spine.

The cornbread lies forgotten as Daryl maneuvers you onto your back, his body a solid weight between your thighs. He braces himself on one elbow, the other hand still roaming under your shirt like he’s mapping new territory. "Always so damn soft, it drives me crazy," he practically coos against your collarbone, his voice rough with something that isn’t quite disbelief but close enough to make your chest ache.

You hitch a plush leg over his hip, grinding against the hard line of his cock straining against his jeans. Daryl groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Quit that," he grits out, but his hips jerk forward anyway, betraying him, seeking friction.

Daryl’s breath hitches when you rock against him again, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Told you- fuckin’ hell woman- quit it,” he growls, but his body betrays him, pressing you deeper into the nest of blankets as his cock twitches against your thigh. You whine, arching up to chase the heat of him, but he pins you down with a rough hand splayed across your stomach.

“Ain’t got no condoms, y'know that,” he grumbles, voice thick with frustration. His nose brushes yours tenderly, close enough you can taste the stale coffee on his breath. “Can’t risk it. Not now. Not when things are like this.”

You squirm under his grip, fingers clawing at his vest. “Don’t need ‘em for what I want,” you pant, tipping your head back when his teeth graze your pulse point. “S’ called outercourse- just- just rub against me, c’mon- ”

Daryl freezes, brow furrowed. The confusion on his face is almost comical, like you’ve just suggested they start selling ice cream in hell. “The fuck’s outercourse?”

You giggle at the bewildered look on his face, cheeks flushing as you reach between your bodies to unbutton his jeans with trembling fingers. "Like this," you murmur, guiding his hand down to the damp heat between your thighs. His breath hitches when your fingers wrap around his cock, hot and heavy in your palm, as you drag him through the slickness gathering there. "Just- just move against me, okay? Can't get pregnant like this."

Daryl makes a strangled noise low in his throat, hips jerking forward instinctively. "Fuck, sugar," he rasps, forehead dropping to yours as you guide him between your thighs, the head of his cock catching against your clit with each shallow thrust. "This- shit- this legal?"

You snort, dragging your nails down his sweat-damp back. "Pretty sure the law ain't exactly a priority anymore, babe."

Daryl groans, hips stuttering as he grinds against you, the rough fabric of his jeans rasping against your inner thighs. "Fuckin' little smartass," he grits out, but there's no heat in it, just that rough, desperate edge that makes your stomach flip. His calloused fingers dig into the swell of your hips as he finds a rhythm, each thrust dragging his cock against your puffy clit in a way that has you biting your lip to keep from crying out and embarrassing both of you in front of the whole camp.

"Quiet, gotta be quiet, baby," he breathes against your ear, nipping at the lobe. "Whole damn camp's gonna hear you."

You whimper, arching into him as his teeth sink into the soft skin of your shoulder, just hard enough to sting. "Daryl- "

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, fingers twisting in Daryl's vest as he moves against you with rough, desperate strokes. Every drag of his cock against your clit sends sparks up your spine, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. "Daryl," you whimper again, louder this time, and he clamps a hand gently over your mouth with a muttered curse, his hips never slowing.

"Told you- quiet," he growls, but his voice cracks halfway through, his pupils blown wide with want. His other hand slips between your bodies, calloused fingers finding your swollen, slick clit with unerring accuracy. The dual stimulation makes your thighs shake, a broken moan muffled against his palm.

Daryl watches you unravel beneath him with something like reverence, his breath hot against your cheek. "That's it," he croons, thumb circling your clit in tight, relentless circles. "Gonna make you come so damn pretty for me."

You writhe under him, the pressure building unbearably fast, almost overwhelmingly fast. The tent walls feel paper-thin at this point, every rustle of fabric deafening as Daryl's thrusts grow more erratic, his rhythm faltering. His forehead drops to yours, sweat dripping from his temple onto your flushed skin. "Close," he grits out, his voice raw. "Fuck- so close- "

You clench around nothing miserably as Daryl’s fingers work you closer to the edge, your thighs trembling where they bracket his hips. "Please, Daryl- baby-" you whine against his palm, the words muffled but ridiculously needy. His answering groan is ragged, his hips stuttering as he grinds against you with renewed urgency. The head of his cock catches your clit on every thrust, the friction just shy of too much, until it isn't, until pleasure crests like a wave and crashes over you in a shuddering rush.

Daryl’s hand tightens over your mouth as your back arches off the sleeping bag, your cry swallowed by his calloused palm. He watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his breath coming in sharp pants against your temple. "Fuck," he rasps, his hips jerking erratically. "Just- just like that, sugar- " His voice cracks as his own release hits him, his body going rigid above you before he collapses with a muffled grunt, his forehead pressing into the curve of your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sound is your mingled breathing, harsh and uneven in the quiet of the tent. Daryl’s hand slides from your mouth to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had escaped. "Ain’t never seen nothin’ prettier," he rasps, voice rough with something that makes your chest ache.

You huff a giggle, still boneless beneath him, and nudge his shoulder with your nose. "Even with your hand smotherin’ me?"

Daryl snorts, rolling off you with a grunt, his body still thrumming with leftover heat. He reaches for the discarded flannel beside the sleeping bag, wiping hastily at the mess between your thighs before tossing it into the corner. "Woulda been louder without it," he teases, but there's no bite to it, just that gruff tenderness that still makes your stomach flutter.

You stretch lazily, the muscles in your legs pleasantly sore, and catch him staring at the chubby curve of your hip where his shirt has ridden up. His gaze flickers away when you notice, but not fast enough to hide the way his throat bobs. "What?" you tease, poking his ribs.

"Nothin'." He catches your wrist, pressing your palm flat against his hairy chest where his heartbeat thrums rabbit-quick beneath warm skin. His fingers twine with yours, callouses rough against your knuckles. "Just... you."

The simplicity of it punches the air from your lungs. You squeeze his hand, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "Daryl Dixon, what a poet you are," you giggle, half-joking to mask the way your voice wavers.

Daryl scowls at your teasing, but his fingers tighten around yours,.anchoring, possessive. “Ain’t poetic,” he grumbles, rolling onto his side to face you. The fading light catches the scar above his eyebrow and you trace it without thinking, and he stills under your touch, his breath hitching like it’s the first time you’ve ever touched him.

“You are, though,” you murmur, and his brow furrows deeper. “In your own way.” You press a kiss to the scar, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. “Like when you patched my Chuck Taylors with duct tape ‘cause you knew they were my favorite.”

Daryl’s ears go pink. He swats halfheartedly at your shoulder. “Shut up, Christ almighty.” But his voice lacks its usual bite, softened by the way his thumb strokes circles into your palm. The silence stretches, comfortable, until his stomach growls loudly enough to startle a laugh out of you.

“Forgot about the cornbread,” you admit sheepishly, reaching for the crumpled paper packet. It’s cold now, the edges brittle, but Daryl snatches it from your hands before you can take a bite.

Daryl scowls at the stale cornbread like it's personally offended him, then shoves half into his mouth in one bite. Crumbs stick to his stubble as he chews, glaring at the tent wall like it’s hiding answers. You giggle, reaching up to brush them away, but he catches your wrist, turning your palm to press a kiss to the center. The gesture’s so sudden, so un-Daryl-like, your breath catches.

"Still tastes like shit," he laughs against your skin, but his lips curve just enough to betray him.

You wiggle your fingers free to poke his ribs again. "Hmmm, maybe. But I know you scavenged it from that gas station pantry just ‘cause you remembered it’s Tuesday.

Though he doesn't deny it outright. 

His scowl deepens, but his hands betray him again, tugging you closer until you’re sprawled half on top of him. The rabbit carcass lies forgotten by the tent flap, its blood seeping into the dirt. Daryl’s fingers trace idle patterns down your spine, rough enough to raise goosebumps. "Ain’t like I got a damn calendar, jus’ knew you needed dinner," he grumbles, pink flushing his face.

His fingers pause mid-stroke when he feels the tremor run through you, not from cold, but from the way his blunt honesty still surprises you sometimes. The way he remembers things no one else would. Your nose presses into the hollow of his throat, breathing in sweat and gunpowder and something stubbornly Daryl. "You're fulla shit, babe," you murmur, but your lips curve against his skin when his chest rumbles with a sound too soft to be a laugh.

The cornbread crumbs itch where they’ve scattered between your bare thighs, sticking to the sweat still drying on your skin. Daryl’s fingers pause their lazy tracing of your spine to pluck one away, flicking it into the dark corner of the tent with a grunt. “Messy girl,” he mutters, but there’s no real insult behind it. He'd never and you know it. 

You nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck, smiling when his stubble scratches your forehead. “Your fault,” you murmur, dragging a fingertip through the trail of crumbs on his chest. “Shoulda let me eat it proper.”

Daryl huffs, catching your wandering hand in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, calluses catching on the delicate skin there. “Ain’t my fault you got distracted,” he says, but his voice dips low, roughened at the edges in a way that sends warmth pooling low in your belly again.

Outside, the campfire crackles, voices drifting on the wind, Shane’s booming laugh, Carol’s quiet murmur. The sounds feel distant, muffled by the thick canvas of your tent and the steady thump of Daryl’s heartbeat beneath your ear. You press closer, inhaling the scent of him, pine resin and gun oil, the metallic tang of the rabbit’s blood still clinging to his vest where it’s discarded beside the sleeping bag.

Daryl’s fingers tighten around yours as the campfire voices grow louder, Shane’s boisterous storytelling punctuated by Glenn’s nervous laughter. You feel the tension coil in Daryl’s shoulders beneath your cheek, his breath hitching like he’s bracing for impact. “Ignore ‘em, it's just me and you here,” you coo, pressing a kiss to the jut of his collarbone. His grunt is noncommittal, but his thumb strokes your wrist in silent thanks for the knowing comfort.

The tent flap rustles suddenly, not from wind, but from the deliberate shuffle of feet outside. “Y’all decent?” Carol’s voice is amused, muffled through the canvas. Daryl stiffens, his grip on you tightening possessively. You bite back a laugh at the way his ears flush crimson.

“No,” he barks, but you’re already wriggling free, scrambling for his discarded angel vest to cover yourself. Daryl snatches it back with a growl, shoving it into your chest again. “Wear it proper,” he practically commands, pointedly avoiding your eyes as he yanks his jeans up over his pale hips.

You button the vest with fumbling fingers just as Carol’s head pokes through the flap. Her eyes dart between Daryl’s disheveled hair and your swollen pink lips, her smirk widening. “Dinner’s ready,” she says, too innocently. “Brought y’all bowls since you were... occupied.”

Daryl's arm snakes around your waist like a steel band, yanking you back against his chest with a growl that vibrates through your shoulder blades. "We're good, thanks," he barks at Carol, his free hand snatching the offered bowls with more force than necessary. The stew sloshes dangerously close to the rim.

Carol's smirk doesn't falter. She lingers just a heartbeat too long, eyes flicking to the scattered cornbread crumbs and the way Daryl's vest hangs open on you, barely covering your thighs. "Mmhm," she hums, dragging the sound out like taffy before ducking back out. The tent flap falls shut with a whisper of canvas, but not before you catch her muttering, "Lovebirds."

You bury your face in Daryl's shoulder to muffle the giggle threatening to escape. His grip tightens. "Ain't funny," he grumbles, but his lips brush your temple in contradiction, lingering just long enough to make your toes curl.

The stew smells rich, rabbit, judging by the gamey scent, but Daryl sets both bowls aside without tasting them. Instead, his fingers find the loose threads at the shoulder of his vest where you've been worrying at them all week. "Gotta fix this," he mutters, more to himself than you, his calloused thumb rubbing circles over the frayed fabric.

Daryl's fingers still on the loose threads, his brow furrowing in that way it does when he's turning something over in his head. You watch the familiar crease form between his eyebrows, the one you've traced with your fingertips more times than you can count. Without thinking, you reach up to smooth it away, and his gaze snaps to yours, startled, like he'd forgotten you were there.

"Quit fussin' on me, woman," he groans, but he leans into your touch anyway, his stubble rasping against your palm. His hand drops to your knee, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above where his vest ends. The contrast makes you shiver, rough hands touching you so softly it aches.

Outside, Shane's voice rises above the others, followed by a burst of laughter that sounds horrifically forced. Daryl's fingers twitch against your thigh, his jaw tightening. "What a fuckin’ asshole," he mutters under his breath, but there's no real heat behind it, just exhaustion, the kind that settles deep in his bones after too many days with too little sleep.

You catch his hand, pressing a kiss to his scarred knuckles. "Eat," you prompt gently, nodding toward the forgotten stew. "Before it gets cold."

Daryl scowls at the bowls like they've personally insulted him, but his stomach growls loud enough to make you snort. He mutters something about "damn traitorous guts" before snatching up the nearest bowl, shoving a spoonful into his mouth with all the grace of a starving wolf. Steam curls around his lips as he chews, his brow furrowing deeper with each bite.

"Carol put rosemary in it," he grumbles around a mouthful, nose wrinkling. "Tastes like a hotel's fuckin' potpourri."

You giggle, stealing his spoon for a taste. The herbs are overwhelming, definitely Carol's doing, her attempt at "civilizing" camp meals, but beneath it, you can still taste the careful balance of salt Daryl always insists on when he cooks game. "You seasoned it," you accuse, licking the spoon clean.

Daryl's ears flush pink. He swipes the utensil back with more force than necessary. "Ain't my fault she ruins good meat, was tryin’ to fix it," he grumbles, but his shoulders relax incrementally as he eats, the tension bleeding out of him with each spoonful.

In the beginning of your relationship, the sex had been good enough to leave you content. It wasn’t mind-blowing or adventurous, but it was warm and loving and enough to make you curl into him afterward with a sleepy smile. Over the last couple of years though, things had slowly changed. The spark had dimmed into something mechanical, almost routine. You found yourself lying there more often than not, faking soft little moans so he wouldn’t feel bad, while the ache between your legs only grew more frustrated. Sometimes you wondered if he noticed how often you slipped away afterward. Tonight, you knew he did. You could feel it in the way his body had tensed just slightly when he pulled out, the unspoken awareness hanging heavy between you.

Soobin shifted beside you, the mattress dipping as he rolled over. His arm draped loosely across your waist for a moment before he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there like an apology he didn’t quite know how to voice. “Goodnight, baby,” he whispered, voice already thick and sleepy. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to sound normal.

“Goodnight,” you replied softly, turning your head just enough to brush your nose against his shoulder.

You waited in the dark, listening carefully as his breathing gradually slowed and deepened. Minutes stretched out, each one feeling longer than the last. When you were finally sure he was fully asleep, you slipped out from under his arm with practiced care, trying not to disturb the mattress too much. The cool air of the room hit your bare legs as you stood, and you padded quietly to the bedside drawer. Your fingers closed around the smooth, familiar shape of your vibrator, the one you’d come to rely on more than you wanted to admit. The weight of it in your palm felt almost comforting now.

You tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door behind you with a soft click, locking it out of habit even though Soobin was dead to the world. The small nightlight cast a gentle golden glow across the tiles as you leaned back against the sink counter. Heart still racing from the unresolved tension in your body, you hiked up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on and parted your thighs. The moment the buzzing toy pressed against your swollen, neglected clit, a shaky exhale escaped your lips. This was never fine. This was intense, almost desperate— the sharp pleasure you craved but could no longer get from the man sleeping in the next room.

Your free hand gripped the edge of the counter as you worked the vibrator in slow, teasing circles, then faster, chasing the release that had been denied to you earlier. Your mind wandered while your hips jerked against your hand, thoughts drifting dangerously toward the crumpled business card you’d tucked away in your purse weeks ago. Jeon Jungkook. Licensed Sex Therapist. Specialist in couples’ intimacy issues. You’d stared at that card so many times, equal parts ashamed and curious. The glowing reviews online had mentioned how thorough he was… how hands-on.

Your thighs trembled as the pressure finally built to its peak. You bit down hard on your lip to stay quiet, eyes squeezing shut while the orgasm crashed over you in strong, pulsing waves. For a few blissful seconds, everything else disappeared— the frustration, the guilt, the growing distance between you and Soobin. Only the sharp pleasure remained. But as the high faded and you caught your breath under the dim nightlight, the reality settled back in. This couldn’t keep going on like this. Something had to change.

The next day dawned gray and quiet, the kind of overcast morning that made the apartment feel smaller than it was. You woke up before Soobin, his arm still loosely draped over your waist from the night before. For a long moment you just lay there, staring at the faint crack in the ceiling that had become an unwilling witness to so many disappointing nights. Your body still carried the faint ache of unresolved need, even after last night’s secret session in the bathroom. The memory of the vibrator’s buzz and the sharp, guilty pleasure it brought made your thighs press together under the sheets.

All day the business card burned a hole in your pocket.

You went through the motions— making coffee, answering emails, attending meetings, but your mind kept circling back to it. Should I say something? What if he gets defensive? What if he thinks I’m unhappy with him as a person and not just… this? The card felt heavy, its edges sharp against your fingertips every time you brushed your hand over your pocket. At lunch you pulled it out in the bathroom stall just to stare at the elegant black text again: Jeon Jungkook, Licensed Sex Therapist. Specialist in Couples’ Intimacy & Desire. Your stomach twisted with nerves and something else, something hotter and more dangerous.

By the time evening came, the anxiety had twisted into a constant, low hum beneath your skin. You cooked dinner in silence while Soobin set the table, the two of you moving around each other with the familiar, gentle choreography of a couple who had been together for years. Pasta with creamy tomato sauce, garlic bread, a simple salad, comfort food on a night that felt anything but comfortable. The apartment smelled warm and safe, yet your heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Halfway through the meal, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your fork paused above your half-eaten plate, twirling a strand of pasta that you no longer had any appetite for. Soobin was talking softly about his day, something about a deadline at work, but the words barely registered. Your fingers trembled as they slipped into your pocket and pulled out the slightly creased business card. Without a word, you slid it across the wooden table until it rested beside his glass of water.

Soobin’s voice trailed off. He looked down at the card, fork hovering in mid-air for a second before he slowly set it down. The quiet clink of metal against the plate sounded impossibly loud. You held your breath, chest tight, watching his face as he picked up the card with long, elegant fingers. His eyes scanned the text once, then again, more carefully. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

You waited for confusion. For hurt. For anger, maybe. Instead, Soobin let out a long, slow sigh.

It wasn’t the frustrated kind you’d feared. It was… relief. Deep, exhausted relief. His shoulders sagged as he placed the card back on the table, turning it over once between his fingers before looking up at you. His eyes were soft, a little sad, but strangely calm.

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard, nodding. Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “Yes. I… I know things haven’t been great. Between us. In bed. I know you’ve felt it too.”

Soobin leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He stared at the card for another long moment, then looked at you again— really looked at you. There was no defensiveness in his gaze, only a quiet acknowledgment that made your throat tighten.

“I have,” he admitted, voice low. “I’ve felt it for months. Every time I touch you and you don’t… every time you make those little sounds like you’re trying to spare my feelings.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile that broke your heart a little. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to think I don’t want you anymore, because I do. So fucking much. I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”

The honesty in his words made your eyes sting. You reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing it gently. For the first time in a long time, it felt like you were really seeing each other again. “I don’t want to keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not,” you whispered. “I think… maybe we need help. Real help. From someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Soobin glanced back down at Jungkook’s name on the card. His thumb brushed over the printed letters almost absentmindedly. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “If you’re sure you want to do this… then I’m in. We’ll do it together.”

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, a strange mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in your stomach. The decision was made. The appointment would be made.

The waiting room of Jeon Jungkook’s private practice was quieter than you expected. Soft ambient music played low in the background, something instrumental and soothing that did little to calm the rapid beating of your heart. You sat on a sleek gray couch beside Soobin, your hand resting loosely in his lap while his thumb brushed slow, absentminded circles over your knuckles. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and clean linen. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in natural light, but the tension in your chest made everything feel slightly unreal.

You had been nervous all morning. The drive here had been mostly silent, both of you lost in your own thoughts, but now that you were actually here, sitting in this elegant, minimalist office, the nerves had twisted into something sharper. A low, thrilling hum of excitement sat right beneath the anxiety. Your thighs pressed together under your sundress as you replayed the glowing reviews in your head. Thorough. Transformative. Life-changing.

Ten minutes felt like an eternity.

Every time you heard footsteps in the hallway, your breath would catch, only for the sound to fade again. Soobin squeezed your hand gently, offering a small, reassuring smile, but you could see the same mixture of uncertainty and hope in his eyes. He looked handsome today in his button-up shirt, but even that familiar sight couldn’t stop the restless energy buzzing under your skin.

Finally, the door opened.

Jeon Jungkook stepped inside, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt.

He was stunning. Easily one of the most beautiful men you had ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with a quiet, confident grace that immediately filled the room. His black hair was slightly tousled, falling over his forehead in a way that looked effortlessly perfect. Sharp jawline, full lips, and dark, piercing eyes framed by long lashes. He wore a fitted black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing tattoos that disappeared beneath the fabric, and tailored slacks that accentuated his powerful thighs. The subtle scent of his cologne, something woody and expensive, reached you as he closed the door behind him.

You couldn’t stop staring.

Jungkook didn’t speak right away. He crossed the room and settled into the large leather chair across from you, clipboard in hand. For several long minutes he simply read over his notes, his expression calm and focused. The silence was heavy. You found yourself tracing the line of his neck, the way his fingers held the pen with quiet strength, the faint flex of muscle in his forearm as he turned a page. Heat crept up your neck. Soobin shifted beside you, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the man in front of you.

After what felt like forever, Jungkook finally looked up.

His eyes met yours first, then shifted to Soobin. A small, professional smile curved his lips, warm, but with something unreadable flickering behind it. “Hello,” he said, voice smooth and low, like velvet dragged over stone. “I’m Jeon Jungkook. Thank you for waiting. I’ve reviewed the intake forms you filled out online.” He set the clipboard on his lap and leaned back slightly, giving you both his full attention. “So… why don’t you tell me what brought you here today?”

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. Soobin gave your hand another squeeze, silently encouraging you to start. Your voice came out softer than intended as you began to speak.

You told him everything. How the sex had been good in the beginning, warm, loving, safe. How over the past couple of years it had slowly become routine and unsatisfying. You described lying beneath Soobin, faking soft moans while your body remained tense and frustrated. The mechanical rhythm, the lack of real spark, the growing ache that no amount of “fine” could satisfy. You mentioned slipping away to the bathroom at night with your vibrator, chasing the intense pleasure your boyfriend could no longer give you. Your cheeks burned as you spoke, but Jungkook’s gaze never wavered. He listened with complete focus, occasionally nodding or jotting something down on his clipboard.

Soobin chimed in quietly, his voice laced with vulnerability. He admitted feeling the distance growing between you two. How he could sense you weren’t fully there with him anymore, how guilty it made him feel, how much he still wanted you but didn’t know how to reach you the way he used to. He spoke about the pressure of wanting to please you and constantly falling short.

Jungkook listened intently the entire time.

His dark eyes flicked between the two of you, absorbing every word. Every so often he would write something down in neat, precise strokes, his pen moving across the paper with a soft scratch that somehow felt intimate in the quiet room. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer empty reassurances. He simply absorbed it all, head slightly tilted, expression thoughtful and impossibly focused. You found yourself wondering what exactly he was writing. What he was thinking. Whether he could already picture exactly how to fix what was broken between you.

When you both finally fell silent, the room felt heavier than before. Your heart was racing, thighs warm, a traitorous pulse beating between your legs as you watched Jungkook tap his pen against the clipboard once, twice, before setting it down.

“I appreciate how open you’ve both been so far,” he began, eyes flicking between you and Soobin. “But to truly help, I need to understand the specifics. The details matter. How often do you have sex currently? How long do your sessions usually last, from start to finish? And most importantly… what does it actually look like when you’re together?”

You felt heat bloom across your chest and climb up your neck. Soobin’s hand tightened slightly around yours, his palm growing warmer. Jungkook waited patiently, giving you both space, but his dark eyes were sharp, missing nothing. When neither of you spoke immediately, he continued gently, guiding the conversation. “Let’s start with positions,” he said, tone professional yet undeniably intimate. “What positions do you usually use? Do you switch often? How does foreplay factor in— duration, techniques? And how long does penetration usually last before one or both of you finishes?”

The questions landed heavily in the quiet room. You swallowed, mouth dry, your sundress suddenly feeling too thin against your skin. Jungkook’s gaze settled on you expectantly, patient but commanding. There was something about the way he looked at you— focused, knowing, like he could already see the frustration coiled tight in your body, that made your pulse throb between your legs.

You took a shaky breath and forced the words out, voice barely above a whisper at first. “We… we mostly just do missionary,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “It’s what feels most natural for us, I guess. Comfortable. Soobin on top, me on my back. Sometimes I’ll ride him, cowgirl, but not very often. And when I do… there’s not much vigor to it. I get tired quickly, or it just doesn’t feel… right.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, writing something down in those neat strokes. The scratch of his pen seemed louder than it should have been. He didn’t look surprised or judgmental. Instead, his expression remained thoughtfully neutral, though you swore you caught the faintest flicker of something darker, interest, perhaps, behind his eyes.

“And how long does it usually last?” he asked, voice smooth. “From the moment clothes come off to when it’s over. Be honest.”

Soobin cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably beside you. His ears had turned pink. “Maybe… ten to fifteen minutes?” he offered quietly. “Sometimes less. I try to hold out, but…”

You squeezed his hand, both ashamed and relieved to finally say it aloud. “It’s not that it’s bad,” you added quickly, though the words felt hollow even to you. “It’s just… short. And always the same. Missionary with him above me, moving steadily until he finishes. I rarely do on my own during it. When I ride him, I try to move, but it feels awkward. Like I don’t know how to make it feel good for either of us anymore. There’s no real… intensity. No roughness. No experimentation.”

Jungkook listened with complete focus. His full lips pressed together in thought as he processed your words. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, closing some of the distance between you. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, warm, masculine, expensive. “No oral?” he asked calmly. “No doggy style? No standing positions, no restraints, no toys during sex together? You mentioned using a vibrator alone at night, does Soobin ever use it on you? Or watch you use it?”

Each question felt like a layer being peeled back. You squirmed in your seat, painfully aware of the growing wetness between your thighs. The way Jungkook spoke, so direct, so clinical, yet dripping with unspoken promise, made your mind race with images you knew you shouldn’t be having in this moment. Him. Those tattooed arms. That confident grip. Showing you exactly what you’d been missing.

Soobin shook his head slowly. “We’ve tried oral a few times, but… it doesn’t last long. And no, we’ve never really done any of the other stuff. It just never felt necessary before. Or maybe we didn’t know how.”

You nodded in agreement, biting your lip. “It’s always been vanilla. Safe. But now it feels too safe. Too… predictable. I love him. I do. But I lie there wondering if this is just how it’s going to be forever.”

Jungkook’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary before he wrote a few more lines. The silence that followed was thick with tension. He finally set the pen down and looked at you both, his expression composed but carrying an undeniable edge of authority. “I understand,” he said, voice dropping slightly. “You’re stuck in a very narrow script. Missionary and occasional cowgirl with minimal energy or variation, that explains a lot about the frustration you’re both feeling. Your bodies have adapted to routine. Comfort has replaced desire.”

Jungkook set his clipboard aside completely now, the soft thud of it hitting the side table sounding final. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and fixed both of you with a steady, intense gaze. The professional mask was still there, but something sharper and more commanding lingered just beneath it.

“I’ve heard enough to see the pattern clearly,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Words and explanations can only go so far. At this point, the most effective way for me to help is through demonstration. I’d like to show Soobin exactly how to touch you, how to build real desire, and how to awaken the parts of your body that have been neglected.”

He let the words settle in the heavy silence of the room before turning his full attention to you. “I won’t do anything without your explicit consent,” Jungkook continued, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “This would involve me touching you directly while Soobin watches. I’ll start slow. I’ll show him how to kiss you, how to touch you, how to read your body’s responses. If at any point you want to stop, you say the word and everything ends immediately.”

Your heart hammered wildly in your chest. Heat flooded your face, your neck, and lower. You could feel Soobin’s hand tense in yours, his breathing shallow beside you. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft ambient music and the rush of blood in your ears.

Jungkook waited patiently, giving you time. His gaze never wavered— calm, confident, and impossibly magnetic. You swallowed hard, throat dry. Nervous energy twisted in your stomach, but underneath it, something hotter and more dangerous stirred. A deep, aching curiosity. Excitement. “Yes,” you whispered, voice barely audible at first. Then stronger, “Yes… I want that.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into a small, approving smile. He glanced at Soobin. “And you? Are you comfortable with me demonstrating on your girlfriend while you observe?”

Soobin hesitated for only a second, then gave a slow nod, his cheeks flushed. “If she wants it… then yes.” Jungkook stood up smoothly, moving with that quiet, predatory grace. He crossed the short distance between his chair and the wide, plush chaise lounge where you and Soobin were seated. He extended his hand to you.

“Come here,” he said softly. “Lie back and get comfortable.”

Your legs felt unsteady as you stood. Soobin released your hand, and you moved to the chaise, heart pounding so hard you were sure they could both hear it. You lay back against the soft cushions, your sundress riding up slightly against your thighs. Jungkook sat on the edge beside you, the heat of his body immediately noticeable. He was so close now. The scent of his cologne, the faint warmth radiating from his broad frame, the way his button-up shirt stretched across his chest, it was overwhelming.

He looked down at you, eyes dark and focused. “Relax for me,” he murmured. “We’re going to start very slow.” Jungkook leaned in, one hand gently brushing your hair away from your neck. His breath ghosted over your skin first, sending shivers racing down your spine. Then his lips pressed softly just below your ear. The kiss was feather-light at first, warm, deliberate. He took his time, kissing down the sensitive column of your neck with slow, lingering presses of his mouth. Each one felt intentional, like he was learning the map of your reactions.

A shaky exhale left your lips. Your eyes fluttered half-closed as he kissed lower, finding the spot where your neck met your shoulder and sucking gently. The wet heat of his tongue traced a small circle there, and your back arched instinctively. One of his hands slid up your side, slow and confident, until his large palm cupped your breast through the thin fabric of your dress. He squeezed gently, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing strokes until it hardened under his touch.

“See how she responds when you take your time?” Jungkook said quietly, speaking to Soobin without pulling his mouth away from your neck. His voice had dropped even lower. “Don’t rush straight to the obvious places. Build it. Make her feel wanted.”

He kneaded your breast with just the right amount of pressure, rolling your nipple between his fingers over your dress, while his mouth continued its slow exploration of your neck and collarbones. Soft, open-mouthed kisses. The occasional gentle scrape of teeth that made your thighs press together. Your breathing had already grown uneven, small sounds escaping you that you didn’t even try to hold back.

Jungkook’s free hand rested on your waist, holding you in place as he shifted slightly closer. The weight and warmth of him beside you made your head spin. Every touch was precise, controlled, and devastatingly effective. You could already feel yourself getting wet, arousal pooling between your legs far faster than it ever did with Soobin.

Soobin sat quietly in the chair nearby, eyes wide and fixed on every movement. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, breathing audible. Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at your face, his thumb still lazily circling your nipple. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “How does that feel?” he asked you, voice husky. “Be honest.”

You could barely form words. Your neck tingled where his mouth had been, your breast warm and heavy under his hand. “It feels… really good,” you breathed, cheeks burning.

A satisfied smile tugged at Jungkook’s lips. “Good,” he murmured, leaning back down. “Then let’s continue.” Jungkook’s hands moved with deliberate confidence as he sat up slightly on the edge of the chaise. His dark eyes never left your face, reading every flicker of nervousness and arousal that crossed it. “Let’s remove this,” he murmured, voice low and reassuring. “I want you to feel everything without barriers.”

His fingers found the hem of your sundress, slowly sliding it upward. The fabric whispered against your skin as he lifted it inch by inch, exposing your thighs, then your hips, then the soft curve of your stomach. You raised your arms obediently, heart hammering against your ribs. With one smooth, practiced motion, Jungkook pulled the dress up and over your head, leaving your hair slightly tousled. He set the garment aside neatly on a nearby chair, his gaze roaming over your body now clad only in your bra and matching underwear.

The cool air of the room kissed your newly exposed skin, making you shiver. You felt incredibly vulnerable under their combined stares— Soobin’s wide-eyed and tense from his seat, and Jungkook’s dark, hungry, yet still controlled. Jungkook hummed softly in approval, his large hands returning to your body immediately.

He leaned down again, lips finding your neck once more. This time his kisses were deeper, more possessive, sucking gently at your pulse point while one hand cupped your breast through the thin lace of your bra. His thumb brushed over your nipple in slow, teasing circles, coaxing it to a stiff peak. He kneaded the soft flesh with just the right pressure, firm enough to make you arch into his touch, but never rushed.

“Watch how I’m touching her,” Jungkook said quietly to Soobin, his mouth still hovering against your heated skin. “Don’t just grab. Mold her breast in your palm like this… feel its weight. Use your thumb to tease her nipple until it’s sensitive. Her body is already responding, see how her breathing changed? That’s what you want.”

You let out a shaky whimper as he emphasized his words by pinching your nipple lightly through the fabric, rolling it between his fingers. Pleasure shot straight down between your legs. Jungkook continued kissing down your collarbone, occasionally glancing toward Soobin to explain, his voice smooth and instructional even as his hands worked magic on your body.

After several long, indulgent minutes of kissing and caressing your breasts, Jungkook’s hand began to travel lower. His palm smoothed down your stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear. He looked up at you, eyes intense. “Still okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded quickly, biting your lip. “Yes…”

With your permission, his hand slipped beneath the fabric of your panties. The first touch of his fingers against your bare, heated skin made you gasp. You were already slick with arousal, embarrassingly wet from everything he’d done so far. Jungkook’s middle and ring fingers found your swollen clit and began rubbing slow, lazy circles over it.

“Fuck… she’s soaked,” he murmured, almost to himself, though loud enough for Soobin to hear. His fingers moved with expert precision, not too fast, not too light, applying perfect pressure as he circled your clit again and again. “This is key, Soobin. Don’t rush to penetrate her. Spend time here. Learn exactly how she likes to be touched. Feel how her hips are already trying to follow my hand?”

Your thighs trembled. Soft, needy sounds spilled from your lips as Jungkook continued the torturously slow rubbing. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your lower belly. Every circle of his fingers sent sparks of pleasure racing through you. He kept his mouth on your neck and chest the entire time, kissing and gently biting while his hand worked between your legs.

After several drawn-out minutes of this, Jungkook shifted slightly. He used two fingers to pull your soaked panties to the side, fully exposing you. Without warning, he slowly pushed one thick finger inside you, then a second, stretching you open with delicious care. A broken moan escaped your throat. Your back arched off the chaise as his fingers sank deeper, curling slightly to find that sensitive spot inside you. Jungkook groaned softly in approval at how tightly you clenched around him.

“See that?” he said to Soobin, voice huskier now. “She’s gripping my fingers so tightly. This is what happens when you take the time to arouse her properly. Slide in slowly… curl them like this… and listen to the sounds she makes.” He began thrusting his fingers in and out in long, deep strokes, his thumb returning to rub circles over your clit at the same time. The dual sensation was overwhelming. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the building pleasure while Soobin watched every single movement with flushed cheeks and parted lips.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked back to your face, watching you intently as he fingered you with steady, devastating skill. “You’re doing so well,” he praised softly, pumping his fingers deeper. “Let me hear you.”

Jungkook’s fingers moved with growing intensity, thrusting deeper and faster into your soaked pussy. The wet, obscene sounds of his thick fingers pumping in and out filled the room, mixing with your increasingly loud moans. You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your head fell back against the chaise as shameless whimpers and cries spilled from your lips. “Ah— fuck… Jungkook—” you moaned loudly, your voice breaking on his name. Your fingers dug desperately into his muscular arm, gripping the hard bicep through his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. Your hips bucked up to meet every thrust, chasing the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you so effortlessly. “Oh my god… it feels so good—”

“That’s it,” Jungkook praised, his voice low and rough. “Let it out. Don’t hold back for me.” His fingers curled perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you with every stroke, faster now, more relentless. The wet squelching sounds grew louder as your arousal coated his hand and dripped down between your thighs.

Your moans turned into desperate, breathy cries. Your thighs trembled violently around his wrist as the pleasure built higher and higher, far beyond anything you’d felt in months.

Jungkook suddenly slowed his fingers, keeping them buried deep inside you, and shifted his position. He moved onto his knees on the chaise, spreading your legs wider with his free hand. He looked over at Soobin, eyes dark with lust but still carrying that instructional tone. “I’m going to eat her out while I keep fingering her,” he told Soobin calmly. “This combination is extremely effective. Watch how I use my tongue.”

You whimpered at his words alone, already anticipating what was coming. Jungkook hooked his fingers under the waistband of your soaked panties and pulled them down your legs, tossing them aside. Completely exposed now, you shivered under his gaze.

He leaned down between your spread thighs, face inches from your dripping pussy. Without warning, he spat directly onto your swollen hole, the warm saliva landing right at your entrance. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation. Jungkook used two fingers to spread the spit around, mixing it with your own wetness, before pushing his fingers back inside you.

Then his tongue was on you. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat as his warm, wet tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your pussy before focusing on your clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth while his fingers continued thrusting in and out of you, faster than before. Then he did exactly what he’d described, he fucked the spit into your hole with his tongue, pushing it inside you alongside his fingers in messy, obscene strokes.

You were on cloud nine.

“Fuck—! Jungkook— oh my fucking god—” you cried out, voice loud and unrestrained. Your back arched sharply off the chaise as intense pleasure crashed through your body. Your hands flew to his head, fingers threading through his soft dark hair, gripping tightly as his tongue fucked into you deeper. The wet sounds of his mouth devouring your pussy mixed with the filthy squelch of his fingers pumping relentlessly inside you.

Jungkook groaned against your cunt, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through you. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue and sucking hard on your clit, all while his fingers curled and stroked that perfect spot without mercy. “Soobin,” Jungkook said, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips shiny with your juices. “Come closer. Sit right next to her. She needs you here.”

Soobin moved quickly, his face flushed dark red. He sat on the edge of the chaise beside you, eyes wide as he watched Jungkook devour you. You reached out blindly, grabbing Soobin’s hand and squeezing it hard as another loud moan ripped from your throat.

“Baby— ahh— it feels so good,” you whimpered to Soobin, voice shaking. Your body thrashed under Jungkook’s skilled mouth and fingers, hips grinding desperately against his face. You gripped Soobin’s hand like a lifeline while your other hand stayed tangled in Jungkook’s hair, pulling him harder against your pussy.

Jungkook doubled down, tongue fucking into you even deeper, spitting on your cunt again before diving back in with messy, hungry strokes. His fingers never stopped their brutal pace, curling and thrusting until your moans turned into near-screams of pleasure.

You were lost in it, whimpering, moaning, and shaking uncontrollably as the man between your legs showed you exactly what your body had been missing, while you held your boyfriend’s hand through every devastating wave of pleasure.

The pleasure built to an unbearable peak as Jungkook’s tongue fucked relentlessly into your dripping hole and his fingers curled against that perfect spot inside you. Your moans turned into desperate, broken cries, growing louder and more frantic with every filthy stroke of his skilled mouth. You gripped Soobin’s hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, your other hand fisting Jungkook’s dark hair as your hips bucked wildly against his face.

Suddenly, the coil inside you snapped.

You came hard on his tongue with a loud, shuddering scream. “Jungkook—! Fuck, I’m cumming—!” Your entire body convulsed violently, thighs clamping around his head as powerful waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around his fingers and tongue, gushing wetly against his mouth while he continued licking and sucking through every pulse of your orgasm. You thrashed on the chaise, moaning shamelessly, eyes squeezed shut as the intense release left you trembling and breathless. Soobin’s hand stayed firmly in yours the entire time, grounding you even as you fell apart under another man’s mouth.

Jungkook worked you through every last aftershock, licking you slowly and gently until your body finally sagged against the cushions, panting and dazed. Only then did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening with your cum. He looked devastatingly handsome like that, flushed, eyes dark with lust, and breathing heavily.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked between you and Soobin, voice low and husky but still controlled. “Are you both willing to continue?” he asked. “I’d like to move into demonstrating positions. The difference between what you’ve been doing and what she actually needs.”

You didn’t even hesitate. Still floating on the high of your orgasm, arousal already stirring again, you nodded eagerly. “Yes,” you breathed, almost desperately. “Please… I want more.”

Soobin swallowed hard, visibly affected by what he’d just witnessed, but he nodded as well. “If she wants it… yes.”

A satisfied, almost predatory smile tugged at Jungkook’s lips. “Good,” he murmured. “I’m going to fuck her raw. Skin to skin. No condom. She needs to feel the full effect, the heat, the friction, everything. Then I’ll show you, Soobin, exactly how to make missionary feel incredible for her instead of just… adequate.”

Jungkook reached behind your back with skilled fingers and unclasped your bra. He slid the straps down your shoulders slowly, savoring the moment as he pulled the lace away and dropped it aside. Your breasts spilled free, nipples already hard and aching. He groaned softly at the sight before leaning down and capturing one nipple in his mouth.

He sucked on it hungrily, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his large hand kneaded the soft flesh of your other breast. He switched sides, giving the same devoted attention to the other nipple, sucking harder, grazing his teeth gently, then soothing with his tongue. The wet sounds of his mouth on your breasts filled the room as you moaned and arched into him, your body responding instantly.

After several long, indulgent minutes of worshipping your chest, Jungkook finally positioned himself between your spread thighs, after kicking his pants and boxers off. He gripped his thick, hard cock in one hand, stroking it slowly as he looked down at your flushed, dripping pussy. “Watch carefully,” he told Soobin, voice rough. “This is how you claim her.”

He rubbed the swollen head of his cock up and down your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness, before pressing against your entrance. With a low groan, Jungkook pushed forward and slid into you in one long, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, fluttering heat.

You cried out loudly at the stretch, your back arching sharply. He was big, thicker and longer than Soobin, and the raw, bare feeling of him inside you was overwhelming. “Fuck… so tight,” Jungkook growled, holding still for a moment to let you adjust. Then he pulled back almost all the way before slamming back in, setting a rough, brutal pace immediately.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room as he fucked you hard and deep. Each powerful thrust rocked your entire body, your breasts bouncing with the force of it. Jungkook’s hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he drove into you again and again, the wet, filthy sounds of your pussy taking his cock filling the air. “That’s it,” he groaned, eyes locked on your face. “Take my cock. Feel how deep I am?”

Your moans were loud and unrestrained, turning into near-screams every time he bottomed out inside you. The brutal pace left you shaking, gripping the cushions beneath you as wave after wave of intense pleasure rolled through your body.

Jungkook’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh with possessive strength. He used your body like a personal toy, pulling you down onto his thick cock with every brutal thrust. Instead of just fucking into you, he yanked your hips forward to meet him, slamming you onto his length over and over again in a relentless rhythm. The wet, filthy sound of your soaked pussy being filled echoed loudly in the room with every powerful motion. Each time he dragged you back down, his cock buried itself impossibly deep, the head kissing your cervix and sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure shooting through your entire body.

“Fuck—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and broken. Your head tossed back against the chaise, mouth falling open in a constant stream of moans and whimpers.

Jungkook glanced over at Soobin, breathing heavily but still in control. “Soobin,” he growled, never slowing the way he was manhandling you onto his cock. “Play with her clit. Rub it while I fuck her. She needs the extra stimulation.”

Soobin hesitated only for a second before leaning closer. His hand trembled slightly as he reached between your bodies and found your swollen, sensitive clit. He began rubbing slow circles over it, just like he’d watched Jungkook do earlier. The added sensation was immediate and devastating.

Your moans instantly grew louder, turning into desperate, shameless cries. “Oh my god—! It’s so good… so fucking good— Jungkook, your cock is so big— I can’t— ahh!” The words spilled out of you in a messy, nonsensical stream.

Jungkook groaned in satisfaction at your words, his pace growing even more punishing. He kept yanking your hips down onto him with raw strength, using your body exactly how he wanted. The wet slap of skin against skin was constant now, your arousal dripping down his balls and soaking the chaise beneath you. Every brutal thrust made your breasts bounce heavily, your entire body jolting with the force of him claiming you.

Soobin’s fingers kept rubbing your clit, faster now, his eyes wide and dark as he watched you fall apart. “You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “All fucked out… you’re glowing. So fucking pretty when you’re moaning like that.”

His words only pushed you higher. You squeezed Soobin’s hand tighter with your free one while your other hand clutched desperately at Jungkook’s forearm, nails digging into his tattooed skin. “Your dick is so big, it feels too good, I can’t think— please don’t stop—!” you babbled loudly, words slurring together between broken moans and gasps. Tears of overwhelming pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes as he continued to wreck you.

Jungkook smirked, dark eyes gleaming with lust and satisfaction. He adjusted his angle slightly and started pounding into you even harder, pulling you onto his cock with every snap of his hips. The new position made him hit that perfect spot inside you with devastating accuracy on every thrust. Sweat glistened on his forehead and neck, his shirt now clinging to his muscular chest from exertion.

“That’s right,” he growled, voice rough and low. “Feel how deep I am? This is what your pussy needed. Not soft, polite sex. It needed to be ruined like this.”

He kept using your body ruthlessly, yanking you down onto him, grinding deep, then pulling back only to slam you onto his length again. Soobin never stopped rubbing tight, slick circles on your clit, his eyes flicking between your face and the sight of Jungkook’s thick cock disappearing inside you repeatedly.

The pleasure was blinding. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the room as another orgasm began rapidly building, even stronger than the first. Jungkook was fucking you better than you had ever been fucked in your life. The brutal pace of Jungkook’s cock slamming into you, combined with Soobin’s fingers rubbing relentless circles on your swollen clit, pushed you straight over the edge again.

Your second orgasm hit you like a freight train.

“Jungkook—! I’m cumming— fuck. ” you screamed, your voice cracking as your entire body seized up. Your pussy clenched violently around his thick cock, fluttering and gushing as powerful waves of pleasure ripped through you. Your back arched sharply off the chaise, thighs shaking uncontrollably while Jungkook kept fucking you through it, dragging out every last pulse of your release. Soobin’s hand never stopped, prolonging the overwhelming sensation until you were sobbing with pleasure, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You were still twitching and gasping, trying to catch your breath, when Jungkook suddenly pulled out of you with a wet sound. Before you could even whimper at the loss, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing.

He turned and sat down on the chaise, pulling you with him so you straddled his lap facing him. He guided you down onto his cock again in one smooth motion, burying himself back inside your sensitive, fluttering pussy. This new position pressed your bodies flush together, chest to chest, your knees bent on either side of his hips.

“This is called the lotus position,” Jungkook explained to Soobin, voice deep and slightly breathless as he held you firmly on his cock. “It’s intimate. She’s completely wrapped around me, which lets me hit every sensitive spot inside her. The closeness increases stimulation on her clit and lets her control the depth and rhythm while I guide her. It feels incredible for her because she’s full and every movement grinds right against her g-spot.”

You barely had time to process his words before your body took over. Still trembling from your last orgasm, you started moving on him, slow at first, then faster, rolling and bouncing on his thick length with desperate need. The new angle made him feel even deeper, pressing against places you didn’t even know existed.

“Ahh! Jungkook!” you sobbed, pleasure bordering on too much. Your hands gripped his broad shoulders tightly, nails digging into his shirt as you rode him. Your head tipped back, mouth open in a constant stream of broken moans and cries. “It’s so deep… so fucking deep, oh my god.”

Tears continued slipping down your flushed cheeks as you moved faster, chasing the overwhelming pleasure. Your breasts bounced heavily with every roll of your hips, pussy swallowing his cock again and again with wet, obscene sounds.

Jungkook groaned deeply, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. He kneaded the soft, plump flesh roughly, spreading your cheeks as he helped guide you up and down on his cock. Then— smack, his palm came down hard on your right cheek, the sharp sound echoing through the room. You cried out at the sting, clenching tighter around him. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, slapping your ass again, harder this time. “Ride me just like that. Use my cock.”

He buried his face between your bouncing tits, sucking one nipple into his hot mouth while his hands continued kneading and spanking your ass in rhythm with your movements. He groaned against your skin, tongue swirling and teeth grazing as he devoured you.

You were lost in it— sobbing, moaning, and babbling nonsense while you rode him with everything you had.Your head stayed tipped back, eyes half-lidded and glassy with overwhelming pleasure as you held onto his shoulders for dear life. Soobin watched everything in stunned silence from just inches away, eyes dark and fixed on the way your body moved on Jungkook’s cock and how his hands owned your ass.

Jungkook pulled his mouth from your nipple just long enough to look up at your pleasure-drunk face, voice rough with lust. “That’s my good girl… Keep fucking yourself on me. Let him see how pretty you look when you’re falling apart.”

You were completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure, rolling your hips desperately on Jungkook’s thick cock in this position. Your voice had grown hoarse from moaning, but his name still fell from your lips like a prayer. “Jungkook… Jungkook— fuck, Jungkook—” you whimpered repeatedly, your head tipped back and eyes glazed over.

Jungkook pulled his face from your breasts, lips shiny, and looked up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. His hands squeezed your ass firmly as he held you down on his cock, grinding up into you slowly. “What is it, pretty girl?” he asked, voice low and teasing, a smirk playing on his lips. “What do you need? Tell me. Use your words.”

You sobbed softly, still moving on him, drunk on the feeling of being so full. “I want it from behind,” you begged, voice shaky and desperate. “Please… I want you to fuck me from behind.”

Jungkook let out a deep, amused chuckle that vibrated through his chest. “Greedy girl,” he murmured affectionately. Without warning, he lifted you off his cock, making you whine at the sudden emptiness. He easily maneuvered your body, turning you around on the chaise.

He guided you into position with strong, confident hands. “Soobin, sit down right here,” he instructed. Soobin obeyed, sitting on the chaise with his back against the cushions. Jungkook then pushed you forward until your face hovered just above Soobin’s lap, your elbows resting on either side of his knees. Your back was arched deeply, ass up and presented perfectly for Jungkook behind you.

You looked up at Soobin through your lashes, flushed and breathing hard, your cheek nearly brushing against the bulge in his pants.

Instead of immediately sliding his cock into you, Jungkook knelt behind you. He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing you completely. He leaned in and sank his teeth gently into the soft flesh of your right ass cheek, biting and sucking hard enough to make you gasp sharply.

“I’m going to eat her ass now,” Jungkook explained to Soobin, voice calm but dripping with lust. “Most men skip this, but it feels incredible for her. It relaxes her and makes her even wetter. Watch.” Before you could fully prepare yourself, Jungkook buried his face between your cheeks.

A loud, broken cry tore from your throat the moment his warm, wet tongue licked a slow, filthy stripe over your tight hole. “Oh my god!” you screamed, your whole body jerking forward. He licked you again, slower this time, swirling the tip of his tongue around your rim before pressing it inside you.

You were crying out uncontrollably now, the pleasure intense and strangely intimate. Your hands scrambled desperately for purchase, grabbing onto Soobin’s thighs and squeezing hard as Jungkook devoured your ass with filthy enthusiasm. He groaned against your skin, the vibrations making your eyes roll back.

His tongue pushed deeper, fucking into your tight hole with wet, obscene sounds while one of his hands reached underneath to rub firm circles on your clit. He alternated between long, broad licks and pointed thrusts of his tongue, eating you like a man starved. Every stroke sent jolts of sharp, dirty pleasure racing up your spine. “Fuck— Jungkook, it feels so fucking good!” you sobbed, pushing back against his face instinctively. Tears of overwhelming sensation rolled down your cheeks as you panted against Soobin’s thigh, looking up at him with glassy, fucked-out eyes.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your wet skin. “Hear how loud she gets when I eat her ass? This is what she’s been missing.” Then he dove right back in, licking and sucking even more eagerly, his face pressed fully between your cheeks as he worked you open with his skilled tongue.

Your moans and cries filled the entire room, shameless and loud, while your hands gripped Soobin’s thighs like a lifeline, trembling as Jungkook continued. Jungkook didn’t rush. He kept his face buried between your spread cheeks, devouring you with slow, filthy dedication. His tongue swirled and probed at your tight rim, licking long stripes from your dripping pussy up to your asshole before pushing inside again. Every time his tongue fucked into your ass, a fresh wave of overwhelming pleasure crashed through you, making your back arch deeper and your fingers dig harder into Soobin’s thighs.

Your hips pushed back against his face instinctively, chasing more of that dirty, intense sensation. He groaned deeply against your skin, the vibration traveling straight through you as he continued with even more enthusiasm. He spread your cheeks wider with both hands, fully exposing you, and spat directly onto your hole before diving back in, licking and sucking like he couldn’t get enough.

Minutes stretched out in a haze of pleasure. Jungkook took his time, alternating between broad, sloppy licks and sharp, pointed thrusts of his tongue deep inside you. One of his hands stayed between your legs, rubbing slow, firm circles on your swollen clit while the other kneaded and slapped your ass cheek occasionally, the sharp smacks making you jolt and moan louder. You were a mess, sobbing, whimpering, and shaking as he continued rimming you relentlessly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again without ever letting you tip over.

Only when your legs were trembling uncontrollably and your cries had turned into constant, desperate begging did Jungkook finally pull back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose onto his knees behind you, his voice rough with lust as he spoke to Soobin. “Now I’m going to fuck her from behind. Hard. This position lets me go deeper and gives me full control.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt the thick, blunt head of Jungkook’s cock pressing against your soaked entrance. In one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your pussy, stretching you open around his thick length.

A loud, broken scream tore from your throat. "Fuck yes!" He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He immediately set a brutal, punishing pace, slamming into you hard and deep. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoed loudly through the room with every thrust. He gripped your hips tightly, yanking you back onto his cock over and over again, using your body exactly how he wanted.

“Fuck— so tight,” he growled, voice low and strained.

Every brutal snap of his hips drove his cock impossibly deep, the head kissing your cervix with every stroke. Your elbows trembled as you tried to hold yourself up, face buried against Soobin’s thigh while your moans and cries grew louder and more broken. Jungkook reached forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back slightly so your back arched even more for him.

“You like that?” he groaned, pounding into you mercilessly. “You like being fucked like a little toy from behind?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck— Jungkook!” you sobbed, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face. The angle was devastating. Every thrust ground against that perfect spot inside you, making your legs shake violently. Your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, soaking him with every rough stroke as he continued to rail you without mercy.

Jungkook’s pace was relentless, hard, fast, and animalistic. The wet, filthy sound of your arousal squelching around his cock mixed with the sharp slap of skin on skin. He kept one hand fisted in your hair and the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks, pulling you back onto him with every thrust like he was trying to bury himself even deeper.

Jungkook continued pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes, his hips snapping against your ass with a loud, rhythmic slap. Your moans were constant and broken, your body jolting forward with every brutal thrust while your face stayed pressed against Soobin’s thigh. Jungkook’s grip on your hips was iron-tight, fingers digging into your skin as he used you relentlessly.

He slowed his thrusts just enough to speak, his voice rough and commanding, yet still instructional. “Soobin,” he said, breathing heavily. “Grab her hips. Both hands. I want you to help move her back and forth on my cock. Feel how she takes me. Learn the rhythm she needs.”

Soobin hesitated for a moment, eyes wide as he watched Jungkook’s thick cock disappear inside you again and again. His cheeks were flushed dark red, but after a few seconds, he leaned forward and placed his hands on your hips, right beside Jungkook’s.

“That’s it,” Jungkook encouraged, still buried deep inside you. “Pull her back onto me when I thrust forward. Help her fuck herself on my cock. She loves it deep like this.”

Soobin’s hands tightened on your hips. At first his grip was gentle, almost uncertain, but as Jungkook started moving again, Soobin began pulling you back onto Jungkook’s cock in time with his thrusts. The added force made Jungkook’s cock slam even deeper inside you.

A loud, broken cry ripped from your throat. “Oh my god!” you sobbed, eyes squeezing shut as the new sensation overwhelmed you. Soobin’s familiar hands pulling you back combined with Jungkook’s massive cock stretching and ruining you created an intensity you’d never felt before. Every time Soobin yanked your hips back, Jungkook’s thick length drove into you harder, filling you completely.

Jungkook groaned in approval. “Good. Harder, Soobin. She can take it. Look how her pussy is gripping me every time you pull her back.”

Soobin’s grip grew firmer, more confident. He started pulling your hips back with more strength, helping impale you on Jungkook’s cock over and over again. The wet, filthy sounds grew even louder — the obscene squelching of your soaked pussy mixed with the sharp slap of skin whenever your ass met Jungkook’s hips.

You were falling apart between them.

“Fuck— fuck— it’s so deep!” you cried out, voice muffled against Soobin’s thigh. Your hands clutched desperately at Soobin’s legs, nails digging into his pants as your body was rocked between the two men. “Jungkook’s cock is so big… Soobin, baby, he’s so deep inside me— I can’t”

Jungkook kept a steady, brutal pace while Soobin pulled you back onto him with every thrust. The dual control over your body made you feel completely used, a toy being shared between them. Jungkook’s cock kissed your cervix with every forceful pull, stretching your walls perfectly around his thickness. “That’s it,” Jungkook growled, one hand moving up to grip the back of your neck while Soobin continued manipulating your hips. “Feel how she’s dripping down my cock? She’s fucking loving this. Pull her harder, Soobin. Make her take every inch.”

Soobin obeyed, his fingers pressing deeper into your soft hips as he yanked you back more forcefully. The new intensity made your eyes roll back, loud, shameless moans spilling from your lips as Jungkook fucked you raw and Soobin helped drive you onto him again and again. You were trembling violently, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face, caught in the devastating rhythm the two of them created together.

The combined rhythm was absolutely devastating. Jungkook’s thick cock slamming into you while Soobin pulled your hips back with increasing confidence created a merciless, perfect storm of pleasure. Your moans had turned into constant, broken sobs as your body was rocked between them.

Jungkook’s breathing grew harsher, his thrusts becoming more erratic and deeper. “Fuck— I’m close,” he growled, gripping your hip tighter while Soobin continued helping pull you back onto his cock. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up.”

You could only whimper in response, your mind hazy with overwhelming pleasure. Jungkook’s pace turned punishing, slamming into you with short, brutal strokes as he chased his release. With a deep, guttural groan, Jungkook buried himself to the hilt inside you and came hard. You felt every powerful pulse as he emptied himself deep inside your pussy, thick ropes of hot cum flooding your walls. He kept grinding into you, pushing his load even deeper while growling your name under his breath.

The feeling of Jungkook cumming so deep inside you triggered your own orgasm instantly. Jungkook’s grip on your neck tightened as he pounded into you even harder. “That’s it, pretty girl. Cum on my cock. Let go.”

The pressure built impossibly high, tighter and hotter, until it finally snapped. You came harder than you ever had in your life. A loud, guttural scream tore from your throat as your entire body seized up. Your pussy clenched violently around Jungkook’s cock, and then you were squirting, hard. Clear, hot liquid gushed out around his thick cock with every thrust, soaking his hips, dripping down your thighs. You shook uncontrollably, sobbing and moaning as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed through you. Jungkook didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm and prolonging it until your vision went white and your legs gave out completely.

“Fuck, look at her,” Jungkook groaned, voice rough with satisfaction. “She’s squirting everywhere. Good girl… such a messy, beautiful girl.”

Your body finally went limp, trembling with aftershocks as Jungkook slowed his thrusts and eventually stilled deep inside you. He stayed buried in your pulsing heat for a long moment, letting you feel every inch of him while you tried to catch your breath. Soobin’s hands gently rubbed your hips, soothing the marks he’d left behind.

Jungkook eventually pulled out slowly, a rush of your combined juices dripping from your ruined pussy. He helped you collapse gently onto the chaise, turning you onto your back so you could breathe easier. Your chest heaved, body covered in a light sheen of sweat, cheeks flushed, and eyes glassy with exhaustion and satisfaction.

Jungkook sat back on his heels, breathing heavily but looking pleased. He glanced at Soobin, then down at your spent body. “That,” he said calmly, “is what she needs. Not just gentle, loving sex. She needs to be fucked properly, deeply, roughly, and without hesitation. She needs variety. She needs to be used and worshipped at the same time.” He looked at you softly. “How do you feel?”

You could barely speak, still floating. “Incredible…” you whispered hoarsely. “I’ve never… felt anything like that.”

Jungkook smiled, then turned back to Soobin. “You did well today. Helping move her like that was a great start. We’ll work on building your confidence and skill. This was only the first session.”

He helped you sit up eventually, handing you a soft towel and a bottle of water from a nearby table. While you recovered, he spoke to both of you about aftercare, communication, and homework, things for Soobin to practice at home before the next appointment.

As you slowly got dressed, your legs still shaky, you couldn’t stop stealing glances at Jungkook. The memory of how he had completely ruined you while Soobin watched was burned into your mind. Soobin was quiet, but he stayed close to you, gently rubbing your back and pressing a kiss to your temple. There was a new tension in the air, something shifted between all three of you.

Before you left, Jungkook leaned against his desk, arms crossed, looking unfairly composed and handsome. “Book your next session soon,” he said with a small, knowing smirk. “We still have a lot to work on… and I think you both know now how much she needs it.”

You left the office leaning on Soobin’s arm, body sore in the most delicious way, your mind already replaying everything that had happened… and wondering how much further Jungkook would take you next time.

you are added to the group the last

it's a controversial experiment for Big Hit. debuting a boy band with exactly one female member. they do not hold their breath: they believe in the failure. nobody expects BTS to actually succeed.

as the decision to add a girl is made much later, they are faced with the question whether to change the name of the band from "bulletproof boys" to "bulletproof youth". and they decide against it because of how little they care about the whole group

the bangtan trainees mostly oppose the idea, not only because it's a late addition, but also because it's a girl

they are told that they have to go on living all together, but with a girl. train as usual, but with a girl. share food and allowance, but with a girl

"that wasn't in the contract" - "none of this was in the contract"

the boys are terrified thinking of how this is going to shift things completely

Yoongi is one of the most opposing members, bringing up good points and complaining about it, but there's not much he can do.

a couple of days before you arrive the boys have a meeting with the management. they are told that the girl (you) is coming and there's one rule

no hookups or relationships. it should be clean, friendly and disciplined. if there's even a whiff of anything similar to attraction or flirting, or drama, the member caught is out without the second warning

at the time the members do not see it as a problem, in fact, they do not even consider it a danger because of how preoccupied they are. they don't want to mess with anybody; they don't want anybody

actually they mostly see you as an enemy and an obstacle because they believe you will be a bad addition. nobody's even thinking about the funny stuff; they are cautious, unsure and reserved

when you arrive, you try to be cool and calm, and they try to be polite and non-hostile

the first person you notice is Namjoon: he is going to be your roommate, your companion and most likely your best friend (you couldn't be further from the truth: they will all become your friends soon)

you speak good English, so Namjoon is naturally drawn to you and you click in spite of his initial unwillingness. "hey, that might actually work..."

first impressions:

Namjoon: mature, normal guy, too burdened by his leader role, super focused, kind, helpful. will not make you uncomfortable even if he tries. feels like he is already your friend. you are born in the same year, several months apart, the same zodiac, the same introversion deep down under ambiversion.

Hoseok: painfully shy, glaring at you curiously from a distance. you can see instantly that a smile is his natural reaction to everything, and you actually flinch when the teacher snarls at him, and he smiles. this is the first of many times you get an urge to protect. he seems kinda small, fragile, and only relaxes when he is dancing or sleeping

Jimin: seems like a menace. his smile is too oily, and yet he shifts from being flirty to completely closed down. he seems like somebody you want to know better because at first you can't figure out his role in the group: is he the main dancer or the vocal? or the visual?

Jungkook: b a b y. you drop one look at him and, even though he is already your height, you get motivated to stand on his side. his round cheeks and still childish eyes make you question why the hell the company would hire such small kids. he is already sixteen, but he feels younger, he is super sweet and you do not feel threatened at all

Yoongi: the quiet ghost in the corner of the room giving you contemplating, evil looks. sharp jaw and the eyes that are too expressive. however, once he opens his mouth, he turns out to be polite and balanced. he gives you the trustworthy quiet helper vibe. it feels like acting on camera during making the content drains the energy from him

Jin: sage. he is so tall and adult that you unintentionally keep your back more straight in his presence. you passionately want to earn his respect because you see how he is soft and helpful with the guys but cautious with you. to you, he shows his colder side, and it kicks in the natural instinct of winning him over

Taehyung: soulmate. you click immediately. you joke at the same time, then start laughing, and your laughing voices harmonize, and you look at each other surprised. at the very beginning, he is on par with Namjoon the closest person who provides the initial comfort in a highly uncomfortable situation

you look at them seven and the hammer strikes. if you can't match them, you must at least do everything not to hold them back as a team. they are already familiar with each other, and now your job is to force them to accept you and see you as equal. it's going to be brutal

the first genuine contact:

you help Jungkook with his English homework. and by helping, you mean do it for him. he sits next to you at the desk, clicking the pen on it, while you write and try explaining things to him simultaneously

the first week you feel super lonely in the dorm because you and the SEVEN BOYS you live with walk around each other like wild animals, sniffing. all interactions are awkward: reaching for something in the cupboard at the same time and flinching like the hands touching is the worst thing that's happened in the last hundred years

blushing when you meet each other in the vicinity of the bathroom

you don't even pee when someone is nearby

you have a lot of stuff and sometimes it gets mixed up with the boys' things, and they get confused whose towel or shirt it is

the first week, in fact, is wildly stressful, because it's like jumping into ice-cold water while surrounded by sharks who don't bite but give you weird, awkward side eyes. Namjoon is too nerdy to provide insightful comfort, and Taehyung gets flustered in others' presence so he starts saying stupid shit

however the ice starts melting when you find Jungkook sobbing at that tiny desk punctured in between the clothes rack and the dinner table

it's about homework, but also his leg hurts, but also he misses his mum, and he is behind on his studies, and his voice isn't working properly

he's telling you all this with his head turned around, red like an apple, and you open up and decide that you aren't going anywhere anyway, and these boys aren't either

you hold him the way only a woman can hold a child. the other boys take really good care of Jungkook: he is fed, dressed, he is mostly comfortable and generally happy all the time. but the friendly and protective touch of a woman's hand makes sixteen-yeard old Jungkook break down and cry on your shoulder, while you stroke his head and tell him that he is safe

you try to make it very clear that he is safe with you and you won't tell anybody. try to tell him that getting tired is fine and the best thing he can do is break down when he feels like it

Yoongi witnesses the end of it, when Jungkook is already wiping his nose, and your hand is still on his head, stroking him like a kitten

this incident facilitates the eventual onset of closeness

suppose Yoongi clocks a certain feature in you, that he himself also has: the impulse to protect and comfort, and it makes him a little relieved

the hyung line starts taking care of you subtly: first of all, the boys get rid of the habit of avoiding eye contact. then you start smiling at each other.

a week later you have a collective conversation in the kitchen at night, warming up to each other

who initially has a crush on you

everybody

for most of them (6/7) it's short, the shortest for Namjoon because you're not his type. instead, he amalgamates into the older brother persona with quite a lot of satisfaction about it. he already has a younger sister and has experience, he is familiar with the problems that arise with having one, and sees that you need him in that way

Jimin drops it when he sees you aren't the ideal girl he has been picturing you as. as he knows you more, his infatuation dissipates into respect and reliability. he relies on you in many things because he has that childish persona and really likes to be taken care of. he actually exploits this quality of yours a little bit, seeing that, in the impulse to be perceived as good, you go out of your way to help them

Taehyung isn't even sure if he had a crush on you, he hadn't noticed. he just knows you're cool and he was the one who opposed the girl member addition the least of them all. he was never fully against it

Jungkook has a crush on you in a surprisingly innocent way even though he is almost an adult. he knows it's more of an awe because he just imprinted slightly when you love-bombed him in the very beginning. he grows fiercely protective of you and is the first of all the boys to start calling you sister

Hoseok's crush dies quietly when he reminds himself of the rule that management enforced on them. he understands why it's there and totally agrees with it. he is an incredibly focused and motivated person, so he takes a second look at you, and goes, no, and switches it off for good. he is cautious and quiet around you, and for the longest time you feel like a wild nature photographer that is chilling on the ground, waiting until the antelope loses alert

Jin's crush was more out of curiosity and the whiplash of change. it doesn't last and wouldn't have even if all of a sudden you told him you liked him. instead, he gains respect for you when he sees your striving to work as much as they do and even more. Jin ends up being the most perceptive protector of yours, who clocks your exhaustion first. he approaches you very soon into the shared living and working, and tells you not to run too fast, or you'll burn out

Yoongi doesn't do anything about his crush and isn't alarmed when it doesn't cease. he thinks it's irrelevant. two things are unchangeable: you are not going away. and second: you are off limits. coexisting with his liking of you is easy because he sees you literally every waking minute

actually for the longest time he believes that all the other members are in love with you and it's a norm, and is very surprised when they talk about it and say, uh, no, not really

then he's like, uh oh. while Hoseok's crush floats up and bursts like a bubble, Yoongi's feeling suddenly sinks down and cements itself somewhere deep

you don't call the older ones oppas: you absorb their habit and call them hyungs

the first year together:

you debut all together, after some time during which you grow close and start trusting each other. the first year is tough because it's still friction. would've been much easier if you were a boy, of course.

there are inconveniences, awkwardness and surprises in every aspect of your lives

they need to adjust choreo for you because it needs to reflect on the female presence and make it your collective IT factor

the boys need to kiss all their previous concepts goodbye: that they will be a boy band; that they will all be equal (now there's this 'we have a special factor' dynamic); that they will do exactly what they were promised; that they can fart into each other's faces in the morning as a method of waking up those who don't hear the alarm clock

for some reason they cannot see themselves farting into your face

you prove to become spicy if tackled.

people aren't having it at all. BTS are bullied, ridiculed, ignored and talked down to all the time

the boys gather around Jungkook and focus on the work, trying to ignore the negativity

they are surprised when they find out yet another feature of yours

you laugh off the hate towards you, which you get a lot, but become feral when someone insults them

you hesitate whether to accept me? well, tough luck, i accepted you

because you told yourself "we are stuck together, so I'll better make the most of it" and now you live by this

you feel so lonely; the only girl, the weakest one, the shortest one, different dancing style, different voice, different rhythm, different low points. in order to survive this loneliness, you shut your feelings off and concentrate on getting them on your side

also, that one time you comforted Jungkook gave you an idea that boys are just that - boys, and not stone-cold machines, and might even react positively to your friendly attitude

long story short, you start releasing your tension out on people who dare to insult them

you lash out at radio hosts who speak to them in a condescending way

"you think you guys can be rappers?" "they already are. care to explain your problem with it?"

you bite back at the people who don't believe in them and ridicule them: "let's take it outside? or you just gonna pick on an eighteen year old boy?"

"so, how's that Korean rap boy band going?" - "it's going super well, and not sideways, but your jaw will"

a couple of times the hyung line has to restrict you physically

Seokjin realizes these reactions may be a problem

Namjoon indulges your temper because for the first time, he is partially relieved of his weight. he isn't the only one who speaks English; he isn't the only one who is in the avant-garde

Yoongi sees through your anger and the short fuse and is like, oh shit. she is going to snap sooner or later. he understands this aggression is a response to the tension this work puts on you

he starts taking care of you little by little, like a doctor, but not medically

he does it humanly. a coffee. brings you the hoodie you'd forgotten at the studio. surrenders the window seat to you. pushes you behind when the reporters or staff are male and look at you for too long

you start associating Yoongi with safety

there's a talk about you having to visit a certain hotel to meet a certain "business partner", and before you can respond, the boys go "no" in unison

you realize, even if you aren't all best pals yet, and you've only been with them for six months, and debuted like two months ago, they will protect you at least on the very basic level

it finally kills your stress-induced insomnia

you start feeling like a team

you harmonize the best with Jimin and Taehyung

you start training even more, running yourself into the ground, to prove to them that you have earned your spot here; that they won't regret standing up for you; that they won't have to pull their punches because you're a girl

exhaustion blackouts for which you feel very guilty

your periods sometimes don't come for months because of the stress

you have a specific conversation between the eight of you, where you discuss the situation the company put you in. it was an experiment. it also felt like they were setting you up for failure from the beginning. trying to clash you and them. inconveniencing them by bringing a girl. antagonizing you.

you all look at each other and decide to succeed in spite of the company

from then on, you begin to intentionally learn to live together

"good morning", "how are you?" "did you sleep well?" "let's do it" "you go first please" "you did great". positive sabotage

they start saying "pads" without fainting. start living with the idea that the shower cabin where they stand naked, is the same spot where you also stand naked

they become more okay with touching you when it's not during the training and not a part of choreo

hugs

they do not let you do the dishes or clean the bathroom. for the whole first year you do not do either of those things; they take turns instead of you

how they deal with your stress:

Jungkook is the sweetest and is direct. "What can I do? Why are you crying?" and you cry A LOT. after some time, you stop hiding when you feel like crying, and stop feeling guilty when you get injured. there's no way to escape them anyway. there's SEVEN of them. at any given point of time, you're bound to be walked in on by a member.

Jin talks to you like a wise elder, providing practical advice

Jimin is the fairy that flaps around and tries to distract you or make you laugh so that you stop crying

Taehyung cries with you and offers his shoulder. he is the first who invents the lifehack: how to stop Y/N from crying. he begins sharing his own troubles, and you switch immediately and forget about yours

Hoseok tries to make himself scarce, hoping that someone else will handle you. when there's no other choice, he just sits next to you quietly, horrified

Yoongi provides efficient physical comfort; when there are other people around while you're in tears, he pulls the hood onto your head; if it's due to an injury, he caters to it; if it's just stress and loneliness, he elects to call Jungkook or Namjoon because he himself avoids hugging you

and it's not even embarrassment (sometimes he is so tired that he doesn't even get a boner); he is just distant like that

Namjoon = bear hugs. he is the authentic older brother who lets you cry on his chest

Yoongi is the only one who isn't affected by your rage. when you snap, whether it's at a person, or at an object that inconvenienced you, he doesn't get scared like the others. he is the mediator who pulls you away or picks the broken parts of a chair, and his silent courtesy makes you feel very guilty for the outbursts

his gentle acceptance of your character is the factor that pushes you to practice better control of your emotions

Seokjin also tells you that it's super nice that you are ready to murder people to protect the boys, but it has to stop, because it only creates more trouble

you become known as, at best, the wild card of the band

at worst, you're the attention seeker

in truth, you are in the inherently losing position. no matter what you do, you will be the scapegoat and the target. a girl in a boy group

as the fandom gradually grows, many of the fans see you as the red cloth. if you're quiet, you're boring. if you're loud, you're trying to get attention. if you're smart, you're a know-it-all. if you act silly, you're flirting with your mates. you're ugly. you're too pretty. you're fat. you're too thin. you dance too girly. you sing too high. you eat too funny. you speak too loud. you sleep wrong.

the boys gradually understand that this is your designated spot, and this is the weight you take upon yourself. as they get familiarized with the public and how it perceives you, their love for you grows

what unites you with each of them:

Namjoon: shares everything with you. you are the two smart ones who speak good English. you are also roommates and he is the last person you see before you go to sleep

Seokjin: at the moments of lethal social exhaustion, when you are both drained to zero, you sit in the kitchen with glassy eyes and chew on cornflakes straight out of the pack, without speaking. you are the only one who understands the visceral hatred for people he sometimes has; you recharge off of each other a little

Jimin: similar voices. you are paired for the performances often; and your roles are playful mates. you joke a lot together. with time, you start mimicking his uninhibited charisma, and he starts mimicking your dry, zero-bullshit snappy attitude

Taehyung: he feels like a soulmate. you like the same movies, the same books. he has impressive emotional vulnerability coupled with purely artistic selfishness, and you instinctively want to keep it alive in him. he appreaciates your attention and the fact that you forgive him for anything he does. he feels you treat him like a piece of art

Jungkook: becomes loyal to you. where you go, he goes. what you eat, he wants a bite of. when you fall down, he is on the spot in a flash, picking you up. when you're sick, he is the first to puff his chest and argue with the management to get you at least one day off

Hoseok: for the longest time, you just coexist together, trying to find common things. until you catch him in the kitchen one night, watching youtube and sobbing. he has soft, vulnerable darkness to him. you don't dare to wrap your arms around him like you do with Jungkook as he guards his personal space. the thing that unites you is the mutual respect of people who start growing similar habits. you start eating at the same time. you have similar headaches and both become sadder in November.

Yoongi: is a mystery to you. he is like the mountain that provides you haven when you need it. he has that dry laughter that betrays his maturity. he is ready to give you the shirt off his back, but doesn't let you in. he'll be like, eat my portion and go away ok? you both like your alone time and often prefer to stay in the dorm during the free hours, so you end up in the different corners of the rooms. clashing in the kitchen. you develop huge respect for him because you write a lot of lyrics, and he writes music. you think you should bond about it. Yoongi really starts looking you in the eye after you begin bringing your prose to him, asking to take a look

how you inconvenience them:

the thing that irritates them the most is crying. each member reacts differently to it: Hobi and Seokjin are almost openly annoyed when they realize that you cry too often. Jungkook is always wounded by it. Namjoon isn't very annoyed, neither is Taehyung. Taehuyng also cries often, so he isn't affected by it. Yoongi is always trying to get to the root of the problem. studies your reactions like a scientist. he is the first one to clock your heightened emotional reactivity. he tells the others about it and they ask well, how do we cure it. Yoongi laughs and says, we don't. we deal with it

you are a little messy and even though you work on it, sometimes the natural forgetfulness makes you leave things untidy or your things scattered. Hoseok and Jin are usually the ones to yell about it

loud singing in the shower. you and Namjoon are the main perpetrators

"you are supposed to be the vocalist, not the dying alpaca"

you get stress-induced insomnia and sometimes wander around at night. the only one who isn't mad about it is Yoongi because he works at nights

you get periods (when you do). sometimes you get tired more than them. you are physically weaker, and no matter what you do, or how much you strain yourself, you will never have their stamina. they never show it, but you know they do not run as fast as they could have without you, and it actually becomes a very, very deep sore in you and creates this sort of trauma and complex in you. coupled with the public reactions, it cements the perception of yourself: you're the weak point of the band. the members don't think that. in the second year they realize the concept grows on them. they stand out among mono-gender groups. they are easily recognizable. they have a draw of male fans because of you. in a twist of irony, the more they like your presence, the less you like it.

sooner rather than later you decide to make them get used to your body. you are, after all, bound to get revealing outfits for performances, as well. in the dorm, when it's hot, you walk around in shorts. you don't hide. sometimes you might walk around in the towel after the shower, looking for something. they know they need to get accustomed to it

hair everywhere

the female energy. you chat during breakfast. yelp about things. nag to keep the movie on and not switch the channel

low pain limit

they sometimes fight about 'spoiling you'. "you only bought this xyz food because you know Y/N likes it. but we are all going to eat it!"

trying not to exploit their natural male impulses to give in to you. if they want to ride bikes along the river, and you want to go to the park, they are inclined to go to the park. you start demanding they do what they want

trying to kill the 'it's okay, she's a girl' ideology. it means you bear the same responsibility but also the same agency. you start doing dishes and cleaning the bathroom in the second year.

you are delicate. they are boys. you get blisters on your feet - you do not hide it and whine about it

hair ties everywhere

how they inconvenience you:

brutal jokes that they need to tone down sometimes

pranks aren't always pleasant

SEVEN LOUD BOYS

feet into your face. rude nudging to wake you up (they do not see it as rude. it's just "gentle" wake up shove)

bring you all the wrong food when you're on your period or sick. for some reason, their brains (except Yoongi who seems to be a professional at caring for a woman) switch off like they think girls eat inherently different foods

their FUCKING UNDERWEAR in the shower

SPITTING IN THE MIRRORS AND TOOTHPASTE IN THE SINK

kicking the garbage away from sight: "i tidied up"

burping

shorter hair everywhere

"can you pluck my armpit"

they leave the mess after themselves way more often than you

you can't cope with them when they start playing games or mess around

sometimes they eat too much too fast

"Y/N'll deal with it" because you are tough in public/speak English/read books/are witty/can communicate with women/pretty/a girl

if you do something funny, they never let go of it. now it's the butt of the joke forever

you mention a celebrity crush once and now you're doomed

SNORING

if Seokjin accidentally pushes Hobi, he sways a little. if Seokjin accidentally pushes you, you fly over and crash into the floor. if Namjoon accidentally slaps you during the change of position, your head hoots for the rest of the night. if Jimin wants to catch and tickle Yoongi, Yoongi smacks him and it's over before it began. if Jimin wants to do that to you, he simply lifts you above the ground and you have no way of escaping

"you won't get it, you're a girl"

"sorry, this is balls only zone"

they watch MMA and SCREAM

one day you're the group princess, the other day you're the punching bag

you start boxing because sometimes it's impossible to break out when they get agitated, they forget that even the smallest of them is still very big and heavy against you

how they protect you:

at the airport, they quickly learn that sweeping you off your feet is too easy. they invent the oval walk. they form an oval around you and you walk all together, you hidden by their shoulders from the cameras and hands. you witness Jungkook's cheek getting scratched once, and he just shrugs it off with the most loving look

NO. Y/N isn't going to a "meeting" in a "hotel".

they check the fanmail and remove the creepy letters that are addressed to you. for the first couple of years, while the mail is handled within the group personally, you have no idea what male fans want to do to you. after, as the amounts of mail begin to overflow, and it is delegated to managers, you are left in the state of shock

"this whole time they have been writing poems about my tits??"

they do not expect you to perform on a male level. sometimes you do and they don't mention it either. they treat you as an equal.

Yoongi is the one who fences sexist questions with the sharpness of an assassin. he doesn't smile about it either, doesn't try to turn it into a joke.

"so, Y/N, which member do you find the most attractive?" Yoongi: "why didn't you ask me this question? i have a favourite one, it's Jimin". "Y/N, what diets are you on to keep that pretty body of yours?" Yoongi: "she only consumes human male meat". he makes a point to mention that you write a lot of lyrics, all the time. after Yoongi, the others pick up on this habit and try to focus on your lyrical and artistic input more than your looks and 'female presence'.

Seokjin's version: "y/n, so do you cook for the boys?" he snorts loudly. "you should see the attempts. no-no-no"

covering you when you're in revealing outfits. Hoseok will pretend to suddenly get very interested in the camera lense when you are in a short skirt and need to do splits on a variety show. Jungkook will outstretch his arm point at something for the other members if your top is revealing too much of your cleavage. Namjoon will put a towel on your knees

when the outfits get ridiculous, they won't wait for your protests. Yoongi will be like: is that for Seokjin? no? huh

giving deadly looks to people who clearly try to get too close to you

they secretly enjoy being the 'go through us first' bunch for you. each of them has this soft, gender-bending persona to some extent. but they switch back to very manly when there's a need to keep an eye on you

adjusting their whole existence to your presence: you are never the tail of the walk. at least one pair of eyes is on you when you're not at the dorm

Jungkook definitely jumps a guy at least once to protect you.

when the hopes are low:

while you are still struggling to lure people to your shows, you blame yourself for being the dragging factor. you always think that if they were a purely boyband, they would already be successful. after all, they are called "bulletproof boys", not "bulletproof boys and Y/N".

you express this self-doubt rarely because you don't want to be an even bigger burden. the response is always the same:

yah! who put this nonsense into your head? you shut up, you write like 50% of the songs! what are we supposed to do without you? sing na-na-na for three hours straight?

Jungkook won't find his shoes without you

don't say that, i just learnt to tie a ponytail!

sharing modest dinners

them secretly deciding to eat less; if each of them gives up just one spoonful of soup, you will get more. they see you are growing thin; they gaslight you by saying you're imagining things and the portions are absolutely identical. in fact, they say, you're undereating

sharing clothes, painkillers and bandaids. emergency muscle rubs. incredible survival-level health hacks to stay conscious learnt from great-grandmothers. carrying each other literally. "hold on one more hour, okay?" drinking one can of red bull all together

you teaching Jungkook to sew the holes closed. Yoongi teaching you to fix your night stand. you teaching Jimin to stop the nose bleed. Seokjin teaching you to make a sustainable meal out of two noodles, an egg and a pepper with salt. you teaching Namjoon to pick the lock. Hoseok teaching you to cover the cuts with foundation. you teaching Taehyung to sleep in sitting position. amalgamating into each other.

by the third year they know how many pairs of underwear you have and which colours can't be washed together. you know which foods upset their stomachs and read their exhaustion from the hum

the only time they come even close to exploiting you is when you wander around the city in America, handing out flyers to your show, and they notice that guys accept them eagerly from you. they ask you to tell the passersby that it's a girl group. you agree.

sleeping together on the dance studio floor, only to discover they had huddled around you, warming you with their bodies like badgers. even Hobi and Yoongi.

The sun dipped low over the horizon, painting the waves of Awa'atlu in strokes of molten gold and crimson, as you and Neteyam wandered hand in hand along the secluded stretch of beach that had become your private haven.

Your relationship with him had blossomed like the delicate fan corals in the reef. Steady, vibrant, and full of quiet promises. Neteyam, with his broad shoulders that spoke of endless hours spent training as a warrior, and his lithe, powerful legs that carried him through hunts with effortless grace, had always been your anchor in the shifting tides of clan life. His skin, a deep cerulean etched with the glowing stripes of the Omatikaya, contrasted beautifully with your own turquoise hue, the bioluminescent patterns on your arms flickering in harmony as your fingers intertwined.

He paused to pull you close, his free hand cupping the side of your face, thumb tracing the high curve of your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your breath hitch.

"(Y/N)." He murmured, voice low and warm like the rumble of distant thunder over the sea, his golden eyes locking onto yours with that intense focus that always made you feel like the center of his world. "You've been glowing more each day. Is it the salt air or just knowing you're mine?"

His lips brushed yours in a feather-light kiss, but there was no rush, he savored you, always aiming to draw out every sigh, every shiver.

You smiled against his mouth, your full lips curving as your tail swayed lazily behind you, brushing against his calf. "Maybe it's you, Neteyam. The way you look at me like I'm the only one you see."

Your body leaned into his, the soft swell of your breasts pressing against the firm plane of his chest through the thin weave of your top, the warmth of him seeping into your skin like sunlight on wet sand.

That night, back in the enclosed section from his family marui you shared perched above the lagoon, Neteyam proved once again how attuned he was to your every need.

He knelt before you as you sat on the edge of the sleeping mat, his strong hands callused from bowstrings and reins, gently massaging the arches of your feet, which ached from a long day of weaving nets with the other women. His touch was firm yet reverent, fingers kneading the tension away with slow, deliberate circles.

"Let me take care of you." He whispered, leaning up to press a kiss to your knee, his breath hot against the sensitive skin there.

His hair, braided with feathers that caught the glow of the inner lamps, fell forward, framing his sharp jawline and the subtle flex of his neck muscles as he worked.

You reached down, threading your fingers through those braids, tugging lightly to guide his gaze back to yours.

"You're too good to me, ma'yawntutsyìp." You teased softly, the endearment slipping out like a secret shared with the stars.

He rose then, his body unfolding with the fluid power of a predator at rest, and gathered you into his arms, laying you back against the woven fibers. His kisses trailed from your collarbone down the valley between your breasts, each one lingering, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on your skin. He undressed you slowly, peeling away the damp fabric clinging to your curves, his eyes darkening with desire as he exposed the smooth expanse of your stomach, the flare of your hips adapted for the water's embrace.

"I want to make you feel everything." He breathed, his mouth descending lower, lips and tongue worshipping the slick heat between your thighs until you arched off the mat, cries muffled against your own hand, waves of pleasure crashing through you under his devoted attention.

Days like these wove the fabric of your bond, Neteyam ever the attentive lover, anticipating your moods like he read the currents of the sea. But peace in the Metkayina clan was fragile, shadowed by whispers of RDA scouts and the rising threat of the Mangkwans, those ash-dusted warriors from the volcanic lands who raided without mercy.

One humid afternoon, as the ikrans wheeled overhead in lazy spirals, Neteyam and his father, Jake, led a group of warriors out to scout the neighboring territories.

You watched from the shore, your heart twisting with the familiar worry that came with every departure. Neteyam's form, astride his ikran, cut a striking silhouette against the sky, his queue connected, body leaning forward with commanding poise, the wind whipping his braids like banners of resolve.

"I'll be back before the stars wake." He had promised that morning, sealing it with a deep kiss that left your lips tingling, his hands gripping your waist possessively.

They returned as the sun kissed the water's edge, the warriors' calls echoing across the lagoon.

But this time, they weren't alone.

Flanked by Jake's steady presence, Neteyam dismounted with a captured figure in tow, a female Na'vi, her skin a mottled grey dusted with volcanic ash, her frame lean and scarred from battles, eyes sharp and wary beneath a wild mane of dark hair streaked with red clay. She walked with her head held high, wrists bound loosely by vine cords, but there was no fight in her posture, surrender hung about her like a shroud.

Neteyam sought you out immediately, his steps quick and purposeful across the woven paths of the village.

You met him near the central fire pit, your arms crossing instinctively over your chest, the beads of your necklace clicking softly. He pulled you aside, his hand warm on your elbow, voice pitched low for your ears only.

"Her name's Ravi'ea. She's Mangkwan, one of theirs. We found her scouting our borders alone. She surrendered willingly to me, (Y/N). Said she was done with the ash clan's madness." His golden eyes searched yours, earnest and reassuring, the faint scent of forest wind and sweat clinging to his skin from the flight. He squeezed your arm gently, thumb stroking the inside of your elbow. "Father thinks she might have information. But she's no threat now."

You nodded, though unease stirred in your gut like silt in shallow water.

Ravi'ea's gaze flicked toward you both from where she stood under guard, her lips pressed into a thin line, body tense with the coiled energy of a survivor.

That night, as the clan settled into the hush of darkness, Neteyam held you close in the marui. His body spooned yours from behind, the solid length of him pressed against your back, one arm draped over your hip, fingers splayed possessively across your abdomen. His tail curled lovingly around yours, the tip intertwining in a gentle knot that spoke of deep comfort. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his warm breath fanning over the sensitive skin there.

"You're safe with me." He murmured sleepily, lips brushing your pulse point, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

The weight of him grounded you, chasing away the day's shadows, and you drifted off entwined, the world reduced to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

The next morning dawned with the cry of gulls wheeling over the reef. Neteyam stirred first, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder before untangling himself. Jake's call echoed from outside, sharp, authoritative. Neteyam dressed quickly, his movements efficient, the muscles of his back rippling under his skin as he tied his loincloth.

"Dad needs me. Probably about the Mangkwan female on what to do with her." He turned to you, cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs tracing your jawline with a soft intensity. "I'll be back soon, my love."

Then he kissed you hard, grinning against your lips, the playful nip of his teeth sending a spark through you.

"Don't miss me too much." With a wink, he slipped out, leaving the air humming with his absence.

You sought distraction in the company of friends.

Wandering to the shallows, you found Tsireya and Kiri knee-deep in the water, their laughter mingling with the splash of practicing divers. Tsireya, with her gentle curves and flowing black hair that cascaded like waterfalls, waved you over, her smile bright as polished shell. Kiri, more calm with her slender frame and the subtle glow of Eywa's touch in her wide, knowing eyes, tilted her head in greeting, water droplets tracing paths down her neck.

You waded in, the cool embrace lapping at your thighs, your own body moving with the innate grace of one born to the sea, hips swaying subtly, arms slicing the surface to steady yourself.

"What's the talk of the village?" You asked, voice light but curious, as you three formed a loose circle, tails flicking idly.

Tsireya's expression sobered, her full lips pursing as she glanced toward the central maruis.

"The new one, the Mangkwan. Everyone's buzzing. I overheard my father and Jake last night." She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her hand resting on your arm, fingers cool from the water. "They'll interrogate her first, pull out what she knows about the ash clan's plans. Then decide, let her live freely here, or..."

She trailed off, eyes darkening with reluctance.

"Or kill her." Kiri finished quietly, her voice laced with the weight of Eywa's balance, her fingers twisting a strand of seaweed absentmindedly.

You felt a pang, unexpected and sharp, twisting in your chest.

"Even though she's the enemy... it's hard not to worry. Surrendering takes courage. What if she's just trying to escape her own people?" Your words hung in the air, your brow furrowing, the sun warming the nape of your neck as a breeze tugged at your unbound hair.

The day stretched on, but night brought Neteyam home, his steps heavy on the platform.

He looked tired, shadows under his golden eyes, the lines of his face etched deeper from whatever council had consumed the hours. You rose to meet him, your hands framing his face, feeling the rough stubble of his jaw against your palms.

"What happened?" You asked softly, searching his gaze as he leaned into your touch.

He kissed you then, slow and lingering, his lips tasting of the herbs from the evening meal.

Pulling back, he sighed, vague in his recounting. "We talked it through. She's... useful. They're letting the female Mangkwan live in the clan. Under watch, of course."

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, the exhaustion in his posture melting as he nuzzled your hair.

Relief washed over you like a retreating tide, and you let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing into his embrace. "That's good. No more blood on our hands today."

He guided you to the mat, hugging you close as sleep claimed you both, his tail once again seeking yours in the dark.

The following day was meant to be yours, a date by the shore, planned under the stars the week before, where you'd promised to show him a hidden cove teeming with glowing anemones.

You woke with anticipation bubbling in your veins, your skin flushed with excitement as you dressed in a light wrap that hugged the gentle curves of your waist and hips. But Neteyam entered with apology written in the furrow of his brow, his broad chest heaving slightly from a hurried jog back from the leaders' hut.

"(Y/N), I... I can't make it today." He said, voice thick with regret, his hand reaching for yours, fingers lacing tightly. "Dad and Tonowari assigned me to show Ravi'ea around. Teach her our ways. The reefs, the bonds. She needs to integrate if she's staying."

His eyes pleaded for understanding, the earnest tilt of his head making your heart soften even as disappointment stung.

You swallowed it down, forcing a small smile, your tail drooping slightly behind you.

"Oh. Alright. Duty calls." Leaning up, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of him, earth and sea mingled. "Go. I'll be here."

He bid you goodbye with a lingering touch to your arm, his reluctance evident in the way his fingers trailed away.

You knew he couldn't refuse Jake or the Olo'eyktan. The weight of leadership bound him as surely as tsaheylu.

But as days turned to a week, you began to notice the shift.

Neteyam spent hours with Ravi'ea. Nothing untoward, no stolen touches or heated glances, but he hovered near her like a shadow, his presence a constant orbit. During communal meals, his golden eyes would drift to her across the fire, watching as she mimicked the clan's gestures, her lean body adapting with surprising fluidity, the ash fading from her skin under the sun's relentless kiss.

She ate it up, her sharp features lighting with subtle smiles, her posture opening toward him like a flower to light.

One evening, as the family gathered near the lagoon, Neteyam brought her over, his hand light on her shoulder in a gesture of guidance.

"(Y/N), this is Ravi'ea." He introduced, pride edging his voice, his tall frame standing in what you assume a protective stance beside her, the muscles of his arms flexing as he gestured. "Ravi'ea, my... the one I'm courting."

His eyes met yours, warm but fleeting.

Ravi'ea's gaze raked over you, cool and assessing, her full mouth twisting into a smirk that didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, so you're not mates yet?" She drawled, voice dripping with false sweetness, her tail flicking dismissively as she tilted her head, dark hair cascading over one scarred shoulder.

The words hit like a spear to the gut, piercing the fragile armor of your confidence. Your breath caught, a flush creeping up your neck, your fingers clenching at your sides.

Tsireya, Kiri, and Lo'ak exchanged glances, the air thickening with their shared discomfort at the hidden spite lacing her tone. Before the silence could stretch, Kiri stepped forward, her slender form poised with quiet defiance, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yeah but they will be." She said firmly, a protective edge sharpening her words, her hand squeezing your arm. "She'll be my sister-in-law soon, once the war is over."

Ravi'ea's fake smile widened, teeth flashing white against her lips. "How lovely."

But before Neteyam could respond, his mouth opening with what might have been reassurance, she looped her arm through his, tugging him away.

"Neteyam, you promised to teach me how to swim properly. The currents wait for no one." Her laughter rang out, light and insistent, as she led him toward the water, his body turning with her pull.

Tsireya watched them go, her gentle face hardening into a frown, arms crossing over her chest. Once they were out of earshot, she turned to you, voice low and fierce. "I can sense that she's a bitch, (Y/N). And she's interested in your man. Don't let her games fool you."

You managed only a weak smile, your lips trembling at the edges, the warmth of the evening doing nothing to chase the chill settling in your bones. Your beauty felt suddenly diminished under the weight of doubt, the graceful lines of your arms, the soft roundness of your face, all paling in the shadow of her bold intrusion.

Kiri moved closer, her touch light on your shoulder, trying to infuse cheer into her tone. "I'm sure Neteyam doesn't see her that way. He's just doing his duty, like always."

She squeezed gently, her eyes pleading for you to believe it.

But did he really not?

The question gnawed at you, sharp as coral.

He'd been hovering over her, his attention a constant tether ever since she arrived. Laughter shared during lessons, his hand steadying her on an ilu, small things but they piled like driftwood on the shore of your mind. Do you even mean something to him anymore or has duty woven a new path?

Lo'ak, ever the impulsive one with his mischievous grin and stocky build, pulled you into a sudden hug, his arms strong around your shoulders.

"Hey, I'm the skxawng, remember? Not my brother." He joked, voice muffled against your hair, trying to coax a laugh from you. "So you do not have to worry about him doing stupid things."

You leaned into him, the solid comfort of his embrace a temporary buoy, but your heart clenched tight, a storm brewing beneath the surface of your calm.

The days blurred into a haze of salt-kissed winds and unspoken fractures, your once-vibrant connection with Neteyam fraying like kelp torn by a storm.

You began pulling back, your touches growing fleeting, your laughter rarer in his presence. Mornings that used to start with his arms encircling your waist now saw you slipping from the marui before dawn, your lithe form moving with the quiet efficiency of a hunter avoiding snares. Your skin, smooth and iridescent under the sun's caress, felt heavier now, the subtle sway of your hips as you walked the village paths carrying a new weight of isolation.

You're not even sure if he notices, his days consumed by Ravi'ea's shadow, his broad frame often vanishing into the reef's embrace with her laughter echoing in his wake.

You couldn't ignore the pattern anymore, the way Ravi'ea would slip away first, her lean, ash-flecked legs carrying her toward hidden coves or shaded mangroves, her wild mane bouncing with purposeful strides. Then, a good minute later, Neteyam would follow, his golden eyes scanning the horizon before he trailed her path, his powerful shoulders rolling with each step, the feathers in his braids catching the light like forgotten promises.

Your heart continued to sink, a heavy stone dragging in your chest, each disappearance fueling visions of tangled limbs and whispered betrayals. The worst thoughts clawed at you, his hands on her scarred skin, her lips claiming what was yours, the bioluminescent freckles on your own body dimming in the face of imagined rejection.

One afternoon, as the sun hung high and merciless, casting shimmering reflections on the lagoon, Lo'ak cornered Neteyam near the training sands. Lo'ak's stocky build leaned casually against a palm, but his eyes sharp and probing betrayed his intent.

"So, how are things with (Y/N)?" He asked, voice casual but laced with a brother's scrutiny, his tail flicking idly in the sand.

Neteyam shrugged, his gaze drifting toward the water where Ravi'ea splashed playfully, her form cutting through the waves with agile twists, water sluicing over the taut lines of her back.

"Good." He replied absently, a faint smile tugging at his lips that Lo'ak doesn't know is from the mention of your name or the sight of Ravi'ea in front of him, his fingers absently adjusting the strap of his bow.

Lo'ak's brows arched, an annoyed smirk creeping onto his face. "Are you sure? It seems like you don't even know how she is anymore."

His tone sharpened, probing the crack he'd sensed.

Neteyam's head snapped up, golden eyes flashing with defensiveness, his jaw clenching to highlight the strong ridge of it.

"Of course I know." He snapped, voice edged with irritation, his chest expanding as he drew a steadying breath.

Lo'ak's smile turned mean, his eyes narrowing with cold amusement. "How would you know when you're too busy following the female Mangkwan around like you're smitten with her?"

The words landed like a slap, Lo'ak's arms crossing over his chest, the muscles there bunching with restrained frustration.

Before Neteyam could muster a reply, his mouth opening with a flicker of guilt, Ravi'ea came running from the shallows, her feet kicking up sprays of sand, a bright smile splitting her face. Water droplets clung to her like jewels, tracing rivulets down the curve of her neck and the swell of her breasts, barely contained by her woven top.

"Neteyam! Let's go swim." She called, voice breathless and inviting, her hand reaching out to tug at his arm, fingers lingering just a moment too long on his bicep.

Neteyam hesitated, his eyes flicking back to Lo'ak for a split second, but then he nodded, allowing her to pull him toward the water. His body moved with her, legs striding powerfully, the sun gilding the stripes on his skin.

"Asshole." Lo'ak just rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he watched them disappear into the waves, frustration etching lines across his features.

That same afternoon, duty pulled you all into the skies. A scouting party tasked with patrolling the outer reefs for anomalies, whispers of RDA movements stirring unease in the clan.

You mounted an ikran with a knot in your stomach, the creature's leathery wings unfurling beneath you, your thighs gripping its sides with practiced firmness, the wind already whipping at your unbound hair. Neteyam and Ravi'ea were coming too, their ikrans launching nearby, his form a dark silhouette against the blue expanse, her ash-streaked one veering close to his.

The group fanned out over the jagged cliffs where jungle met sea, the air thick with the scent of salt and sulfur.

Then, chaos erupted, explosions ripping through the air, blasts of fire and smoke blooming like deadly flowers from hidden RDA traps. Your ikran screeched, banking sharply as debris rained down, your heart pounding in your ears. In the frenzy, you prayed Neteyam would follow you, would choose the bond you'd built over the pull of duty or deception.

"Neteyam!" You called out, voice raw with desperation, your arm extending toward him across the divide, the wind tearing at your beads and wraps.

His gaze flickered to you, golden eyes wide with conflict, the muscles in his neck straining as he gripped his ikran's reins. Ravi'ea's mount veered sharply in the opposite direction, her form twisting to signal him, her dark hair streaming like a banner.

If he goes to her, you'll fucking forget him. You do not deserve this, the ache, the doubt, the slow erosion of your spirit.

Your fingers tightened on the saddle, knuckles paling against your turquoise skin.

But he pulled his ikran's head, the beast responding with a powerful beat of wings, following Ravi'ea into the haze of smoke and peril.

The sight hit you like another blast, your vision blurring with hot tears that the wind stung away.

You scoffed, a bitter sound lost to the roar, tears carving tracks down your cheeks as you yanked your ikran the other way, determination hardening your jaw. Safety first, survival second but fate had other plans. Another explosion detonated perilously close, the shockwave hurling you from the saddle, your body tumbling through as it fell from the ikran, your form dropping from the air like a discarded leaf. Pain exploded across your side as you hit the rocky outcrop below, the world spinning in a blur of blue sky and crashing waves, your limbs splaying awkwardly, breath knocked from your lungs.

Lo'ak found you amid the rubble, his ikran landing with a thud, his face pale as he dismounted in a rush.

"(Y/N)." He shouted, voice cracking with fear, his strong hands, rough from climbs and hunts, gently but urgently lifting you, cradling your battered form against his chest.

Your vision swam, ribs throbbing, a gash across your thigh weeping blood that soaked your leg wraps. He mounted swiftly, securing you before launching back toward Awa'atlu, the wind a cold lash against your feverish skin.

Ronal's healing marui was a sanctuary of herbs and soft chants when you arrived, the Tsahìk's skilled hands working over your wounds with pastes that burned then soothed. Bandages wrapped your torso and leg, the fibers tight against the curve of your waist and the length of your limb.

Lo'ak and Kiri hovered nearby, their faces etched with worry. Kiri's features drawn tight, her slender fingers twisting in her lap.

As the pain ebbed to a dull ache, you looked up at them, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. "He chose her."

The words hung heavy, your eyes distant, staring at the woven walls as if they held the fragments of your shattered trust.

Kiri opened her mouth, her full lips parting with a protest, eyes shining with loyalty to her brother. "(Y/N), he—"

But you cut her off, raising a hand, your palm smeared with healing salve, the motion firm despite the wince it drew from your side.

"Tell him that I officially reject his courting and whatever we had? It's over." Your heart turned cold then, a frost settling over the warmth you'd once felt, your beauty sharpened by resolve, the elegant arch of your brows, the determined set of your chin.

You moved out that evening, gathering your few possessions with mechanical precision, your body moving gingerly around the bandages, the sway of your hips muted by pain. The shared section in the Sully family's hut felt like a cage you'd outgrown. You claimed a small, solitary marui on the village's edge, its platform creaking under your steps, the isolation a balm to your wounded pride.

You didn't see Neteyam nor Ravi'ea upon your return, but you could really care less now, the fire in your veins reduced to embers.

Meanwhile, Lo'ak was waiting when Neteyam landed back at the village, his ikran's wings folding wearily, Neteyam's face streaked with soot and exhaustion, a fresh cut above his eye. Without a word, Lo'ak's fist connected with Neteyam's jaw, the crack echoing, blood blooming on Neteyam's lip.

Kiri lunged forward, her lithe arms wrapping around Lo'ak's waist, pulling him back with a hiss. "Stop!"

"Congratulations, asshole." Lo'ak snarled, chest heaving, his knuckles reddening, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "You hurt the woman who was like a sister to us."

Neteyam's eyebrows furrowed, confusion and pain mingling in his golden gaze, his hand rising to wipe the blood, the metallic tang sharp on his tongue. "What—"

Lo'ak smirked coldly, yanking free from Kiri's hold, his posture aggressive. "Oh, and (Y/N) asked us to tell you that she rejects your shitty courting and whatever bullshit of a love you two have going on."

He turned on his heel, stalking away, shoulders squared with finality.

Neteyam could only let out a quiet "what?," the word barely a whisper, his strong frame slumping as the weight crashed down, his tail drooping limply behind him as Kiri looks away from him.

He set out immediately, weaving through the village paths with urgent strides, his legs carrying him to the shore where he found you sitting on a low rock, bandaged and staring at the horizon. The fading light played over your form, highlighting the fresh scars peeking from your wraps, your hair tousled by the breeze, framing the soft contours of your face now hardened by betrayal.

"Baby." He breathed, voice thick with desperation, dropping to one knee beside you, his hand reaching out tentatively.

You stiffened at the voice, all the anger rushing back like a tidal surge, your body tensing, the muscles in your arms coiling as you turned to face him, eyes like sharpened shells.

"Don't fucking call me that, Neteyam. Did Lo'ak and Kiri not tell you I don't fucking want you in my life anymore?" Your words sliced out, laced with venom, your chest rising and falling rapidly, the bandages pulling taut.

"Let me explain." He pleaded, golden eyes pleading, his broad hands gesturing helplessly, the cut on his lip splitting further as he spoke. "I know I was an asshole."

"That's one way to describe it." You shot back, rising unsteadily, your good leg bearing your weight, the pain a distant echo to the hurt in your heart. "If you fell for her, you could have immediately ended it with me instead of stringing me along. I almost died, Neteyam, and you still chose to follow her. You still chose her when I'm the one you're with. You're a fucking liar and could've been a cheater too for all I know."

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away, your full lips pressing into a thin line, the beauty of your features twisted in raw pain.

"(Y/N), please." He whispered, voice breaking, reaching for your arm, but you stepped back, the distance a chasm.

"No. You've done enough." You walked out then, your steps measured despite the limp, leaving him kneeling there, feeling weak, the world tilting under him.

He trudged back to the family hut, lips still bleeding, the metallic taste mingling with the salt of unshed tears. Neytiri spotted him immediately, her elegant form pausing in her weaving, eyes widening in shock.

"Neteyam! What happened?" She gasped, rising swiftly, her tail lashing with concern, hands hovering near his face.

Lo'ak scoffed from the corner, arms crossed, his jaw set defiantly. "I happened, Mom. He's a fucking dick and he deserves more than that punch I gave him."

Neytiri's head whipped toward him, her sharp features paling, bioluminescent spots flaring in agitation.

"Why?" She demanded, voice a hiss of maternal fury.

Kiri answered softly, her voice steady but sorrowful, seated cross-legged on the mat, her slender fingers interlaced. "(Y/N) broke it off with him. She can see how it seems like Ravi'ea is the one he's with because of how much he's always with her. She's had enough, Mom."

Her eyes flicked to Neteyam, filled with quiet sympathy for the situation.

Jake, who had been sharpening a knife nearby, suddenly wore a guilty expression, his strong hands stilling, the blade glinting forgotten.

As Kiri's words hung in the air, he muttered. "(Y/N) thought Neteyam likes the Mangkwan female?"

Lo'ak nodded sharply, frustration boiling over. "We all think that and you can thank your perfect son for that."

"Neteyam, I'm sorry." Jake sighed deeply, running a hand down his face in stress, the lines around his eyes deepening, his broad shoulders slumping.

The others looked at them confused, Neytiri's gaze narrowing suspiciously.

Jake explained, voice heavy with regret. "When we captured Ravi'ea, we thought it was too suspicious that she surrendered easily. But we still took her anyway. The next day, when I called Neteyam to help us and Tonowari interrogate her, we noticed she's keeping something from us. We've also noticed how she only answers Neteyam, her interest in him."

Neytiri grew annoyed, her lips curling in a hiss, understanding dawning like a storm cloud, her lithe body tensing as she shot Jake a glare.

"We planned to make her think as if we believe her and "accepted" her to make her feel more at ease and prone to slip up." Jake continued, eyes downcast. "We asked Neteyam to keep an eye on her all the time and follow her around for any suspicious activities."

Neytiri hissed at Jake, her voice sharp. "Skxawng. Both of you are."

Her tail whipped the air, emphasizing her exasperation.

Jake looked down further, guilt etching his features. "It's why he was always hovering. We couldn't afford to let her unsupervised, and the only way it wouldn't be suspicious to her is if it was Neteyam. We asked him not to tell anyone. It's just between Neteyam, Tonowari, and me."

Lo'ak's annoyance flared, his fists clenching.

"(Y/N) almost died, Dad, because Neteyam chose to follow her. Is that part of the plan also?" His voice rose, body leaning forward aggressively.

"We didn't know nor expect (Y/N) would be in danger." Jake's expression grew even more guilty, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "We knew that was the day Ravi'ea was gonna report back to Varang. She was gonna use the explosion as a distraction to get away, but Neteyam had to follow her to finally catch her in the act. Noticed how she didn't come back with us? Neteyam shot her with an arrow."

Lo'ak's anger deflated, guilt washing over his face as he muttered a quick "sorry" to Neteyam, his shoulders sagging, eyes averting in shame for the punch.

Kiri patted Neteyam's arm gently, her touch light and reassuring, a small smile softening her knowing eyes. "I knew you love her."

Neteyam was quiet all throughout, his heart broken, the weight of misunderstanding crushing him as he stared at the floor, the blood on his lip a stark reminder of the chaos his silence had wrought.

~

The first rays of dawn filtered through the woven walls of your solitary marui, painting the interior in soft hues of pink and gold.

You stirred beneath the thin blanket of kelp fibers, your body still tender from the previous day's injuries, the bandages around your ribs pulling slightly as you stretched. Your turquoise skin gleamed faintly in the low light, the bioluminescent freckles across your shoulders and collarbone twinkling like distant stars awakening. With a deep breath, you rose, your long legs unfolding gracefully, the subtle curve of your hips shifting as you tied back your loose waves of hair with a shell clasp, the motion revealing the elegant line of your neck.

Stepping out onto the platform, the cool morning air kissed your bare arms, carrying the scent of sea salt and blooming night flowers.

There, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his broad chest, was Neteyam.

His golden eyes lifted immediately to meet yours, shadowed by the weight of sleepless nights, his usually proud posture slumped just enough to betray his exhaustion. The stripes on his arms and torso stood out starkly against his blue skin, and his tail hung low, unmoving.

"(Y/N)." He said softly, his voice a gentle rumble laced with hope, pushing off the railing to stand straighter.

Surprise flickered across your features, your full lips parting slightly, wide eyes framed by thick lashes but you schooled it quickly, jaw tightening. Without a word, you brushed past him, your shoulder nearly grazing his as you descended the steps, the sway of your unbound tail a deliberate dismissal. The warmth of his presence lingered like an unwelcome echo on your skin.

He followed, of course, his footsteps light but persistent on the sandy path. "(Y/N), please... can we talk?"

Desperation edged his tone, his hand reaching out halfway before dropping back to his side.

You didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the plea, your bare feet padding firmly toward the village center where the healers gathered for morning preparations.

This became the rhythm of your days.

No matter the weather, Neteyam was there at first light, a silent sentinel outside your door. On clearer mornings, he'd straighten as you emerged, his frame clad in simple woven loincloth, the muscles of his thighs flexing as he shifted his weight. Rainy dawns saw him drenched, water streaming down the sharp angles of his face, plastering his braids to his neck and shoulders, yet he'd still murmur "baby," the endearment soft and aching, like a prayer to Eywa.

Each time, you scoffed a sharp, derisive sound that cut through the air, your eyes narrowing as you swept past, the beads on your anklets clicking in rhythm with your determined strides.

"Save it." You'd mutter once, under your breath, or simply quicken your pace, leaving him trailing like a shadow you couldn't shake.

He shadowed you everywhere now.

To the weaving circles where you helped mend nets, his presence hovering at the edge, golden eyes fixed on you with quiet longing, through the bustling market paths, where he'd weave closer only for you to pivot sharply away, your arms crossing protectively over your chest. In the shallows during afternoon hunts, he'd paddle his canoe parallel to yours, calling out softly over the waves on how he misses you, his voice cracking with raw emotion, broad shoulders glistening under the sun.

You felt a pang of cruelty twisting in your gut each time, your heart clenching at the sight of him, so reduced, his once-confident gait now hesitant, tail drooping like a wilting vine. But the resolve hardened in your chest, a shield forged from betrayal.

He deserved this frost, this distance. Why was he even bothering? He had Ravi'ea now, didn't he? That ash-skinned temptress with her mocking smiles and lingering touches. Bunch of assholes.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the lagoon in fiery oranges, you caught him lingering near the edge of the training sands.

He looked every bit the sad puppy, ears slightly flattened, eyes downcast as he fiddled with a loose thread on his arm guard, his powerful legs crossed beneath him in the sand.

"Baby, just... hear me out." He tried again, voice barely above a whisper, rising slowly as you approached to collect your spear.

You snatched the weapon from the rack, your fingers gripping the shaft tightly, knuckles paling against your skin.

"Don't." You snapped, voice icy, whirling to face him with fire in your eyes. "You think you can just trail after me like nothing happened? Go find your little Mangkwan pet. I'm done being your fool."

The words lashed out, your chest heaving, the curve of your breasts rising with each sharp breath beneath your fitted top.

His face crumpled, golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but he only nodded mutely, stepping back as you stormed away, the sand kicking up behind your retreating form.

Back in the Sully family's marui that night, Neteyam sat in silence on the woven mat, his back against the wall, knees drawn up slightly. The fire's glow danced across his features, highlighting the hollows under his eyes and the tense line of his jaw.

He poked absently at the embers with a stick, lost in thought.

Jake watched him from across the space, his own strong frame settled with a sigh, arms resting on his bent knees.

"Son." He started, voice low and paternal, laced with concern. "You know I could tell her the truth. I can back you up, explain the whole thing about Ravi'ea. It might make it easier."

Neteyam shook his head slowly, his braids swaying with the motion, gaze fixed on the flames. "No, Dad. It's my responsibility to fix it. I kept the secret... I let it hurt her. I have to be the one to make it right."

His voice was steady but threaded with quiet resolve, his fingers tightening around the stick until it snapped.

Kiri and Lo'ak exchanged glances from their spots nearby.

Kiri's slender form curled gracefully, her empathetic eyes soft. Lo'ak leaning back on his elbows, his usual rowdy energy subdued. They hadn't breathed a word to you about the deception, honoring Neteyam's desperate plea the night before: his hands clasped around theirs, voice breaking as he begged. "Please, let me tell her. She needs to hear it from me."

So instead, they offered quiet support, Kiri slipping you herbal teas during your visits, her gentle touches on your arm as she murmured he's not himself without you and to give it time, her words coaxing without pushing. Lo'ak hovering awkwardly during hunts, cracking light jokes to draw a reluctant smile from you, subtly steering conversations away from the bitterness you hurled at Neteyam.

A few days later, you lounged with Tsireya on the sun-warmed rocks overlooking the cove, the waves lapping rhythmically below. Your friend's body stretched out beside yours, her skin shimmering with sea spray, laughter bubbling as she recounted a clumsy fisherman's tale. But your mind wandered, brow furrowing as you gazed at the horizon.

Lately, it was always Neteyam you spotted, his persistent form in the periphery, golden eyes tracking your every move. But Ravi'ea... she had vanished like mist at dawn. No mocking glares, no sly whispers in the shadows.

"Reya." You said suddenly, propping yourself on an elbow, your toned arm flexing, the faint scars from your fall peeking from under your wraps. "Have you seen Ravi'ea around? It's odd... Neteyam's everywhere I turn but her? Nothing."

Tsireya paused, her playful expression sobering, dark eyes flicking to yours with a hint of hesitation. She sat up, crossing her legs, the graceful lines of her back arching slightly.

"I... overheard my Father talking to Mother yesterday." She admitted, voice dropping, laced with unease. "They buried Ravi'ea."

Your heart stuttered, eyes widening in shock, the color draining from your face as you bolted upright, your loose hair tumbling over one shoulder. "Wait, what?"

The words tumbled out, sharp and disbelieving, a bitter twist curling your lips.

So that's it, his lover's gone, and now you're the backup plan?

The thought ignited a fresh wave of resentment, your nails digging into the rock beneath you.

Tsireya reached out, her hand gentle on your knee, but her gaze was steady. "And Neteyam's arrow is the one who killed her. Clean shot, right through the chest during the scouting chaos you guys had. She was a spy (Y/N), trying to fuck us over and signal the RDA. He had no choice."

The world tilted, your breath catching in your throat, shock rippling through you like a tidal wave.

Ravi'ea... dead? By his hand?

All the jealousy, the accusations, they crumbled in an instant, leaving raw confusion and a dawning ache. Without another word, you surged to your feet, your form moving with urgent purpose, bare feet carrying you down the path toward the village outskirts, heart pounding against your ribs.

You found him by the edge of the mangroves, alone on a fallen log, his broad back to you as he hunched forward.

His fingers toyed with the necklace you'd woven for him moons ago, simple beads of shell and turquoise, now clutched tightly in his palm, the cord dangling like a lifeline. The late afternoon light filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns across his striped skin, his tail curled loosely around his ankle in quiet solitude.

"Neteyam." You called, voice trembling despite your resolve, stopping a few paces away, your hands clenching at your sides.

He turned slowly, golden eyes widening in surprise, then softening with a fragile hope.

He rose, the necklace slipping into his pouch as he faced you fully, his height towering yet unthreatening. "(Y/N)?"

"Tsireya told me." You blurted, stepping closer, your chest rising and falling rapidly, the emotion swelling until tears pricked at your eyes. "About Ravi'ea. The spy. The arrow. Why didn't you tell me? All this time, I thought... I thought you chose her over me."

His expression fractured, guilt flooding his features as he closed the distance, hands hovering near your arms.

"I wanted to." He confessed, voice rough with regret, eyes searching yours desperately. "From the beginning. Dad and Tonowari, they made me keep watch on her, pretend to trust her so she'd slip up. It was a plan to catch her out. But I couldn't risk telling you, not when she was watching everyone. I never wanted her, (Y/N). It was all a faux to catch her. It was always you and only you. I'm so sorry I let you think otherwise. I fucked up, baby. Forgive me."

The truth crashed over you, unraveling the knots of anger and doubt.

Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, tracing paths over the high planes of your face, and you shook your head, a sob escaping your lips. "I was so hurt... so stupid."

Neteyam pulled you into his arms then, his strong embrace enveloping you, one hand cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

"No, I was the stupid one." He murmured, tilting your chin up with a tender touch, his thumb brushing away a tear.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first, apologetic, then deepening with the pent-up longing of days apart, his mouth warm and insistent, tasting of salt and sea, your bodies pressing close, the heat of his chest against yours igniting sparks long denied.

You melted into him, hands sliding up his back, nails grazing the firm muscles there as you kissed him back fiercely, the world narrowing to the rhythm of your shared breaths.

When you parted, foreheads resting together, he whispered against your lips, "Baby, I love you. I hope you never doubt that again and I'll make sure you never do from now on."

You forgave him especially with the way he took all the meanness and cold shoulder you've thrown at him for a mistake he didn't do. He gave you your space and never pushed you but made sure you know he's always there, ready to pull you closer if you let him.

You smiled through the tears, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the elegant strength of his features now softened by joy. "I love you too, Neteyam. Let's go home together."

Hand in hand, you walked back to the village as the stars began to emerge, the bioluminescent glow of the reef mirroring the light reigniting in your hearts.

But the thing is, this car is utterly and completely fucking useless. This piece of scrap, this poor excuse of a functional vehicle, is going to send your last working brain cell into oblivion.

You know you’re exaggerating. (It’s actually a 2023 Range Rover with all the fixings—your father wouldn’t allow anything less, but that’s not relevant.)

However, maybe you’re not entirely overreacting; your car has started making a noise that can only be described as a “possessed blender” on the side of a dead road in Namhae Valley.

Namhae Valley is not the place one wants to be stranded. In fact, all you currently hear in the night sky are birds chirping, a wind chime in the distance, and your own thoughts echoing back at you.

It’s driving you to the brink of insanity. Maybe you can ask it for a ride.

This was all your dad’s genius plan: Jagiya, get out of the city. Breathe some fresh air. Take a break before you have a heart attack at a young age.

He’s been saying it for months. Ever since you got your third promotion, started drinking black coffee like it was water, and developed the nervous habit of answering emails out loud before typing them, you were all of a sudden “running on fumes and overworked.”

So you got shipped off to Namhae Valley like a psych ward patient waiting for admission. Working remotely from a rental home that smells vaguely like lavender and chai tea. You’ve started wearing linen and eating things with roots.

Technically, it’s all going okay. You’re only kind of losing it.

But this car situation is really throwing a wrench in the serenity you’ve tried so hard to maintain. 

You sigh loudly to yourself and open your door, the k-pop you were blasting coming to a full dead stop. Just silence for miles. 

Once you round the hood, it becomes pretty clear there will not be anymore driving tonight. Besides the weird rattling sound your car won’t stop emitting, when you do finally pop the hood like you’re a seasoned mechanic of ten years, smoke erupts from the pipes, nearly causing you to hack up a lung. This is great. Fucking great.

If you die from smoke inhalation, there will be no one to save you. Perhaps the birds from earlier will sing a sweet song as you drift off into the next life. 

Okay, no need to panic. You pull out your phone from your back pocket, manicured fingers typing into Google “auto repairs nearby in Namhae Valley.” 

Not many options open at this hour. There’s one three miles away but it’s closed for the night. As you scroll, you see a few more—all closed, because why would anything go smoothly for you? — until you finally stumble upon Jeon’s Auto Repair, which is only a convenient five minute drive away from where you are.

No reviews. No website. There’s a phone number and a blurry street view image of a garage that looks like it might also sell fireworks or questionable DVDs.

Nothing says ‘peaceful break’ like your car breaking down in a town where there’s a high probability the local mechanic could also be the mayor. 

You sigh loudly into the world, giving the hood a scolding slap like that’ll teach it how to behave, and angrily get back in your car. It’s worth a shot to see if this thing can at least get you to the repair shop. 

Currently, you’re on hour three of mentally drafting a novel-length apology to yourself for ever thinking this break was a good idea. Or that your father should've been trusted with any kind of life advice. 

As you drive down the windy road, you realize how terrifyingly dark it is with zero streetlights. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, muttering a few curses under your breath. You flinch when the car lets out another guttural wheeze like it’s being exorcized in real time. 

Up ahead, you spot a flickering sign that’s slightly crooked, barely lit by the neon LEDs attached to it: Jeon’s Auto Repair. 

It looks horrifying, to put it so very nicely. 

You pull into the front parking lot, gravel and dirt crunching beneath your tires. There’s a few cars scattered around that may or may not be abandoned. The little house itself is peeling, red paint rusting down the door. The only real source of light is coming from an office inside—a small glass window glowing a yellow hue behind a screen door that’s definitely seen some things. 

You sit in your car for another second, engine still groaning like it’s on its last leg of life, and consider flooring it down the highway back to Seoul. 

The only way you’ll be able to do that though, is with a working car. So Jeon’s Auto Repair Shop it is. You shudder, unbuckling your seatbelt and snatching up your designer purse from the passenger seat, and step into the brisk night air. 

You walk toward the shop cautiously, as if you were approaching a wild animal on the loose. The outer door creaks when you push it open, and you’re greeted with… absolutely no one. 

The room is barren; fluorescent lights hum above a counter, a single plastic chair in the corner next to a fake plant. On the wall, there’s a dusty calendar from 2021 and a hand-painted sign that says “NO REFUNDS.” 

You’re starting to become highly suspicious that this is an actual auto repair store. There’s no footsteps, no sounds of work from the garage, not even the ghost of a receptionist. 

Clearing your throat, you tap the metal bell on the counter. The sound bounces off the walls and ricochets back to your ears. 

Nothing. 

You tap it again. Your eyes dart to the side hallway, kind of expecting someone to jump out with a wrench and a chainsaw. Or maybe an old man in overalls who smells like cigarettes. 

You hit the bell one more time. Does the owner even want customers at this point?

This is ridiculous. You’re about to hit the bell again, planning your scalding google review in your head, when a clearing of a man’s throat slices through the room.

Your body jolts backwards, immediately looking for the source of the sound. When you look left, you see a man, leaning casually in the shadow of the garage door. 

A very large, very beefy man. All you can make out at first is his silhouette: broad shoulders, thick biceps, one hand resting on the doorframe like he makes thirst trap TikToks for a living. 

Then he steps forward and—fucking shit. 

He’s tall, taller than you and most other things. He has dark hair that curls slightly into the nape of his neck. There’s a lip ring hanging off his bottom lip that sparkles when it catches on the shitty overhead light. His overalls are buckled only on one side. Clearly this man has never known shame. 

The wife beater underneath is grease-stained, clinging to his sculpted body. You notice a tattoo sleeve creeping down one arm, black ink winding across veiny forearms that are—not to be dramatic—downright pornographic. 

You gulp loudly. What did you come here for again? Right. That stupid car of yours. 

His lips twitch, head tilted slightly towards you. “Can I help you, princess?” 

Yes you can, Mr. Sexy Mechanic, you just need to remember how to speak in coherent sentences 

“I.. I have a car.” 

No shit, Sherlock. 

“Good start,” he deadpans. His voice is deep, a little scratchy. He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps straining as he waits for you to elaborate. 

“No, I mean—” you fumble. “I have a broken car, I think. It made a sound.”

“Uh-huh,” he nods slowly. “You’ll have to be more specific, princess. Most cars make sounds.”

You nearly melt into a puddle on his dirty floor. You’re going to walk straight into oncoming traffic. Maybe your Range Rover will hit you and put you out of your misery.

You blink fast, struggling to keep yourself composed. “It sounded like… grinding? Or rattling a little?” 

He raises his eyebrows at you. Takes a thoughtful once-over—you note that he pauses at your legs, your hips in these admittedly very flattering jeans (thank god your other pair was dirty.) His eyes meet yours again shamelessly, "That so?” 

You ignore the obvious ache in your pussy. 

“I’m not a mechanic,” you retort defensively. “I work in marketing.” 

“Yeah?” He shifts a little on his feet. “That why you brought your engine to its knees?’ 

“Are you insulting my driving?” You gape at him, mirroring his pose and crossing your arms over your chest. Obviously not to make your tits look bigger or anything like that. 

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “Guess I’ll have to find out what’s wrong with her tomorrow.”

“Her?”

“The car.” A delicious grin spreads across his features. “Unless you name your car after a boy, which in that case… bold move.”

You stare at him blankly. “My car doesn’t have a name.”

“Shame.” He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, pushing off the doorframe and walking closer. His boots stomp against concrete. “She deserves a name if she’s gonna break down.”

You feel the need to correct him. “She is a very expensive vehicle that was working perfectly fine until tonight.”

“Uhu.” He stops in front of the counter, resting his forearms on it. You do your best not to hone in on the vein protruding. Your nostrils catch a whiff of motor oil and a fading woodsy scent. “And what exactly was she doing before she decided to quit on you?”

“I told you. She was making a noise.”

His lips twitch. “Super helpful, thank you.”

You huff a breath. Your fingers find the diamond ring on your right hand, a family heirloom, twisting it around and around.  It’s a nervous habit you've had since you got the damn thing. “Grinding and rattling is all I’ve got.”

He raises an eyebrow. God, he’s fucking cocky. You’re a girl—did he expect you would walk in here with a plethora of knowledge on expensive cars? The only subject you contain vast amounts of intel on are wine pairings and jewelry brands. 

“I’m not a mechanic, I don’t have the vocabulary for this,” you snap. 

“Clearly.” His eyes track the way your nimble fingers twist your ring. “So grinding and rattling? At the same time?”

You roll your eyes. Men making a mockery out of you is not something you take lightly—no matter how undeniably sexy he is. “I don’t know. It happened pretty fast.”

“And where were you when it started?”

“Driving.”

He blinks. “Well, duh. Figured that much.”

Your face burns, eye twitching at his mockery. “On the road, smartass. The empty one with no lights. Which by the way, how fucking helpful that this town doesn’t believe in streetlights.”

The man lifts his shoulder in a shrug, something smug playing about his mouth. “Budget cuts.” 

This stupid fucking town. Your father will be getting a lengthy phone call from you tomorrow morning. 

“So you were driving on a dark road, and she started making a grinding-rattling-kind-of noise. Was the check engine light on?” he chuckles. 

You pause. Twist your ring three more times. Truthfully, you don’t know a damn thing about cars, especially not your own. In Seoul, your father has a mechanic on retainer for your Range Rover, so this is uncharted territory. “Maybe?” you mumble.

“Maybe?”

“I don’t know what the fuck an engine check light is or whatever.”

“You don’t—” He stops himself, dragging a hand down his face. When he looks back at you, there’s a mix of amusement and disbelief in his eyes. “Okay. Was there smoke?”

“Uh.. a little. When I opened the hood.”

“Did you turn the engine off first?”

You twist your ring so hard it nearly catapults off your finger. “…Should I have?”

He laughs smugly. Damn him. Damn mechanics and their misogynistic beliefs. You may not know a lot about cars, but you know how to use Excel. “Jesus Christ. Okay. So we’ve got mystery grinding, possible rattling, a possible check engine light, and you opened the hood while it was still running.”

“And?” 

By the look on his face, all the things he listed are not ideal for your expensive car.

“And your car’s probably overheated. Could be the cooling system, could be a belt, could be about fifteen other things I won’t know until I actually take a look at her.”

Phew. At least there’s still a sliver of hope your car can be fixed. You smile sweetly, twirling your hair around your finger. “So can you fix it tonight?”

“Tonight?” He glances at his watch. It’s a worn silver piece of jewelry that looks like an heirloom. “Princess, it’s late. I’m off the clock.”

“But—”

“Tomorrow,” he says firmly. “I’ll fix it first thing in the morning.”

Your stomach drops to your feet. “But-but I need my car.”

“Yeah, well.” he shrugs, entirely unbothered by your dilemma. “She needs a mechanic. Guess we’re both disappointed.” 

“Wha-but—” Your brain struggles to make sense of the nonsensical event unfolding in front of you, but yet again, all you see is a very sexy mechanic, a smug smirk, and no solution to your problem. “So what am I supposed to do? Just… walk back to my place?”

He tilts his head as though doing the math himself. “Possibly. How far is it?”

“I don’t know. I drove here.” You tap your foot impatiently.

“How could we forget the car that doesn’t work?” he snorts, pulling a clipboard from the stack and jotting down a few things. 

There’s some not-very-nice words lingering on the tip of your tongue, but you catch yourself. Deep breaths. Your therapist would not approve of where this conversation is heading. “I just—I can’t be without a car. I have to go home. I have things to do.”

“In Namhae?” He looks up from his scribbling. “At ten at night?”

“Well, no, not tonight, but tomorrow I—” you falter. You actually have nothing to do tomorrow… Or the day after. Pretty much the whole reason why you got shipped off. “That’s not my point.”

“And so then what is your point?” He balances the clipboard on his hip, eyeing you with those beady little orbs that are just as sultry as disappointing. 

“The point is I need my car!” 

The words burst out of you, like a kid went berzerk on a pinata and candy exploded everywhere. Wonderful. Spectacular, even. You’re losing it. You are fully losing it in front of this smug, tattooed, annoyingly sexy mechanic who thinks you’re the most useless human being he’s ever encountered.

You might be proving him right. 

“Okaaaay…” he says slowly as though he’s talking to a spooked animal. “But like I said, you’re not getting it tonight. So unless you plan on sleeping in my waiting room—which, fair warning, that plastic chair is not comfortable—you’re gonna need a ride.”

Glancing over at the sad little plastic chair in the corner, you flinch. “I’ll call an Uber.”

He laughs. Laughs so loud you swear you feel the floor shake and hear the windows rattle. “An Uber? Princess, this is Namhae Valley, not Gangnam. We’ve got one taxi driver and he goes to bed at nine.”

Shit. 

“Then I’ll…” You rack your brain, twisting your ring on your finger so fast you’re surprised there’s no marks yet. “I’ll call someone.”

“Who?” He sets down the clipboard, genuinely interested in which poor civilian you’ll conjure up at this hour.

Unfortunately, you only know your neighbor, her three cats, and now this mechanic who’s name you somehow still don’t know.  

“I don’t know! Someone!”

He flashes a grin, pearly whites on full display. “You got a lot of friends in town?”

You sigh. “No.”

“Family?”

“All in Seoul.”

He crosses his arms, bicep veins bulging like they’re begging to be ogled at by you. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna give you a ride to wherever you’re staying, you’re gonna come back tomorrow afternoon and I’ll tell you what’s wrong with your fancy car.”

You want to retaliate and argue it’s not even that upper echelon, but it kind of, maybe is. It’s a fucking 2023 Range Rover, for crying out loud, and it costs more than most people’s rent.

He moves toward the door of your car, tugging it open. You reach in, pulling out your bag. For a moment, you debate taking any other valuables with you, but this mechanic doesn’t look like he cares for your Dior lip glosses. 

“How much this bad boy worth, hm? Hundred million won?”

You close the door shut. “I didn’t buy it. My dad did.”

“‘Course he did.” He starts migrating towards the rusty front door, turning lights off in his wake. You mindlessly follow, considering the man is now all you have as a means of transportation. “Let me guess, he also got you that bag?” 

You clutch your Louis Vuitton bag closer to you. “What’s wrong with my bag?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. If you’re into walking billboards.”

You gasp. You shouldn’t be shocked, because why would anyone in Namhae appreciate fine leather? Seoul is where your heart is, where your passion is. You need to get back. 

“Just saying,” he continues, enjoying himself as he leads you toward a run-down truck. “You show up here in your Range Rover, waving around your designer bag. It’s a small town. People are gonna talk.”

There’s not a single word that leaves your mouth. Instead, just a puff of air. A gust of breath in sheer shock at what he’s saying. “If you’re going to say things like that, I should at least know your name.”

He stops in front of the truck—if you can even call it that. It’s a pickup truck. Rusty, dented, appears to be held together by duct tape and prayers. The paint is chipping in certain places, but it’s clear he’s done his best to try and patch it up. “Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

You stare at the vehicle. “You cannot be serious.”

His brows furrow. “That’s… my name?”

“No, you dimwit, the car!” Your arms flail as you gesture toward the piece of metal. “This is what you’re offering me a ride in?”

“She runs great,” he says, patting the hood affectionately. “Unlike your car.”

“She looks like she’s going to give me tetanus.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through his dark brown tresses. God, if he wasn’t constantly finding new ways to antagonize you, you would totally jump his bones. Well, actually, that’s a complete bluff on your part. If he gives you the chance, you’ll show him how they fuck in Seoul. “Princess, you’re gonna be fine. I promise my truck won’t ruin your rich girl aesthetic.”

And here’s the thing that’s really messing with your head: no one talks to you like this. No one dares. You’re used to people nodding along, agreeing with you, gently suggesting alternatives but never outright mocking you or your very reasonable concerns about tetanus. Your colleagues don’t do it. Your father definitely doesn’t. Even your therapist treads carefully, like you're held together by glue and used popsicle sticks.

But not Jungkook. 

“Come on,” He walks around to the drivers side. He pulls the door open with a metal screech that makes you cringe, then hauls himself up into the seat. The key turns in the ignition and the engine roars to life. The truck shudders, letting out a noise that would be concerning if you weren’t with a mechanic. 

He notices your reaction and rolls his eyes for the nth time. “Relax. She’s just got character.”

You mutter unintelligible, hateful words under your breath, quiet enough so that he can’t make them out. The last thing you need him doing is swerving this car off the road, killing you both in a fit of rage. Reaching for the handle, you tug open the passenger door, and meet your next dilemma (as if the pile of the ones currently on your plate weren’t enough). The seat is high. Unnecessarily high. And you’re wearing Prada kitten heels because even in your stressed, overworked state, you weren’t raised in a barn.

You look down at your shoes, then up at the seat, then back at your shoes. The math isn’t mathing.

“You gonna stand there all night?” he calls over the rumble of the engine. 

“Figuring it out,” you retort through gritted teeth. Gripping the door frame, you place one Prada-covered foot on the small step, testing it. The heel slides like the bottom of it was slathered in baby oil.

“Jesus Christ,” you hear him mutter, and then the engine cuts off. 

Great. Sexy mechanic is so deeply disturbed by your antics he won’t give you a ride anymore and you’ll be left as dinner for the wild animals. 

“What are you—”

He rounds the front of the truck with long strides. “Move.”

“I can do it myself—”

He snorts. “Princess, you’ve been standing there for thirty seconds looking at this truck like it’s the fucking crack mobile. Move.”

“It’s ‘cause I’m wearing heels—”

“I can see that,” he says, and before you can protest even further, his calloused hands are on your waist. They’re big, take up the expanse of your waist. Warm, too. He lifts you and sets you in the passenger seat like you’re his weekly groceries. 

You catch a glimpse of his tattoos up close. Black ink that disappears under his wife beater, although you can make out lines on his chest. Your fingers itch with the desire to trace them. 

“There,” He steps back. His hands leave your waist and you miss the weight of them. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

You gape at him. More like staring, but that’s neither here nor there. Mostly, you’ve just forgotten how to form words because you’re too busy processing the fact that he just manhandled you into his truck and your panties are soaking through your jeans. 

“You good?” he asks, hand on the door. 

“Fine,” you gulp. “I’m fine. Ready for takeoff, captain.”

“Uhu.” He smirks lightly, and you swear he knows what you’re thinking. “Seatbelt, princess.”

He slams the door shut before you can respond. The truck comes back to life and he shifts into gear, arm flexing as he moves the stick shift. Under the dim streetlights, his tattooed forearm keeps you plenty distracted. His long fingers tap the steering wheel, drumming to whatever tune is in his head. 

You perform a quick sweep of his side profile. His jaw is sculpted, top teeth fiddling with his lip ring. You can see the definition in his shoulders, his built chest rising and falling with each breath. There’s a small grease stain near his collarbone that you want to lick off him.

It’s silent for miles, save for the sound of his humming and the creak of the truck as it drives along the road. You want to ask questions, want to know more about this dangerously mysterious man. You doubt he’ll answer anything you ask, but curiosity swells inside you. 

But it’s not you who breaks the silence. It’s him. “So where is the princess from?”

You bristle. It was funny the first few times, but now you’re decidedly offended by this pet name he’s branded you with. The only time he should be calling you princess is in bed, and right now, there’s about a 2% chance of that happening. “I’m not ‘princess.’ My name is [Y/N].”

He raises a brow, tossing you a side glance. “I know. But I think princess suits you more.”

“Yeah, well I’m not some frilly little princess. I work hard where I’m from.”

“Which is… where, exactly?”

“It’s just—” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m from Seoul.”

He makes a sound of indignation. “Not shocking.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re entirely aware you’re not exactly small town material. You get stares when you go to the farmers market, and awkward questions at the post office. But you’re not going to lose more pieces of yourself than your job has already taken from you. 

“It just explains a lot. The Range Rover, the bag, the whole,” he gestured at you with one hand, “thing you’ve got going on.”

“There’s no thing.”

“So what are you doing out here then?” He turns onto another dark road, this one somehow even more poorly lit than the last. “Seoul princess slumming it in Namhae?”

Sighing, you reply, “My dad wanted me to chill out.”

“From what? Too many yacht parties?” he jokes. 

“I work a real corporate job,” you snap at him, and that makes his shoulders slump. “I got promoted three times this year, working crazy hours, and my dad was worried I was going to have a heart attack before thirty, so he made me take a break. Happy?”

He nods slowly, soaking the information in. He probably doesn’t even believe you, if you had to guess. “Three promotions? Sheesh.”

“Yeah, well.” You scoff. “Some of us have to work for our money.”

That elicits a chuckle from him. “Okay, princess. Sure.” 

“If you offered me a ride just to make fun of me, you can drop me off right here.”

“Here?” He takes a look at the darkness outside the window. There’s trees, more trees, and what could be a rice field if there weren’t so many goddamn trees. “You gonna walk the rest of the way in your little heels?”

“I could.”

“Princess, you cannot handle Namhae at night. You’d last five minutes before something spooked you.”

You take another look out your window. Unfortunately, he’s right. 

You don’t have a comeback for that. Sitting back in your seat, you glare out the windshield. It’s silent again for a few minutes, just you trapped with your thoughts, none of which are productive or useful. 

You’re desperate for a distraction. “Have you always lived here?”

“Yep.”

Jungkook, ever the charmer. “And you… like it?”

“It’s home.”

“Right.” It’s clear he has no interest once you’re the one interrogating him, but you don’t care. “Is the shop yours?”

The muscles in his jaw clench. “Was my dad’s. Now it’s mine.”

By the look on his face, you don’t press. “It’s nice that you kept it going.”

“Yeah, well, someone had to.”

More silence descends upon you. This is like pulling teeth. Sexy, tattooed teeth. 

“Do you ever think about leaving?”

“Nah.” He turns onto another street, and you recognize it as the main road that you take to get to their version of ‘downtown.’ “Got everything I need here.”

“Everything?” 

“Food, work, a bed.” He lists them like he’s checking them off an errands list. “What else is there?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You roll your eyes. “Culture? Excitement? More than one restaurant?”

“We have three restaurants, mind you.”

“Oh, wow. Three whole restaurants. Namhae, calm down, you’re too much for me.”

Jungkook laughs at that heartedly, and in that moment, you decide that you don’t just like the sound—you love it. 

“Hey, I think it’s better than working 70 hour weeks and stress-buying designer clothes.”

“Whatever,” you huff. Actually, you did stress-buy half your closet. Especially that Roberto Cavelli dress you still haven’t found a reason to wear. 

Your head lolls back against the headrest, eyes trained on the rows of trees passing by. It’s peaceful at this hour. Even if it’s not the vacation you dreamed of, it was still nice, and you could appreciate what it had to offer. 

Surprisingly enough, Jungkook’s truck smells like pine, and it’s fairly clean besides the few gum wrappers lying around. You’re noticing all the little things about him, filling into places in your brain that will no longer be of use when you leave Namhae in a month. 

“How’s dating here?”

What a weird question. Why did you ask that. Oh god. You had let your mind wander too far and it took you to a place you should have never gone. 

He side-eyes you. “Huh?”

“I mean, small town, probably everyone knows everyone, so I was just curious—”

“It’s good,” he swiftly cuts you off. “I like casual things.”

Oh. 

“Me too,” you rush to agree, which is not… exactly true? You’ve had plenty of relationships, most of them with men that your father approved of. Men that were wealthy, driven, working jobs like yours. Lately, however, everything’s been too busy for anything serious, so casual has been the default.

The truck rolls to a stop at a red light. The only red light you’ve seen this entire drive. You don’t need to look at him to feel the way his eyes drag up and down your figure. You stare straight ahead. 

“You a princess in bed too, or…?”

“Excuse me?” you sputter, mouth falling open. 

“Just curious,” he repeats your words. “If the high maintenance thing extends to all areas of life.”

 What are you supposed to say to that? That you’re absolutely not a princess in bed, that you’re adventurous and spontaneous and a mean dominatrix. 

You can’t say that because: a) It would sound defensive as hell, b) He’d probably laugh and c) You’d be lying because you have no idea what you are in bed anymore. It’s been a while since your last situationship fizzled out.

“That is so inappropriate.”

“You started it by asking about my dating life.”

“I wanted to know what to expect, asshole.”

“Mhm.” The light turns green and he accelerates, a big goofy smile plastered on his face. “So that’s a yes on the princess thing.”

“Shut up.”

“Why? It fits.” There’s a challenging lilt evident in his tone. “Or are you gonna prove me wrong?”

It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you pull back, you think he’d ride in silence altogether. But if you give in… he might give you just what you want. 

“I’m very fun.”

“Yeah?” 

“I do fun things.”

His lips twitch. “Like what?”

“In Seoul. I go out, party, get drunk with my friends,” you say. It’s been a while since you’ve partaken in those things, but you still do them like the rest of the adult population. 

“Mmm.” He nods. “Porbably off bottles that costs thousands of won, I bet.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re shocked they don’t fall out of your head. “Not everyone drinks expensive stuff.”

“You definitely do.”

“Sometimes,” you lie. 

“Here in Namhae,” he exhales. “We drink beers.”

“I like beer,” you protest, frowning. Beer and fried chicken is the only unhealthy delicacy you enjoy. Sue a girl. 

“What kind?”

“IPAs are good.”

He throws his head back, shoulders shaking as he barks out an unaffectionate laugh. “IPAs are for pussies, princess.”

“No, they’re not—”

“They’re fancy craft beers that taste like plant water and cost twice as much as regular beer. That’s pussy beer.”

A rebuttal lingers on the tip of your tongue, but before you can say another word, he pulls up in front of your rental. It’s an adorable, quaint townhouse at the end of a quiet street. The house is painted a soft lavender color and the owner placed flower boxes in the windows that you haven’t managed to kill yet. Miracle of miracles.

He slows to a stop in front of it, engine rumbling low, and lets out a low whistle. “Nice lil place you got, princess.”

“Mhm.” You twist your ring again and again. On the one hand, you can enter your home, sip a glass of wine, and go right to bed. Maybe get in a little time with your rose toy. But on the other hand… well, your other option is sitting cozy in the driver's seat. 

This is stupid. This is so stupid. But you say it anyway: “Wanna come inside?”

He turns to look at you, one eyebrow arched. The smirk is gone, jaw clenching. His eyes drag over your face. “Whaddya want me to do if I come in?”

Oh fuck. He’s calling your bluff but you’re in too deep now to untangle yourself from the mess you’ve made.

You smile at him innocently. Your hand comes up to twirl a strand of hair around your finger. You know you’re laying it on thick, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “We could drink tea.”

His jaw ticks. “Yeah? You like tea?”

You nod, batting your eyelashes. “Love it. It’s very relaxing.”

He grunts in response to that. 

You drone on, “I have chamomile, lavender, green tea—”

His hand lands on your thigh. It’s heavy and warm and his fingers splay across your skin, just above your knee, thumb pressing into the inside of your thigh through your jeans. So big it practically takes up your entire leg.

His eyes are dark, locked on yours. “If I come into your house, we’re not drinking tea.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Oh yeah? What would we do?”

His hand slides higher. Not by much, but enough that your thighs involuntarily clench. The corner of his mouth lifts.

“I’d get you out of these tight little jeans,” he says, casual as anything, like he’s talking about the weather or those stupid teas you brought up. “Spread you out on whatever expensive furniture you got in there. And I’d make you admit you’re a princess everywhere… including in bed.”

Oh good god.

Your thighs clench again, trapping his hand between them. You can feel how wet you are, how your body is screaming yes, please, take me upstairs right now and have your way with me while your brain tries to maintain some composure.

His eyes drop to where your thighs have trapped his hand, grin turning downright filthy. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Then he pulls his hand away. A whimper escapes your lips  at the loss of contact. 

“But I gotta head home,” he says, settling both hands back on the steering wheel. “Long day tomorrow. Your car’s not gonna fix itself.”

You stare at him. “Are you—you’re serious?”

“Deadly.” He looks over at you nonchalantly, like you’re now nothing more than a pest in his truck. “I’ll see you tomorrow in the afternoon for your car.”

You’re hot. You’re rich. You get whatever you want, whenever you want. Men fall over themselves to get your attention. You’ve had guys offer to fly you to Jeju for the weekend, buy you jewelry, take you to Michelin-star restaurants. But this conceited mechanic in his beat-up truck with his stupid tattoos and wife beater and overalls just turned you down. 

It makes you want him even more. 

You fumble for the door handle. “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow.”

“Need help getting down?”

“I’m fine,” you quickly argue, because if he touches you again you might actually burst into flames. You push the door open and slide out, your heels hitting the pavement.

Alas, you completely disregard the height, and you stumble out of the vehicle, catching yourself on the truck’s frame. Very suave of you. 

“Careful, princess,” he says, but you can hear the laughter in his voice. 

You slam the door shut, harder than necessary, and step back, trying to salvage whatever dignity you have left. Jungkook watches you through the window. When you turn fully to face him, he flashes you a grin that’s all pearly teeth and dimples, and you feel your panties literally get wetter.

Then he pulls away, truck rumbling down the quiet street, taillights disappearing into darkness. 

For a solid thirty seconds, you stand there, knees weak, pussy throbbing, utterly dumbfounded. What the actual fuck just happened?

You’ve been rejected once before (okay, maybe twice, but who’s counting?). Usually it’s a polite “I’m not looking for anything serious” or “I don’t think we’re compatible.” But this was far worse. This was a promise of what could happen if you came back tomorrow. If you played along.

You need to have him. It’s a carnal desire now. Like, physically, desperately need to. 

Your hands shake as you unlock your front door, stepping into your lavender and chai scented home that feels emptier than when you left it. Flopping down on the pristine couch, you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow afternoon, you’re showing up in the shortest fucking skirt you packed.

Jungkook loves IPAs. Fuck anyone who says they’re pussy beers.

In fact, the minute he steps through his rusty apartment door, he opens up his fridge and plucks one from the side. He deserves it after tonight, anyway.

Jungkook doesn’t live in luxury. It’s quite the opposite. His studio apartment is cramped. The walls are beige and peeling in the corners, and there’s a futon that doubles as his couch and bed shoved against one wall. His kitchen is basically a microwave and a mini fridge. The bathroom door doesn’t close all the way, and there’s a persistent water stain on the ceiling he’s been meaning to paint over for six months.

It’s not much, but it’s his. 

He chugs a few sips of the IPA—because yeah, he does like them, and fuck anyone who says they’re pussy beers—before settling onto his futon. It creaks under his weight, springs adjusting to hold him. He grabs his phone from his pocket, clicking through it aimlessly.

Instagram. Nothing interesting. A few DMs from girls he’s hooked up with before, asking what he’s doing tonight. He ignores them. He moves onto YouTube. Closes that too. Opens a mobile game he hasn’t played in weeks. Closes that with a groan. 

He’s trying to distract himself, he really is, but fuck. You’re so fucking hot. Genuinely, stupidly hot in a way that has him shifting on the futon, adjusting himself in his overalls because his dick has no chill tonight. It’s not just that you’re pretty—though you definitely are— but it’s the way you dress, maybe. He knows you’re unattainable for someone like him.

A girl like you doesn’t end up with a mechanic who lives in a studio with a water-stained ceiling.

But never mind all that—the things he would do to you in bed. 

He’d start slow. Peel those tight jeans off inch by inch, watch you squirm under his hands. You’d probably try to stay composed at first, all princess-like, but he’d wear you down. Get you on your back, spread those thighs, and bury his face between them until you forgot your own name. And you would taste good, he just knows. Sweet and sensitive. Then he’d flip you over, get his hands on your hips, and—

His phone buzzes in his hand and it almost flies out of his hand as if it’s on fire. 

It’s a work reminder he set for tomorrow. 

Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face. He’s pissed at himself for not just saying fuck it and following you through that door when you offered. He could’ve had you pressed against your wall within thirty seconds. Could’ve kissed you until you were breathless and begging for it. He bets your apartment smells like fucking daisies, just like you do. All clean and floral.

He just had to be responsible. Had to say some shit about going home, about fixing your car tomorrow, because—what? Because he was trying to prove a point? Make you work for it? Stupid, stupid Jungkook. 

He takes another long sip of his IPA, letting the bitterness soak his tongue. 

Now he’s just sitting alone in his shitty apartment, hard as a rock, thinking about a girl who’s probably worth millions of won. 

He swipes back to Instagram, scrolling through his DMs. There’s one from Yoonchae, a girl he’s hooked up with a few times over the past couple months. She works at the convenience store two blocks over, and their arrangement is simple: no strings, no expectations, just someone to text when the need arises.

yoonchae: hey you round tn? been thinking about last time 

The messages came in an hour ago. He stares at them, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The last time they fucked was good. Yoonchae knows what she’s doing, knows what he likes and wants. It’s an uncomplicated situation. Exactly the kind of thing he usually goes for, because complicated is the last thing he needs in his life.

His life is already messy enough. 

Between running his dad's shop alone—because his dad decided to up and die of a heart attack two years ago, leaving Jungkook with a business and a shit-ton of debt he’s still paying off—and dealing with his mom who won’t stop calling from Busan asking for money he doesn’t have, and his older brother who fucked off to Seoul five years ago and hasn’t looked back... yeah. Complicated is not what he’s looking for in his bed.

That’s why he keeps things casual. A few hookups here and there, nothing that requires meeting families or talking about feelings or any of that heavy shit. Yoonchae gets that, and she’s never asked for more. 

Jungkook: not tonight.

Before sending, he deletes it. Tries again. 

Jungkook: can’t tonight, working early 

Deletes that too.  

He really just could text her back. Could tell her to come over, let her distract him from the spoiled little rich girl who’s somehow managed to burrow under his skin in the span of an hour.

But he doesn’t really want to. He wants you. 

That’s a problem, because you’re everything he hates about Seoul. High maintenance, expensive, the type of girl who needs three hours to get ready and has opinions about thread counts. You’re a walking red flag for someone like him, someone who can barely afford his rent, let alone keep up with whatever lifestyle you’re used to.

There is that small, tiny fact that still bothers him, though. You want him. A girl like you, and you want him.

He locks his phone without responding to Yoonchae, tossing it onto the futon beside him. Takes another gulp of his IPA, letting the cold liquid slide down his throat.

Jungkook can’t even believe what he’s about to do—actually, no, he can believe it. His dick has been half-hard since he lifted you into his truck, and it’s only gotten worse since he dropped you off.  Since he watched you stumble in those ridiculous heels, all flustered.

Setting the beer down on the floor, he reaches for the buckles of his overalls.  They fall open easily, the straps sliding off his shoulders. He shoves them down his hips along with his jeans, letting them pool at his ankles before kicking them off entirely.

He pulls down his boxers to free his cock, and lo and behold, all nine inches of him are rock solid. The head is flushed, a bead of precum already forming at the tip. Jungkook wraps a hand around himself,  stroking slowly from base to tip, and his head falls back against the futon with a low groan.

This is pathetic. Rock bottom. Getting himself off to the thought of some girl he met an hour ago, some princess who probably wouldn’t even look twice at him under normal circumstances. Fuck that if he cares right now. He strokes himself again, tightening his grip, and lets his mind wander back to you in his truck. The way you looked at him with those big eyes, biting your lip. The expensive floral scent of you filling the small space. How your voice went all breathy when he put his hand on your thigh.

He imagines what would’ve happened if he’d gone inside with you. 

He thinks he would’ve kissed you hard, swallowing whatever smartass comment you were about to make. You would have melted into him—he knows you would’ve. Would’ve grabbed onto his shirt, his shoulders, anywhere you could reach, trying to pull him closer.

Jungkook’s hand moves faster, thump swiping over the sensitive head. 

He would have gotten his hands under your shirt, felt you up properly. You’d probably be wearing some lacy expensive bra, and he’d have taken his time getting it off. Watched you squirm while he palmed your tits, rolled your nipples between his fingers until you were whimpering. Then he would work your jeans off. Peeled them down your legs to reveal matching panties, already soaked through the fabric. He would drop to his knees right there, hook his fingers in the waistband and drag them down. Spread you open with his thumbs.

“Fuck,” he mutters, biting his bottom lip. His strokes get faster, more desperate. 

He would eat you out until your legs were shaking, until you were pulling his hair and grinding against his face. Make you cum on his tongue before he even whipped his dick out. 

Jungkook’s hand is slick with precum, working his cock as he pumps to completion. 

He’d stand up, spin you around, press you face first against that door. You’d brace yourself with your hands, looking back at him over your shoulder with those needy eyes. He’d line himself up and push in slow—because you’d be so fucking tight, he just knows it—and watch your mouth fall open. He would fuck you against the door, deep and hard until you cried out with each thrust, make you take every inch. 

“Shit.” His abs tense, thighs clenching as he feels his orgasm burning in his lower stomach. 

You would cum again with him inside you. He’d feel you clench around his cock, hear you fall apart, and that would be it for him. He’d finish deep inside you, fill you up, mark you as his even though you’re not and never will be.

His orgasm hits hard, pleasure coursing through his veins. White, hot spurts of semen splatter across his hand and stomach, hand working himself through it until he’s empty and oversensitive. For a moment, he sits there and stares at his crusty ceiling. 

He just jerked off to a girl who’s probably going to pick up her Range Rover tomorrow, pay whatever ridiculous amount he charges, and drive straight back to her cute little house without a second thought.

Reaching for a random towel near his laundry basket, he wipes himself clean with it. 

He has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, but he knows one thing: tomorrow, he cannot fall victim to your advances. 

If anyone asks you ten years from now why you wore a black miniskirt to pick up your Range Rover from the mechanic, you’ll say it was laundry day.

It really is a complete lie, because you have about a hundred other outfits hanging in your closet that would’ve been more appropriate for a simple car pickup. But here you are, standing in front of your mirror at 1:30 PM, wearing a black miniskirt that barely hits mid-thigh, a fitted black top that shows just a sliver of stomach, and your favorite Louboutin heels. The nude ones with the red bottoms that make your legs look like they belong to Aphrodite herself.

This morning, you had convinced yourself you weren’t going to do anything rash. You were going to show up in jeans, possibly wear sneakers. But then you remembered the way he looked at you last night and how his hand felt on your thigh. The jeans went back in the drawer. 

A full 45 minutes are spent on makeup, and your hair is down to appear more sultry. You’re not trying to look good—you can do that on your own, have been doing it your whole life—but it won’t hurt to remind him exactly what he turned down last night. Not that you’re bitter about it by any means. 

(You are incredibly bitter about it.)

Half the night was spent tossing and turning, debating whether masturbating was a good idea. Would it help you get him out of your system, or would it just make things worse?

You ended up using your vibrator twice. It didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse, because the whole time you were imagining his hands instead of the silicone, his mouth instead of your own fingers. Your rose toy has never felt more inadequate.

When your taxi driver finally pulls up to Jeon’s Auto Repair, the Namhae sun is beating down mercilessly. You’re really starting to regret the heels because the parking lot is still just gravel and dirt. Even in the daytime, the shop looks exactly the same. Dead, empty, threatening. The red paint is still peeling, the flickering neon sign still crooked. There’s a few more cars scattered around today, but they still look abandoned.

Taking a deep breath, you adjust your skirt and push through the door. Your heels click against the floor. 

But it’s not Jungkook behind the front counter. 

It’s another man. He’s shorter than Jungkook, with soft, feminine features and blonde hair. He’s wearing the same style of overalls, though his are actually buckled on both sides like a normal person. When he sees you, his mouth breaks into a friendly smile. 

“Hey there,” he says, straightening up from whatever he was writing. His name tag reads Jimin in faded lettering. “You here to pick up?”

He’s attractive. Incredibly attractive, with full, puckered lips and warm eyes. But he’s not Jungkook.

And your body has already decided it’s only interested in one mechanic. 

“Um yeah,” you say. God, you feel so fucking ridiculous in this outfit. What are you even doing? Why did you dress like this? “The Range Rover?” 

“Oh yeah!” Jimin’s smile widens. “Jungkook’s been working on it all morning. She’s good to go now.” He starts rifling through some papers on the counter. “There was an overheating issue. Coolant system was fucked. He replaced the—”

“Is he here?” you interrupt. 

Jimin glances up. “Jungkook? Uh… yeah. He’s in the garage. Want me to grab him?” 

“No, I—” Take a breath. Get it the fuck together. “Yes, please.”

You’re nervous. For the first time in your life, you can feel the butterflies kicking up in your stomach. You’ve never felt like this before, not about men, not about anything. You’ve given presentations to rooms full of executives, negotiated six-figure deals, stared down your father when he tried to micromanage your career. Nerves are not something you do. But your heart is racing, palms sweaty.

Jimin nods and disappears through the doorway into the garage. You hear the distant sound of tools clanging, muffled voices. Then... nothing. You shift your weight from one Louboutin to the other. 

A minute passes. Two. Three whole fucking minutes. 

What are they doing back there? Writing a dissertation on your coolant system? Discussing the meaning of life?

You stare at the dusty clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick forward at an agonizing pace. Maybe this was all a mistake. You should’ve just showed up in sweatpants. 

Maybe they’re in there laughing at you. Maybe Jungkook is showing Jimin a picture of you and they’re both dying at the desperate rich girl who showed up in a miniskirt. Maybe you should just flee the country.

Finally, Jimin emerges from the garage. “He’ll be out in a sec.” Then, almost too casually: “I actually think I’m gonna head out to lunch, so it’ll just be you two.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

Jimin grabs a jacket from behind the counter, and you try very hard not to spiral. Why is he leaving? Did Jungkook tell him to leave? Is that why they were talking for three minutes? Or is this just a coincidence, just normal lunch break timing, and you're reading way too much into all this?

He heads towards the door, and before he pushes it open, he gives you a knowing smile. Okay, yeah. He knows his coworker is about to get cracked like a lobster. 

The bell above the door chimes as he exits, the sound echoing in the empty shop. 

And then you hear a throat clearing, a very familiar one. 

You whip around, and Jungkook’s leaned against the doorframe leading to the garage, one hand shoved in his overall pocket, the other holding a toothpick between his teeth. He chews on it slowly, eyes locked on you.

Today he’s wearing a black wife beater that hugs his sculpted abdomen tightly. There's a silver chain hanging around his neck, resting against his collarbones. You want that chain smacking against your face. You want it swinging above you while he pounds into you. 

Jesus Christ, pull it together.

Slowly, his eyes rake over your body. Starting at your face, trailing down your neck, your chest, your bare legs, all the way to your Louboutin heels. Then back up again, even slower this time. The toothpick shifts to the other side of his mouth. 

“You always dress like this to pick up cars?” he drawls. 

You’re basically drooling, which is mortifying in its own way, but you also can’t seem to form a coherent thought because he looks so fucking good and he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you whole. 

“I…” you swallow thickly. “I had... plans. After this.”

“What kind of plans?” The smirk widens as he pushes off the doorframe, taking one step toward you.

Absolutely none. Zero plans. Your only plan was to come here and see him and maybe, maybe, finish what you started last night.

“Just hanging with some friends,” you lie, lifting your chin in indignation. 

“Mm.” He stares at you, seeing through all your bullshit. “Cool.”

 He shifts the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Well,” he finally says, “You wanna see your car?” 

You deadpan. “Uh.. yeah?”

“Come on.” He turns and walks back toward the garage, and you follow, heels clacking against the concrete. Your body starts to deflate a little. He’s being oddly professional. Like you’re just another customer picking up their vehicle and not someone who spent half the night getting off to the thought of him. Like he didn’t have his hand on your thigh last night saying the filthiest things.

What the fuck? Did you misread this entire situation? Did you really get this dressed up, spend 45 minutes on your makeup, wear your sluttiest heels, all for him to just... show you your car and send you on your way?

When you enter the garage, it’s bigger than you expected. There’s multiple bays, tools hanging from every wall. It smells like motor oil, mixed in with Jungkook’s familiar manly scent. And there, in the center bay under a fluorescent light, is your Range Rover.

It gleams under the light. The hood is closed, no smoke, no weird rattling sounds. Brand spanking new. 

“There she is,” Jungkook says, patting the hood. “Good as new.”

You walk around it slowly, inspecting it from every angle. Not that you know what you’re looking for, but it feels like something you should do.

He follows your movements, hands in his pockets. “The coolant was broken,” he explains, leaning against his workbench. “I replaced the radiator, checked the hoses. You should be good for another thousand miles, easily.”

“Okay,” you reply, running your hand along the sleek metal of the car. 

“Also rotated your tires, topped off all your fluids. Oil change is due soon, so keep an eye on that.”

“Yup,” The sound of you popping the p echoes across the room. You’re trying so hard not to just openly stare at him. At the way his arms flex when he crosses them, at the small bead of sweat rolling down his neck despite the fans running overhead.

This is torture. 

“Air conditioning’s working now too,” he continues. “It was blowing a little warm yesterday, so I fixed that.”

“Great.”

“And I, uh, found about 15 empty iced coffee cups in your backseat.”

Your neck burns. Your coffee addiction started from a young age and only got more dire during adulthood. “I was going to throw those away.”

“When? Next year?” 

“I’m busy.”

“Ah, yes, with your treacherous work weeks,” He smiles widely. Okay, there’s the guy from last night. “Don’t worry, I threw them out for you. No charge.”

“How so very kind of you.”

“I thought so.” He pushes off the workbench. “So, what do you think?”

You look at your Range Rover. Looks like your car. Looks completely fucking fine. “It looks good.”

“Yeah?” 

Your eyes are stuck on his now, not the car. “I’ll need to take it for a ride, I guess, to make sure it’s all working properly.”

Your brain jumps to a very different kind of ride, and judging by the way his jaw ticks, his did too. “Yeah, you do.”

Metaphorical devil horns start to grow on your head. The horny demon on your shoulder screams at you, begs for release. “Should you come with me? You know, to make sure it's really fixed?”

His eyes darken. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“But what if something goes wrong?” 

“Then you can come back.”

“Well what if it breaks down on the road?”

“It won’t. I’m good at my job.” 

“But what if—”

He cuts you off sternly, “Your car is fine.”

You hold his gaze for as long as you possibly can, hoping to wear him down blink by blink. But he breaks first, looking away to find something. “Let me go get the paperwork for you to sign. Then we can walk through payment.”

He walks back toward the front office, and the moment he’s out of sight, you deflate. Slump against your car, staring at the ceiling. What is happening? Did you completely imagine the chemistry last night? You catch your reflection in the side mirror and move to the driver’s side, opening the door to check yourself out in the rearview mirror. Your makeup is perfect. Your hair still looks good. The skirt is... yeah, the skirt is doing what it’s supposed to do. He must want to fuck you… right?

Because if not, this is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done, and you once accidentally replied-all to a company-wide email with just the letter ‘k’.

Smoothing down your skirt, you check your teeth in the mirror. Maybe he’s just playing it cool. Maybe he’s making you work for it. Or, then again, maybe you’re just a delusional rich girl and he was just being nice by giving you a ride home and you constructed this entire fantasy in your head. 

“Find anything interesting?” 

You jump, nearly hitting your head on the doorframe. 

Jungkook holds a clipboard, a knowing smirk painted on his lips. 

“Just checking my makeup,” You slam the door shut. 

“Looks good to me.”

Your stomach flip-flops like a dead fish on dry land. “Thanks.”

He holds out the clipboard. “I just need your signature here, here, and here.” He points with the pen, and you reach for it.

Your fingers brush against his, but it feels like an electric shock. He jolts a little too, as though stung by a bee. So you’re not imagining this. 

Taking the clipboard, you try to focus on the paperwork and not on the fact that you’re so horny you could actually die right here in this garage. The charges are itemized: radiator replacement, coolant, labor, some other random words. The total at the bottom does make you blink a few times, though. 

You look up at him. “How do I know you didn’t overcharge me?”

His eyebrows raise. “You think I’m scamming you?”

“Maybe.” You shrug, playing with the pen. “Rich girl, fancy car. Easy target.”

“Princess.” He leans against the car, arms crossed in a way that makes his biceps somehow look even more scrumptious. “If I was gonna scam you, I’d have charged way more. That’s actually a pretty fair price.”

“How would I know? I don’t know anything about cars.”

“Which is why you should trust me.” Amusement flickers over his expression. “Besides, you can handle a few extra dollars.”

“Okay, that’s not the point. Integrity is.”

“Oh, really? Integrity and what else?” 

You don’t have a single other point to make. You’re just stalling, trying to keep this interaction going for as long as possible before you have to leave and accept that nothing is going to happen.

“The point is…” you trail off. You look down at the clipboard. Scribble your signature on the papers. “Never mind."

He takes the clipboard back, fingers brushing yours again. “Payment?” he asks. 

You pull out your black AMEX and hand it to him. He takes it to a small machine on the workbench, swiping it through. The machine beeps with approval (duh. You could probably buy his entire garage and not make a dent in your account.)

Jungkook brings the card back, along with a receipt and a business card. “Here’s your receipt,” He places it in your palm. “And my business card. It’s got my number on it. If you need anything for your car fixed, give me a call.”

This entire time—the miniskirt, the heels, the makeup, the flirting—and he’s just... giving you his business card. He might as well have just friendzoned you, except worse, because he carzoned you. 

Whatever. You’re just going to leave and thank him with whatever dignity you have left. 

Or… 

Fuck it. You have one more shot. One last chance. You did not spend two hours getting ready to walk out of here without trying. You peer up at him, twirling the business card between your fingers. “Any other reason I should give you a call?”

His features contort. “What?” 

“Your number,” you clarify. “Is it just for car emergencies or…?

“Or?” 

“Or can I call if I need something else fixed?” You’re aiming for confident and flirty, but your heart is hammering so hard you’re surprised he can’t hear it.

The corner of his lip twitches. “What else do you need fixed, princess?”

Realistically, everything. Your brain, your self-control, the ache between your thighs. 

“I don’t know,” you reply innocently. You take a step toward him. “Maybe I’ll think of something.”

“Yeah?” He lets his toothpick fall to the floor. “Like what?”

“Maybe I’m worried about the durability of my car,” is what you come up with, and even as the words leave your mouth, you’re not entirely sure where you’re going with this. “Is it strong enough to withstand... certain things?”

“What kind of things?” He might actually be confused now.

You swallow. “I don’t know, like rough terrain. Or…” Oh, good god. “...heavy loads?”

He blinks twice at you. 

“Not like that,” you argue, “I just mean like structural integrity of the vehicle and stuff—”

“Princess,” he interjects. His biceps pop against the black fabric of his wife beater and you lose your train of thought completely. “What are you actually asking me?”

“I’m asking if my car is durable.” 

“Depends on what you mean.”

You try to find a way to explain this that doesn't sound insane. “Like if there was pressure on the hood, or movement inside. Would it hold up?” 

This is the worst attempt at seduction in human history and you want the garage floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Since you’re already committed to this disaster of a conversation, you lean back against the hood of your Range Rover. Cross your legs slowly. Your skirt rides up, just enough to show a tad more thigh. 

His eyes drop immediately, throat working as he swallows. 

Got him. 

“Maybe I just mean we should double check,” You uncross your legs only to cross them the other way, “that everything’s really working properly.”

His pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any brown visible. He’s staring right at your mouth. Trepidly, he takes a step toward you. Then another. 

Your hands move behind you, bracing against the hood of your car. The business card and receipt flutter to the floor, forgotten. Fuck it all. Fuck everything. You need to fuck the shit out of this man, or rather, he needs to fuck you hard against this car. This is not the de-stressing your father had in mind, but it’s definitely what you need.

“That what you want?” He stands a mere few inches away from you, hardly leaving any space. 

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, trying to keep your voice steady even though your heart is about to explode out of your chest. “You’re the expert. Don’t you always do a test run after repairs?”

“Usually, yeah.” His eyes drop to your lips. 

You can smell the motor oil and cologne on him that lingers. You want to grab him by his chain, pull him closer. 

His eyes drop to where your skirt has ridden up. “You want me to take her for a spin? Make sure everything’s in working order?”

“I think that would be the responsible thing to do.”

He takes one more step, and now he’s right there, standing between your legs. His hand comes up to rest on the hood beside your hip, caging you in. “That’s what we’re calling this?”

“What would you call it?” 

“I’d call it you showing up in a tiny fucking skirt,” he starts, “batting your eyelashes at me, asking me to take your car for a ride when we both know that’s not what you actually want.”

“What do I actually want then?” you challenge. 

His free hand comes up to your thigh, thumb stroking the inside of your knee. “You want me to bend you over this hood,” he asks matter-of-factly, “Don’t you?” 

“Maybe.”

Yes. Absolutely. Without a doubt in your mind. 

“You wore those heels for me?” His hand slides higher an inch. 

“I told you, I have plans—”

“Bullshit.” His hand moves higher. “You wore them because you knew they’d make your legs look fucking incredible. And you wore this skirt because you wanted me to think about what’s underneath it.”

He’s right. He’s completely right, and you’re not even going to pretend otherwise.

“Is it working?” you ask.

His jaw clenches. “What do you think?“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Words don’t seem to be an appropriate response. Instead, you grab his hand, the one resting on your thigh, and slide it higher. Up, up, until it’s under your skirt, and his fingers brush against the lace of your panties.

They’re completely fucking soaked through. 

He sharply inhales, eyes glazing over. “Fuck. How long have you been like this?” 

“Since last night,” you admit, because fuck it, you’re past the point of playing coy. “Since you put your hand on my thigh in the truck.”

His fingers move, stroking over your panties, and you can’t help the small whimper that escapes. “All night?” 

“Yes.”

“This morning?”

“Y-Yes.”

“When you were getting dressed? Putting on this little skirt?” 

“Yes.”

His other hand comes up to grab your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His grip is firm, possessive. Makes you clench around nothing. “You need to be fucked that bad, princess? What, no rich man in Seoul fucking you right?”

“Nope,” you smile sweetly, innocently. “No one’s fucking me right.”

“No one?”

“No one.” Your lips brush his ear, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. Beneath your palm, his heartbeat thumps erratically. “Besides,” you whisper, “I think we both know you can fuck me better than any of them could.”

He’s on you within seconds. 

His hands cup your face, fingers threading into your hair. You moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, tongue sliding against yours. He tastes like mint and that toothpick and it’s addicting. You want more. Need more. 

You crawl backward on the hood, your back barely touching the windshield, legs spreading to make room for him. He follows without breaking the kiss, settling between your thighs and fuck—you can feel how hard he is through his overalls. His hands travel under your skirt, pushing the fabric up higher. Sliding up your sides, taking your crop top with them. Rough and calloused and so fucking big against your skin. You arch into him, grinding against the bulge in his overalls, and he groans against your lips. “Fuck,” he mutters, “You already feel so good.”

“Touch me properly,” you gasp, keen into his touch. 

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear. “Want me to touch you, princess?”

“God, yes,” you moan. He pulls your panties to the side, fingers sliding through your slick folds. Actually slides through how wet you are, and you both moan at the contact. 

“Holy shit,” he exhales. Your lipstick is smeared, you’re sure of it, but he looks just as disheveled. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“I told you—”

“No, like,” His fingers circle your clit and your hips buck. “I’ve never felt anyone this wet before, princess.”

“Jungkook,” you whimper. You react on instinct, putty in his hands. 

 His fingers move faster, and you’re already so worked up that you know you’re not going to last long. “What do you need?” 

“More,” you gasp, “I need more.”

He slides one finger inside, and your head lolls back against your car. Even his finger is big, stretches you out, and you salivate at what his cock might feel like. “Shit, you’re so tight,” he groans, starting to pump his finger in and out. “How long has it been?”

“Six months,” you admit breathlessly. 

He adds a second finger and you keen, hips rolling to meet his movements. “Jesus Christ. No wonder you’re so desperate.”

“Shut up—oh fuck—”

His fingers curl inside you, pressing against your g-spot. His thumb finds your clit with ease, rubbing circles into the sensitive nub. One of your hands fists in his wife beater, the other bracing against the hood. “That’s it,” he murmurs. His eyes are glued to where his fingers disappear inside you, watching your pussy suck them in greedily. “Let me hear you, princess. Wanna know how good I’m making you feel.”

“So good,” You tremble in his hold. Already so close it’s embarrassing. “Fuck, it’s so good—”

“Yeah?” He adds a third finger and you actually sob at the stretch. It’s almost too much, almost, but then he curls all three and you’re moaning so loudly you’re grateful Jimin left. “Taking my fingers so well. Such a good girl.” Your walls clench around his fingers and he groans, feeling it.

“You like that.” He grins stupidly. “Like being called a good girl?”

Your arousal drips down his hand, down your thighs, probably onto your car and you don’t even care.

Whimpers escape your mouth as his thumb speeds up on your clit, fingers pumping faster, and you might pass out or see god or—

“Gonna cum for me, princess?” His voice is in your ear. “Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

“Yes—yes—I’m so close—”

“Look at me,” he demands. Your eyes force open, meeting his gaze. His jaw is clenched, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. The silver chain around his neck is swinging slightly with his movements, catching the fluorescent light. He’s never looked hotter. 

“That’s it,” he breathes, holding your gaze. “Come on, princess. Let go. Cum for me.”

You’re right there—right there—you can feel it building in your lower stomach, thighs shaking, your walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers.

He pulls out. 

Your orgasm retreats, leaving you trembling. What the actual fuck. “What—why—Jungkook—”

“Because,” he brings his fingers to his mouth. They’re glistening with your juices, and you watch, utterly transfixed, as he slides all three into his mouth and sucks them clean.  His eyes close like he’s tasting candy, and he moans around his own fingers. “Fuck. You taste as good as I thought you would.”

“But,” he continues, pulling his fingers from his mouth with an obscene pop, “when you cum, I want it to be on my cock.”

He reaches  for the buckles on his overalls, undoing them one by one. The denim falls to his hips, and then he’s shoving everything down—overalls, boxers, all of it—until his cock springs free.

You’re going to pass away. 

He’s massive. You shouldn’t be shocked, because only a man as good looking as him would have a pretty cock to match. His length is thick and long and already rock hard, the head flushed dark and leaking. There’s a vein running along the underside that you want to trace with your tongue, and he’s so hard it’s practically standing straight up against his toned stomach.

“See something you like, princess?” He smirks. God, you hate him.

“I—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You clear your throat. “That’s not going to fit.”

He laughs, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving a slow stroke from base to tip. “It’ll fit.”

“I don’t think—”

“It’ll fit,” he repeats, and you realize this isn’t up for debate. His hand moves again, thumb swiping over the head and spreading precum. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch, aren’t you, princess?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing at his words. Up close, you can see more ink you never noticed before. There’s little letters on his knuckles. 

“Answer me,” he instructs, still stroking himself. His other hand comes up to grip your thigh, spreading your legs wider. “You gonna be a good girl and take my cock?”

“Yes,” you exhale on a moan, but it’s not good enough for him. His hand is on your jaw instantaneously. 

“Yes what?” 

“Yes, I’ll take all of it.”

“Good.” He releases you, and you almost protest at the loss of contact. “Now get up and bend over the hood.”

Your brain is hazy with lust, but you scramble to obey. You slide off the hood, your Louboutins clicking against the concrete as your feet hit the floor. 

“Turn around.”

You follow. Bracing your hands against the hood of your expensive car, the metal is cold under your palms. Your top is pushed up, breasts smushed against the surface. Behind you, his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His hands hook into your panties, and instead of pulling them down, he just pulls them to the side, exposing you completely. “Stay just like this,” he orders, and you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance. “Feet on the floor. Hands on the hood. And that pretty little skirt stays on.”

“Ah—fuck, Jungkook, fuck—”

“Say please.”

And, like… fuck him, seriously. 

“Please fuck me,” you whine.

“Not good enough.” The head of his cock pushes in an inch more. “Beg me properly, princess. Tell me what you need.”

“I need,” you pant, trying to push back against him, trying to get more of him, but his hands hold you still. “I need you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Please, Jungkook, I need your cock—”

He pushes in one more inch. 

“Keep going,” he tuts. “Keep begging.”

“Please,” and you’re not even embarrassed anymore, not when you’re this desperate. “Please, I’ve been thinking about this since last night, I need it so bad, need you so bad, please just fuck me.”

He slides in another inch, then another, stretching you so wide you swear you feel him in your lungs. You can feel every ridge, every vein, the thickness of him splitting you open. “Fuck,” he groans, “You’re so tight, princess.”

You can’t speak, can’t do anything but gasp and whimper as he continues pushing in, inch by agonizing inch. It’s all so wet, he slides in easily despite the stretch, and you can already feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, coating his cock. When you glance back, you see a ring of cream around where he’s entering you, white against the golden hue of his skin. You’re making such a mess of him and he’s not even all the way in yet.

One of his hands leaves your hip to grip his length, watching himself disappear inside you. “Taking me so well. Making such a pretty mess on my cock.”

He gives you more, pushes in until he’s buried to the hilt, hips flush against your ass. You've never felt this full in your life. “Holy shit,” you gasp, fingers scrambling for purchase on the hood. “You’re so—so deep.”

“Too much for you, princess? Too big?” he teases, a cocky lilt to his voice. 

“I—it’s—”

“Use your words,” he taunts, one of his hands sliding up your spine, pushing between your shoulder blades until your chest is pressed completely flat against the hood. “Tell me how it feels.”

“I’m so full,” is all you can think to respond. 

“But you like it, don’t you?” His hips pull back before pushing back in, and you keen. “You like being stretched on my cock. Like being so full you can’t think straight.”

He’s absolutely right and you hate how smug he sounds about it. “Fuck, yes.”

“That’s what I thought.” He almost pulls all the way out. “Now be a good girl and take it.”

Jungkook slams his full length inside you. The force punches air from your lungs, makes you cry out so loudly it echoes in the garage. He doesn’t care to let you adjust, or take a moment to breathe, just pounds into you brutally. 

“Fuck–” You can barely get the word out before he’s thrusting again, harder, deeper, and your hands scramble against the hood. Your breasts drag against the cool metal with each thrust, nipples hardening from the friction and the cold. His hand comes down on your ass, a slap that you know will leave a mark for days. 

“That’s it,” he groans, hand soothing over the sting before gripping your hip. “Take it, princess. Take my fucking cock.”

Each thrust drives you forward, heels slipping slightly on the concrete as he fucks into you. The angle has him hitting that sweet spot inside you, already so worked up from the edging that you can feel your orgasm building embarrassingly fast. 

You haven’t been fucked like this in years, or maybe, like… ever. Your last hookup was with some finance guy you met at a cocktail bar in Gangnam. He was attractive, confident, took you back to his skyrise condo. But the sex had been... fine. He’d lasted maybe ten minutes, spent most of it jackhammering into you without any rhythm or skill, came without making sure you did, then had the audacity to ask if it was good for you.

Safe to say you never texted him back. 

Jungkook fucks you like he wants to. Like he’s been craving it, aching for it for decades. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans, and one of his hands leaves your hip to grip your shoulder, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with each thrust.

“Jungkook—oh—”

“Yeah? Feel good, princess?” He sounds out of breath, which somehow makes this whole thing hotter. “Better than those rich boys in Seoul?”

“Fuck, so much better,” you whimper. 

“Goddamn right it is.” Another slap to your ass, harder this time. “Never gonna want anyone else after this, are you? Gonna think about my cock everytime you’re alone in that big empty bed.”

This is going to ruin you for everyone else. 

His hand slides up from your shoulder to fist in your hair, pulling your head back. The angle makes your back arch deeper, and he groans at the new position. “Want you to feel me for days. Want you to be sore tomorrow and remember exactly who fucked you like this.”

The hand entangled in your hair tugs harder, pulling you up enough so that he can slot your mouths together. More tongue and teeth and panting breaths than anything else. You can taste yourself on his lips from earlier, and it makes you moan into his mouth. He releases you back down, fingers digging into your skin. The vulgar sounds bounce off the garage walls. The slap of skin on skin, the wet squelch of your pussy taking him, his balls slapping against your cunt. Your moans and his grunts echoing off the garage walls. The creak of your Range Rover rocking with the force of it.

“Listen to how wet you are for me. Fucking soaked, princess.” he pants. You can hear it, can feel it dripping down your thighs

You’re getting close again. Can feel it building in your lower stomach, thighs starting to shake. “I’m gonna—I’m so close—”

“Already?” Jungkook taunts. “Haven’t even been inside you five minutes and you’re gonna cum?”

His hips piston in and out, pace somehow getting even faster until you’re seeing stars explode across your vision. “Gonna cum on my cock, princess? Make a mess everywhere?”

“Yes please, don’t stop,” you whine, mouth dropping open to release sounds that could put most porn actresses to shame. 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Your walls flutter around his cock at the words, and you do it again, squeezing yourself as tight as you can until he lets a string of profanities escape. 

“Cum for me,” he demands, finding your clit, circling roughly, and that’s really all it takes. You cum with a strangled moan, a gust of wetness leaking from your abused cunt, gummy walls suctioning him.  Your legs give out, only his hands on your hips keeping you upright as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He’s still thrusting, working you through it, and it’s so much, too much, overwhelming in the best possible way. “That’s it, princess. That’s my good girl.”

You feel boneless. You expect to feel him pull out, let you catch your breath. He doesn’t. Instead, his pace resumes, and tears brim your eyes. A sob rattles through you. “I-I can’t, I’m too s-sensitive.”

“You can, and you will,” His thumb finds your clit again and your body jerks forward. “Gonna make you cum again.”

He fucks you through the oversensitivity, your head somewhere in the clouds, with blood rushing in your ears and your limbs like jell-o. It hurts—not quite pain, but so intense it borders on it—but then something shifts and oh fuck—

“There she is,” he murmurs in your ear. “Knew you could take it.”

You’re climbing again, your walls clenching incessantly, uncontrollably. Every thrust punches another moan out of you, every circle of his fingers makes your thighs shake harder. “C’mon princess. Be a good girl and cum for me again.”

It’s somehow more intense than the first, vision whiting out as it rips through you. You don’t even realize when he stops, buried so deep inside you as you fall apart on his cock. 

“Jesus,” he chokes, and he pulls out, but not before your legs entirely give out. Jungkook catches you before you can hit the ground, an arm wrapping around your waist and hauling you to his chest. “Easy,” he whispers, “I got you.”

You brace yourself against the car, trying to remember how to breathe. In your peripheral, you hear him moving behind you, and when you look back, he’s opening your driver door. He slides into the seat, legs spread, and his cock is angry red now, wet with your arousal, leaking. He wraps his tattooed hand around himself, stroking slowly. “Come here,” he commands, voice strained. 

You move like you’re on autopilot. Stumble slightly in your heels but catch yourself on the door. Jungkook latches onto your wrist, and tugs you toward him. “Get in. Sit on my cock.”

And you want to, you really want to, can feel your mouth salivating, but you’ve never been so spent. I don’t know if I can—”

His free hand grips your hip, guiding you to straddle him. “I wanna watch your face when you take me this time.”

You position yourself over him, one knee on either side of his thighs in the driver’s seat. It’s cramped—your back is against the steering wheel, your head nearly hitting the roof—but neither of you seem to care. He lines himself with your entrance, and you sink down, inch by inch, vein by vein. It’s deeper, and you need to go slow but he watches you the whole time, pouring buckets of praise into your ear. “That’s it. Nice and slow, princess. Let me see that pretty face while you take me.”

Sinking down another inch, you whimper at the stretch. You’re so sensitive that every ridge feels magnified, and he’s thick enough to give you pause, adjusting.  His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. “Taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl.”

“All those rich boys in Seoul,” he says, hand sliding down to grip your throat. “Bet none of them fucked you like this, hm?”

“No,” you gasp, sinking onto the last few inches until you’re flush against his pubic bone. 

“None of ‘em made you cum twice?”

You shake your head no.

“Mhm.” He smirks. “Now ride me, princess. Show me how badly you want it.”

You kind of expect him to help—to grip your hips and move you, to thrust up into you—but he doesn’t. He just sits there, hands sliding up to rest on your waist. “Well?” He raises a brow. “I’m waiting.”

Picking up speed, you roll your hips, bouncing on him. Your thighs burn from the effort, but you don’t stop, even as his hands push your top up higher until your naked breasts are exposed. His tongue wraps around your hardened nipple, sucking, nipping. 

“Oh fuck,” Your head lolls back, holding onto his meaty thighs for leverage. 

He switches to the other breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and your movements get more frantic. You're chasing the pleasure, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the car. Jungkook’s tongue flicks over your nipple before he releases it with a pop, looking up at you. “So desperate for it. Richest girl in Seoul, probably, riding my cock in a garage.”

You have to muffle a full-on scream with your hand, and it’s almost scary how large your orgasm  feels, looming in the distance. 

“What would daddy think?” He grins. “His precious princess, letting some mechanic fuck her in her expensive car.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you say with no bite, tucked into a moan. He flexes his hips, thrusting up to meet you. Your lips crash into his sloppily, one hand fisting in your hair to hold you there. 

“You’re so spoiled,” he mutters between kisses. “Everything handed to you on a silver platter. But you came here, dressed like that, begging for my cock.”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, not even embarrassed anymore. 

“All those rich boys were probably so careful with you, so gentle and boring.”  

They were. All of them worried about being too rough, too demanding. Treating you like you might break.

“But not me.” His hand smacks your ass playfully. “I’m fucking you like you deserve.”

The car is rocking now, probably obvious to anyone who might walk by, but you don’t care. Can’t care when you’re so full of him, when every bounce makes your clit drag against his pelvis. You break the kiss, gasping, “I’m so fucking c-close.”

“God, you’re so greedy. Always cumming.”

“Can’t help it, you feel so good.” All you can think of is how you never want him to let you go, never want his warm arms to stray too far away from you. His head falls back against the headrest, exposing the long line of his throat. Sculpted chest glistening with sweat, the silver chain sparkling against his skin with each bounce. His jaw is clenched, eyes squeezed shut, and he’s so fucking beautiful like this.

Your fingers catch on his chain and you tug slightly, making him groan. “You’re so fucking hot, Jungkook.”

What was left of your dignity has left the chat. 

“Love it—love your cock—love how you fuck me,” you babble, words spilling out so quickly you can’t even catch them. “So deep, filling me so good—never felt this good.”

His cock throbs inside you, tendons in his neck standing out, his chest heaving with each breath. You ignore the pain and burn in your thighs. Just need to see him come undone, need to be the one who does it to him. “Cum for me,” you gasp, pressing chaste kisses to his jawline. “Want you to cum.”

“Where?” he asks, and it’s rushed in a way that you know he’s teetering the edge. 

You don’t even hesitate when you say, “Inside, please fill me up, want to feel you cum inside me.” 

“Holy shit.” His hands tremble against your hips. “Fuck—I’m gonna cum—shit.”

His delicious brown eyes snap shut, mouth falling open in a silent moan that converts into a groan. He pulses inside you, warmth flooding your pussy as his seed paints your walls. He holds you down on him as he empties every last drop, and you milk him through it. 

Your third orgasm is quieter, but no less intense. Your entire body collapses onto him, and his arms come to encircle around you. For a long moment, you two sit there in the driver’s seat, inhaling each other’s scent. One of his hands slides down your back, tracing incoherent patterns along your spine. The gesture is surprisingly gentle after everything that just happened—after he fucked you senseless over your car hood and made you ride him until you couldn’t think straight.

“You good?” he finally asks. 

You giggle. “Not really, no.”

“Yeah, me neither.” His chest rumbles with a chuckle. “Might need to sit here for a minute.” 

“Works for me,” you mumble. Even if you wanted to, you’re not sure you could move. 

You were half expecting him to pull out immediately, make some cocky comment, maybe smack your ass one more time for good measure. But he’s being sweet with you, unexpectedly so. 

Eventually, you gather enough strength to lift your head from his shoulder. You’re suddenly shy, which is ludicrous considering what you just did. 

“Ready to move?” he asks. 

“I guess,” you wince. “This is gonna be gross, isn’t?”

“Oh, extremely,” he agrees, but his eyes are twinkling as he smiles. “On three?”

You nod, and he counts down. Slowly, you lift yourself off him, and yeah, it’s exactly as gross as you expected. You feel his cum immediately start to drip out of you, and you make a face. “Told ya,” he says, even as his eyes are glued to your dripping folds. “Fuck, that’s hot though.”

“You’re so gross.”

“You literally begged me to cum inside you.”

Well played. 

He helps you climb off him and out of the car. Once you’re stabilized, he starts helping you redress. Pulling your top back down over your breasts, smoothing your skirt down your thighs. 

“Your panties are ruined,” he observes, and you roll your eyes. They’re stretched out entirely from being pushed aside, a tiny hole starting to form. 

“Great,” you mutter, “Guess I’m going commando.”

He fumbles into his overalls pocket and pulls out a rag. “I mean, it’s not ideal, but—”

“You want me to stuff a fucking rag in my panties?”

“I’m trying to be helpful!” he laughs. “Unless you want to drive home with my cum dripping down your legs.”

You snatch the rag from him. You have no intentions of using it, but appeasing him seems like your best bet. “Shut up.”

While you’re awkwardly trying to sort yourself out, he pulls his boxers and overalls back up, refastening the buckles. There’s a hickey forming on his collarbone, one you don’t remember giving him. Oops. 

He leans against your car, a tiny smile on his lips as he watches you try to get your shit together. “So your Range Rover should be good to go now. It’s been fully tested. Everything’s in working order.”

“Great.”

“Suspension held up great. Really took a pounding.”

“Oh my god—”

“What? I’m talking about the car,” he snickers. 

“I really doubt that.”

“I don’t joke about cars. What did you think I meant?” You get the urge to slap the smirk right off his face. 

You take a moment to ​​check yourself in the side mirror, and yeah, you look exactly as destroyed as you expected. Your father is going to have an aneurysm if he video calls you.

“Here,” Jungkook appears with a water bottle. “Drink something. You need to rehydrate.”

“Where did that come from?” 

And it’s a double entendre, because he’s so different from the Jungkook you met last night, the cocky, arrogant mechanic who knows what he’s doing. 

“I keep them in the office.” He unscrews the cap, hands it to you. “Drink.”

You’re grateful, if nothing else. The cold water feels amazing on your throat which is raw from screaming his name. Once you’ve caught your breath, fixed yourself as much as possible, and accepted that you’re going to have to burn these panties, you turn to face him.

Suddenly you’re nervous again, which is stupid. You literally just had this man inside you, but now you’re worried about how to ask to see him again without sounding desperate. “I gotta head out before it gets dark.” It’s the last thing you want to do.

“My car is fixed,” you add. 

He nods. 

“So there’s no reason for me to come back.” 

He arches his brow. “Not one?”

“Well, something else could break, I guess.”

“Could happen,” He smiles. “Cars are unpredictable. It might need regular maintenance.” 

“How regular are we talking?”

And it’s like you two have always been on the same page, reading each other despite the gap in upbringing. “Depends. How often do you think you’ll need a... tune-up?”

You pretend to think about it. “Daily?”

He laughs loudly, and your heart soars. Feels a little like it’s flying. “Daily?”

“I’m very concerned about my car’s performance.”

He tugs you closer by your skirt. “Maybe we start with weekly? Don’t want to wear out the equipment.”

“I think I can work with that.” There’s a stupidly wide grin on your face, but you don’t care. 

His hands settle on your hips, thumbs stroking through the fabric. “Good. I’m not done with you yet, princess.”

He shakes his head. God, he really is beautiful. Nothing like what you’re used to, but maybe everything that you need. 

“Well,” you sigh. “Guess I’ll be back tomorrow then for that tune-up.”

“Tomorrow? Thought you said weekly,” he jokes, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen lips.

“I changed my mind. My car is very high maintenance.”

“She definitely is,” he says, looking at you like he wants to devour you all over again.

Jungkook presses a few chaste kisses to your lips, your cheeks. You eagerly accept them. 

“I’ll head out now,” you giggle. 

He holds your hand, then presses his lips to it. “Tomorrow,” he says. “10 PM. Don’t be late.”

“For what?”

“For your next service appointment, my princess.”

You’d been at the Squawk with Steve and Robin, the three of you crammed into the booth like always. Robin, as usual, was rambling about something while Steve laughed and bumped his knee into yours under the table, grounding you without even trying. 

By the time the clock crept past 8:30, the air outside was already dark and heavy, that familiar tightness had started curling in your chest; one that always showed up when it got late.

You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you were fine and you weren’t helpless, but you still asked Steve to accompany you home anyway, too afraid to go on your own.

“Can you come with me?” you’d asked casually, “or at least drive me home?”

Steve frowned, glancing at Robin. “Baby, you’ll be fine. You can go on your own. I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? ”

You nodded and kissed him goodbye, then you walked out to your car telling yourself you weren’t a scared little kid, and that nothing can harm you anymore.

Only to realize halfway down the lot that your coat was still inside.

So you turned around.

That was all; a forgotten coat, a stupid, normal thing, and you would have been in and out in seconds if not for your name cutting through the noise in the squawk as you heard Steve mention you to Robin.

You shouldn’t have listened, you knew that. You were raised better than to hover at doors and steal pieces of conversations that weren’t yours to hear, but your body didn’t listen to reason anymore.

Your feet stayed planted, your lungs forgot how to work as panic washed over you so fast and so violently that for a second you weren’t in Hawkins at all.

You were back in the Upside Down.

Back in that choking red sky, where  the air is thick and cold. You could feel all over again the vines slick and alive under your hands as you ran, heart tearing itself apart inside your chest. 

You could still feel the demobats, the weight of them, the wet snap of their wings, the sound of flesh ripping, the blood, so much blood, everywhere you looked there was bloodbloodbloodbloodblood—

—the combined screams of yours and Eddie’s. You remembered the way his body had gone still, the way Steve had dragged your bloodied body away as your entire abdomen was ripped apart, shaking so badly you couldn’t even scream.

You remember the way you’d thought you were going to die there with your throat ripped open and your bones scattered across that fucked-up place.

You hadn’t felt safe since.

Four months, five months? however long it had been, it didn’t matter. Fear had latched onto you like a parasite and refused to let go.

Everything startled you now, doors, clocks, cold air on your neck, cars backfiring, footsteps too close behind you. The world felt like a nightmare, and the night was only much worse.

Steve was the only place that didn’t feel like that.

Steve made it quiet. Steve made it stop.

You hadn’t even realized you’d started clinging until it was already done, until your body had decided he was shelter, that he was protection, that if he was near then nothing could touch you. 

And now you were standing outside a door, listening to him talk about you.

“I don’t know, Robin,” he says again, voice rough and worn down, like he’s been chewing on the same thought for weeks and it’s finally gone bloody. “She’s just… different. Ever since.”

Robin leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching him carefully. “Yeah,” she says, slow and measured. “No shit. She went to literal hell, Steve.”

“I know that,” he snaps too fast, immediately regretting the edge in his voice. He exhales, drags a hand down his face. “I know. I do. That’s the problem. I know, and I still feel like shit about how I feel.”

She waits. Robin’s good at that. At letting him talk himself into the truth.

“It’s like,” he starts again, quieter but faster, words tumbling over each other now, “she’s everywhere. All the time. Wherever I go, she’s already there or tryin’ to be. If I grab my keys, suddenly she needs to leave too. If I’m sittin’ down, she’s sittin’ down. If I say I’m tired, she’s tired. It’s like she can’t exist unless I’m right next to her.”

Your stomach drops where you stand, frozen just outside the door, fingers clenched tight around the strap of your bag.

“I’m serious,” Steve keeps going, oblivious, frustration bleeding through every word. “If I’m goin’ to see Dustin, she’s got a reason to come. If I’m headin’ to the Squawk, somehow we’re paired up for drills again. She doesn’t do anything alone, Robin. Never. She’s just… latched onto me.”

He laughs humorless. “And I sound like a dick sayin’ it, I know I do, but it’s fuckin’ suffocating.”

Suffocating. Like he’s drowning because of you.

Robin doesn’t answer right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more careful. “Steve. That’s not weird, matter of fact it's a normal response given what she's been through. That’s her brain trying to keep her alive.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing at his neck like it physically hurts to admit it. “I know she’s not doing it on purpose.”

“She nearly died,” Robin presses. “She watched Eddie die right in front of her. She got dragged into the Upside Down and came back with scars all over her body. She wakes up screaming, Steve. You’re the only thing that makes her feel safe.”

“I didn’t say she was the bad guy,” he snaps, voice cracking despite himself. “I’m just sayin’ I’m overwhelmed. She’s so clingy, Robin. You saw her tonight. She didn’t wanna leave without me. I had to practically beg her to go first.”

Your vision blurs. You press a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard.

“It’s like I gotta make up excuses just to be alone,” he admits, quieter now, stripped bare. “I need space. I need to breathe. And I can’t say that without soundin’ like a heartless asshole because yeah, she’s traumatized, and then suddenly I’m the villain for wantin’ five goddamn minutes to myself.”

Robin scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Steve, you idiot. You said it yourself. Your girlfriend is traumatized.”

“Yeah,” he shoots back, voice rising, “but how the hell do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off without destroyin’ her. How do I say ‘hey, I love you, but you’re smotherin’ me,’ and not absolutely fuck her up more than she already is.”

“You don’t call her clingy,” Robin says immediately. “For starters. That word is banned and most girls, including Vickie, hate it.”

Steve lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, she is.”

Robin gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh nooo,” she mocks, voice high and obnoxious. “I’m Steve Harrington and my girlfriend loves me so much. Oh noooo, she feels safe with me. My life is helllll.”

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving her shoulder.

“Oww, you asshole!” Robin shoots back, swatting him in return, then sobers as she gets all serious again. “You’re not wrong for being tired. You are wrong for talking about her like she’s a burden.”

Steve goes still. “I don’t think she’s a burden,” he says quietly, and this time it sounds like the truth. “I just… I don’t wanna be the only thing keepin’ her together. What happens if I fuck up? What happens if I leave?”

Robin sighs. “Then you talk to her. You communicate, dingus.”

You step back before they can see you, heart pounding, every word replaying in your head on a brutal loop. Suffocating. Clingy. Everywhere.

You don’t grab your coat when you leave.

You don’t even realize you’re driving until you’re already halfway home, knuckles white on the steering wheel as every memory crashes into you at once. Begging him to stay while you showered because you were convinced something would crawl out of the drain. Nights you woke up screaming, clinging to his shirt like it was the only safe place left in the world. Training days for the crawl where you stuck close, too afraid to be alone, grateful when you were paired with him again.

You could see it all, every single little thing you had leaned on him for, flashing through your mind like some god-awful horror slideshow.

Steve’s words had been like a bucket of ice water dumped on you, shocking you into clarity whether you wanted it or not. 

Maybe you had been too sensitive. Maybe you had been unbearable. Maybe you had been so clingy that it wasn’t fair for him, and maybe you needed to let go, at least a little. 

It wasn’t as if you had been the only one stuck in the Upside Down. Will had survived a week in that hell, seen things that should have ripped him apart, and yet he had come back and carried himself with a strength you couldn’t even muster. 

Dustin had lost Eddie too, but he hadn’t latched onto anyone, hadn’t made himself a burden. Eleven had been tortured, exploited, experimented on, broken in ways that should have left her crushed, and yet she still managed to find herself amidst everything, to stand and breathe and continue on. 

And here you were, the only one who seemed incapable of moving past it, of finding even a fragment of independence, still tethered to Steve as if without him you would fall apart.

Somehow, without realizing it, you had arrived at your shared home with Steve, parked your car in the driveway, and walked inside on autopilot, your body carrying you through familiar motions while your mind carried the full weight of guilt, shame, and heartbreak.

You stripped off your clothes in the bathroom, letting the water hit your skin in a rhythm you used to find comfort in, and prepared some dinner. You heated up leftovers, the smell of food filling the kitchen like it always had, but this time there was no laughter, no shared commentary on who had eaten what, no teasing Steve about his obsession with ketchup. 

By the time Steve arrived, the house was quiet. You were already in bed, tucked under the covers, something you hadn’t done alone in months because for months you hadn’t slept unless his arms were wrapped around you. 

But tonight, the house felt empty, and he found himself standing in the kitchen, fork in hand, staring at the warm meal you had prepared for him, and realizing that for the first time in an eternity, you weren’t waiting for him.

The next morning only deepened the silence. Steve woke to an empty bed, the sunlight spilling across rumpled sheets that smelled faintly of your perfume, and felt a prickling, cold panic he couldn’t name at first. 

You were already dressed, shoes on, ready to leave.

“Where are you heading?” he asked, voice rough.

“Going to get some stuff from the store,” you replied dryly.

“Want me to come with you, sweetheart?” His words carried that familiar gentleness, but you couldn’t look past it without feeling like a burden.

“No,” you said simply.

It was such a small, simple word. It shouldn’t feel like this. Except it made Steve sit in bed alone, blood running cold, realizing far too late that you were beginning to avoid him.

You leave early and don’t come back until the sky is already dimming, the house dark except for the kitchen light that Steve has turned on and off three times now like it might summon you home faster.

By the time you unlock the front door, he has been pacing a groove into the living room carpet, heart in his throat, mind running through every worst case scenario he promised himself he wouldn’t think about anymore. The second the lock clicks and the door opens, he’s there, crowding your space before you can even hang up your coat.

“Where the hell were you?!” he blurts, voice tight and frantic, eyes scanning you like he’s checking for blood. “You’ve been outta the house for nearly six hours. Six. I was losin’ my goddamn mind. I thought somethin’ happened to you.”

You sigh, slow and tired, and for a split second when you really look at him, at the pure unfiltered worry etched into his face, you almost break.

Almost step into his arms, almost let yourself melt into him and admit how badly you missed him, how those six hours felt like six days without his voice or his hands or the steady reassurance of his presence. 

If six hours did this to him, then the space you were forcing had been tearing you apart twice as badly.

But then your brain betrays you, replays his words in his voice, clingy, suffocating, always there, and you harden.

“I was out, Steve,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, no shit,” he fires back, following you as you walk toward the kitchen. “Out where?”

You open the fridge, more for something to do than because you’re hungry, and shrug. “With Nancy. We hung out and I accidentally lost track of time.”

The tension drains out of him immediately, shoulders sagging in relief. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh? I was freakin’ out. Is everything okay? Did somethin’ happen?”

You shake your head. “No, nothing happened, don’t worry.”

He nods quickly, like he’s trying not to push. “Okay. Okay. I won’t pry.” He hesitates, then softens. “Hey, I was thinkin’ dinner. You want lasagna or pizza?”

“I’m not hungry,” you say, already turning away. “I’m gonna go sleep, okay.”

He frowns. “But I thought we could just hang out a little, I mean we barely saw each other toda—”

“Maybe another time, alright? Goodnight, Steve.”

He exhales, defeated. “Goodnight,” he says softly. “I love you.”

You pause just long enough to whisper it back before disappearing down the hall. “I love you too,”

The days after are worse.

Steve wakes up and barely gets a word in before you’re already pulling on shoes, mumbling something about a jog. If he waits, you need a shower. If he waits longer, you’re late to see your nana. 

If he suggests the Squawk, you’re already going with Nancy. It’s like every time he reaches out, you slip through his fingers a little more, like trying to grasp smoke.

Not long ago, you haunted him with your presence. You were everywhere, constant, inescapable, but now you ghost him with your absence. He doesn’t know where you go or what you do, only that the house feels emptier even when you’re technically still there.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed tonight, waiting for the bathroom door to open, heart pounding like he’s bracing for bad news. When you finally step out, hair damp, towel slung over your shoulder, he looks up like he’s been holding his breath.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently, like he’s testing the word to see if it still belongs to him.

You glance at him in the mirror and give him a small, careful smile. “Hi, Steve.”

He lingers there for a second, then steps closer, hands hovering before he settles them lightly at your waist, afraid you might flinch. He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been out all day. Didn’t even see you at the Squawk.”

Your body betrays you before your mouth does, a shiver running through you at the sound of his voice, the warmth of him behind you. For a heartbeat you let yourself feel it, the pull, the ache. Then you pull away, just enough to break the contact, reaching for your hairbrush like it’s a shield.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Nancy asked me to go shopping with her again.”

“Oh.” He straightens, nodding, trying to keep his tone easy. “Was it fun? I figured you’d come back with, like, ten bags or somethin’.”

You shrug, brushing through damp hair. “Didn’t need anything.”

He watches you in the mirror, the way you won’t quite look at him, the way your answers land flat and stop short. He clears his throat as heshifts his weight.

He hesitates, then clears his throat, trying again, voice low and careful. “Uh. We trained today. Me, Hopper, and El. She shaved her time down again.”

You pause only briefly, tugging at your hair with the brush.

“Thirty-three seconds,” he continues, a little brighter despite himself. “Last week it was thirty-six. She’s pissed about it too, which I guess is good. Means she knows she can do better.”

“That’s good,” you say quietly.

He nods, even though you’re not looking at him. “Yeah. She’s gettin’ scary strong again. In a good way.”

“Mhm.”

Steve frowns. He leans back on his hands, searching your face even though you’re facing away now. “We could all hang out this weekend. Just us, or maybe the kids too. Whatever you want. Thought it might be nice.”

“I’m actually quite tired,” you say quietly.

“Okay,” he says quickly. “Yeah. That’s fine. We don’t have to do anything big.” He pauses, then softly asks. “Hey. Are you okay? Like, really okay?”

You swallow. “I’m fine, Steve.”

There’s a beat of silence where he clearly wants to say more as his mouth opens and closes like he’s rearranging words that never come out right. 

He tries again, desperate now. “Did I do somethin’? Because if I did, I swear I’m not tryin’ to mess this up. I just need you to talk to me, okay.”

Your chest tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Steve,” you say softly, cutting him off before he can dig himself deeper, “can you turn off the light, please?”

He gets the hint; you don’t want to talk.

He freezes for a second, then nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He stands, reaches for the lamp, and the room falls into darkness. He lingers there for a moment longer, like he’s hoping you’ll turn back around, say his name, give him something to hold onto.

You don’t.

“Night,” he says quietly.

“Night,” you reply, barely audible.

He lies down beside you, careful not to touch, staring up at the ceiling with the awful, sinking realization that this is what losing you looks like..

As the days passed, then quietly turned into weeks, you built a new routine that did not include Steve in it at all. It happened slowly enough that it almost felt reasonable at first. 

You learned how to time your mornings so you were out the door before he woke up, learned how to come home late enough that conversation felt unnecessary, learned how to smile just enough to keep him from asking questions that you did not have the strength to answer.

Avoiding him became second nature. Lying became easy.

You spent most of your days outside, anywhere that was not the house and not around him. Sometimes you sat beside your nana’s hospital bed for hours, holding her hand and watching the rise and fall of her chest just to remind yourself that people stayed alive even when everything went wrong. 

Other days you walked until your legs ached, wandering neighborhoods you barely recognized, letting exhaustion drown out thought. Occasionally you called a friend, anyone who would answer, and let the hours blur together in cafes and parking lots and friendly conversations that never went anywhere deep enough to hurt.

It got to the point where you could not remember the last time you had kissed him without forcing yourself to think about it, and when you did, the number made your stomach twist. Four days. Four whole days since his mouth had been on yours, since his hands had found your waist without asking, since you had slept tangled together instead of inches apart. 

There was a time when five minutes apart felt unbearable, when you haunted each other in hallways and kitchens and doorways, hands always reaching, always searching.

You grew used to the distance. 

Steve though, did not.

His patience thinned in ways that showed. It did not help that things with Dustin were already strained. Steve started snapping again and retreating into old habits he thought he had outgrown. 

He tried to pull himself back every time he felt it happening, tried to reach for you like he always had.

And every time he did, you stepped further away.

That was how he found himself one late afternoon sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the front door. 

You had been gone all day again, supposedly with Nancy, doing whatever it was you told him you were doing now. 

Steve knew you were close to her, knew you trusted her, but not to the point where you would spend hours every other day together. Still, he told himself not to judge. Girls were odd in their friendships, and he did not want to be the guy who questioned everything.

But his mind would not shut up.

Every instinct in him was screaming that something was wrong, that he needed to do something instead of sitting there waiting. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang.

Steve was on his feet instantly, relief and fear colliding in his chest as he rushed to the door. He yanked it open, already ready to say your name.

Instead, Nancy Wheeler stood there.

For a split second, his brain refused to process it. Then panic slammed into him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. If you were supposed to be with Nancy, then why is she standing here alone?

“Where is she?” he blurted out, voice sharp and scared. “Is she okay? What happened?”

Nancy blinked in shock at his reaction, taking in the way his shoulders were tight, the way his hands were already shaking like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Whoa, Steve, hey,” she said quickly. “Slow down. What’s going on?”

“What,” he shot back, breath uneven, eyes already scanning the driveway behind her like you might suddenly appear. “Where’s she? Why are you here without her, Nancy?”

Nancy frowned. “Without who?”

“Y/N,” he snapped, panic bleeding into anger because fear always did that to him. “I’m talking about Y/N.”

Her expression shifted immediately. “Yeah,” she said slowly, “that’s actually why I’m here. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. I just wanted to check in.”

The words hit him like a punch straight to the chest.

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” he said, quieter now, like saying it louder might make it real. “You were literally  together today?”

Nancy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Steve, no. I’ve been with Jonathan all day. He’s waiting in the car right now. I just stopped by because I was worried about her.”

The color drained from his face so fast it scared her.

“Steve,” she said carefully, stepping closer, “you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

He swallowed hard, throat tight like it was closing in on itself. “She’s been telling me she’s with you,” he said. “Every time she’s gone. She says she’s with you.”

Nancy stared at him. “Why would she lie about that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking despite how hard he tried to keep it together. “That’s the thing, Nance, I don’t know. One day she was everywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without her being there, couldn’t breathe without feelin’ her next to me, and then suddenly it’s like she vanished. We didn’t fight. I–i didn't do anything. At least not that I remember.”

Nancy sighed, rubbing her forehead, her tone firm but not unkind. “Steve. You don’t just wake up one day like that. Something must've happened.”

“No, no, no” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I would know. I would remember if I fucked up that bad.”

“And you didn’t think to ask her?” Nancy pressed.

“I did,” he snapped. “I tried. Every time I tried she’d shut it down, say she was tired or busy or fine. What the hell was I supposed to do, corner her?”

“She was clingy, okay. I’ll say it. I couldn’t go anywhere without her, couldn’t get a second alone, and then suddenly it’s like she was gone.”

Nancy’s head snapped up. “Don’t,” she said sharply.

“What?” he shot back.

“You do not call her clingy, Steve!” Nancy said, anger flaring now. “You don’t get to use that word with Y/N out of all people!”

He bristled. “Oh come on, Nancy. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did,” she said. “And even if you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. In case you’ve forgotten, Harrington, we’re all wrapped up in this upside down bullshit because we have to be. I do it because of Mike and Barb. You do it because of Dustin. Guess what? She doesn’t have to be involved in it!”

Steve opened his mouth, then stopped.

“That girl is fucking traumatized, and she went through that shit because you dragged her into it!” Nancy continued, voice steady but fierce.

“She nearly died. She was attacked by monsters that shouldn’t exist. She watched Eddie die just like the rest of us, and she doesn’t get to talk about it with anyone outside this circle. She can’t go to her friends or her family and say, ‘hey, I got slimed by an interdimensional monster and almost got ripped apart.’ The only person she feels safe enough to lean on is you!”

His jaw tightened, guilt creeping in through the cracks.

“So yeah,” Nancy went on, “maybe she leaned too hard or she  didn’t know how to be alone after that. But that doesn’t make her clingy, Steve. That makes her scared.”

He dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” Nancy said. “But intent doesn’t erase impact. Something you said or did made her feel like she was too much, like she was a burden, and instead of yelling or crying she did the only thing she could think to do. She disappeared.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “She’s been lying to me, Nancy.”

“She’s protecting herself,” Nancy said. “You need to see things in her light”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

“So what,” he said finally, voice raw. “What if she’s just… done? What if she realized she doesn’t need me?”

Nancy softened then, stepping closer. “Steve. She needs you. She just doesn’t think she’s allowed to anymore. And that’s on you to fix.”

He looked at her, eyes glassy. “How?”

“You talk to her,” Nancy said simply. “Really talk. Don't accuse her or get defensive. Listen to her.”

She glanced back toward the driveway. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on her too, okay? But you can’t let this sit. Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly eating both of you alive.”

Steve nodded faintly, chest aching. “Yeah.”

Nancy opened the door, then paused. “And Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Snap out of it,” she said firmly. “Before you lose her for real.”

With that, she left, heading back toward Jonathan’s car, while Steve stood alone in the doorway.

Ironically, barely ten minutes after Nancy and Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, you came home.

The house was dark. Too dark.

Your stomach dropped immediately, panic flaring hot and fast as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. No lights. No TV. No noise.

For a split second, every worst-case scenario you’d trained yourself not to think about came crashing in all at once.

“Steve?” you called out, voice tight.

Footsteps shuffled, and then he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, lit only by the faint glow from the stove light.

“Hey,” he said, like nothing in the world was wrong.

You froze for half a beat. “Oh. Hi.”

There was something awkward in the air instantly, like you’d both stepped into the same room carrying entirely different weights. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual.

“How was your day?” he asked.

You shrugged, slipping your shoes off. “It was… alright.”

His eyes drifted to the bag clutched in your hand, the crinkled plastic catching his attention. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” you said quickly, glancing down at it. “I stopped by the pharmacy to get the cream. For, uh… you know. The scarring.”

He nodded, softer now. “That’s good.”

Neither of you said anything else as you walked down the hall together. The bedroom felt smaller than usual as Steve sat on the edge of the bed while you set the bag down.

“Um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want me to help you apply it?”

You hesitated for a second. Then you nodded and handed him the bag.

He unsealed the ointment while you slipped your shirt off and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back to him. You were suddenly acutely aware of every scar—deep, jagged reminders carved across your back and abdomen from the demogorgon attack. Old wounds, but never really gone.

Steve didn’t react the way you always feared people might. He never did.

His hands were warm as he scooped some of the cream, spreading it carefully across your skin gently. He worked it into your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as he massaged your shoulders.

You let yourself breathe.

He kept going until he was done, smoothing the last of it in with quiet focus. As you started to shift, ready to stand and pull your shirt back on, you felt it—

Two soft kisses. One pressed over each long scar crossing your back.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

You stood quickly, sliding your shirt back on, suddenly unsure what to do with all the space between you. You were halfway to the door when his voice stopped you.

“Uhm, Y/n.”

You turned. “Yeah?”

He reached out, fingers wrapping gently around your hand, and tugged you a step closer. “Can we talk?”

He keeps hold of your hand when you hesitate.

“Talk about what?” you ask quietly.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the familiar gravity that’s always pulled you in whether you wanted it to or not. His hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

“I know I’ve been shitty,” he says again, like repeating it might finally make it land where it needs to. His voice is low and rough, scraped raw by guilt. “I know I’ve been so far away from you. I know you felt it. I saw it, even when I pretended I didn’t.” He swallows hard. 

“And I know you’re going through things—things I can’t even fully understand—and I hate that instead of being the person you could come to, the person who made it easier, I—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, hand lifting to his face like he can physically stop the words from spilling.

Your chest tightens so painfully it almost steals your breath.

“I panicked,” he rushes on, panic bleeding straight through his words now. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Knowing someone was dependent on me, really dependent on me, not just for rides or babysitting or stupid shit like that, but emotionally.” His voice wavers. “I thought I was gonna screw it up. Thought I already was screwing it up. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I freaked out.”

He laughs once, sharp and broken. “God, I thought I needed space. I thought if I pulled back, things would calm down, that we’d both breathe easier. But fuck—” His voice cracks hard on the word. “This is so much worse. You being gone is so much worse than you being everywhere. I’d give anything to have you hovering around me again, asking if I’m okay, touching my arm, sittin’ too close on the couch.”

He steps closer, hands shaking as they come up to your sides.

“Please,” he whispers, forehead nearly brushing yours now, eyes glossy and wrecked. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t stop being dependent on me. Don’t stop needing me. Don’t stop loving me.”

Your breath stutters, a broken sound caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

“I need you to need me,” he says, the words spilling faster, desperate and unfiltered. “I didn’t realize it until you pulled away, but I do. I need it. I need you. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wake up every day wondering if you’re okay and knowing it’s my fault you don’t tell me.” His voice drops to a whisper. 

“I can’t do this without you.”

That’s when you break.

The sob tears out of you violently, ripping through your chest like something finally gave way. Your knees nearly buckle as you fold into him, crying so hard your body shakes, hiccups jerking through each breath. 

Steve reacts instantly, arms wrapping around you tight, crushing you to his chest like if he lets go you’ll disappear for real this time.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, voice breaking completely now. “I’m so sorry. Fuck—fuck, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

His hand moves up and down your back in slow, steady motions, grounding and familiar, his chin pressing into your hair. You cry into his shirt until it’s damp, until your throat burns and your lungs ache and you feel wrung out and hollow.

Eventually, trembling, you pull back just enough to look at him.

“I heard you, Steve,” you say, the words tripping over themselves.

He freezes. “You… heard what?”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms like you deserve the sting. “A few weeks ago. At the station. I left early and forgot my coat.” Your voice wobbles badly now. “I came back, and I heard you.”

The color drains from his face so fast it scares you.

“You were talking to Robin,” you continue, tears spilling again. “You said I was clingy. You said I was suffocating you.”

“Oh—no,” he breathes, panic exploding across his features. “No, no, no, baby, please—”

“I didn’t mean to be,” you sob. “I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to trap you or make you feel stuck. I just—” Your breath breaks, the words barely making it out. “I only felt safe with you. And everyone else was doing okay. Everyone. And I wasn’t. I was falling apart and I didn’t know how to move on from everything that happened.”

You swallow hard, voice dropping to something small and raw. “And somewhere along the way, it started to feel like you weren’t loving me anymore.”

Your eyes lift to his, shining. “It felt like you were just… tolerating it. Tolerating me.”

Steve’s hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your tears away like each one physically hurts him.

“Baby,” he says fiercely, voice shaking as his arms tighten around you. “You can cling to me as tight as you want and as long as you want. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to pull away to protect me.”

His voice drops, thick and aching, the words pressed straight into your hair. “I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much it scares me, and instead of owning that, I ran my mouth and said somethin’ stupid and careless. And I hate that it hurt you. I hate that I made you feel like you were too much when all you ever were was… you.”

He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “You were never suffocating me. I was just scared of how much I needed you back.”

You search his face, eyes swollen, chest still hitching with quiet aftershocks of sobs. He looks wrecked and earnest and painfully open, like every wall he’s ever built has finally come down.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, even though the words wobble on the way out, even though they don’t quite feel solid yet.

He shakes his head immediately, curls bouncing with the movement. “It’s not. It’s really not.” His hands slide up your back, holding you close. “But we’re gonna fix it, okay? I will fix it. I promise. I don’t care how long it takes.”

His forehead presses against yours again, like he’s grounding himself. “Just… don’t pull away from me ever again.”

You nod, slow but sure, arms wrapping around him fully now as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you like he means it this time, rocking you gently, big hands warm and steady like they’re reminding you that he’s real, that he’s here.

You breathe him in.

And then—

Grrrgrgrgrgrgr.

You freeze for half a second.

Then you pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes still wet, face scrunched, and you burst out laughing—broken, hiccupy laughter that comes out of you mid-cry.

“Are you—” you sniff, laughing harder, “—are you hungry?”

Steve’s face goes bright red.

“I—” he stammers, mortified. “I was gonna wait for you to come back, okay? I didn’t wanna eat without you.”

That just makes you laugh more. You press your face back into his chest, shoulders shaking, and he lets out a breathy laugh too, embarrassed but relieved, his arms tightening around you again.

“God,” he mutters. “Timing, huh.”

You tilt your head up and kiss him. He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been starving for it just as much as food. When you pull away, barely an inch, he leans in again and kisses you harder this time and deeper, pouring everything unsaid into it.

He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Missed kissing you.”

You smile. “Me too.”

He exhales, then straightens suddenly like he’s had an epiphany. “You know what?”

“What?” you ask.

“I am starving,” he says, dead serious. “And I’m pretty sure you are too.”

You blink. “Steve—”

“Come on,” he says, already grabbing your hand and tugging you gently toward the door. “Grab a coat.”

“Wait,” you laugh, stumbling after him. “Where are we even going?”

He grins over his shoulder, that familiar boyish smile you fell in love with. “Enzo’s.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No, Steve, that place is expensive. And you need a reservation and— I can just heat something up, it’s fine—”

“Nope,” he cuts in immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Steve—”

“I gotta spend the next year or so making it up to you,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Minimum.”

You gape at him. “But—”

“Too late,” he says cheerfully, already opening the door.

You stumble as he leads you out to the car, the night air cool against your skin. He opens your door for you like always, and excitedly smiles at you. As the engine starts and the house disappears in the rearview mirror, you lean back in your seat, heart full and sore and warm all at once.

Deep down, you know it again: Steve will stay by your side. He’ll wait while you heal. He’ll hold you steady until you’re strong enough to take steps on your own.

And Steve knows, wholeheartedly, that he’ll be the one clinging to you just as tightly. Because you’re the only one he’s ever loved enough to spill his heart to.

everyone is back at the wsqk radio station, and the faint static noise still comes from the equipment that was never turned off since the failure of the crawl. the group is a mix of exhaustion and fragile relief but the stress of what happened to holly still confuses everyone.

where did she go?

what is above the upside down?

your hand finds steve's, fingers intertwining and you feel his warm palm, calloused, against yours which keeps you calm in the tense environment.

lucas glances your way, with his chest still bandaged from the tunnel fight, and offers a small nod. he is wheeling max around the station, a place she has never been in before while the red-head looks around weakly, her eyes still glassy from the hospital meds vickie given her.

as some of the group disappear down the corridor, you tug steve's hand gently, leading him in the opposite direction toward one of the empty office rooms.

the station's layout is a maze of cluttered desks and faded posters, but this room is quieter, tucked away from the main lounge where the others are gathering.

"nance, i'll be right back," you call out over your shoulder, your voice steady despite the instability happening inside of your mind, nearly nervous about the next conversation that was needed with steve.

nancy looks up from where she's siting with jonathan on a couch, her eyes meeting yours with understanding.

"take your time," she says softly, and most the group nods.

yes, there was no time to chat about things other than vecna and whatever happened to holly. however, there was nobody who was going to tell you to postpone this needed conversation with steve.

before moving, you see hopper clapping jonathan once on the back and dustin standing up with a dry erase marker to already chat about the upside down's layout.

everyone knows this moment is yours, so they left you and steve be.

you push open the door, the hinges creak softly, and you step inside. the room is sparse with a dusty desk, a couple of chairs, and a window overlooking the hawkins daylight. you let steve step in before you close the door behind you.

afterwards, you lean against the door for a second, listening to the muffled voices from the lounge starting up with dustin's voice mainly outlining the next moves against vecna, with hopper's input.

they're distracted now.

you turn to face steve, your heart pounding so hard it echoes in your ears. he's standing there, just a few feet away, with his brown eyes locked on yours with a softness that steals your breath.

it's the way he's always looked at you... like you're the only thing in the world that matters, like he could stare forever and never get tired. now there's something deeper, a tenderness laced with wonder, with his gaze flicking down to your belly and back up full of unspoken questions, and a love so deeply rooted that it makes your chest ache.

tears prick at your eyes immediately as you stutter, "steve, I-i'm so sorry," you whisper, the words tumbling out in a rush, "i should've told you sooner. i wanted to, i swear, but—"

steve steps closer, his hands finding your waist gently, pulling you into him.

"hey, hey," he murmurs, voice low and soothing, "why? what happened?"

you swallow hard, leaning into his warmth.

"because of… you know. vecna. everything's been falling apart again, and i didn't want to add more chaos. i thought if i waited until it was over—"

steve nods slowly, his thumb brushing your cheek as he cuts you off from your sentence, "yeah but vecna's gonna be defeated soon, love. we're gonna end this. you could've told me earlier."

"i know," you say and your voice is trembling, "but i was scared. I was scared everyone would reject the baby because the timing's all wrong. we're so young, steve... you're 21, i'm 20. it's not perfect."

your man's expression softens even more, if that's possible, and he shakes his head, "i know we're young, but it happened, and i would've accepted it right away with no questions." his hands slide lower, palms splaying gently over your small bump, caressing it through the fabric of your slightly oversized green shirt.

the touch is reverent, careful, like he's afraid he'll wake from a dream, "this is the both of us created into one. not even someone like vecna could've taken his happy moment away from me."

you lean into him, with your own hands resting on his arms, feeling the steady beat of his pulse, "i had a doctor's appointment last week," you say softly, the words feeling intimate in the quiet room, "today makes 15 weeks. I have one more week until I hit four months."

steve looks down, his eyes tracing the gentle curve where your belly presses against the shirt, almost poking through. a small smirk tugs at his lips as something clicks.

"wait… so we conceived in july... was it... was it during that moment we had in the car after dustin's birthday party?"

you nearly laugh, the sound bubbling up through the tears, "hey! don't think about that right now!"

steve grins now, that boyish smirk you fell for years ago, his eyes sparkling with mischief and memory, "come on, that sundress you wore? the blue one that matched your skin so perfectly? you looked so sexy—i couldn't resist."

"well, look where that got us," you say, placing your hands on top of his, pressing them firmer against your belly.

the baby flutters faintly, as if sensing the moment which makes you both freeze, sharing a wide-eyed glance.

steve laughs then, a real, warm sound that fills the room, but it's cut short by a tear slipping down his cheek.

he kisses your forehead, lingering there, his lips soft against your skin.

you pull back slightly, wiping the tear away with your thumb.

"how did you know? before… before i could tell you?"

he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing, "in the upside down… i nearly did something stupid... you're gonna kill me, but i tried to play a hero again while crossing into th-this melting stairwell to save nancy and jonathan. dustin... he freaked out, and pulled me back and in order to stop me, he… he spilled it. he said i couldn't die because you're pregnant with my kid."

you sigh, a mix of frustration and ache settling in your chest, "why do you always have to play hero, steve? every time—"

"they were about to drown in that goo," he says quietly, with his eyes pleading for some sort of forgiveness, "i had to try."

you sigh again, "I know, but it scares me."

"hey," he whispers and one of his hands leaves your belly to cup your face, "don't stress it. i'm okay now." steve's voice drops lower too, full of love that wraps around you like a blanket, "i want you to stay calm... for you and the baby."

you nod, but the words keep coming from steve, "i promise to stay safe," he says firmly, "and keep you safe. both of you."

"yeah... but i'm anxious, steve," you admit, "not just about vecna... its just that i don't want to be useless or sidelined in this whole thing. remember 18 months ago? i was right there handling guns, bombs, and fighting in the upside down and I was the only one who did damage to vecna before he nearly killed max. now… i don't want to be dumbed down to just another person in the group because I happen to be pregnant."

he nods, understanding flickering in his eyes, "well, you're not useless. never that.... but there have to be precautions for the baby, love."

"i know," you say, "but i can still be involved—in the planning, at least?"

"deal," he agrees and pulls you closer so your small belly touches his lower stomach, "we compromise. you help plan, i make sure you're safe."

you smile, before resting your head across his chest. for a few second after, a wave of silence comes before steve's face crumples, and tears spilling freely from his eyes.

he steps back slightly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"what's wrong?" you look up and ask, panic rising as you try to pull him back into you.

he shakes his head, smiling through the tears, "nothing. i'm happy. i'm so fucking happy." his voice breaks, "ever since I found out about you I just... I just keep thinking about the failed relationship with my parents and just everything else that went wrong in my life due to my stupid decisions. i thought i'd never have a family or any sense of stability. i felt like a loser after high school since I did not go to college, and I got cut off from parents. i thought vecna was it for me. maybe if i played hero, proved i wasn't 'king steve' anymore, it'd mean something."

he pauses, before he turns and his eyes were locked on yours once again, "but now… i realize i don't need that. i got what i always wanted, which was a greater love with you."

tears stream down your face now too, your heart swelling until it hurts, "steve…"

you pull him into a hug, arms wrapping tight around his neck (while being mindful of your arm injury) as he buries his face in your shoulder, with his body shaking with quiet sobs.

"i promise," he whispers against your skin, "i'll be a good dad. the best dad I can be while being the greatest partner to you.... forever."

you hold him as the world outside seems to fade in your mind to nothing.

minutes pass in that embrace, until you both pull back, wiping each other's tears.

turning around and before opening the door, steve pauses.

"do you know the gender of the baby?"

you shake your head, smiling softly.

"not yet. but i've been reading about cravings and stuff. all the signs point to a girl since I like sweet things, and with my irregular morning sickness patterns."

steve's face lights up, a fresh tear glistening.

"a girl." he breathes it like a prayer, then takes your hand, "come on. we'll talk more later... let's go join them."

you nod, letting him lead you out of the office hand in hand with his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles. the hallway feels narrower but the muffled voices from the main lounge grow clearer as you approach.

everyone is already gathered around the radio booth window sitting on the couches, where dustin has turned the glass into a makeshift whiteboard with black dry-erase marker.

there’s a free spot on the sagging couch beside murray, who’s perched with his arms crossed and his eyes curious behind his glasses. steve guides you there first, letting you sink into the cushions before he hops up to sit on the backrest, with his right leg dangling beside you.

the man's knee was close to your left shoulder protectively, and steve's right hand immediately finds your upper back, rubbing slow, soothing lines between your shoulder blade. you lean into the touch without thinking, drawing a deep breath to settle the flutter of nerves in your chest.

murray scoots over an inch to give you room, offering a small, knowing nod which gives silent praise for the conversation you just had, maybe, or just acknowledgment that you’re holding it together.

you return a tiny smile, then turn your attention to dustin.

he’s in full lecture mode with his cap pushed back and a marker squeaking against the glass as he redraws the diagram he’s apparently already explained once.

“okay, okay, catch-up for steve and y/n,” dustin says, glancing over his shoulder at you both, “so basically... this bottom circle you see here? that’s hawkins.” he taps the lower loop he’s drawn on the window, “we always assumed the upside down was just some pocket dimension brenner accidentally tore open, right? but it’s not.... it’s a bridge.... more specifically, an interdimensional bridge that rips through space and time.”

your eyes widen, with your mind doing a double take on if you've heard that correctly.

you feel steve’s hand still on your back for a second and you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze... he’s staring at you, brown eyes comically round, mouth slightly agape. you know that look since it’s the same one he gave you in the office when the pieces clicked about july.

you’re both thinking the same thing about what his mentee said.

dustin catches it and grins, pointing at you two with the marker, “see guys? they’re surprised too.”

you shake your head slowly, pushing yourself up from the couch with one hand on steve's knee and the other subtly supporting your lower back. the movement is a little slower than usual, your small bump making balance just a touch trickier.

“dustin,” you say, voice steady as you admit your truth, “i had that theory since last year.”

the room goes quiet.

“wait... what?” hopper blurts, his gaze on joyce breaking as you spoke those last words.

“you did?” dustin’s voice pitches up, open marker frozen mid-air.

you step closer to the window, close enough to see the faint smudges from previous drawings.

“yeah. you know my whole thing with marvel and x-men comics?” you glance around and you see robin's smirk, steve’s lips twitch, and even kali gives a tiny nod.

robin mutters, “nerd,” under her breath, and you shoot her a playful glare before continuing, “i always figured that the upside down wasn’t a separate dimension exactly.... more like the ‘space between.’ i told steve a while ago shortly after what had happened to max and eddie...I said that it wouldn’t surprise me if the upside down was just connective tissue between universes... like... a multiverse bridge, but i thought i was living too much in the fantasy.”

you shrug, a little embarrassed now that every eye is on you. so, you walk a step backwards, feeling steve’s hand on your lower back again as you stand there.

murray beside him gives a low, appreciative hum towards you, with eyebrows raised in clear respect.

dustin looks almost offended that he didn’t know, like his smart brain could not have detected that sooner, “you had this puzzle piece the whole time and didn’t say anything?”

“i thought it sounded insane,” you admit and your voice gets softer, “i didn’t have proof... just comic-book logic.”

mr. clarke clears his throat from the corner, smiling fondly, “comic-book logic has been right more than once in this town, ms. l/n.”

dustin recovers quickly, excitement bubbling over again.

“okay, well—you’re right, but keep in mind the upside down is wildly unstable, held together by exotic matter we found dead center above the lab.” he circles a smaller ring in the middle of the bridge shape he’s drawn, right over where hawkins lab would sit, “in theoretical physics, they call this type of bridge a—”

“wormhole,” you, erica, and mr. clarke say in unison.

the three of you glance at each other and erica smirks, mr. clarke gives an approving nod, and you can’t help the small and proud smile that tugs at your lips.

“yes,” dustin says, a little deflated but grinning anyway, “and this wormhole connects hawkins to here…” he draws a second circle on the opposite side of the bridge, “…another world i’ve coined the abyss.”

robin tilts her head, “any particular reason for the dramatic name?”

mr. clarke answers before dustin can, “a realm of chaos and evil.”

robin blinks, “i’m sorry?”

“d&d,” half the room choruses... lucas, mike, erica, will, and even steve mutters it under his breath.

hopper pinches the bridge of his nose, “jesus christ.”

“wow,” murray mutters beside you and steve, loud enough for only you two to hear. steve huffs a quiet laugh, with his fingers resuming their gentle path up and down your spine.

dustin barrels on, “i believe the abyss is the true home of the demogorgons, the vines, the mind flayer—all the nasty shit we’ve been fighting. it’s where, years ago, you banished henry.” he points at eleven, who sits beside erica with her arms wrapped around herself.

eleven’s voice is quiet as she says, “brenner made me find henry.”

she says it almost defensively, like she’s afraid someone will blame her for everything. your heart twists, knowing they would never do that.

with eleven, you’ve felt protective of her since the moment you met her (with max) at your jcpenny job almost two years ago... you were protective, since this girl had to carry the weight of the world since she was born.

while only five years older than her, you still hate that she’s fifteen and still the center of every plan.

it might be the maternal instinct that you didn’t even know you had, yet. all of it flares hot in your chest since you just want her safe, happy, and free to be a teenager after this is over. you want her to have a real home with more school dances, college, maybe.

anything similar to the life you and steve are only just starting to dream about for yourselves... and now for the tiny life inside you.

“and when you made remote contact with the abyss,” dustin continues, turning back to the window, “the bridge formed. ever since, henry and his monsters have been using it to cross right back into hawkins.”

he caps the marker with finality and steps back, letting everyone absorb the drawing.

the room is silent for a long beat.

you sink back onto the couch slowly, with the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders, yet steve’s hand never leaves your back, with thumb tracing the same comforting pattern.

you take a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. the exhale is loud, which makes multiple heads turn towards your direction at once. all you notice is nancy’s worried eyes, robin’s furrowed brow, hopper’s concern, and even eleven glancing over with quiet sympathy.

you realize how loud that sigh must have been and crack a small, tired smile, lifting one hand in reassurance, “I'm okay... this is just… overwhelming.”

steve leans down a little, “you sure?”

you nod, reaching back to squeeze his knee, “yeah.... just processing.”

dustin caps the marker again, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he can’t contain the energy inside of his mind and mouth at once, “we kicked vecna’s ass last year. well... eleven with her powers and y/n with that damn flamethrower in particular... but he just fled across this bridge and back into the abyss to lick his wounds.”

“what a pussy!” erica calls from the center couch, arms crossed, with her voice dripping with twelve-year-old disdain.

a surprised smirk tugs at your lips before you can stop it while steve’s hand pauses mid-circle on your back, then resumes, his quiet huff of laughter vibrating against your shoulder.

even hopper’s mouth twitches at the out-of-pocket callout.

joyce, sitting forward on the edge of the center couch, frowns softly, “so all this time… vecna’s been hiding in the sky?”

“that explains why every crawl led to a dead end,” nancy says, arms folded tight, eyes on the diagram like she’s memorizing it.

eleven nods beside erica, “and why i can’t find him in the bath.”

“and why holly came from the sky,” jonathan adds quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

hopper’s jaw tightens, almost locked, “yeah, but why is he taking kids up there?” he is angry, the kind of anger that comes from imagining something unspeakable happening to a child... especially one he’s come to care about like family.

the room stills and max's soft breathing is suddenly the loudest sound.

will steps forward, “for the same reason he took me.” his voice is steady, but you can hear the light tremor underneath, “the minds of children are weaker, right? more easily molded and controlled. so he channels his thoughts and powers through me to amplify his abilities… and he’s going to do the same to those kids.”

hopper turns fully toward him, “amplify his abilities? to do what?”

you feel the words rise in your throat before you can stop them, “to create an incursion.”

every head swivels toward you. steve’s hand stills again on your back as you lean forward slightly, with your elbows on your knees while the small weight of your belly shifts with the movement.

“or in the comics… crashing one world into another.”

hopper stares, “are you serious?”

“she is,” max says from her wheelchair near the door, voice flat but certain, “holly… she said henry told the kids they would help him draw the worlds together.”

your eyes widen as you sit up straighter, ignoring the twinge in your lower back, “i didn’t understand what it meant at the time,” max continues, “but hearing y/n and dustin—”

“he wants to move the abyss,” mike cuts in, voice rising with realization, “and crash it here into hawkins.”

“no—not crash!” will corrects sharply, surging forward.

he moves around the couch, snatches the marker from dustin’s hand and starts drawing frantic lines on the window with arrows from the abyss circle pushing toward hawkins, “merge! henry wasn’t licking his wounds in the abyss... he was making rifts! he is weakening the abyss like he weakened hawkins. so when the abyss and hawkins collide, they become one.”

the marker squeaks loud in the sudden silence.

steve finally speaks, his voice a little hoarse... he’s been quiet since the office, mind clearly split between the end of the world and the beginning of a family.

he shifts beside you, “okay, uh… how long would this take? to move worlds? like-” he smacks his hands together sharply, the clap echoing, “or is this gonna take some time?”

mike exhales hard, running a hand through his hair.

“well this better take some time, because if this is all correct we have to get two thousand feet into the air, find our way into the abyss, free holly and the kids, and kill vecna before our worlds collide.”

lucas, leaning around max, shakes, “and if my theory is right… he’s gonna move the worlds tonight.”

the room seems to shrink since joyce’s hand tightens around herself, nancy’s eyes flick to the windows behind her like she’s already searching the sky and eleven’s nose starts to bleed again, just a thin trickle she wipes away without comment.

robin mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “fan-fucking-tastic.”

you feel steve’s fingers resume their path up your spine, slower.

two thousand feet into the air. tonight.

your free hand drifts to your belly, settling over the small curve hidden beneath your green shirt. it has been fifteen weeks and your child is a life barely the size of a peach, with their heart beating steady inside you while the world prepares to end above everyone’s heads.

soon, the group starts talking at once with hopper barking questions and plans. dustin is already theorizing entry points and Nancy starts pulling out maps... but you stay quiet since this is not just hawkins and not just holly and the kids in your mind.

this is future you and steve only just dared to name.

anyways, hopper takes charge and thinks about a plan. one involving another kidnap. he stands by the window and holds the dry erase marker, “we kidnap a chopper from the base, fly straight up the wormhole, drop in hot, grab the kids, take out vecna. simple.”

dustin throws his hands up, “this rotor's are like 40 feet wide," he argues, gesturing wildly at the diagram, "it's too big, it is not gonna fit."

robin, standing beside mike with her arms crossed, catches your eye at the exact moment dustin says “too big.” since her mouth twitches with immaturity.

she flicks her gaze to steve perched beside you on the couch back, then back to you, that familiar devilish spark lighting up her face.

“steve hears that all the time from a certain individual,” she calls out, her voice cutting through the argument, “yet he goes in anyway. don’t you, steve?”

you smack a hand to your forehead, muttering, “robin?” in mock offense, but the smirk tugging at your lips betrays you.

steve scoffs at robin, almost offended, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

murray, sandwiched between you and the armrest, lets out a low, appreciative chuckle, “okay, that was funny.”

you elbow him lightly, still grinning despite the embarrassment. everyone in the room knows exactly what robin’s implying... especially now that the pregnancy news is out.

there’s no hiding the evidence of what you and steve do in your private time anymore.

hopper pinches the bridge of his nose, “everybody shut up.” his voice booms, “look—if somebody else has some magic bean that i don’t know about, i’m all ears. if not, it’s a risk we have to take. we fly, or we die.”

“we fly,” murray drawls, dragging the word out like he’s tasting it.

“well i guess we die,” dustin snaps back.

“we’re not gonna die if we commit to a plan!” hopper waves a hand, frustration felt deep in the lines of his face. at the time voices rise again mostly between dustin and hopper. it’s all noise, overlapping with everyone grasping at the same thin strands of hope.

you feel something twisting in your stomach... a cold, tight knot that has nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with a little girl lost in that red-black sky.

holly’s out there, trapped, and every raised voice feels like time slipping away.

before you could overthink, you feel a gentle poke on your shoulder.

you turn your head and steve’s looking around with his brow furrowed deep in thought, and his lips pressed together like he’s chewing on an idea. your man's eyes flick to you, hesitant, almost like he’s waiting for permission to speak up about a plan.

your eyebrows lift and a tiny, fond giggle bubbles up despite everything. you lean back just enough so only he can hear and whisper, “steve, you’re smart. if you have a magic bean plan, say something.”

steve's mouth quirks and he’s moving, hopping down from the couch back in one fluid motion.

“we don’t need a magic bean to climb,” he says from behind you, voice steady but not loud enough to cut through the arguing.

no one hears him since hopper’s gesturing again, and dustin’s talking over him.

steve tries again, louder, “we don’t need a magic bean!”

the room snaps to attention and all eyes turn to him. he lifts both hands in a small, apologetic gesture.

“sorry… we just… we don’t need it.” he steps forward, closer to the table, confidence growing as he speaks, “we’ve got a beanstalk right here.”

ten minutes later, the lounge empties slowly since everyone follows steve into the adjoining storage room where he talks about the correct plan to get into the abyss. he sounds smart, and it makes you smile as voices overlap in agreement.

as the conversation flows more roles get assigned, and the plan steve laid out is starting to take shape.

max is going to help with eleven and kali, erica and mr. clarke will be at the MAC-Z monitoring, and everyone else is pointed out and posted to go into the abyss.

one by one, everyone finds their place. joyce and murray will handle transport and extraction. hopper, nancy, lucas, jonathan, mike, dustin, robin, steve... they’ll climb the tower, cross into the abyss, and end this.

what shocks you is when silence falls when the assignments are done since you’re still standing behind nancy while beside robin with your hand resting low on your belly, feeling oddly outside of everything.

the knot that’s lived in your stomach since holly vanished tightens further.

“guys,” you say, voice quieter than you mean it to be. you step one stop forward, standing between nancy and robin.

everyone turns to you, “where… where am i in all of this? you never said my name for a role?”

the question hangs and you hate how small it sounds since nobody wants to speak up.

“i feel quiet,” you admit and the words are scraping out, “and lost right now.”

lucas starts, “well... um... you can come with us on the—”

“no!”

the refusal comes from nearly every adult at once and in sync. it comes from robin, nancy, hopper, joyce, murray, vickie, and loudest of all, steve.

meanwhile the chorus of it hits you like a wall, almost offensively.

you try to swallow the sting, but pregnancy hormones are cruel and efficient which makes your tears prick instantly, almost embarrassing in your mind.

that mind twists their protectiveness into something uglier... that you’re not needed and you’re fragile now.

useless.

“y/n,” nancy says softly, stepping closer and turning while reading the hurt on your face.

you lift your chin, “i am the only non-superpowered person in this room who has fought vecna 1v1 without getting cursed or broken into pieces. no offense, but i stood in that attic with a shotgun and a molotov and helped burn him. i’ve earned my place in this fight!”

“yes,” hopper says carefully, “but you’re pregnant.”

the word lands like a verdict.

you laugh, but it’s bitter, “yeah. sure. if thats the reason then I'll stay because i guess i’m just dumbed down to the pregnant woman who can’t do anything anymore.”

you know you’re not being fair.... you know it the second the words leave your mouth.

even max... in her wheelchair... has a crucial role in the fight and you’re being relegated to what? caretaker?

you turn before anyone can answer, bolting out of the room. your vision blurs with angry tears as steve calls your name. your man's footsteps are quick behind you, but you duck into the small staff bathroom down the hall, slam, and lock the door.

immediately as knocks come at the bathroom door, you sink onto the closed toilet lid with your elbows on knees, face in your hands, and finally let the sobs come.

it is quiet, choking, the kind that shake your whole body. you hate crying like this since you hate feeling benched and you hate that part of you knows they’re right and the rest of you feels erased.

“y/n?” steve’s voice is soft through the door, worried, “baby, please open up.”

“just leave me alone,” you manage.

there’s a pause for a minute..... then the lock clicks anyway.

you look up, indignant since you did not stand up to unlock the door.

when the door opens, you see steve before you see eleven behind him, with her hand lowered as she silently mumbles a “sorry,”

steve slips inside and shuts the door behind him, locking it again manually this time. he crouches in front of you immediately, hands gentle on your knees.

“hey hey,” he says, “look at me.”

you do, reluctantly. your face is a mess with tear-streaked mascara running down. he doesn’t care about your looks, since he cups your cheeks as his thumbs brush the wetness away.

“i’m not okay,” you whisper.

“i know.” he pulls you forward into his chest, arms wrapping around you tight. you resist for half a second, then fold with your face pressed to his shoulder, fresh tears soaking his shirt.

“look, please don't think that this is about you not being capable,” he murmurs into your hair, “this is about everyone, especially me, not surviving if something happened to you or the baby. i can’t—and I won’t risk that.”

you cling to him, the fight leaking out with every sob.

“i don’t want to be useless, steve.”

“you’re not. you’re never useless.” he pulls back just enough to look at you, “you’re carrying our kid. you’re keeping them safe just by breathing. that’s not nothing.”

before you could speak further, there’s a soft knock and nancy’s voice filters through.

“lovebirds? y/n, please come out. we do have a plan for you.”

you sniff, wiping your face.

“it’s not a pity role, is it?”

nancy opens the door slowly, and steve nods permission for her to fully open it.

“no. in fact, i thought of it the second you told me about the baby in the hospital.”

she gestures for you to follow her and curiosity overrides the hurt enough for you to stand. steve keeps your hand in his as you trail nancy to the smaller armory room down the hall.

after ten steps, steve lets go of your hand, and walks away leaving you with nancy as she leads you in the armory room. robin and vickie are there with robin halfway into camo pants and a long-sleeve, as vickie helps her lace boots.

nancy kneels by a black duffel bag and pulls out your sawed-off shotgun from last year... the one you wielded in the creel house attic like it was an extension of your arm.

then she hands you the flamethrower pack, fuel canister still half-full, nozzle scorched black from when you lit vecna up.

your breath catches since you take the shotgun when she offers it. the weight is familiar.

“you’re staying here,” nancy says, her voice steady but so kind, “since you’re guarding max.”

you open your mouth to protest, but she keeps going.

“yes, i know that’s not what you want... but we can’t risk you... or the baby two thousand feet up and in another dimension. if vecna sends anything back here for max again... demodogs, or bats even... everyone trusts you the most to handle it. you’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.”

robin finishes zipping her jacket, steps over, and bumps your shoulder.

“plus, someone’s gotta keep max from getting too bored. you’re the only one who can match her sarcasm.”

you look down at the shotgun in your hands, then at the flamethrower. it’s not the front line, and it’s not the abyss.... but it’s not nothing.

“that’s my first motherly sacrifice for this baby, huh? not being able to jump into a physical fight?” you say, half-joking, voice still wobbly.

nancy smiles, stepping close and resting both hands gently on your small bump, “yeah... and it won’t be the last.”

“y/n... i can’t believe you’re someone’s mother,” vickie says, awed.

“that’s not even shocking, honestly,” robin adds, pulling her own hair back with a blue hairclip, “you and steve have been the group parents for years... and that is skipping the girl-talk details you’ve shared…” she winks, “and now look at you. one beautiful young mama who’s growing her baby while still helping save the world.”

she wraps you in a tight hug, and her camo rough against your body.

you hug back hard, breathing her vanilla scent in. when you pull away, you walk back to the main room together.

steve is there, freshly changed into dark green cargo pants, with a dark shirt, a darker jacket, and that old black backwards cap with a few strands of hair escaping around the edges.

the whole look is… unfairly hot.

your hormones hit like a bus since heat floods you from chest to toes, and you have to bite your lip to keep from staring at steve too obviously.

however, some logic kicks in when you see him fumbling with a grey pistol, trying to load the magazine and clearly having no idea what he’s doing.

you jog over, laughing despite everything.

“hey, hey.” you catch his arm, “you haven’t shot a real gun before, have you?”

steve gives a sheepish grin, “well, not all of us are as cool as you... but I've shot... like… bb guns.... flare guns.... and duck hunt.”

you snort, taking the pistol and sliding the magazine in smoothly, racking the slide with practiced ease, “we’ll get you a shotgun. less finesse required.”

he watches you, eyes soft, then leans in and kisses you... slow like he’s memorizing the feel of you before he leaves.

you pull back just enough to rest your forehead against his.

“also steve... just an fyi,” you say, bright and sarcastic, “if you go up there, play hero, and die… i will revive you and then kill you again myself.”

“and i’ll join in,” robin calls from across the room, slinging a flare gun holster over her shoulder.

steve chuckles, but his eyes are serious, “i won’t die. i promise.”

he drops to one knee suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your belly through the green shirt.

“your dad’s coming back,” he whispers against the fabric, “both of us are.”

you roll your eyes playfully at him, but your throat tightens when he stands, squeezes your hand once more, then heads over to dustin to finish gearing up.

you walk to max, settling into the chair beside her wheelchair with your sawed off shotgun across your lap, and a flamethrower tank propped nearby.

yes, you are on guard duty as an armed babysitter, or the hundredth time.

it’s not the abyss, but it’s something.

an hour passes by and the station feels too big and too empty now that everyone’s gone. the lounge lights are dimmed to conserve power, casting long shadows across the mismatched furniture but the only noises are the occasional crackle of static from the walkie on the coffee table.

you’re stretched out on the sagging black leather couch, one arm draped protectively over your small bump, and the other hanging off the edge near the sawed-off shotgun propped against the side table. your leg bounces restlessly, heel tapping an anxious rhythm against the floor.

you’re trying to rest with doctor’s orders, and steve’s pleading eyes before he left... but sleep won’t come, and it shouldn't at this exact time.

every time you close your eyes you see the tower, the rift, the red sky, and you see steve’s face when he promised he’d come back. you need him to come back more than anyone else up there, and you need him safe and whole and walking through that door so you can stop feeling like your heart is being squeezed in a fist.

vickie paces the length of the room for the hundredth time, with her nurse shoes scuffing softly against the worn floor. the girl's hands twist together, then release, then twist again. the motion is making your own nerves fray faster.

so, you close your eyes for a couple of minutes and nearly slip into darkness.

“y/n.”

max’s voice cuts through the quiet and you open your eyes and turn your head. she’s parked her wheelchair at the end of the couch, facing you, red braided hair catching the faint glow from the exit sign.

“i know you don’t want to be here right now,” she says, a smirk tugging at her lips, “but i’m not sure if sleeping is a good option.”

you huff a tired laugh, pushing yourself up on one elbow, “sorry, ms. legs, pregnancy is tiring.”

max snorts, “tell me about it... i’ve been in casts for months and i’m still exhausted.”

there’s a beat of comfortable quiet as you sit up fully, swinging your legs off the couch, and rub at your eyes.

“you know,” max says softer, “i missed you a lot.”

you blink at her, “you missed me? but you were… in the trance.”

“yeah,” she shrugs, looking down at her hands for a second, “but i was still trapped in that cave in henry's mind, just wishing to be back here.... I mean... you were the third person i missed the most.”

you scoff, half offended, half fond, “third?”

max’s smirk returns full force, “lucas first, obviously. eleven second. you third. don’t take it personally.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, “well, who am i to think i rank above lucas and eleven.”

max’s grin widens, genuine and bright, the kind you haven’t seen from her in too long.

unfortunately vickie’s voice breaks the moment, “ughhh, okay what is taking them so long?” she’s pacing again, faster this time, arms wrapped around herself.

you like vickie... she’s sweet, funny, and matches robin’s energy in a way that makes your best friend light up... but right now her spiraling is not helping.

“i don’t know,” max answers dryly, “maybe something to do with the fact that it’s a five-hundred-foot tower and they’re trying to cross into another dimension.”

vickie stops, cheeks flushing, “right. yeah. sorry.”

“if something’s wrong, they’ll contact us, vick,” you say, trying to sound calm even though your own leg has started bouncing again.

“yeah, no, yeah,” vickie nods too fast, “i mean—unless they’re already dead!”

“don’t put that out there,” you groan, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes.

“okay—i’m sorry!” vickie winces, “i’m stressed and stress gives me the munchies, so um—” she looks between you and max, “do you guys want anything?”

you drop your hands, “anything that does not have peanut butter, nor soy, please.”

max shakes her head, “i’m good.”

vickie nods and hurries off toward the small kitchenette area, clearly grateful for something to do.

you watch her go, then turn back to max... just in time to see her eyes roll back, whites showing, body going rigid in the chair. your heart lurches before remembering that this is the plan for her.

kali and eleven are linking with her through the void, using her connection to vecna’s memories to guide the team. however, seeing max with her face slack and her head tilting back still sends ice down your spine.

you’re on your feet in an instant, shotgun snatched from the table, while racking the slide with a sharp metallic cha-chunk (lol).

adrenaline floods your system, sharpening your senses to the hum of the lights, to the distant clatter of vickie rummaging in the kitchen, and the soft rise and fall of max’s chest proving she’s still breathing.

you start pacing around the station slowly with deliberate loops around the lounge, eyes scanning every object, every doorway, every window.

the flamethrower tank is propped near the couch... you keep it in your peripheral as you move on guard duty so you won’t fall asleep.

unfortunately, you walk around for thirty minutes in suffocating silence.

you’ve migrated to the kitchenette, pacing in slow circles with an apple in hand, biting into it more for something to do than actual hunger. the crisp snap of each bite echoes too loud in the empty station since vickie opted to stay quiet around an unconscious max.

your shotgun leans against the counter within arm’s reach, a constant reminder of your role tonight since you were prohibited to go into the abyss.

however, nothing happens here in the station. there is no growls from the shadows and no bats snaking through cracked windows. there is only static from the radio waiting for a check-in that hasn’t come.

you press a hand to your belly, feeling the faint flutter there like the baby knows you’re on edge.

“they’re okay,” you whisper to the quiet room, more for yourself than anyone else, “they have to be.”

vickie’s still making a path on the floor in the lounge, muttering numbers under her breath about how long it should take to climb, how long to cross, how long to fight. max sits motionless in her trance, head tilted back slightly, eyes pure white.

you take another bite of the apple, juice running down your chin. once you walk to the opposite side of the building, vickie suddenly bolts to you with her face pale as a blanket sheet.

“y/n.. there are vans outside. military vans.... lots of them coming!”

your stomach drops and the apple slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud as you run to the window three strides, peering through the blinds and floodlights sweep the parking lot.

“fuck,” you breathe, “the fucking military!”

this wasn’t the plan.

you were ready for demodogs, for bats, for vines of vecna's arms bursting through the walls. it is the supernatural you can fight since you have grown to learn how to survive the supernatural.

humans with guns and orders, you cannot survive now.

a year ago you would’ve grabbed the shotgun, taken a stand, rained hell on anyone trying to intrude on your plans but now your mind drifts instinctively to your belly... now there’s another being to consider.

“we need to hide now,” you say to vickie, urgently.

thankfully, there’s an emergency hideout spot robin showed everyone earlier. it is a false panel behind a tall bookshelf in the storage room. small, cramped, but concealed.

vickie’s already moving, wheeling max’s chair as gently and quickly as she can. max’s body is limp in the trance, with her head lolling as you ditch the shotgun since it is too noisy, and too bulky. you decide to prop it behind the counter where it won’t be immediately seen then you sprint ahead, flinging the bookshelf open with a grunt.

the false wall yawns behind it, a narrow crawlspace barely big enough for three. you help vickie maneuver max inside first, wheelchair and all... it’s tight, but it fits. afterwards vickie and you go through before the shelf is pulled shut behind you with the hidden latch.

as you sat silently, the smell of dust and old paper hit your olfactory nerves. you sit behind vickie with max’s wheelchair taking up most of the space in front of you. your knees are drawn up, one hand braced against the wall, the other resting protectively over your bump.

outside, the front door splinters with a sharp crack with boots thundering across the floor. there are muffled commands along the lines of “clear,” “check the back,” and “secure the radios."

looking down, you can see flashlight beams sweep under the bookshelf crack, painting thin lines of light across your shoes.

you hold your breath as vickie’s hand finds yours in the dim light and squeezes hard as you squeeze back.

five minutes drag on then max gasps loudly with her body jerking forward when she snaps out of the trance. at that, your heart plummets and your eyes wide at vickie.

the bookshelf wrenches open almost immediately and light floods in. you squint, raising a hand against the glare.

a woman stands there with short-cropped blonde hair, sharp features, and military fatigues. she doesn’t point a gun, all she does is lookdown at the three of you with a calm, almost amused expression.

“hi there,” she says, voice smooth.

behind her, soldiers move in.

one reaches for you with his grip on your upper arm surprisingly gentle, but firm. you stand slowly, legs shaky, and quietly ask, “can you loosen it a little? I can't run.”

he does, fractionally.

they march you out to one of the vans parked in the lot. the night air is cold, biting through your green shirt.

you’re helped up into the back as max lifted in her chair while vickie climbs in beside her.

you sit on the bench seat, pulling the seatbelt across yourself out of habit.

the woman with short hair... dr. kay, you overhear someone call her... pauses at the open door, eyes scanning the three of you.

however, gaze lingers on you longest.

you swallow, nervous as she looks at the way the seatbelt crosses your body, which pulls the fabric of your shirt over the unmistakable swell of your belly.

something shifts in dr.kay's expression.

calculation, maybe, or an idea forming.

suddenly, she scoffs softly almost to herself, muttering “never mind” under her breath, like she’s dismissing whatever thought just crossed her mind about you and your pregnant stomach.

she turns away, slamming the doors shut and the van lurches into motion a second later, with the tires crunching over gravel.

you sit in the dark between max and vickie, with your heart hammering and one hand cradling your stomach since you were supposed to fight monsters tonight.

instead, you’re being taken straight into the MAC-Z full of people who’ve been hunting your family for years and you have a gut feeling that are about to get much worse before they ever get better.

and you were right.

the vans slow to a halt at the fortified gate with engines idling low and menacing. your hands won’t stop shaking since through the small tinted window you can see soldiers fanning out, rifles raised, floodlights cutting harsh white beams across the asphalt.

they’re setting up an ambush and waiting for the others to come stumbling out of the gate, exhausted and victorious by defeating vecna, only to be taken.

you feel sick, and even so helpless.

when the doors fly open., you know that means the group arrived back into the real world. you’re pulled out into the cold night air seeing the military swarm your friends. vickie on one side of you, with max ad her wheelchair in-front of you. your legs feel like water, but you stay upright, eyes widened in horror as steve and robin are slammed against the side of a truck almost immediately.

steve’s head knocks hard against the metal and he grunts, struggling. robin swears loudly, kicking out and terrified at the amount of loud men yelling at her.

your heart seizes and you take half a step forward, panic clawing up your throat, but vickie’s hand clamps around your wrist, pulling you back.

“don’t,” she whispers, voice trembling.

you watch in horror as robin pleads for the men to calm down. what happened? is vecna dead? where are all of the kids?

max yelps beside you, “what is she doing?”

at first you think she means dr. kay, the woman with the short blonde hair striding forward like she owns the night.

suddenly, mike’s voice cracks through the chaos with desperate yelling.

when mike runs towards the gate, you turn your head and see eleven standing in the upside down... alone.

she is standing in the fading red slash of the rift, small against the exploding black sky behind her. debris whips around her in violent spirals. there are chunks of metal, rock, ash, and everything the collapsing abyss is spitting out as it dies.

when el doesn’t move, and she stands there in tears, you realize that she’s not coming through. mike is fighting a soldier tooth and nail, screaming her name while trying to free her from sacrificing, “el! el, no! el!”

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

el, don’t.

the wind howls harder as the explosion of the abyss reaches her. the sky in the upside down itself is tearing apart and everyone is screaming now with hopper roaring, nancy’s voice breaking, joyce sobbing mike’s name as he almost breaks free to run towards el.

you can’t move as tears spill hot down your cheeks, freezing in the night air. everything you ever wished for her... safety, peace, a real life... slips away in front of you.

steve’s face across the lot mirrors yours. it is helpless, terrified, eyes wide in horror. the wind becomes a hurricane as the blast wave hits eleven full force.

for one impossible second she’s silhouetted against the firestorm and you close your eyes and turn away, before you could see her fully go.

the screams, mike’s most of all, tell you everything as the wind hits everyone hard. the roaring continues and you kneel on your knees, covering your ears and eyes and anything that can take you away from here.

there is only silence once mike stop screaming. at that moment, you open your eyes to see that the gate is gone... just a destroyed building where the rift had been.

everyone stares at the empty space, frozen in horror as to what had happened.

steve is still with his chest heaving, with his face streaked with dirt.

as if he noticed your presence in that moment, he turns his head and looks past the soldiers, past the trucks, and his eyes land on you.

steve's eyes widen. he hadn’t known you were here and captured by the military. he jerks against the soldier holding him, shouting your name, but the man keeps a hold on him to stay put.

you can’t hear steve calling for you over the ringing in your ears, but you see his mouth form the shape.

you sink slowly on the cold ground, with one hand on your belly, the other pressed to your mouth to hold in the sound that wants to come out.

eleven is gone and she closed the gate.

she ended everything, and she paid the price so the rest of you could live.

part four will be out in a few days

masterlist

taglist:

@sincerellie , @aleatorio1234 , @kiyoshi-miz0 , @cookies3038 , @rosethingsthings , @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt , @ahead-fullofdreams , @hoeinspirit , @danilovesangst , @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo , @gurlintheyellowhat @jesschalamet @superlegend216 @randomsimper88 @smaiisposts @chicarandom11 @cynmaxey @chericherin @snowtargaryen @rosylnsworld

@mxyz-nex @bisexual-and-intellectual @buckybarnesbestgirl @icaqttt @jj207801 @genuinelydreamygoddess @skz-thunderous-stays @mccookiemonster @xxwtfaikoo @hipsternerd9 @jellytyu @lovesflourmorethananything @fandomsarefamily1966 @fallautum @edynmeyer1 @alice07ea @criminalmindslover2 @ashbye @amy-brooklyn99 @symochka @magdalenawannabe @fromsaltandsea @ribeiroteresa97 @sugarsunshine4 @username1637910 @imgoingcrazyaaaaaaaa @mischivana

@deerlov3 @yeimysprivite @lunarwisteria @bookg1rl @twisteduniverse5 @allthingsimagines @lettersfrommike @lol900990 @xoxo-ada @buckleyverse @iluvhosh @sugarsunshine4 @astraealupinblack @ultrviolncs

You met Neteyam when your steps were still wobbly and your words mostly giggles. He was barely steadier than you—his braids just beginning, his steps a little wider—but from the moment he found you crouched near the roots of the Home Tree, you became his shadow. He toddled up with a half-eaten yovo fruit and, without hesitation, tore it in two with clumsy fingers, offering you the larger half. It was sticky and sweet, and you always remembered it as the moment he chose you. And maybe… the moment you chose him too.

From then on, it was rare to see one of you without the other. You learned to walk together, your hands often tangled as you teetered around the village. When you fell, he’d help you up, and when he tripped, you’d sit beside him until he stood again. The other adults would chuckle at the sight—tiny footsteps weaving through the forest, your matching laughter echoing through the trees. You’d nap curled beside him in the Sully’s hammock during long afternoons, Neteyam’s hand always reaching for yours in sleep, even when he’d roll away. Jake would raise a brow and smirk knowingly. Neytiri would only smile, brushing your hair back and calling you syulang, her little flower. They saw it early—what you and Neteyam would someday become—even when you were still too young to understand it yourselves.

You both remembered when Neytiri was pregnant with Kiri—Neteyam was confused at first, always poking at his mother’s growing belly and asking when the baby would “stop hiding.” You didn’t understand it either, but you liked resting your head beside him on Neytiri’s belly, watching it move as little Kiri rolled inside. When she was finally born, Neteyam was speechless, wide-eyed and soft as he held her tiny hand. “She’s mine,” he whispered to you with the quiet pride only a big brother could wear. You just nodded, understanding without needing to speak.

Then came Lo’ak. You were both a bit older—Neteyam nearly six—and you still remember when Neytiri told you he’d be getting a brother. Neteyam practically vibrated with excitement, dragging you around the village talking about all the things he’d teach his brother: how to climb, how to throw a spear, how to chase glow bugs at night. “And I’ll teach him how to protect you,” he added casually, like it was obvious. You just smiled and said, “He’ll have the best big brother.” When Lo’ak was born, Neteyam wasn’t overwhelmed like with Kiri—he was ready this time. “I’m gonna be the best,” he told you, gently adjusting the baby’s blanket like he was holding the future. He even whispered to Lo’ak that he already had a best friend—and that it was you.

Those years were full of joy. Your days were endless stretches of running through the forest, racing along vines, whispering secrets while hidden in the high tree canopies. You shared everything—fruit, beads, bruises, laughter. When Tuk was born and made the family five, you both stood over her, older now, understanding just how sacred it was to grow up surrounded by love. Neteyam pressed a kiss to her forehead, then turned to you. “I hope she finds someone like you,” he whispered, and you pretended not to hear how warm your cheeks became.

Jake often joked that you’d been adopted by the Sullys long before any ceremony could make it true. Neytiri treated you like a daughter, braiding feathers into your hair with loving fingers, scolding you just as gently as she would Neteyam. And sometimes, when she caught the two of you dozing in a sunbeam, limbs tangled and breath in sync, she’d just exchange a look with Jake—a knowing one. The kind that said, it’s always been them.

By the time you were thirteen and Neteyam fourteen, you were no longer just playmates. You were partners in everything: training, learning, dreaming. But even then, the purest part of your bond was the way you looked at each other—like somehow, in all the chaos and beauty of the forest, you had each found home.

When Neteyam turned fourteen, the village buzzed with anticipation. It was also his time—his rite of passage, the long-awaited climb to the floating mountains to claim his ikran. You weren’t allowed to go with him, though Eywa knew you tried to convince the elders otherwise. “I’ll just hide behind the rocks,” you had argued, arms crossed and defiant. But Jake only ruffled your hair, and Neytiri kissed your cheek with a chuckle. “You’ll have your turn, little one. Let him fly.”

You waited at the edge of the village the entire day, pacing, chewing your bottom lip, weaving and unweaving a small bracelet you’d started just to keep your hands busy. Every time you looked up, your eyes searched the skies, your heart jumping at the faintest sound of wings. And then, finally, you saw him.

Neteyam came soaring over the trees with the wind in his braids and the sun blazing behind him, riding the back of a fierce, sharp-beaked blue ikran. His smile was wide, radiant, full of victory. His yips of joy echoed across the forest and lit something wild in your chest. You didn’t wait. You ran—bare feet pounding across the ground, eyes stinging with happy tears—and launched yourself into his arms the moment he landed. He caught you effortlessly, laughing as you wrapped your arms and legs around him like a clingy yip-yip. “I did it,” he whispered into your neck, and you just nodded, tears soaking his shoulder. “I know,” you breathed. “I never doubted you.”

The next night, the village danced in celebration. Neteyam completed his Dream Hunt, bringing back a successful kill and presenting it with reverence. The people welcomed him as one of them—with chants, with firelight, with the steady pounding of drums. You stood beside his family, your heart full of pride. Lo’ak teased you all night, nudging your shoulder and muttering, “You’re gonna cry again, aren’t you?” And you did. But you didn’t care, you were so proud of him.

A year later, when you turned fourteen, it was your turn. And just like you had waited for him, Neteyam waited for you. He rose before the suns and flew to the floating mountains ahead of you, perched among the cliffs like a silent shadow waiting for you to arrive. You knew he was there watching, waiting, smiling. When you approached the ikran rookery, heart pounding, palms sweaty, your eyes fierce with determination, you didn’t know that far above, Neteyam held his breath with pride as he followed you below the waterfall, “you got this. Remember what I taught you.”

You tamed your ikran with grace and fire, your spirit strong and your heart steady. And when you paused. Neteyam ran up to you holding the rope around your ikran’s mouth and guided her to face the edge of the cliff. “First flight seals the bond, think fly.”

“Fly?” And just like that you took off, quickly finding a way to steady yourself in the back of your now winged companion, the grin on your face nearly split you open. He stood there on the cliff, hands cupped around his mouth as he cheered for you. You returned home flying side by side with feathers tangled in your braids and windburn on your cheeks, your soul forever changed. When you landed, Neteyam was the first to greet you. His hands framed your face, his eyes bright. “You were beautiful up there,” he said softly. “Like you were born to fly.”

You became one of the people that night, dancing beside Neteyam around the flames, your foreheads pressed together as the village sang for you. Jake lifted you into a strong embrace, calling you daughter with pride. Neytiri wept and braided a special feather into your hair. Kiri held your hand the whole ceremony. Even Lo’ak, grinning ear to ear, handed you a carved piece of bone shaped like a little ikran.

And Neteyam? He stood behind you the entire night, his hand warm on your waist, his eyes only ever on you. You were no longer just his shadow. You were his equal now, his partner. And it was written in every look he gave you.

The glances you exchanged held a different weight. Now you were fifteen and he was sixteen your bodies had begun to shift, you’d noticed it first in his arms, how they’d grown thicker with muscle from climbing, hunting, training. His chest had broadened, his voice deeper now, richer. You caught yourself watching him from the corner of your eye as he helped build or skin a kill, your stomach flipping each time his back flexed under the stretch of his bowstring. And he noticed you, too. Your hips had begun to curve, your stride more fluid. The paint across your chest during ceremonies now made his mouth go dry. You would catch him staring sometimes, pupils wide, a subtle swallow in his throat as he looked away too late. Neteyam wasn’t good at hiding it, and his siblings were relentless.

Lo’ak smirked every time you came around. “You’re staring again, big bro,” he’d nudge with his elbow, loud enough for you to hear, making your ears burn. Tuk would giggle and whisper, “You’re always looking at her,” and Kiri would grin with that knowing look and mutter, “You’ve got it bad.” Even Jake noticed, pulling Neteyam aside once with a teasing tone and a raised brow. “Keep your eyes in your head, kid. You’re not subtle.”

The heat between you two thickened during sparring practice. He’d pin you, hand against your hip to brace you, and linger a second too long. You’d roll over him to escape, but not before he noticed the way your breath caught. Your touches began to last longer, skin to skin in the most innocent ways that didn’t feel innocent anymore. Then came a moment, that humid afternoon after a hunt, when he walked behind you, offering water. You took it, brushing his fingers, and when you turned, his gaze was already on your mouth. His ears twitched, his throat moved like he wanted to speak. He didn’t. But his eyes said it all.

It started slowly, the shift in how others looked at you both. At first, it was almost laughable, how the same boys who used to pull your braid now stammered when you smiled. Or how the girls, once shy around Neteyam, now found every excuse to ask for help, compliments bubbling on their tongues.

You had grown used to the lingering stares, but what you hadn’t expected was Neteyam’s silence when one of the older hunters, Rokean, offered to walk you back to your kelku after training. You caught the flicker in Neteyam’s jaw, the way he adjusted his stance, too stiff, too still. Later, while cleaning your bowstring by the fire, he dropped down beside you with a grunt.

“Didn’t know you needed someone to walk you home now,” he said casually, picking at a loose thread on his chest strap. You paused. “Didn’t know I needed your permission either.”

His eyes flicked to you, sharp and unreadable. “You didn’t say no.” You scoffed. “I didn’t say yes, either. I was being polite.”

He leaned back, resting on his elbows, exhaling slowly. “He looked like he was ready to offer you his entire kill pile just to get you to smile again.” You turned to face him. “What’s your problem, Neteyam?”

“My problem,” he said, voice low, “is that I’ve seen the way you smile at me — and then I have to watch you give that same smile to someone else like it means nothing.” Your breath caught, heart hammering, but before you could snap back, the loud sound of laughter echoed nearby.

“Ohh nooo,” Lo’ak sing-songed, appearing from behind a cluster of trees, arms slung around Kiri. “They’re arguing again. What’s this time? Another boy tried to breathe near her?”

“Or a girl complimented his braid?” Kiri added dryly. You rolled your eyes and Neteyam looked away, lips twitching. Then came the softest voice.

“You’re not supposed to fight,” Tuk mumbled as she padded up, holding a leaf plate of fruit. “You’re supposed to love each other. Like kisses and hugs and babies.”

Both of your faces snapped toward her in horror. “TUK!” you squeaked. Neteyam choked on nothing. “What?!”

Little Tuk blinked slowly. “That’s what mama said happens when people love each other too much.”

The rest of the Sully family burst out laughing. Even Jake couldn’t hold it in. Neytiri buried her face in her hands, half-mortified, half-delighted. “You’re grounded,” Neteyam muttered, ruffling Tuk’s hair. “No, you are,” she said proudly. “You’re grumpy.”

You were trying not to laugh, your annoyance slipping away with the warmth of everyone around you. Neteyam leaned closer, voice quiet. “Still mad?” You didn’t answer, just nudged his knee with yours. He smiled. “Didn’t think so.” And though you didn’t say a word, the way your hand slipped into his as you walked off together made everyone, including Tuk, smile behind your backs.

But the jealousy went both ways, you just went as leveled headed as Neteyam. One day, you sat on a mossy stone near the gathering circle, fletching your arrows and pretending not to watch the lesson. Neteyam was helping Airi, one of the older girls in the village with her bow grip. She wasn’t exactly subtle, letting her hand brush his, laughing too loud at everything he said.

Your jaw clenched as you scraped the feather too hard, splitting it. Great. Across the circle, Kiri noticed. She nudged Lo’ak. “Uh oh. She’s got that look again.” Lo’ak followed your glare and snorted. “Poor Airi. She’s about to get shredded.” You stood, trying to keep your face neutral, and walked over just as Neteyam leaned in to adjust Airi’s arm. “Hmm,” you said lightly, arms folded. “Didn’t know bow training required that much touching.” Neteyam blinked, surprised, and then grinned. “Just making sure her stance is right.”

Airi smiled too sweetly. “He’s very helpful.”

You gave her a polite but tight smile. “He’s also very taken. Or is that part unclear?”

Airi blinked, caught off guard, her hand still awkwardly on Neteyam’s arm. “Oh—I didn’t mean anything, I didn’t think—”

“I know you didn’t thinkt.” You didn’t raise your voice, but it was firm with the same smile. “Maybe that’s the problem.” A beat of silence passed, thick and awkward. Airi gave a small, forced laugh, murmured something about needing to help her mother, and quickly walked off.

The second she was out of earshot, Neteyam let out a low whistle and crossed his arms, eyeing you with open amusement. “Damn.”

You turned toward him slowly, still tense. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His grin widened. “Say how hot that was?”

You shot him a look. “You didn’t stop her.”

“I didn’t even see her coming,” he said, laughing. “I was halfway through talking to Lo’ak about hunting patterns. She ambushed me.”

You huffed, still annoyed. Neteyam tilted his head, stepping closer. “You know, it’s funny.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Your eyes narrowed and put your hand to rest on your hip very sassily. “Really?”

“Really,” he repeated, voice low and teasing. “No official titles. No agreements. Nothing carved in stone.”

Your chest twisted. You hated when he did this, danced the line between teasing and truth, between almost and not quiet.

Then he leaned closer, eyes locking on yours. “But if I did? You know it’d be you.” You froze, caught completely off guard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. From behind, a snort of laughter broke the tension, Lo’ak, of course. “You guys are exhausting.”

Kiri added dryly, “One of these days you’re both just going to explode from the tension and take the whole kelku with you.”

“I like her better than the other girl,” Tuk said seriously, tugging on Neteyam’s tail. “She’s prettier. And funnier. And nicer.” You buried your face in your hands.

Neteyam chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Can’t argue with that.” You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Not when he was this close, warm and solid and entirely too pleased with himself. And even though you wanted to stay mad… part of you was glowing. Because for all his teasing, you knew he meant it.

A few years passed, just like that. What started as sleepovers and sharing fruit as toddlers had blossomed into something much deeper, something no longer so easy to ignore. By the time you were seventeen and Neteyam had just turned eighteen, the change between you had settled in quietly but unmistakably.

The flirting had evolved from playful to lingering. The touches — brushing hands as you passed, his palm against your back when you ducked beneath the trees — stayed just a little too long. And the jealousy… that hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown more obvious. You saw it in the way Neteyam went stiff whenever another boy tried to flirt with you during hunts or communal dinners. Just like how your stomach would twist when one of the village girls leaned too close to him, laughing too loud at something he hadn’t even said.

Everyone saw it — the whole family. Kiri gave you side-eyes, Tuk giggled whenever she caught the two of you looking at each other. Even Jake had exchanged a knowing look with Neytiri once when Neteyam instinctively reached for your hand as you crossed a riverbank. Still, nothing had been said. Until the night he finally did.

Neteyam had asked you to meet him just after eclipse, near the glade where you’d learned to climb as kids. You thought maybe it was another stargazing night, like the ones you often shared in silence. But when you arrived, your breath caught.

He had cleared a space in the grass and lined it with soft, glowing petals. A few hung from nearby branches — not too many, just enough to make the air feel alive with light. In the center, he stood waiting, hands behind his back, eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

“You remember this place?” he asked softly, watching your face. You nodded. “You dared me to climb that tree,” you smiled, pointing up. “You had to carry me down after I got stuck halfway.” He chuckled, stepping closer. “I’ve carried you through a lot since then.” Your stomach twisted in the best way.

He took your hands in his. “I didn’t know how to say it before. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But I can’t hold it anymore.”

Your heartbeat like thunder in your chest. “I love you,” he said. Simply. “I have for years. You’re my best friend, my peace, the only thing that feels right no matter what else changes.” You stared up at him, blinking fast, your chest tight.

He smiled, breathless now. “And if I’m lucky… maybe you feel the same.” You didn’t answer with words. You stepped forward and pulled him into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the wind from him.

“I see you,” you whispered against his skin, and he melted.

When you pulled back, your eyes were glassy. “I’ve loved you too. I just didn’t know how to say it either.”

His smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You didn’t have to. I think I’ve always known.”

And when he kissed you — slow, reverent, trembling just slightly — it felt like the end of a question you’d both been asking for years. Ever since that night under the stars, everything between you and Neteyam had shifted.

There was no more wondering, no more hesitation, no more hiding behind half-glances and lingering touches. Now you could hold his hand openly in the village, sit a little closer during meals, steal little kisses when no one was watching. But the problem was… people were watching.

It started innocently enough. A few days after you’d officially become a couple, Neytiri had walked into the family kelku earlier than expected and found the two of you curled up in Neteyam’s hammock. Fully clothed, mostly, but definitely tangled together, your hands beneath his chest wrap and his lips pressed against your neck like he had no plans to stop.

She didn’t say anything, not at first. Just blinked, paused… and then quietly backed out of the space with a small smirk that left you burying your face in Neteyam’s shoulder while he cursed softly under his breath.

“She’s going to tell everyone, “You groaned. “She probably already has,” he whispered, but he kissed you again anyway. After that, the teasing began.

Lo’ak was the first to weaponize it. He caught you and Neteyam just outside the edge of the forest, your back against a tree and your mate’s hands far too low on your hips for brotherly comfort. Lo’ak didn’t even pause — just whistled as he passed.

“Don’t mind me, just trying to avoid eye contact so I can keep my vision,” he said loudly, laughing all the way back to the village.

Then came Kiri, who found you both late one night when she came to retrieve a healing pouch from the supplies and opened the wrong curtain — only to find Neteyam halfway beneath your wrap and your legs around his waist.

“AHHHH!!” she squeaked, backing out so fast she knocked over a water basin. The two of you froze, staring wide-eyed at the closed flap.

Even Tuk caught you…Twice. Once during a morning swim, when Neteyam pulled you into his lap and whispered something you really shouldn’t have giggled at. Tuk popped out of the water like a fish, wide-eyed and innocent. “Why is your face all red?” she asked you curiously. “Did Neteyam say something naughty?”

“Go swim,” Neteyam said immediately, flustered. “Go!”

The last time you’d been caught, it had taken a full week for Lo’ak to stop whistling teasingly every time you and Neteyam so much as stood near each other. But today, the pull between you was too strong. Just a few stolen minutes behind the large cluster of flowering trees near the family kelku—it wasn’t far, but just out of sight.

Neteyam had you pinned gently to the forest floor, his broad, paint-streaked body curled over yours, propped on his elbows to avoid crushing you. One hand was tangled in your hair, the other… was not where it should’ve been, tugging your tweng slightly aside as his mouth met yours over and over. The air between you was breathless—sweet, gasping kisses exchanged like secrets.

You had your hands on his back, fingers pressing into the muscle at his sides as you whispered, “Neteyam—” Then came a very small gasp.

“Neteyam?” a tiny voice squeaked. Both of you jolted in unison. There, just a few feet away, stood Tuk, eyes huge, hands clutching her toy beads. She looked confused. Then her lower lip quivered.

“Mommy!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “NETEYAM IS HURTING HER!!” Your heart stopped.

“Tuk, no! Wait, I’m not—” You scrambled up, dragging your tweng back into place, face burning.

Neteyam looked like Eywa herself had struck him. “Tuk—it’s not what it looks like!” Too late.

Tuk had already darted off in a blur, hollering, “MOMMY! COME FAST!” Seconds passed in a panicked blur before Neytiri burst into the clearing, bow drawn—followed closely by Jake, Lo’ak, Kiri, and an already-snorting Tuk. The scene they arrived to? You, breathless and flushed, your hair mussed. Neteyam crouched beside you, shirtless as always, hands raised like he was surrendering to the Great Mother herself.

“She—she thought I was—” he started.

“I thought she was hurt!!” Tuk insisted, tears pooling in her wide golden eyes. “She was saying ‘Neteyam—wait—’”

“Oh Eywa,” you groaned, dropping your face into your hands. Jake turned away, trying not to laugh. Lo’ak didn’t bother trying. “Bro. Again?!”

Neytiri sighed deeply and gave her son a long look. “Great mother Neteyam.”

“Oh my Eywa,” Kiri echoed, arms crossed.

Meanwhile, Tuk sniffled into Neytiri’s side, still confused. “But why was her tweng pulled down again?” You shrieked in embarrassment, as Kiri and Lo’ak started and uproar

Neteyam wrapped an arm around your shoulders and leaned in, whispering with a smug smile, “Next time… high in the trees?” You elbowed him. “Next time? There won’t be a next time.”

It had been years in the making, the two of you growing up entangled in a love that had bloomed slowly and deeply, like roots stretching beneath the forest floor. Everyone had seen it coming—long before either of you were ready to admit it. The glances, the lingering touches, the way Neteyam’s eyes always searched for you in a crowd and the way your laughter always came easiest in his presence. But still, nothing prepared you for the day he asked you to be his mate.

You’d been walking together through the forest, side by side as you always had, your fingers brushing now and then as they often did. He was quiet that day, more thoughtful than usual. You didn’t know where he was leading you until you reached that ridge above the canopy—the one with the clearest view of the floating mountains. You’d sat there many times before, watching the banshees in the distance, the sky changing colors like a slow-burning fire. But this time, he turned to you with a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before—soft, certain, a little nervous.

“I’ve known this since we were children,” he said, his hands gently taking yours. “Even before I knew what it meant… I knew you were mine. I want to make that true in the eyes of Eywa. Will you choose me? Will you mate with me for life?”

Your heart stilled, then surged. You had loved him for as long as you could remember—through the awkward childhood years, the teasing, the jealous stares, the stolen kisses behind trees. It was never a question. “Yes,” you whispered. “Always, Neteyam.”

He exhaled, his forehead resting against yours, both of you whispering, “Oel ngati kameie.” His lips brushed yours then—slow, reverent, full of all the promises he hadn’t yet spoken aloud. There was no pressure, no rush. Just love. You would wait for the ceremony. You would wait for each other.

The engagement celebration arrived just a few days later, and the entire clan seemed to vibrate with joy. Music echoed through the trees, lightstones glowing in woven vines above the gathering space. Neytiri had helped braid your hair that morning, her hands gentle as she whispered about her own mating to Jake, about the sweetness and seriousness of the commitment you were about to take. Jake, on the other hand, gave Neteyam a mock stern look and muttered, “I’m so proud of you boy. You earned a good one. Just try to keep it in your tweng until after the ceremony, yeah?”

Kiri hugged you both, whispering, “Don’t think we haven’t noticed all the disappearing acts and stolen touches. Eywa has eyes, you know.” Even Lo’ak smirked and raised his drink in a toast. “To the two worst liars in the family.” Tuk, sweet and wide-eyed, had thrown flower petals at your feet and loudly declared, “Now you get to kiss forever!”

As tradition dictated, you and Neteyam exchanged woven bands of hand-dyed fibers, made from plants you had both gathered together during a quiet week of preparing. They were simple, but beautiful—your initials carved in tiny beads sewn into the weave. You danced beneath the moonlight, your bodies close, eyes locked, his hand warm on your waist. It felt like flying.

Later, when the songs faded and the laughter quieted, Neteyam took your hand once more and led you to your new shared kelku, tucked beneath the giant roots of a banyan tree not far from his family’s. You’d helped build it together, but tonight was the first time you saw it finished. Lightstones glowed warmly inside. Feathers and woven flowers draped along the doorway, and the bed of moss and pelts was soft and inviting.

“I wanted it perfect,” he murmured, pulling back the curtain of vines to let you step inside first. Your breath caught as you turned, meeting his gaze. “It is.”

Inside, he was gentle—so gentle. Every kiss felt like a prayer, every touch reverent. You had both waited for this night, saved yourselves for it. There was laughter and clumsy shifting, soft sighs and long-held gazes. He murmured your name again and again, like a vow. And when the moment finally came, when you gave yourselves fully to one another, it wasn’t rushed or fiery or awkward. It was sacred. Yours. Together.

He held you through it, whispering encouragement, kissing away your nervousness, moving slow and with care. You clung to him, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat when pleasure overtook pain, and you realized just how deeply he loved you.

After, you lay tangled together, your head on his chest, your hand curled over his heart. The air still held the scent of the flowers he’d hung earlier, and the sounds of the forest hummed softly around you like a lullaby. He kissed your hair and whispered, “You are my forever, yawne.” You smiled against his skin. “And you are mine.”

Outside, the stars blinked gently through the treetops, and the moon cast soft light across your new home. And inside, beneath warm furs and whispered breaths, you slept curled in each other’s arms, truly mated, body and soul.

Not long after you and Neteyam were officially mated, it happened — you became pregnant. The signs came slowly at first. Your body began to change in subtle ways: your energy dipped, your appetite shifted, and there was a soft heaviness blooming low in your belly. Neteyam noticed before anyone else, before even you. He started watching you more carefully, guiding your steps when walking through thick roots, brushing your hair away from your face when you were tired, lingering with his hand over your abdomen when you rested. He didn’t say anything for a few days — just watched, waited, and loved you all the more gently.

When you finally told him, you placed his hand over your growing belly. You didn’t have to say anything; his eyes widened, and his whole expression softened into something almost reverent. “A baby,” he breathed. “Our baby.” And then he kissed you — slow and deep and full of wonder — before pulling you tightly into his arms. “Eywa has truly blessed us,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I will take care of you both. Always.”

The Sully family’s reaction was just as emotional. Neytiri pressed her forehead to yours and wept, hands cradling your cheeks as she whispered a mother’s blessing over you. Jake grinned and clapped Neteyam on the shoulder, shaking his head in amazement. “That’s my boy,” he said, laughing quietly. “Starting his own clan already.” Kiri was immediately fussing over you — bringing herbs, creating teas to ease discomfort, and weaving protective beads into your hair. Lo’ak smirked and muttered, “Great, now there’s gonna be a mini you running around,” but even he couldn’t hide the pride in his voice. Tuk was simply overjoyed. She wrapped her arms around your stomach and spoke to the baby as if they could already understand her. “I’m going to teach you all my games,” she promised seriously. “And we’ll eat fruit and swim and make trouble.”

As the seasons passed and your belly grew round with new life, you were never alone. The entire Sully family wrapped you in love and care. Clan members stopped by with gifts — soft cloth for the baby wrap, carved toys, fruits and roots rich with nutrients. Neteyam, though, was your constant. He helped you bathe in the cool springs when your back ached, carried you when your legs tired, massaged your feet when you couldn’t sleep. His hands were always gentle, reverent. He spoke to your belly each night, whispering stories, dreams, and promises. “You are already so loved, little one,” he’d say. “Your mother is the strongest soul I know. You’re safe with us.”

Then, one evening, the pain began. It started as a low pressure in your back, then came the waves — tightening, pulsing, until your body was trembling with effort. Neteyam didn’t panic. He scooped you up and brought you to your kelku, calling softly for his mother. Neytiri arrived swiftly, calm and collected. “It is time,” she said, brushing your sweat-dampened hair from your face. “Breathe, ma’ite. I will help you bring this child into the world.”

Neteyam knelt at your side, holding your hand, grounding you with his touch. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, kissing your temple between contractions. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Neytiri worked with the grace and strength of a seasoned mother. She guided you through each wave, spoke calmly even when your cries rose with the intensity. You gripped Neteyam’s hand, locked eyes with him, and knew — you could do this. With his love. With his strength. With your own. And then — a cry. Not yours.

Your baby was born under the canopy of night, with Neytiri lifting him gently into the air, his small limbs flailing, his voice strong and full of life. “A son,” she said, her own eyes shining as she handed him to you. “You have a son.”

Tears streamed down your face as you cradled him to your chest. Neteyam leaned close, arms around both of you, trembling with joy. “He’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it, yawne. You gave us a son.”

The family came soon after, quiet and wide-eyed. “His name is Eylan.” Neteyam told everyone. Neytiri placed a kiss on your forehead. Jake kissed his grandson’s tiny hand. Kiri smiled with misty eyes. Lo’ak and Tuk peeked from behind the doorway until they were invited in, and Tuk gasped, clutching her mouth. “He’s so small,” she whispered. “Can I hold him?”

That night, your kelku glowed with woven lanterns, the scent of sweet herbs, and the sound of lullabies. Neteyam held you close, his son resting on your chest, and whispered, “This is our beginning. And I will love you both for the rest of my life.” Time had a strange way of moving when your days were filled with joy.

Eylan turned one beneath the thick canopy of Home Tree, surrounded by warmth, song, and laughter. His wide amber eyes sparkled with the curiosity of his father, and his tiny feet already tried to run before they could walk properly. He giggled with wild abandon, often tumbling into arms always waiting to catch him — yours, Neteyam’s, or someone from the Sully family, all of whom adored him beyond reason.

Neteyam carved him a tiny wooden ikran, polished smooth with love, and painted it with soft, natural dyes. “So you can fly even before you’re big enough to ride,” he whispered to his son, lifting him high into the air with a grin as Eylan squealed in delight. That moment was one of hundreds. Every day, Neteyam would swing Eylan onto his shoulders and run with him through the trees, climbing, laughing, teaching him the sounds of the forest and the names of the creatures they passed. “This is your home,” he would say gently, tapping Eylan’s chest with two fingers. “Here, and here with us.”

The Sully family was hopelessly smitten with him. Tuk was his favorite playmate, often letting him ride on her back like a direhorse, giggling as she neighed and galloped through the roots of Home Tree. Kiri braided tiny strings of flowers into his baby hair, whispering gentle stories of Eywa, and Lo’ak — despite pretending to be too cool — secretly carved Eylan little animals out of soft wood, sneaking them into his sleeping furs at night.

Even Jake, who was always so focused, would sit down with Eylan and bounce him on his knee, speaking to him in English and Na’vi, smiling despite himself when the baby would babble back nonsense. Neytiri taught you how to soothe him when he cried and helped you prepare his first bow — though it was mostly for show, since Eylan liked to chew on it more than anything.

And between it all — it was you and Neteyam. Your bond grew even deeper, grounded in shared parenthood, laughter, and exhaustion. Late nights swaying with Eylan between your bodies, mornings where you awoke to Neteyam cradling him on his chest, humming softly, eyes half-lidded with peace. He was the most patient, most loving father you could have dreamed of. He told you that he had never known a love like this before — not just for his child, but for you, the mother of his son.

“Eywa has blessed me more than I deserve,” he said once, eyes locked on you both while you nursed Eylan under the flowering branches of a quiet grove. “You’ve made me a father, a mate… a man.” But peace doesn’t last forever.

The Sky People returned like a storm — metal crashing from the skies, fire scorching the land. In that first wave, everyone fought. Even Neteyam, young but fierce, took to the air with his bow and his ikran to defend what mattered most. For a full year, the Sullys waged war at the edges of the forest — watching, protecting, ambushing.

You kept Eylan close, never letting him out of your sight. Neteyam came back to you every night, stained with ash or blood or both, always checking to see his son sleeping safely in your arms before allowing himself to breathe.

There were nights where he didn’t speak — only held you and buried his face in your neck. “I don’t want him to grow up like this,” he murmured once, voice breaking. “He deserves to know trees, not fire.” When Eylan turned two, Jake finally said the words that shattered your heart: We have to go.

Neteyam protested quietly but understood. “To protect Eylan,” he said, holding his son tighter that night, “we must let go of everything we’ve ever known.”

The night before you left, you and Neteyam stood hand in hand, watching your kelku — the home where Eylan took his first steps, where Neteyam carved lullabies into the walls — one last time. You whispered blessings to the trees, and Neteyam lifted your sleeping son to the stars. “Eywa, guide us,” he said. “Guide our family to where he can be free.” And with hearts both heavy and hopeful, you turned toward the sea.

The sea was not the forest — not in the way it whispered, not in the way it held you — but in time, it became a new kind of home.

Arriving at the Metkayina village had been overwhelming. The open skies and endless horizon felt like another world entirely compared to the thick canopy you had once called home. You remembered how Eylan had clung to Neteyam’s shoulders, wide-eyed and quiet, watching the turquoise waves roll beneath the woven walkways.

You had been welcomed with caution. The Metkayina were kind, but wary. Their ways were not yours. Your bodies were different. Your tongues spoke in a slightly different rhythm. But you learned — all of you.

Neytiri, though her heart still longed for the trees, adapted with quiet grace. Jake trained beside Tonowari, his voice always calm but commanding. Kiri thrived — as if she’d been born from the sea itself. Tuk learned fast, her tiny braids always dripping with salt water, and Lo’ak… well, Lo’ak found love.

Tsireya — beautiful, graceful, radiant. Her laughter was a melody that rang through the cove like birdsong, and Lo’ak fell fast and hard. It was the kind of love that snuck up on him, the way it had for you and Neteyam all those years ago. She became a sister to you, her presence a comfort and joy. Her family welcomed you all in time — friendships forged through hardship, trust, and time. Ronal eventually softened, especially when she saw the way you raised your children with the same fire and patience she held for her own.

You remembered when Neteyam first brought you to the deeper reefs. Your fingers laced, the sun cutting gold through the waves as he taught you how to dive with your whole body, how to let the sea carry you. “This is freedom too,” he’d whispered against your skin as you surfaced, breathless and laughing. “Just a different kind.” Four years passed like water slipping through your fingers, quietly, steadily.

Eylan grew into a wild-hearted six-year-old, just like his father. He was fearless in the water, nimble with his ilu, sharp-eyed and fast. He learned to dive before many of the Metkayina children his age, and Tonowari even joked once that “the forest boy must’ve been born in the waves.” Neteyam beamed with pride, always the first to cheer when his son surfaced from a dive or speared his first fish.

Your family expanded, love growing even deeper between you and Neteyam. One starlit night, under a blanket of bioluminescent light dancing across the sea, you told him you were expecting again. He cried softly, cradling your belly with reverence. “Eywa gives me everything I never knew I needed,” he murmured into your neck. “You, our sons… our life.”

From the moment Likan was born, the Sully kelku overflowed with even more laughter, love, and affection than ever before. Neytiri had been the first to hold him after Neteyam, her hands gentle and sure as she cradled her newest grandson, whispering quiet blessings in Na’vi. She marveled at how much he looked like his father—Neteyam’s strong jaw, his deep golden eyes—but with your nose and the soft curl of your lips. She pressed a kiss to Likan’s brow and then turned to you, tears in her eyes. “Ma ‘ite, you and my son… you make such beauty together.”

Jake, too, was wrapped around Likan’s tiny fingers. Even more laid-back as a grandfather than he ever was as a father, he spent mornings showing Likan carved wooden animals he made just for him, while Eylan proudly helped paint them in bright sea-colored hues. “Two boys,” he’d say with a wide grin, tousling Eylan’s hair while Likan cooed in his lap. “You and Neteyam are in for it now.” But the pride was clear in his voice, and so was the joy.

Kiri, as always, was a natural. She carried Likan around on her hip with flowers braided in his hair, telling him long stories of Eywa and forest spirits. Likan loved the sound of her voice and often fell asleep curled against her chest as she whispered the tales of Home Tree. Tuk—who had long since appointed herself big cousin of the year—took her role seriously. She made matching seashell necklaces for both Eylan and Likan, always watching over the youngest with gentle care. The first time Likan said “Tuk” in his tiny voice, she cried and wouldn’t let go of him all afternoon.

Even Lo’ak, ever the wild one, became surprisingly soft when it came to Likan. He would let the baby climb all over him, even yank on his braids, never once complaining. He carried Likan on his shoulders through the shallows, pretending to be a tulkun, while Eylan rode proudly on Neteyam’s back beside them. “You’re just lucky you look like your mama,” Lo’ak teased once, pinching Likan’s cheek. “That’s why I let you drool on me.”

And Neteyam—Eywa, Neteyam. The way he looked at his sons was enough to melt your heart every time. He was a father so deeply in love with his family that every look, every laugh, every moment spent cuddled between the boys and you in the hammock, told its own story of devotion. With Likan sleeping on his chest and Eylan curled at his side.

Now at two years old, Likan was a constant companion to Eylan — always trailing behind him, squealing as he tried to mimic everything his big brother did. Neteyam was utterly taken with them both. He carved toys from driftwood, told them stories under the stars, and swam with Likan cradled on his back while Eylan darted circles around them. You watched often from the shore, your heart full beyond words. And though the forest still called to you sometimes in dreams… the sea answered back with peace. This was your home now. Your family. Your love.

A few months later you were sitting in the sand with Neteyam, just past the tree line where the sea met the forest, your legs stretched in front of you, your back against his warm chest. His arms were wrapped securely around you, one hand gently tracing the growing curve of your belly — not yet obvious to others, but known, deeply felt.

“You’re sure?” he whispered softly into your ear, his breath warm, his voice reverent. You smiled, fingers threading through his. “I’m sure,” you murmured. “I wanted to wait to tell you until I was certain. You’re going to be a father again.”

Neteyam’s breath caught. He froze, just for a second, then exhaled a shaky laugh of disbelief, joy breaking across his features like sunlight. He kissed your cheek, your temple, your jaw, your shoulder — then rested his forehead against yours. “Three,” he whispered. “We’re going to have three.”

You both waited until that evening to tell the family. The Sully kelku was alive with laughter and light. Tuk was trying to balance Likan on her back like a pa’li, and Eylan was using a shell to make “soup” out of seawater and sand. Lo’ak and Kiri arguing about minuscule things making Tsireya laugh. Jake and Neytiri sat by the fire, smiling at the chaos around them. When you took Neteyam’s hand and stood, all eyes turned.

“We have something to share,” Neteyam said, his voice gentle but steady. You couldn’t stop smiling as he placed a proud hand over your belly. “We’re expecting again.”

Gasps echoed. Tuk squealed, running to throw her arms around your waist. Neytiri rose quickly, mist in her eyes as she cupped your cheeks, her joy immediate. “Eywa has blessed us,” she whispered. Jake let out a whoop and clapped Neteyam hard on the back. Lo’ak tackled him in congratulations, and Kiri and Tsireya wrapped you both in a long, warm hug.

Even Ronal and Tonowari sent over gifts the next day — strands of woven pearls for you, a carved bone teether for the baby, a set of tiny sea-colored wraps. The whole village celebrated. For a while, everything was peace and laughter and hope. Until the demon ship came.

It was fast — the sky people returning in brutal force. The hunting party never returned. Roa, Ronal’s spirit sister, was slaughtered along with her calf. The waves turned red. The village turned silent. Jake called for the warriors to move — and Neteyam turned to you, gripping your arms tightly.

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice low but firm. “Stay here. Watch the boys. Don’t leave the kelku, no matter what. I’ll come back. I promise.” Your heart twisted, but you nodded. You kissed him once, then again, pressing your forehead to his. “Come back to me,” you whispered.

Hours later, too many hours in your opinion passed, the sky and see had matching shades of orange when Kiri came stumbling in, “come, come, he is hurt.” She stuttered out and you didn’t need another word picking yourself up and running to the healer's mauri. Kiri close behind with Likan in her hip and Eylan clutching her hand.

The healer’s mauri was already crowded by the time you ran through the reef village. She hadn’t said much after those word—just “Neteyam” and “shot”—and that alone had been enough to steal your breath, to send your thoughts into a panicked spiral. You didn’t even stop to ask if he was alive. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to hear anything but “yes.”

Your chest was tight, your throat aching with the pressure of a scream that hadn’t yet found air. Kiri’s footsteps splashed behind you through shallow tidepools, your two sons in her arms and at her heels. You didn’t dare turn around. You were focused on one thing.

When you reached the healer’s mauri, you pushed aside the flap without hesitation—and froze. He was there. Laid out on a woven mat, bloodied and still. The wail that tore out of you was immediate, raw and unrestrained. “Neteyam!”

Jake was already kneeling beside his son, hands stained red, whispering soft prayers to Eywa. Neytiri sat with her forehead pressed against Neteyam’s hand, tears streaking her face. Lo’ak stood rigid in the corner, jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might crack his own teeth. Tuk, curled in Neytiri’s lap, was wide-eyed and quiet, too young to understand all of it but old enough to feel the fear. When you stumbled in, the room shifted instantly.

You fell to your knees beside Neteyam, grabbing his hand, sobbing so violently it was hard to breathe. “Please—Neteyam, wake up. Wake up! Please!”

Jake reached for your shoulder, trying to steady you, but you pulled away, your entire body curling over Neteyam’s as if your love alone could protect him from whatever force had done this. “Mama?” Eylan’s little voice broke behind you. You turned around sharply, wild-eyed, as Kiri entered, holding Likan on her hip and Eylan’s hand. The boys stopped short at the sight of their father.

“Mama, what’s wrong with sempu?” Eylan asked, clutching Kiri’s leg, voice quivering. “Why is he all red?” Your breath hitched. Likan looked around, confused and teary. “Is Daddy sleeping?” You pressed your hands to your mouth, eyes wide and brimming with tears. You tried to speak, but nothing came out—only broken sobs.

Kiri gently passed Likan to Neytiri, who cradled him and Tuk together, her arms trembling. Jake picked Eylan up and sat down beside you on the mat, placing the boy in your lap and anchoring your shaking hands around him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he said, firmly but gently. “I know. I know it’s hard. But he’s alive. He’s fighting. Look at him.”

You barely heard him. Your eyes were locked on Neteyam’s face, unmoving, pale save for the angry red of dried blood. Eylan looked up at you, his tiny hand pressing to your cheek. “Why are you crying?” he asked, sniffling. “Is Daddy gonna go to Eywa?”

“No!” you gasped out, shaking your head too fast. “No, no, baby—he—he’s not—he’s not—” You couldn’t even finish. You broke again, hugging Eylan to your chest, your other hand reaching toward Neteyam even as your entire body shook.

Neytiri passed Likan to Lo’ak, who gently bounced him as he stood, whispering, “It’s okay, little guy, Daddy’s gonna be okay.” But you could see his jaw trembling too, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Neytiri came to you, kneeling beside you and pulling you into her arms, guiding your head to her shoulder while you sobbed.

“You are not alone,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You don’t carry this alone.” Kiri had tears on her face too, but she wiped them away as she pressed a damp cloth to Neteyam’s brow. “We got to him in time,” she said quietly, mostly for your sake. “Tsireya stopped the bleeding. He just needs rest. Healing.”

Jake was silent for a long moment; his eyes locked on his eldest son. Then he reached over, brushing Eylan’s curls out of his eyes, and said, “Your dad’s the strongest person I know, kiddo. He’ll wake up. You’ll see.”

You just cried harder, holding your boy as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. And all the while, Neteyam lay still, his hand warm in yours. A breath of life—but only barely.

You clutched Eylan to your chest, holding him so tightly he whimpered, confused, but not resisting. His round eyes flicked between you and his father’s unmoving body. His little fingers fisted in your hair as your cries began—raw, broken, guttural. You were saying his name over and over, as if it alone could tether his soul back to you. “Neteyam… please… please…”

You barely noticed Lo’ak nearby, now crouched low, arms full of Likan who writhed and whimpered and cried against his uncle’s chest. The toddler was panicking, struggling to reach for you, reaching out with one hand while he clung to Lo’ak with the other. His small voice was cracked from crying, his face wet with tears, overwhelmed by the sight of both his parents falling apart in front of him. You didn’t notice Kiri until she was right beside you. She didn’t speak.

She simply knelt, calm and sure, and slid her arms under Eylan’s small body. He resisted only briefly, but the tears on your face, the shaking of your shoulders, it frightened him. He let go of your neck and went into Kiri’s hold, his lower lip trembling as she stood and turned away, taking him to the edge of the mauri.

Only when his weight left your arms did you suddenly feel how hollow they were. You turned back to Neteyam, grabbing at his hand, kissing it, whispering to him as tears continued to pour from your chin to his bare chest. Your trembling fingers brushed his braids back from his sweat-damp face, desperate for anything, any sign—any flicker.

Likan was screaming now—soft, broken screams of confusion and fear. Neytiri appeared behind Lo’ak, arms open, and Lo’ak handed his little nephew off gently. Likan’s tiny fists pounded at her shoulder, face pressed to her neck as she rocked him, whispering softly, shielding him from the sight of his father.

The mauri entrance stirred Ronal entered first, sharp-eyed and focused, followed closely by Tsireya and two other healers. Their arms were full of salves, herbs, warm cloth. The moment they entered, the air changed urgency replacing fear. “You must move,” Ronal said, not cruelly, but firm.

“No,” you gasped, clutching Neteyam’s arm, burying your face in his shoulder. “No, I can’t—he needs me—I need to stay—”

“He will not survive if we cannot reach him,” she said, already setting her things beside him. Tsireya crossed to the other side and knelt. Her voice was softer, coaxing. “Please. Let us help him. You’ve done all you can.”

You didn’t hear yourself sob. You didn’t feel your body convulsing with every breath. But the arms that pulled you back were familiar—Jake’s. You resisted at first, claws curling into the woven mat. “No—no, please—I can’t—please, no—”

Neytiri approached, still rocking Likan, who was hiccuping against her shoulder, his little voice warbling with the last of his strength. She kissed his head and crouched beside you. “Let them save him, ma’ite. You must let go for now.”

“No, no no no I can’t,” you whispered through choked sobs. Jake pulled you back slowly, and you crumbled into him, your face buried in his chest as your hands reached blindly for your mate.

Kiri was nearby, holding Eylan close, whispering softly. Lo’ak paced beside her, running his fingers through his hair, glancing back constantly at Neteyam. Tuk stood just behind her mother, silent, holding her own tears in a tight, trembling grip. And there, in that mauri, with your heart breaking open and your sons crying for comfort you couldn’t give, you watched as the only person who could soothe your storm lay still unmoving while the healers began their quiet, desperate work. The moment the flap of the healer’s mauri closed behind you; it felt like the world fell silent—then exploded into anguish.

You dropped to the sand as if your legs no longer knew how to hold you. Jake had carried you out, his hands firm but careful, his jaw clenched with grief. He tried to speak, but you had already broken into pieces in his arms, and there were no words that could hold your weight now. Gently, he set you down and immediately turned back for Tuk, who had come stumbling out moments after, her face a pale mask of confusion.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Her wide eyes just watched her family unravel. Jake bent down, scooped her into his arms, and held her like she was the last solid thing in his life. He kissed her forehead again and again as she clung to him, asking over and over, “Is going to Neteyam okay daddy?” Jake had no answers.

You knelt just beyond the entrance, in the pale sand outside the mauri, your body trembling uncontrollably. The sobs that escaped you were unhinged—raw, cracking your chest open in a way that made Lo’ak look away, jaw tight, his own eyes shining. You gasped like you couldn’t find the air. Like breathing itself betrayed you. You clutched your stomach—your growing belly—and cried out his name.

“Neteyam! Neteyam! Please—please! Wake up! I can’t—he can’t—” The words never finished. Your throat closed around them.

Lo’ak was the one who caught you this time, sliding to his knees and pulling you into him. You fought him at first—your hands pushing against his chest, trembling with the desire to get back inside, to feel Neteyam’s warmth, to stop this nightmare. But Lo’ak held you, arms locked tight around you like a brace, grounding you when the world kept spinning. You crumpled into him, shaking violently, your sobs muffled in his chest. “He’s cold, Lo’ak. He was so cold. He looked—he looked—gone.”

Lo’ak couldn’t speak for a moment. His throat was thick, lips trembling. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the crown of your head. His voice was hoarse when he finally said, “But he’s not. He’s not gone. He’s alive. Tsireya stopped the bleeding. Ronal’s working on him now. He’s gonna pull through. He has to.” Your arms clung to him like a lifeline. “I need him… I need him…”

“I know,” he whispered. “We all do.” Nearby, Kiri sat cross-legged in the sand, Eylan tucked into her lap. The little boy was crying silently now, exhausted, tears streaking his cheeks as he leaned into her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances even as her own face was stiff with fear. She kept glancing toward the mauri, her heart clearly still with her brother.

Likan was still in Neytiri’s arms, wailing louder now—not because of Neteyam’s absence, but because he could feel the pain in his family, see the desperation in your cries. “Mama! Mamaaaa!” he hiccuped into his grandmother’s neck, reaching his arms toward you, but Neytiri gently rocked him and whispered, “Shh, little one. Let her breathe. She’s just scared. She loves you. She loves your sempu.”

Jake, holding Tuk close, had crouched in the sand a short distance away. His face was stone, but his eyes—red and glossy—betrayed the cracks inside. He held Tuk’s small head against his shoulder as she finally started crying, her confusion becoming real fear. “Why is she screaming?” she asked. “Why can’t we go help?”

“She’s scared,” Jake said softly. “And we’re just waiting now. Giving Neteyam time to be okay.”

Kiri gently leaned her head down, pressing her forehead to Eylan’s. “Your daddy’s strong, ma ‘itan,” she murmured. “He’s going to be okay. But you need to be brave too, alright? Your mama needs you to be brave.”

You didn’t hear any of it. You couldn’t. Everything was a blur. A tunnel of sound—your heart pounding, your sobs relentless, your baby squirming in your belly as if they, too, could feel your terror. Lo’ak held you as your cries lost their sound and became breathless heaves, his own hands trembling as he wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“You can’t fall apart,” he said, but the words weren’t harsh. They were trembling. “Not yet. Not when he’s still fighting in there. You know Neteyam. He’d never leave you. He wouldn’t.”

The world was muffled behind your tears. But your ears caught the soft, broken cries of your sons again, and your heart lurched. Your lungs burned as you forced yourself to look around.

Likan was still in Neytiri’s arms, clinging tightly to her as fat tears rolled down his round cheeks. At two years old, he didn’t understand any of this—just that something was terribly wrong. He let out a pitiful whimper, burying his face in her shoulder, sniffling and murmuring, “Mama… mama, dada… where dada?”

Eylan sat quietly now in Kiri’s lap just a few steps away, tear tracks fresh on his cheeks, his little fingers curled in the fabric of her chest wrap as he looked between you and the mauri hut. His voice was quiet but clear. “Why won’t Daddy wake up?” You broke. Again. But this time it was different. This time you didn’t fall into your grief—you leaned into your sons.

Lo’ak gently released you as you dropped to your knees, arms open for Eylan. Kiri didn’t hesitate; she leaned down and let your boy shuffle into your arms. He clung to you instantly, curling against your chest, his little breaths shaky.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’m right here, my love.”

You felt movement behind you—Neytiri came forward and knelt beside you in the sand. Her arms eased Likan into yours, his soft, warm body curling against your other side. The moment your arms closed around him, he gave a wobbly cry and pushed his face into your neck, still trying to speak through his distress.

“Dada hurt? Dada owie?”

“No, baby,” you murmured, rocking them gently, tears still falling. “He’s going to be okay… He’s just sleeping. Just sleeping…” And then, finally, the world slowed.

The sky darkened above you as the sun dipped lower, the air thick with salt and grief. You sat there, tucked beside the mauri, your sons pressed tightly to your chest, tears still running silently down your face. The rest of the family formed around you.

Jake sat just behind Neytiri, arms wrapped protectively around Tuk, who trembled in his lap but didn’t make a sound. She stared at the entrance of the healer’s mauri like it might swallow her whole. Kiri curled next to you, brushing your hair back, her own eyes rimmed red but her touch soft, calming.

Lo’ak finally lowered himself to the sand beside you and sat in silence, head in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling with shallow breaths. One of his knees bumped against yours—close, supportive. He didn’t say anything more. No one did.

For a long time, the Sully family simply sat in a circle around you. Pressed together. Supporting each other in silence. Each face painted with pain and fear; each heart suspended between hope and horror. But together.

You clutched Eylan and Likan closer, your lips brushing their hair, whispering soft things that didn’t always make sense—just your voice, soothing, constant, loving. And in that quiet, broken moment, you remembered: you were still a family. Still together.

The night had long since fallen, the sky above painted with stars scattered like beads of light across deep ocean blue. The air was cool now, and the soft crash of waves against the reef was the only thing filling the silence outside the healer’s mauri. The Sully family hadn’t moved far — they couldn’t. Not with Neteyam still inside, still unconscious.

You were seated on the sand, legs folded, your arms wrapped tightly around both of your sons. Eylan was curled in your lap, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of your chest wrap. He’d cried until his voice broke, then fallen asleep against you, lips still quivering in dreams. Likan, your littlest one, had cried himself hoarse in Lo’ak’s arms. When your sobs had calmed just enough to take him back, Lo’ak wordlessly passed him over, holding the back of your hand for a moment as he did, grounding you without needing to speak.

Now, Likan lay tucked across your legs like a baby ilu, one hand curled in your songcord, the other clutching his father’s discarded sash. His cheek was wet, pressed to your belly where his unborn sibling stirred gently in your womb — safe, for now. His small chest rose and fell with heavy, exhausted breaths.

Lo’ak sat directly beside you now. He hadn’t left your side since you’d been dragged from the mauri. His arm brushed yours, his shoulder nearly touching. Though he wasn’t saying much, the tension in his posture spoke volumes — hunched slightly forward, fingers fidgeting over a seashell bracelet, jaw clenched like he was fighting every wave of panic. His eyes, normally so full of mischief and light, were dim. He kept glancing toward the mauri flap like if he blinked, something would change.

Jake sat not far off, his strong arms wrapped around a sleeping Tuk. She was curled tightly in his lap, her small face still damp with tears. Neytiri had one hand on your back, rubbing slowly, her presence like a warm fire in the cold. Kiri was nearby too, legs pulled close to her chest, her gaze occasionally drifting to you and the boys, then back to the healer’s tent.

Tonowari stood quietly at a respectful distance, his wife having disappeared back inside some time ago. Aonung sat cross-legged just behind Lo’ak, giving space, but still clearly there — watching his friend, his second brother, with the protectiveness of someone who’d become family too. No one spoke.

The stillness was heavy, the kind of silence born from fear and hope and bone-deep exhaustion. But Neteyam was alive. You repeated that over and over in your mind like a prayer, like a chant to keep your heart from tearing again. Neteyam is alive. He is breathing.

You tightened your arms around your boys. Lo’ak’s hand reached over in the quiet and touched your shoulder, squeezing gently. You leaned into him for a moment — both of you needing it more than you’d ever say out loud.

The flap of the healer’s mauri finally shifted. Everyone’s head snapped up, every breath caught. You clutched your sons tighter, both still asleep against your chest and belly, and Lo’ak’s hand instinctively moved from your shoulder to your back, steadying you.

Ronal was the first to emerge. Her expression, always unreadable, was softer now — solemn, but without panic. Her hands were streaked with drying blood up to the forearms, her chest rising in quiet, measured breaths. Tsireya followed a heartbeat later, her eyes already shining with unshed tears, but her mouth curled in a small, hopeful smile.

“He lives,” Ronal said gently, looking at the circle of broken hearts around her. Your breath hitched, and Neytiri gasped softly beside you. Jake let out a quiet, choked sound and pressed his lips to Tuk’s hair, hugging her closer in his arms.

Lo’ak slumped forward, burying his face in his hands with a trembling exhale. Your heart stuttered in your chest.

“He is stable,” Tsireya continued, stepping forward, her voice softer, for you. “The wound was deep… but it missed anything vital. We have stitched it well and given him salves for pain. He is sleeping now — deeply. He may not wake for some time… but his spirit is strong.”

You couldn’t stop the tears. Silent, steady drops falling down your cheeks, soaking into Eylan’s curls. “He’ll wake up?” you asked, barely a whisper.

Ronal nodded. “Yes. In time. But he must rest. His body must heal.” Your arms tightened around your children. You nodded through your tears, leaning your head down to kiss both your sons on their brows. Neteyam wasn’t lost. Not this time. Not this battle.

Kiri let out a shuddering breath and leaned into Neytiri’s side. Neytiri took her hand. Jake looked to the sky as if thanking Eywa herself.

Aonung stepped forward and crouched next to Lo’ak, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Brother will be alright,” he said simply. Lo’ak just nodded, still pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, silent tears slipping through.

Tonowari stepped forward at last, kneeling beside you. “You are welcome to stay here, all of you,” he said gently. “As long as you need. You are not alone.”

You looked up at him through your blurred vision and nodded gratefully. “Thank you… thank you…” Ronal placed a hand gently on your head — a rare, maternal gesture from her. “Soon, you may see him. Not yet. But soon.” You nodded again, your throat too tight for words, and pressed your cheek to Eylan’s little shoulder.

After that night, the one that tore the sky open above you — it was Neytiri who suggested moving Neteyam. She spoke quietly, like she might break if she raised her voice. “He should be home,” she said, eyes red-rimmed. “With you. With his sons. Where he belongs.”

And so, gently, the family helped you move him to your mauri — the small sea-shelled home you and Neteyam built with woven love and endless laughter, now filled with echoing silence. Jake carried his son’s weight like a ghost, Kiri and Lo’ak flanking either side. You stayed close, one hand on Neteyam’s chest, the other wrapped protectively around your swollen belly.

It wasn’t far from the Sully mauri. Close enough that no one ever knocked, and no one ever asked to enter. And so, your home became the heart of the family — the place everyone gathered, watched, waited. Grieved. Nights were the hardest. The soft sounds of the ocean couldn’t mask the ache.

Eylan slept between you and Neteyam, fingers always curled in his father’s braids. He would whisper, childlike and sure, “I think Daddy can still hear me. Right, Mama?” And though your heart would squeeze in pain, you nodded. “Yes, baby. He hears every word.”

Little Likan, barely two, still too young to understand, would crawl across Neteyam’s unmoving chest and giggle like nothing had changed. “Dada sleepin’,” he would murmur, laying his head down. “Shhh, baby sleeping.” Your heart cracked, over and over again.

One quiet afternoon, as you rubbed your aching belly and tried not to cry, Lo’ak sat beside you, legs crossed, elbows on knees. He watched Neteyam in silence for a while before saying, “You know, he always said he’d be the best dad. Like he wanted to prove something.”

You glanced at your sleeping mate. “He didn’t need to prove anything. He already was.”

Lo’ak smiled sadly. “I think… I think he was afraid. Of becoming like Dad. Of being too hard. Too… heavy.”

“He’s not,” you whispered. “He’s light. Always was.”

The Sully family never stayed away. Jake would come by early mornings to sit near Neteyam’s mat, just watching him with a hard jaw and teary eyes. Neytiri often brought steaming bowls of herbal broths and helped brush Likan’s hair from his eyes. Tuk curled against Neteyam’s arm every chance she got, small voice rambling about whatever creature she’d found that day.

“He’s still warm,” she said once, looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. “So that means he’s still in there.”

“Yes,” you murmured, brushing her hair back. “He’s still with us.”

Kiri came often too, singing over Neteyam’s still body, lighting healing oils, and wrapping arms around you when your breath caught from the pressure of the growing baby inside you. Tsireya and Ao’nung came by almost every day.

Tsireya would gently take Likan into her arms and hum soft Metkayina lullabies while you rested. “You are being so strong for your boys,” she said once, when your hands trembled too much to feed yourself.

Ao’nung was quieter, surprisingly so. He didn’t speak much, but he would bring fish, or woven toys for the boys, or sit near the edge of the mauri, his gaze flickering to Neteyam’s form with guilt and worry that never quite left his face. Once, you caught him whispering, “Come back, forest boy.”

It was your little family that held the world together. Eylan curled beside Neteyam at night, whispering stories about jellyfish and fish chases with Uncle Lo’ak. “Daddy needs to hear what he missed,” he would say matter-of-factly. Likan would climb onto your lap and ask, “Baby come soon?” then lay his tiny hand on your belly and say, “Tell Dada wake up. We waitin’.”

And you would lean into Neteyam’s chest, brushing your fingers over his jaw, whispering into the hollow of his throat, “You have to come back, ma yawne. They need you. I need you.”

Even though your world had cracked, you weren’t alone in the pieces.

Three moons had passed since the day your world cracked in two. Neteyam lay motionless on the center mat of your shared mauri, surrounded by silence and warmth and the weight of his family’s endless love. His chest still rose. His heart still beat. But his eyes… they never opened.

The boys had adapted, in a way only children could. Eylan had stopped asking when his father would wake. Instead, he stayed close, laying his tiny reed mat beside Neteyam’s every night, whispering stories into his ear about fish he’d seen, shells he’d found, dreams he’d had. “So when he wakes up, he knows everything, Mama,” he’d explain.

Likan didn’t understand. Two years old and all big eyes and chubby fingers, he still climbed onto Neteyam’s chest every morning and curled up, waiting for his father’s arms to wrap around him. Sometimes he laughed, babbling in half-sentences. Sometimes he cried. You never stopped watching.

And your belly — it was so round now. Eight months. You could feel every kick, every shift of the baby inside. Every night, you whispered to your unborn child as you stroked your mate’s still face. “Your sempu is here. He just needs more time.”

Norm and Max had come again that morning, quiet as always. They carried their strange, blinking human tools and moved around Neteyam’s mat with practiced care. They checked the IV that fed his body fluids and nutrients, adjusted the monitor that tracked his vitals. “He’s still holding on,” Norm said gently, not looking you in the eye”

“I don’t need him to hold on,” you muttered. “I need him to wake up.”

Lo’ak stood near the entrance of the mauri, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched. He hadn’t left your side in weeks. He helped with the boys, helped you up when your back ached too much to rise, helped keep you breathing when everything inside you begged to scream.

That night, Eylan climbed into your lap beside Neteyam. “Mama,” he whispered, stroking your arm, “when is sempu gonna talk to me again?” You froze. Your hands tightened on his little back. “I miss daddy,” Eylan continued. “I think Likan does too. He cries sometimes for daddy.” You couldn’t hold it in. You turned your face away and let the sob break through. Eylan reached up, brushing away a tear. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby. Eywa, no.” You kissed his forehead, hugging him tight. “He loves you more than anything. He just… he’s sleeping very strong.”

“Like when the fish go deep for the cold moons?”

“Exactly,” you lied, smiling through the ache. “But he’ll come back.”

Later that night, after the boys had fallen asleep — Likan curled on Neteyam’s chest, Eylan tucked under his arm — you stepped outside. The stars shimmered over the ocean, and the sound of waves broke softly against the reef. You didn’t cry this time. You just breathed.

“I’m scared,” you whispered to the sky. “He’s missing everything. Every kick. Every day the boys grow. He hasn’t even heard this baby’s heartbeat.”

Lo’ak appeared behind you quietly. “I know.” You turned to him, voice trembling. “What if I have this baby alone? What if he never—”

“You won’t,” he said, stepping forward. “We won’t let you be alone. I know I’m not him, but I swear… we’ve got you. I’ve got you.” You sank into him, tears finally returning. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want him.”

“I know,” Lo’ak whispered, pressing your head to his shoulder. “I want him to wake up too.”

Ronal came the next day, her presence as quiet and firm as ever. She set a bowl of warm herbs beside Neteyam’s mat and applied a paste along his temples. You watched as she murmured prayers and touched his chest.

“He is tethered,” she said finally, glancing at you. “You are the cord that keeps him here. Keep speaking to him.” You nodded, though your heart was so tired.

Tsireya came later, bringing new salve for your aching legs and sweet-smelling herbs for the boys. “We haven’t given up,” she said gently. “You shouldn’t either.” Even Ao’nung came by more often now. He didn’t speak much, just brought fresh fish or sat with Lo’ak near the shore when he needed space.

And still, your stomach grew. Every movement of the baby inside you brought both awe and fear. You’d lie next to Neteyam at night, his arm draped lifeless across your middle, and whisper, “They’re almost here, ma tìyawn. Please… please don’t miss this.”

But the days kept passing, and one month later, the pain came like fire—deep, sharp, and wrong. It was still dark outside the mauri when it woke you, seizing your breath and curling your body forward instinctively. You gasped, a broken cry ripping from your throat as you clutched your swollen belly. You knew what it meant. “No—no no no,” you whispered, panic rising fast. “Not now. Please not now.”

Your pain woke the boys, who both began to cry in their half-sleep—frightened, confused by the sound of your agony. “Mama? Mamaaa?”

You couldn’t even answer. You barely registered the door flap flying open, Kiri and Neytiri rushing in. Kiri dropped to your side. “It’s the baby,” she breathed, feeling your stomach. “You’re in labor.”

“I won’t do it,” you gasped, trying to stand—only to collapse into Neytiri’s arms, trembling. “I won’t—I can’t! Not without him!”

“He would want you to be strong,” Neytiri said quickly, but her voice cracked. “You have to be strong—please, for the baby.”

Tsireya and Ronal arrived next, gathering supplies and laying out a woven mat across the floor beside Neteyam’s still form. You shrank away from them, clutching your belly like it might hold the pain back.

“You need to lie down,” Tsireya said softly.

“I said no!” you cried. “I’m not having this baby without him! He was supposed to be here! He was supposed to hold my hand—he promised!” Ronal looked to Kiri, silently asking her to calm you, but before she could move, a voice cut through the panic.

“Y/n I’m surprised at you I really am, this…. this is not how I thought you’d handle this.” Lo’ak stood in the doorway. Pale. Tense. Eyes rimmed red from weeks of holding back every emotion that now pulsed right beneath his skin. Kiri opened her mouth, clearly ready to tell him to leave. “Lo’ak, maybe give her some—”

But he walked straight past her. He knelt down in front of you, gently brushing your damp hair back, speaking quietly so only you could hear. “I know you’re scared. You have every right to be. But you don’t get to quit right now.” You shook your head, voice cracking. “You don’t understand—”

“No, I do,” he said, cutting you off gently. “He was supposed to be here. I know that. And this isn’t fair. None of this is fair. But you’re not alone.” Your eyes welled up again, and you looked away.

Lo’ak leaned closer. “You’re not doing this for just you. You’re doing it for the baby. For Neteyam. For your little boys who still need their mama cause they’re crying cause you're in pain. You don’t get to quit on them. You don’t get to quit on me.” Your lower lip trembled as a contraction surged again, and you folded into it, screaming. “I know there’s a lot of things going on here we can’t control, but this, we can do this.” He caught you as you slumped forward, gently guiding you down onto the mat Tsireya had prepared. The moment you hit the floor, the room shifted.

Kiri immediately began gathering towels and boiling water. Neytiri scooped the boys into her arms, quickly passing them to Jake who waited just outside to rock them even as tears streaked her own cheeks. Ronal positioned herself at your feet, checking how far along you were. Tsireya set her hands at your side, grounding you in soft whispers.

Lo’ak didn’t move from behind you, sitting cross-legged so your back could lean into him, just like Neteyam had done for your first two births. He took your hand in his. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into your ear. “Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another contraction came, and you screamed into his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. “I know it hurts,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “I know everything feels like it’s falling apart, but this baby is yours and his and they’re ready. You just have to help them get here.”

“I don’t want to do it alone,” you sobbed.

“You’re not alone,” he said, pressing your forehead to his. “Look at me.” You opened your eyes—barely.

“I’m here. Kiri’s here. Mom’s here. Tsireya and Ronal are here. You are surrounded by people who love you. We’re not letting go. You can do this.” You let out a shuddering breath, nodding once. “Okay.”

“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s all I need. When the next one comes—push. I’ve got you. I swear.”

The room shifted again—calm in the storm. Ronal nodded. “The baby is crowning. You must push.” You closed your eyes, tears falling fast, and squeezed Lo’ak’s hand as the next contraction came. You pushed. Screamed. Cried. And Lo’ak held you through every second of it.

Your chest heaved, sweat glistening on your skin as your trembling arms cradled the impossibly small bundle against your chest. She was still crying—tiny and sharp and alive. And Lo’ak… Lo’ak was still behind you, arms braced on either side of you, steadying you like a living pillar. His chest pressed to your back, chin briefly lowering to your shoulder as he whispered, “You did it.”

You couldn’t answer—not yet. Your voice was trapped in your throat, and your heart was thundering too hard, but you nodded weakly, tears falling freely down your cheeks.

Tsireya leaned close, her smile wet with emotion. “She is strong,” she whispered. “Just like her sa’nok.”

Ronal was quiet, checking your daughter’s tiny fingers, murmuring something under her breath maybe a prayer, maybe thanks to Eywa. “I’ll go tell them,” Neytiri said softly, already turning toward the mauri flap. Her hand trailed along your shoulder as she passed. “They are waiting.”

You could feel Lo’ak’s breath on the back of your neck. His voice was hoarse when he said, “She looks like Neteyam.” That broke something in your chest. You nodded, lips trembling. “I know…”

She was beautiful. She was warm and breathing and here. And yet… Neteyam still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t seen her. Not yet. You shifted slightly, and Lo’ak helped you ease backward, supporting you so that you were resting against his chest, your newborn daughter swaddled snugly in your arms. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding his hand until you felt his thumb gently stroke over your knuckles. Then the flap lifted again.

Jake entered first, quiet and slow, with a child in each arm. Tuk still clung to his side, sleepy and blinking, and beside her was your oldest—Eylan, eyes wide with worry, searching.

“Mama…?” he said softly.

Your breath caught. You sat up straighter. “Eylan,” you whispered. He ran forward before Jake could even say anything, reaching out toward you. You held out your free arm, and he climbed up next to you, careful but eager, immediately peeking down at the baby in your arms. “Is that the baby that was in your belly?”

You nodded, voice soft and cracking. “Your sister, yeah.” He gasped quietly. “She’s so small…”

“She’s perfect,” you said.

Lo’ak shifted behind you, his hands never leaving your shoulders, still there like an anchor. Jake stepped closer, kneeling with Likan in his arms. “He woke when he heard her cry,” he said gently. Likan rubbed at his eyes with a little fist, clearly still tired, but the moment he spotted you and his brother, he reached out. “Mama…”

You nodded, arms full, and Lo’ak moved for the first time, gently helping take Likan from Jake and nestling him beside you, right between you and Eylan. Both boys now tucked into your side, wide-eyed and curious. “Look,” you murmured. “Your little sister.” Likan blinked at her. “Mama Baby…” You nodded, kissing his forehead.

The flap to the mauri was still drawn open, and behind Jake came Neytiri and Kiri, the whole family drawn like a tide around you. They didn’t crowd. They didn’t speak loudly. But the space filled with warmth—blinking away the cold ache of the months of silence. Your daughter squirmed a little, letting out a tiny sneeze.

“Oh,” Eylan whispered with a giggle. “She sneezed!”

“She’s a strong girl,” Jake said with pride, voice a little rough as he tucked a few braids behind your ear. “Just like her mama. Just like her brothers.”

You looked to Lo’ak then. He caught your gaze, then leaned close enough to kiss the crown of your head. “You did so good,” he murmured. “Neteyam would be losing his mind right now.” The lump in your throat swelled again.

“I wish he could see her…”

“He will,” Kiri said gently, her voice from just beside the boys. “He’s still here. And when he wakes up, we’ll tell him everything.”

Lo’ak looked at you, his voice a low, sure thing. “We’ll tell him how brave you were. How beautiful she is. How she cried just like Likan and wriggled like Eylan when they were born.”

“And how much we missed him,” you whispered. Lo’ak nodded.

Tuk came forward then, kneeling beside the boys, and smiled at the baby in wonder. “She’s really here…” she whispered. “What’s her name?”

You paused, heart pounding. You hadn’t chosen it yet. Not without him. “I uh— I haven’t chosen one yet, Neteyam normally has finally say but this time we…I don’t know yet.” I tell the family and Lo’ak squeezed my arms softly his fingers running up and down them. “It’s okay, you’ll name her when you’re ready.” He whispered speaking for everyone.

The air in the mauri is thick with warmth, sweat, blood, and silence. Somewhere just outside, Neytiri hums to Likan, rocking him slowly. Kiri is tending to your newborn, her steps soft. Tsireya is quiet, watching the Eylan sleep, giving you space.

It’s just you and Lo’ak now. The curtain drawn. A bowl of warm water beside him, and you, aching and barely awake, lying half-curled under a blanket, eyes glazed with exhaustion. You don’t even flinch when you feel the cloth on your thigh. His touch is gentle, almost too gentle like he’s afraid of you breaking.

“…Lo’ak?” your voice cracks. He doesn’t look at you. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

The cloth moves carefully over your skin, down the inside of your thigh where the blood dried hours ago. Normally, this moment is sacred, Neteyam’s hands, not Lo’ak’s. Always Neteyam’s. After every birth, every hard night, every wound. It was Neteyam who bathed you, held you, kissed your shoulders in the firelight. Only him.

This feels too close. Too much. Your voice trembles. “You don’t… have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Is it weird?” You swallow. “You can ask someone else—”

“I know,” he cuts in, gently. Finally, his eyes meet yours. And the look in them — it undoes you. It’s not pity. It’s not lust. It’s something else. Raw, reverent. Careful. Fractured.

“It is weird,” he admits, voice low. “But not because I don’t want to help you.” He dips the cloth again, wrings it slowly. “It’s weird because this isn’t mine. This moment. This part of you. It’s his.” Your breath catches. He lowers his eyes, begins wiping you again — the inside of your knees, the curve of your hip. Nothing improper. But your skin burns under his touch.

“I used to wonder what it felt like,” he murmurs suddenly, “being needed like that. The way you always looked at him after the births. Like he was the only person who knew where you ended and started again.”

You say nothing. You can’t. His next words are barely audible. “Now I know. And I wish I didn’t.” The silence hangs so heavy it could break. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears slipping sideways into your hair.

“I’m not,” he says softly. Then after a beat, a shaky breath escapes him, and he tries to smile — the kind that barely holds. “…Though I gotta say,” he adds gently, “I never pictured the first time I’d see you naked would involve this much blood and crying.” You laugh — a strangled, wet sound. “Lo’ak—!”

He grins, but it’s quiet. Tired. Tender. “Hey. I made you laugh. That counts for something.” The cloth slips back into the bowl. He covers you gently, then sits there beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes. It should not feel this way. He should not have seen this much of you. Should not have touched your skin. Should not have looked at you like that. But he did. And you let him. And in the soft dark, with your mate still unconscious and your body raw from birth, you realize… You’re not sure where the line is anymore.

At first, it’s still about the kids. Lo’ak carrying Eylan when the boy is too sleepy to walk, playing with Likan in the dirt while you rest with the baby sleeping on your chest. He never complains. Never acts like it’s too much. But the way he watches you begins to change — it becomes quieter. He’s more careful. Always aware. He doesn’t hover. But he notices everything.

When your arms start to tremble from holding the baby too long, he’s already there before you ask. He doesn’t make a scene — he just crouches beside you and gently takes her from you, cradling her like she’s his own blood, offering that crooked half-smile you’ve seen a thousand times before. Except now it feels different.

When you try to eat, one hand balancing your daughter and the other too sore to lift much of anything, he kneels next to you. No teasing, no fuss. He just takes the food and feeds you with quiet patience, like it’s normal, like you’ve always done this dance. There’s a rhythm forming between you that neither of you meant to create.

“You either eat this,” he says once, “or I eat it and tell everyone you starve me.” You roll your eyes. But you open your mouth. The next time, you lean forward before he even lifts the bite. The first time it goes too far is at the river. You sit on the edge of the rocks, staring at the water, your body aching and raw, and no one else is free. You don’t even say anything. You don’t need to.

“I’ll help,” Lo’ak says, not looking at you. “Just the shallow edge. You don’t have to move much. I’ll look away.” And he does. Always.

But his hands are gentle when they brush your back. His silence is heavy. And when he hands you the cloth and cups the water for you, your hands touch — just for a moment — and your breath catches, and neither of you mention it.

He still returns to Tsireya’s arms every night. He kisses her when she brings herbs to help with your healing. He rests his head on her lap while she hums over his braids. He holds her hand when they walk together, when they sit by the fire, when she laughs too loud and he smiles just watching her. He is still her perfect partner.

But something in him has gone quiet. Especially when it’s just the two of you. He stays a little longer than he should. Touches your shoulder more than is necessary. His eyes linger when they shouldn’t. He steps into Neteyam’s absence like he was born into it, without ever being asked.

And Tsireya notices. Not everything. Not enough to accuse. But enough to pause. One evening, she watches from across the marui as Lo’ak gently lifts the baby from your lap, tucks the blanket higher on your legs, and smooths your hair away from your face. His fingers hesitate there, just for a moment, brushing your skin like it means something. Like it hurts to let go. She doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

You try not to rely on him. You hate how easy it’s become — how when you need something, when you so much as look tired, Lo’ak is already there. You try not to look for him, not to listen for his voice, but you do. And you catch yourself waiting for him, for the sound of his feet in the sand.

You hate the heat in your chest when he speaks your name gently. The soft way he says, “Eat. You need your strength.” You hate that sometimes — just sometimes — you wish it wasn’t just kindness. That it meant something more. Because it’s Lo’ak. Because you love Neteyam. Because you’re still his. Because you shouldn’t feel this.

But you lean your head against his shoulder one quiet afternoon while your boys laugh nearby. And he doesn’t move. He just lets you stay there, still and warm and silent. His fingers brush your wrist — the barest touch — like it anchors him. Or maybe anchors you. Neither of you speak. But something has shifted. Quietly. Unmistakably. And it’s getting harder to ignore.

The baby’s asleep again, her soft, steady breaths rising against Neteyam’s bare chest. You’ve bundled her there every night now — it’s the only place she seems to settle. Her little hand rests right over the bullet scar. Your fingers twitch every time you look at it.

You sit beside them; knees pulled to your chest. The lantern burns low, casting long shadows across the woven floor. The boys are asleep near the doorway, Likan curled against Eylan’s back like a fern folding in the night.

You don’t expect Lo’ak. Not this late. But the flap rustles, soft and careful, and he steps in — quiet, like he doesn’t want to wake anyone. His hair’s damp. He smells like the sea. He sees you and stops. “I thought you’d be asleep.” You give a tired shrug. “Can’t.” His eyes flick toward the baby on Neteyam’s chest. “She’s there again.”

“Every night.” You feel the breath leave your chest, sharp and bitter. Lo’ak crosses the marui, lowers himself to sit beside you. You don’t look at him. “Tsireya okay?” you ask, voice low.

“Yeah. She’s… she’s good.”

“Did she want you to stay?” A pause. “Yeah.”

“Then why are you here?” He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the fire.

“I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that when you’re not.”

You glance at him. “And what if I’m not?” He meets your eyes, steady and too soft. “Then I stay.”

You don’t say anything. Not for a long moment. The only sounds are the baby’s tiny sighs, the breath of the wind outside, the creak of the marui walls. You shift, hugging your knees tighter.

“I miss him,” you whisper. “Even though he’s right there. I miss him like he’s already—” Lo’ak turns quickly, hand reaching for yours. He grips it tight, grounding you.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t say it.” You look down at your joined hands.

“I’m so tired, Lo’ak,” you breathe. “Of being strong. Of pretending I don’t need help.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You exhale a shaky laugh. “You’re not supposed to be the one holding me together.”

“Maybe I want to.” His voice is lower now. There’s something in it that curls under your skin — a crack you shouldn’t notice, but you do. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Really looking. The firelight flickers over his face, the high cheekbones, the small scar near his jaw, the dark, aching eyes.

Your voice comes out quiet. “This feels…” He doesn’t let you finish.

“I know.”

He shifts closer, slowly, like he’s not sure if he should. His fingers brush your cheek, just once. You don’t stop him. He leans in, just enough that his forehead grazes yours. Just enough to steal your breath.

“If I kiss you right now,” he murmurs, “will you hate me for it?”

Your heart stops. You don’t answer. And he doesn’t move. You sit like that — too close, too quiet — with your foreheads barely touching, your breaths syncing, your hands still joined.

“I still love him,” you whisper. It’s barely audible.

“I know,” he says again. “I wouldn’t ask you not to.”

Then the baby shifts. A small sound. A flutter of fingers against Neteyam’s chest. You both freeze. And just like that, the moment shatters. You pull back slowly, blinking fast, like coming up for air. Lo’ak leans away, breaking contact, hand sliding from yours. He looks wrecked. Like he’s been caught in something he didn’t mean to start.

“I should go,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah.”

But neither of you moves. Your hands are still touching. Just your fingers. Barely. And the silence between you tightens, not like tension, but like grief. Like hunger. Like everything you’ve tried not to feel has risen to the surface and is begging to be touched.

He looks at you. You look back. He leans in. And this time, you don’t look away. Your breath catches, but your body doesn’t flinch. His hand brushes your cheek again, fingers trailing behind your ear, so soft it almost doesn’t register. Almost.

“Lo’ak,” you whisper. Just his name. Nothing more. But it cracks.

And he breaks. He kisses you. Slow. Gentle. Terrified. He’s not rushing. He’s not devouring. He’s aching. His lips press to yours like he’s asking for permission he already knows he shouldn’t need. Like he knows it’s wrong — but more than that, he knows it’s too late.

And still… you kiss him back. Only for a second. Maybe two. It’s not passionate. Not carnal. It’s not even romantic. It’s just grief. Muted and drowning. A moment where you aren’t the woman holding everything together. You’re not Neteyam’s mate. You’re not a mother. You’re just you.

And Lo’ak is the only one who sees that. When he pulls back, he stays close — forehead against yours, breath ragged. “Shit,” he whispers, eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” You say nothing. Because you’re not. Not yet. Your chest is rising too fast. Your hand is still on his wrist. You can feel his pulse beneath your thumb.

“I didn’t mean—” he starts. “Yes, you did,” you say. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… honest. And it shatters him. He nods. “I know.”

Then a soft sound breaks the air — not from the baby, not from the boys. From Neteyam. A shift. A breath. You both turn. He hasn’t moved. Still and unchanged. But the guilt crashes into you anyway. Heavy. Sharp. You pull back completely, hands to your lap, your chest squeezing like it’s too full to breathe. Lo’ak stands up slowly. “I shouldn’t have—” You cut him off, eyes still on Neteyam. “It’s okay..” you whisper. “But I think you should go.”

He hesitates. Just a second. Then he leaves. And you sit alone in the half-light, your baby sleeping on her father’s chest, your heart pounding from another man’s lips. You don’t cry. You don’t panic. You just stare, swallowing the weight of it — knowing that something has changed. Knowing that if Neteyam wakes up tomorrow, if he looks at you the way he used to, you will never be able to tell him. But you’ll feel it.

The next morning, Neytiri was brushing your baby girl’s tiny curls back from her forehead, humming softly, when you approached. “Can you take them to Ronal for their checkups?” you asked quietly, trying not to wake your daughter. “She wants to see them today.”

Neytiri turned, giving you a look that read deeper than words. “Are you all right?” You hesitated. “I just… need a moment.”

She nodded, collecting the baby in one arm and calling softly to Eylan and Likan. Your boys rushed over, Likan clinging to your leg briefly, then letting go when Neytiri took his hand.

You kissed each of them, your heart squeezing tight as Likan babbled a sleepy, “Mama be back? “Soon,” you promised. “I love you.”

With Neytiri leading them off toward the reef healer’s marui, you turned away. But your heart stayed behind.

Lo’ak was exactly where you expected — perched alone where the reef cliffs met the sea, his feet dangling above the water, arms resting on his knees. The wind pushed through his hair, the waves whispering beneath. You approached quietly and sat beside him, not too close. He glanced sideways. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“I had to.” He looked back out at the ocean. “I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.” You nodded. “Me neither.” A pause stretched out. You could feel the weight between you — not heavy with love, not sweet with longing. Just guilt. Raw and too recent.

“What we did…” he said slowly, “I keep trying to explain it to myself. I know it wasn’t about love. Wasn’t even about wanting each other like that.” You watched the horizon. “We were just too tired. Too empty. We found each other in that space.”

“I still hate that it happened.” You swallowed. “Me too.” A moment passed. Then, quietly: “But I don’t hate you for it.” He looked over. “I don’t hate you either.” The wind picked up, salt brushing your skin. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” you whispered. “But I don’t want it to happen again.” His eyes fell to the ground. “It won’t.”

“Good,” you breathed. “Because I can’t lose him. And I still feel like I’m losing myself.” Lo’ak’s hand reached out, fingers brushing yours gently.

Not holding. Just… acknowledging. “We’ll be okay,” he said. “Eventually.” Just then — a scream carried across the reef. “GET HER—GET HER NOW—HE’S AWAKE—!”

You both bolted upright. Kiri’s voice. Your heart slammed into your ribs. “Neteyam?!” you breathed. And then Lo’ak grabbed your hand without thinking, and the two of you ran. By the time you reached the mauri, the entire reef was there. Ronal. Tsireya. Ao’nung. Neytiri with the baby held protectively in her arms, boys pressed into her sides. Jake knelt by the mat.

Neteyam was sitting up. Blinking. Awake. Lo’ak skidded to a halt beside you, breath ragged. Your legs wouldn’t move — not at first. Kiri turned to you, eyes wild with tears. “He opened his eyes. He said something—he looked around, but—” You pushed through them all, falling to your knees at his side.

Neteyam looked at you, face pale, chest rising with effort. His gaze slid over you, confused but calm. You smiled through the tears. “Hi. Hey. I’m here.”

He blinked again. “Are you… the healer?” The words hit like ice water. Your breath caught. “What?” Jake turned sharply. Neytiri’s lips parted. Neteyam looked around slowly. “I… where am I? What happened?”

You didn’t feel your legs give out, but suddenly you were leaning forward, gripping the edge of the mat. “I’m—” your voice cracked. “I’m your mate. Your wife.”

He stared at you like you were speaking another language. Neytiri stepped forward, voice soft and shaking, “itan… Neteyam… this is your wife. Your children are here. You are safe.”

Neteyam’s brows furrowed. “Wife?” He looked at your baby in her arms. At Eylan and Likan — their golden eyes wide and scared. His eyes were blank. Tsireya stepped back, hand over her mouth. Lo’ak stood frozen beside you, his face twisted in disbelief, grief washing over him in a silent wave.

Neteyam’s gaze landed on him last. “Lo’ak,” he murmured. “I… I know you.” But even that seemed uncertain. Lo’ak stepped closer. “Yeah, bro. It’s me. I’m right here.” Neteyam squinted, nodding slightly. “You look… older.” And then he looked at you again. Eyes searching. Still not recognizing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know who you are.” You didn’t break down. Not yet. But your hand slipped from the mat. And Lo’ak was the one who caught it.

The room seemed to hold its breath. Neytiri stepped forward again, her voice low and tender. “Neteyam,” she said gently, kneeling beside you, “this is [Name].” You watched his eyes flick to her, then back to you. The name hung in the air. He blinked slowly, and something passed across his face. Not clarity — but a glimmer.

“[Name],” he repeated, tasting it. “I know that name.” Your heart jumped. You shifted, leaning in, desperate for more. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, you do.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place a memory behind fogged glass.

“You had long braids even at a five-year-old,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. “You followed me everywhere. You made me that ugly stone necklace and cried when I said it stank” A soft laugh caught in your throat, half-sob. He looked up again, blinking hard. “That was when we were… kids. That’s all I remember.”

Jake exhaled quietly through his nose. Kiri covered her mouth, face crumpling. You reached for his hand, but he shifted just slightly — not in rejection, but in confusion. He stared at your touch like it was unfamiliar. “I don’t understand,” he said again, voice cracking. “Why is everyone crying? Why do I feel like I’m… missing something? A lot of somethings?” He turned his gaze slowly toward Jake. “How long was I out?”

Jake hesitated. “Months,” Neytiri said softly, before her husband could answer. “You were shot. You almost—” She cut off. Her eyes burned. Neteyam looked down at his chest then, slowly lifting his fingers to touch the healed but angry scarring beneath the cloth. His breathing hitched.

His head snapped back up. “Months?” He looked around wildly now — at the baby, at the boys pressed into Neytiri’s side, at the reef around him he didn’t recognize. His fingers curled tightly into the bedding. “I—I don’t remember this place,” he stammered. “I don’t remember being here. Why are we not in the forest?”

“The…the sky people returned we came here because they were hunting us,” Jake said gently. “We all…live here now. Me, your mom, siblings and your wife and kids. This is our home now.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, more panicked now. “Why does everything feel wrong? Why do I know her name but not her voice? Not—” His voice cracked. “Not those kids?” Eylan whimpered softly. Likan shrunk against Neytiri’s side, clinging to her braid. The baby stirred in Neytiri’s arms and let out a soft, fussy noise — and Neteyam flinched at the sound. His eyes snapped to her. He stared.

“She’s… mine?” he asked. “Ours?” You nodded, your voice almost inaudible. “She was born while you were still… still asleep, just a couple weeks ago.” He dragged a hand down his face. “No. No, this doesn’t make sense.”

“Neteyam—” Kiri started, moving forward. “I don’t know her,” he said louder, looking at the baby. “I don’t know them. How can they be mine?”

Lo’ak tensed beside you. You could feel it in his grip. You turn to your boys who were shying away from their father saying he didn’t know them and your heart ached.

Neteyam’s breaths were picking up, eyes darting. “Why don’t I remember you?” he asked again, his voice climbing toward panic. “If you’re my mate, why don’t I feel it? Why does it feel like I’m seeing my own life from outside?”

You leaned in, your hand still lightly on his, even though he wasn’t returning the touch. “Because something happened,” you said quietly. “And we don’t know why yet. But I’m here. And we’ll figure it out.”

He stared at you for a long time. Then whispered, “I feel like I’m drowning.” You nodded, a tear falling as you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

“So am I.” Neteyam didn’t pull away this time. He just looked at your hand on his, blinking back tears he didn’t quite understand.

And Lo’ak, still kneeling beside you, kept holding your other hand, jaw tight, not speaking a word. You sat frozen, still holding your breath, your hand gently resting on his.

Neteyam’s gaze was on you — no longer searching, just… overwhelmed. His eyes were wide. Distant. Then, slowly, carefully, he pulled his hand away. It was a soft motion. Not cruel. Not forceful. But deliberate. Your heart cracked again. He pressed his palms flat to the mat, his shoulders hunched slightly as if he were curling in on himself, trying to make sense of a world that was too loud, too big, and far too unfamiliar.

You swallowed hard and pulled your hand back, fingers trembling in your lap. Neytiri’s face shifted, like something inside her folded in half. Lo’ak’s arm brushed yours. Subtle. Silent. “I’m sorry,” Neteyam said again, still staring down. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just—” he shook his head, a quiet panic rising again in his voice. “It doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real.”

Jake stepped forward then, slow and calm, crouching near his son. “Neteyam, you’ve been unconscious for a long time. Your body survived, but something’s wrong with your memory. You don’t remember the reef. You don’t remember what happened. And that’s okay. We’re gonna help you through it.” Neteyam barely nodded. He still wasn’t looking at anyone. Only the floor. A small voice broke the stillness.

“Neteyam?” Everyone turned. Tuk. She had slipped through the gathered crowd, her steps careful and quiet. Her big golden eyes glistened with tears as she crept toward the mat, holding something in her arms — a small shell toy he’d carved years ago.

She knelt near him and offered it up with a little smile. “You made this for me when I was little. Do you remember?” Neteyam looked up and froze. His brows furrowed hard, confusion blooming deep. His eyes roamed over her face, her frame, her tiny shaking hands. “I…” he blinked. “I don’t know you.” The silence snapped sharp. Tuk’s smile faltered. Her lip quivered, and she clutched the shell tighter to her chest.

“I’m Tuk,” she whispered. “I’m your baby sister.” Neteyam’s face had gone pale again. “No, I—no. I have one sister. Kiri. That’s all. You weren’t… there.” You could feel Neytiri’s body tense, just a breath away from crumbling. Tuk’s chin wobbled. “But I was. You used to braid my hair. You used to carry me everywhere when I was small—”

“I don’t remember,” Neteyam said, voice cracking. “I don’t remember you. I’m sorry, I don’t—” Tuk’s face fell, and the shell slipped from her fingers. Kiri was already moving, sweeping her into her arms and pulling her away as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Tuk buried her face in Kiri’s neck and sobbed. Neteyam shut his eyes tight, pressing his palms to his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I don’t understand why everything hurts.” Your own tears blurred your vision as you watched him — not just lost but shattered inside his own mind.

Neteyam’s breath hitched again. He stared at the place Tuk had stood, hands still braced on the mat, knuckles pale. He didn’t look at anyone now. He couldn’t. And then, like a dam breaking everything scattered. Jake stood swiftly. “I need to call Norm and Max,” he said to no one and everyone, already stepping toward the sat phone near the far wall. “If this is neurological, they’ll know what to look for.”

Ronal moved forward without a word, her face set in that unreadable Tsahìk calm. She knelt beside Neteyam and placed her hands lightly over his head and chest, lips murmuring prayers too soft to catch. Tsireya and Ao’nung stepped back to give her room, their hands linked tightly. Tsireya looked like she might cry. You didn’t move at first. You were still kneeling right where Neteyam had pulled away. Right where he’d looked at you and not known who you were.

It hit you then, all of it. The months of keeping it together. Of surviving. Of healing. Of pretending you could carry all this weight alone. It caved in without warning. Your breath snagged. Your hands trembled. And then you stood, barely feeling your legs move, and backed away. Slow. Silent. Like if you just got far enough away, maybe it wouldn’t crush you.

You didn’t stop until you reached the far side of the mauri, your back pressing against the woven wall. But your eyes never left him. You kept watching. As if sheer will could force his memories back. “Mama?” The small voice broke you. Eylan was at your side, his little hand wrapping around yours, eyes wide with confusion. Likan toddled behind him, thumb in his mouth, clinging to your leg. You sank down, arms wrapping around both of them. And then Neytiri was there too.

She knelt on the floor beside you without a word and pulled you into her arms like she used to when you were young. When you scraped your knees or cried after fights with Neteyam. She knew her son needed her in this moment, but her daughter needed her more. You clung to her tightly, your face buried in her shoulder, trying not to sob.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out, voice splintered. “I don’t know how to help him. I can’t lose him again. I can’t.” She stroked your hair, arms strong around you. “You haven’t lost him, ma’ite. He’s here. His heart still beats. You brought him back.”

“But he doesn’t know me,” you said. “He doesn’t remember… us.” And just behind you, Lo’ak kneeled his hand brushed your shoulder, grounding you. “I’m here too,” he said quietly. “You are not alone.” You nodded, your eyes never leaving the figure across the room. Still staring at your mate. Your love. The father of your children. Still watching the way he looked around the mauri like he was on another planet.

The mat was still where it always was, yours and Neteyam’s. But it hadn’t felt like his since the day he woke up. Now, it was you and the boys. Eylan curled into your chest, Likan wrapped around your leg, the baby in the woven basinet beside you, close enough to touch. Neteyam watched you from across the room, the firelight casting your silhouette in soft gold. You were quiet, always tired, always holding one child while keeping an eye on the others. Always doing something. And he… just watched.

He slept on a new mat, set up on the other side of the mauri. The distance felt necessary. That first night when he’d pulled away from you—when he saw Tuk and didn’t recognize her—it was clear. He wasn’t the same. He remembered his mother’s voice, his father’s hands, Lo’ak’s laugh, Kiri’s connection to the forest. But he didn’t remember you as his wife. He didn’t remember the baby, the boys. And Tuk—she wasn’t even born in his memory either. The look in your eyes when he’d asked who you were, never left him.

Since then, the mauri had been a blur of movement. Jake had sent word to Norm and Max. Ronal checked on him every day. Tsireya and Aonung kept their distance, though Tsireya’s eyes lingered sometimes when she looked at you. Kiri stayed close. Neytiri moved between you and Neteyam like she was split in half. Everyone tried to act like things were normal. They weren’t.

You never asked Neteyam to come back to the mat. You let him choose. You never tried to force the baby into his arms. Never corrected the way he hesitated when Likan reached for him. But he noticed. He noticed everything. He saw how you carried it all—how you shifted the baby with one arm while holding Likan’s hand, how you smoothed Eylan’s hair and soothed him to sleep while the others cried. You never asked for help, but you didn’t need to. Lo’ak was always there.

Lo’ak, who should’ve been carefree. Who should’ve still been the younger brother. But Neteyam saw how he moved around you like he’d done this all before. Helped you wrap the sling for the baby. Tied the back knot without needing to look. Lifted the basket out of your way without being asked. Fed Likan. Braided Eylan’s hair. Caught you when your legs almost gave out. And it wasn’t just helpful—it was natural. Familiar. Too familiar.

One morning, Neteyam watched as Lo’ak pressed a hand to your back while you sat feeding the baby, whispering something that made you exhale a tired laugh. Your head dropped forward, and he gently lifted the hair from your face. The touch was soft. The kind of soft that made Neteyam’s stomach twist.

Later that day, you stumbled again as you were going to a fussy Likan, only for a second and Lo’ak was there, catching you before you hit the ground. His hands went to your waist. You gripped his arms to steady yourself, eyes meeting in silence.

Neteyam stood up. The room shifted, just slightly. Kiri paused. Neytiri looked up. “I’ll do it,” Neteyam said, voice sharp. You turned, confused. Lo’ak blinked.

Neteyam crossed the space and reached for Likan, who had been fussing on the floor. His hands were unsure, but the moment Likan saw him, the toddler’s arms lifted in recognition. Neteyam picked him up. Held him. He didn’t even know if he was doing it right. But Likan laid his head against his chest and didn’t move. It was the first time Neteyam held one of his children since waking up. Something cracked open.

That night, he watched you sleep again. Your body curled around the baby. Eylan sprawled out beside you. Likan using your leg as a pillow. You hadn’t even noticed how your hand remained outstretched, resting on the basinet like you needed the baby within reach. You looked like a home. His home. But it felt like you were a thousand miles away.

Lo’ak came in quietly and crouched beside you. He brushed your hair back. Whispered something. You nodded. Neteyam’s jaw clenched. His fists curled in the blankets.

The next few days, Lo’ak pulled back. Let Neteyam help first. Watched from a distance more often than he acted. He never said anything about it. But Neteyam noticed that, too.

He noticed the quiet glances from Kiri when he didn’t know how to soothe the baby. The way Neytiri held both you and Tuk in the mornings. The way Jake’s eyes lingered on him with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Everyone knew he was missing something. And they were waiting.

Neteyam was trying. Trying to remember. Trying to learn. But more than anything, he was trying to understand how he could forget you. How you could be his mate, and he couldn’t feel it. How Lo’ak could touch you like that, help you like that, and somehow it didn’t seem wrong to anyone, except him.

And still, the baby slept with her cheek to your chest. Likan wrapped his hand in your braids. Eylan reached for you when he woke crying.

Neteyam sat on the edge of the mat, stiff and quiet, watching his own hands like they weren’t his. Max crouched in front of him, scanning a pad while Norm gently rotated a small light near his temple. Every time Neteyam blinked, it felt like he was waking into a world he didn’t recognize.

You sat nearby, the baby still asleep in the shallow woven basket beside you. Eylan was curled into Lo’ak’s lap again, sucking on his thumb — not out of habit, but anxiety. Likan was sprawled across your thigh, little fingers tangled in the strings of your chest wrap.

“I’m going to ask you a few things, okay?” Norm said gently. “No pressure. Just answer what you can.” Neteyam nodded slowly.,“What’s your name?”

“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.” Norm smiled, “that’s good,” encouraged. “And your parents?” Neteyam looked across the room at Jake and Neytiri. “Ma sa’nok. Ma sempu.”

“Do you remember where you grew up?”

“The forest. The Omatikaya clan” He glanced around the reef mauri. “This place is… new.” Max nodded. “You came here during the war after the sky people returned. That’s okay you don’t remember yet. What about your siblings?”

Neteyam hesitated. “Lo’ak… and Kiri. I remember them.” His brow furrowed. “But that little one—” he pointed at Tuk, who stood near Neytiri, peeking out from behind her legs. “I don’t know her.” Tuk shrank back slightly, confused. Neytiri placed a protective hand on her head. “That’s Tuk,” Jake said gently. “Your youngest sister.”

“I never met her,” Neteyam murmured, voice flat. You glanced down, heart sinking. Norm didn’t let the pause linger. “And this woman?” He nodded toward you. “Do you remember her?” Neteyam looked at you for a long time.

“I know her name,” he said quietly. “I remember her from before. When we were little. She always followed me around.” You almost laughed at that, even through the ache. “But after that… nothing,” he whispered.

“Neteyam,” Max spoke up, shifting tone. “You’ve lost all memory past a certain point in your life. It’s not unusual in cases like this — trauma, brain swelling, lack of oxygen, coma…”

“I’ve been asleep for months?” Neteyam cut in, sharp as if to confirm it again. Jake stepped forward. “Yes.”

“And you’re all just… what? Waiting for me to get up?”

“Of course we were,” Neytiri said softly. He rubbed at his chest like it ached. “But I don’t even remember learning how to fight. Or fly. Or the war. I don’t remember being a husband or a father—” He stopped. Looked at the children.

“You’re telling me they’re mine, but I don’t feel it.” Lo’ak’s jaw twitched. Tsireya stepped beside him. “It’s okay to feel lost.”

“Is it?” Neteyam shot back, and his tone was more edge than emotion. Silence crept through the mauri. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Neteyam turned to his brother, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’ve been helping. With… them.” His gaze flicked to you. “Why?” Lo’ak blinked. “Because she needed help.”

“You seemed very close,” Neteyam said, voice careful. Lo’ak frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stepped in finally, firm but calm. “It means he’s scared. And confused. And this is all too much for everyone involved, especially him.”

Neteyam looked at you, jaw tense. “I just don’t understand how I’m gone for a few months, and suddenly I wake up and my little brother knows more about my life than I do.”

“That’s not what happened Nete—”Lo’ak stood, slowly setting Eylan down beside him cutting you off. “Bro, none of us wanted this. I helped because I had to. Because I love you. You think this was easy for anyone?”

You stood too, placing a hand on Lo’ak’s arm before it escalated. “Stop. Don’t fight. Please.” Jake’s voice was heavy. “We all did what we had to.”

“I’m not even mad about it,” Neteyam muttered, running a hand over his face. “I probably should be but, I just feel like I woke up in someone else’s life. A stranger’s life.” Neytiri moved to kneel at his side. “It’s not someone else’s life, ma’itan. It’s yours. We will walk with you until you find it again.”

Tsireya leaned gently into Lo’ak, whispering something that calmed him. He exhaled hard, jaw clenching, but he nodded.

Max tapped something on his pad. “We’ll give you space. The best thing now might be small pieces. Familiar things. Let him be around his family. Let him feel things before he tries to remember them. Just live, hopefully memories will resurface during daily activities which normally happens in cases like these.”

You looked down at your children. Eylan was clinging to Lo’ak’s hand. Likan was staring at Neteyam like he didn’t understand why his papa didn’t scoop him up. And your daughter, curled in her basket, let out a tiny sigh in her sleep. A sound Neteyam once swore was the best thing he’d ever heard when you had the boys. But he didn’t even flinch this time. And you had no idea how to begin again.

The next few months were both careful and chaotic — a balance of heartbreak and fragile hope, as life moved forward with Neteyam awake but not truly returned. You tried not to mourn what you lost. He was alive. Breathing. Laughing sometimes. But he wasn’t yours, not in the way he used to be.

At first, it was small things. Kiri brought out the old woven toys they used to play with as kids. She laughed when Neteyam remembered the names they gave them — “that’s O’upey, the angry monkey-bird,” he muttered one day, blinking in surprise at the memory. Tuk was still shy, unsure how to be with a brother who didn’t know her. But eventually, she began sneaking beside him during mealtimes, nudging his arm with her shoulder until he smiled down at her and shared his fruit.

Lo’ak kept his distance for a few days after that first confrontation, letting space settle between you all. But he never strayed far from the kids. Eylan still ran to him when he scraped his knee. Likan still tugged on his braid when he was sleepy. Neteyam watched this from the edge of the room, always quiet.

Neteyam had moved into a separate space near the edge of the Sully mauri which was next to the one you both shared in the previous years. He couldn’t sleep beside you, not with the weight of your shared history heavy on a mind that couldn’t recall it. So, the boys stayed with you, and the baby girl in the woven basket slept at your side. Neytiri helped every night, whispering lullabies and staying close when your arms trembled from exhaustion.

Jake took it hardest in the quiet moments. His son was there, walking beside him, training again slowly, and yet the bond between them was stunted. Neteyam asked him once if he’d been a good warrior, and Jake nearly broke, but he told him how proud he was, how much of a good person, son, warrior, husband and father he’d always been.

“He was the best,” he told Max later, voice rough. “He died trying to save us. And now he doesn’t even remember what he was saving.”

You and Neteyam began spending time together carefully. Norm had suggested building new memories to replace the missing ones. So, you started showing him the forest again — not the one you’d grown up in, but the edge of it, where vines crept low and fruit hung from branches. You told him the story of how you first met.

“You were three, just turned three and I was two years old. I was sitting in the village, and you came up to me and sat down and shared your fruit with me.” you said one day, crouched in the sand beside the mangroves. “And you just sat there with me eating the little piece of fruit you kept for yourself and after that we just…stay together.” He smiled, barely. “Sounds sweet.”

“It was,” you whispered, “and so was the fruit, I knew cause as we got older you never ate fruit that wasn’t overly ripe. It was always the sweetest u could find.” Neteyam didn’t argue. But he kept his soft smile until it faded.

Tsireya was gentle with him, like she always had been. She reminded him of reef customs, reintroduced him to Aonung, and brought him on swims through familiar coral paths. There was never judgment in her voice — only patience. You saw her watching him when he wasn’t looking. Once, you caught her eyes drift to you, and in that silence between you, there was no rivalry. Just pain shared in quiet solidarity.

Lo’ak helped where he could, but he never overstepped again. Not in front of Neteyam. Not anymore. But you felt it sometimes — the way Neteyam watched him carry Likan, or braid Eylan’s hair while you nursed the baby. It wasn’t jealousy, not fully. It was a wound. A gap in time that didn’t make sense.

One night, after a long day helping with repairs near the reef line, Neteyam lingered outside your mauri. You were inside, humming softly as you tried to get the baby down. He didn’t enter. But his voice drifted through the curtain: “What’s her name?”

You froze. You stepped toward the flap, lifting it slowly. “We haven’t named her yet,” you said. “Not fully. We were waiting”

He blinked. “Why?” Your voice cracked. “Because I choose too many names because there are a lot of pretty ones, and you are the one that normally has the final say.” He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t leave either.

Kiri was the first one to make him laugh again. She dragged him to the beach with a basket full of sea slugs and made him chase Likan, who had stolen one and was screeching with joy. When Likan fell in the shallows, Neteyam picked him up instinctively — and for one heartbeat, it felt like the past.

But when Likan called him ‘sempu,’ Neteyam stiffened. “He thinks I’m someone I’m not,” he told you later “No,” you said quietly. “He thinks you’re you. His father. And he is not wrong.”

One afternoon, the sun had barely started to dip beneath the waves when Tsireya brought Neteyam down to the shallows again. Lo’ak followed without a word, as if he didn’t want to leave his brother alone, to keep him safe. It had become a quiet ritual, easing Neteyam into the life he’d forgotten. He was polite. Curious. Observant. And completely unaware of the landmines his presence was walking over.

The beach was half-crowded with young hunters cleaning their weapons and tending to their gear. Laughter floated above the gentle surf. “Neteyam?” Soft, like a breeze. He turned, and so did Tsireya and Lo’ak.

Lina stepped out from a cluster of others, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. Her eyes were kind, the curve of her voice never sharp. She was tall and pretty, wet curls cascading down her back, bow slung across her back, fingers stained with oil from cleaning arrowheads. Neteyam tilted his head. “Have we met?”

“Yes,” she said gently, approaching but still giving him space. “We used to train together. Before… everything.” He squinted, curious. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You used to say you could outswim me. You never could.” He blinked, then laughed — and it was so easy. Like he didn’t have the weight of a family he couldn’t remember pressed into his chest. Like something about her didn’t require effort. “I doubt that,” he said, smiling full now. “You don’t look like you swim very fast.”

She blushed faintly and laughed. “You said I was faster than you once. But you also said I cheated.”

“Maybe I did,” he said, eyes twinkling a bit too long on her face. “Sounds like something I’d say.” Lo’ak’s brows lowered slightly. Tsireya shifted beside him, her hand sliding into his as if instinctually — as if to ground herself. Lina lowered her eyes a moment. “You helped me build my bow. Back when my brother broke mine. You carved a seashell on the handle for me.” Neteyam looked down at the bow on her back, then back at her. “I did that?”

“You said it reminded you of a sunrise.” There was a pause. His smile softened. “I’d like to see that sunrise again.” Lo’ak’s jaw slackened, his brother had always been smooth, but he’d only ever seen Neteyam really show interest in you. Tsireya sucked in a slow breath, eyes flicking toward her mate in quiet concern. They exchanged a look — full of too much they couldn’t say out loud. Not here. Not now.

“You… want to walk the shore?” Lina offered shyly, motioning toward the far end where the cliffs curved. And Neteyam nodded. “I think I do.” The two of them wandered off, feet kicking through the foam. Tsireya turned to Lo’ak. “We need to say something.” His face was carved from stone. “Not yet,” he said, voice quiet. “She’s been through too much already.”

“She’ll notice eventually.” He nodded, jaw tight. “Then we’ll tell her eventually.” But neither of them moved. They just stood there, watching their brother disappear further down the sand — toward someone he never remembered, but now seemed to see more clearly than the people who’d loved him all his life.

It was another sleepless night. It had been a couple of weeks now since Neteyam woke up and he was no where to be found. The baby had been fussing for hours, her soft cries escalating into breathless wails. Likan stirred again, kicking off his woven blanket, eyes puffy with confusion and frustration. Eylan was curled on his side but not asleep, thumb tucked against his lips the way he hadn’t done in years. He didn’t cry anymore, he just stared at the wall and sniffled, quiet in that way that made your heart twist.

You were pacing again. Rocking the baby against your chest, bouncing on tired feet, muttering soothing nonsense into her ear. You hadn’t eaten much. You hadn’t really sat down. You hadn’t even noticed the blood on your lower back where the wrap had pulled too tight across your healing skin. The strain of childbirth, the strain of grief, the loneliness of loving someone who didn’t know you anymore — it had started to show.

And no one had said it aloud, but the mat felt emptier now than when Neteyam had been unconscious. Because now he wasn’t there, and you were alone.

The family tried, they did, Neytiri and Kiri checked in. Jake held Likan when he screamed for his father. Tsireya helped brush Eylan’s hair when he refused to do it himself. But they were pulled thin. And Lo’ak had pulled away.

You had noticed it a few nights ago, when you turned in desperation to ask him for help reaching the water jug, and he pretended not to hear you. When the boys cried for him and he sent Tuk instead. You hadn’t said anything then. Maybe you thought it would pass or that you’d just figure it out.

But tonight, the pressure snapped. The baby wouldn’t settle. You were shaking. Likan started crying. Again. And your hands were trembling so bad the cup of water you tried to pour spilled across the floor. And that’s when Lo’ak walked in.

You didn’t even hear him at first — just saw his shadow, crouched beside Eylan, checking on him. The soft whisper of “Hey, buddy,” as he tucked the boy’s arm back under the blanket. Then he turned and saw you.

You were standing near the mat, the baby clutched to your chest, your whole body strung tight. Likan was crying in the corner, and you didn’t even know what to do anymore — hold him? Put her down? Lie on the ground and cry with them? You blinked at Lo’ak like he wasn’t real. And when he reached to take the baby from your arms, something snapped.

“No.” He paused, arms mid-stretch. “What?”

“You don’t get to come in when it’s convenient for you.” Your voice cracked. “I’ve been here. Alone. You were supposed to help me. You always did.”Lo’ak’s jaw locked. “I thought with Neteyam—”

“Well, Neteyam is gone!” you hissed, too loud, the baby jerking in your grip. You rocked her faster, whispering apologies, tears burning behind your eyes. “He’s not dead but he’s gone, and I am so tired, Lo’ak. I’m tired of holding this family together with spit and prayers.”

“I didn’t know you wanted my help anymore.”

“I didn’t want to need it anymore!” Silence stretched. You were shaking. Lo’ak took a slow step closer. “He’s my brother,” he said, quietly. “And I thought… if I stepped back, maybe it would be easier. For everyone.”

“It’s not.” You looked up at him, eyes glassy and dark. “I didn’t ask for this. And I didn’t expect you to fix it. But you were the one who was there. You were the one who held me when she was born. And I know, I know I’m asking a lot of you, and I know these kids aren’t your responsibility, but I need help sometimes.” Lo’ak flinched.

The baby finally drifted into exhausted sleep. You sank to your knees beside Likan, curling him against your chest as best you could. Lo’ak just stood there, like he didn’t know if he should stay or go. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought Neteyam would come back and remember how to be everything you needed.” You didn’t look at him. Just whispered: “Me too.”

He knelt down beside you then, hands hovering before gently reaching for Likan, taking him from your arms. The toddler’s sobs stilled a little against Lo’ak’s shoulder.

“You should rest,” he murmured. “I’ll stay tonight.” You didn’t thank him. Not with words. But you leaned into him — just slightly — and he stayed there. Holding your child, watching you sleep with the baby curled in one of your arms. The other reaching for Eylan to try easing him to sleep. But no one said the thing hanging in the air between you. That he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be there. That he shouldn’t have had to fill the space his brother left behind.

Neteyam stayed close. His mauri was just a few steps from yours — the one you used to share — and right next to his parents’. Close enough to hear the baby cry at night. Close enough to sometimes catch the scent of your cooking drift over in the mornings. Close enough that the boys could wander to his mat and sit nearby, even if he didn’t fully understand why it made his chest tighten when they did. But he never stepped inside.

Even as the weeks passed and his strength returned, Neteyam never once crossed that threshold. Not even when he watched you from the corner of his eye, swaying the baby back to sleep just outside. Not when Eylan called out “Sa’nok, sa’nok! Look!” while holding up a fish Lo’ak helped him catch. Not even when Likan would wander over, curious and bold, standing at the edge of Neteyam’s sleeping space before being gently redirected by Kiri or Neytiri.

He stayed in the in-between. And Lo’ak, for all his own complicated grief, never once gave up on him. He came by almost every day. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with little tools or handmade knives — “You used to like this,” he’d say casually. Other times, he just sat, throwing pebbles at the sand as Neteyam stared at the sky. “You talk less than you used to,” Lo’ak muttered one day, nudging him. “You used to talk a lot. Mostly telling me I was being dumb.”

Neteyam gave a faint, crooked smile. “That still sounds accurate.” It was moments like that flickers, glimpses, that made Lo’ak hopeful.

But then there was Lina. She’d been there from the beginning, one of the few Metkayina Neteyam didn’t look at with the uncomfortable weight of “I should know you.” Because he didn’t. Not really. Not in memory. So, it was easier.

Easier to walk with her on the shore after a long day. Easier to practice knife-throwing with her and not feel like a failure when he missed. She’d laugh gently, encourage him, sometimes place her hand over his to guide the movement. She smelled like sea salt and wind. Spoke softly. Never stared at his scars. Lo’ak noticed it all.

He didn’t mention it but, he didn’t stop it either. But he started watching more closely. Not out of jealousy — no, not that. It was something closer to protection. For you. For the boys. For a version of his brother that Lo’ak still believed was inside there somewhere. And the strange thing was, Neteyam wasn’t doing anything wrong. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He was just lost. And Lina, with her easy calm and open eyes, was the only place that didn’t make him feel like he was failing someone just by existing.

Meanwhile, the nights for you stretched long and raw. The baby cried more now. Maybe she felt it — her father just a few paces away, but never close. Eylan had grown quieter, his eyes constantly drifting toward his father’s silhouette. Likan had taken to curling into your side and not letting go, even in sleep.

The family helped where they could. Neytiri especially — splitting her time between you and Neteyam, her heart torn in half. But no matter how many hands helped, you were still up at night. Still aching. And Neteyam was still outside, just beyond the flap of the mauri. Awake. Watching the stars. Not knowing why they felt lonelier than before.

One day the boys were laughing as they chased one another along the shore, their feet kicking up puffs of white sand. You watched them with tired eyes from just outside the mauri, the baby restless in your arms.

She was crying again — not a loud, piercing wail, just that miserable, fussy sound that always came in waves when she couldn’t seem to settle. You’d walked her, rocked her, hummed and whispered to her until your throat ached. Nothing helped today. You bounced her gently, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek. “I know, sweet girl. I know.”

Behind you, there was a shift in the air. You turned your head just slightly — and found Neteyam standing there. He wasn’t close. Just at the edge of the clearing, half in shadow, watching with unreadable eyes. He hesitated. “I can take her,” he said finally, voice low and unsure. “If… if you want.”

Your heart gave a soft, startled flutter. You straightened slowly, blinking at him. “You don’t have to,” you murmured. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.” You looked down at the baby in your arms. She was still fussing, fists clenched, brow furrowed like the whole world was wrong. She didn’t know her father had never held her. Didn’t know he’d been sleeping when she was born. Didn’t know he didn’t remember her at all. But somehow… maybe she felt it.

You stood carefully and stepped toward him. Your arms trembled a bit — not from fear, just the weight of the moment. You cradled her close a second longer, then gently passed her over. He took her like she was made of glass. The way his hands moved — cautious, reverent. His whole body stilled as she settled into the crook of his arm. She squirmed at first, then let out a small, sighing cry… And stilled. He looked down at her. Then up at you. “She looks like me,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “She does.” “I never held her before now?” he asked. “No,” you whispered. “You haven’t really.” He looked away, shame flickering across his face. But the baby — your baby — made a soft, curious coo and blinked up at him with slow, sleepy eyes. His mouth parted, stunned. “I don’t remember her,” he said. “But I feel like I should.” You reached out gently, fingers brushing his arm. “You don’t have to force anything. You’re holding her. That’s enough.”

He looked at you — really looked — then back down at her. “What’s her name?” he asked. You exhaled slowly. “She doesn’t have one yet. I… I couldn’t pick. I tried. But I couldn’t.” He looked at you again, a strange mix of emotion tightening his brow. “You said I used to choose.” You nodded. “Always. I would give you too many names. I could never make up my mind, and you’d just… decide. Like you already knew.” His eyes fell back to her, the tiniest crease forming between his brows. “Do you have names now?” he asked. You swallowed. “Three.”

He waited. “Sahri. Eiweya. Kiriya.” He mouthed them silently. Then, softer than breath — “Kiriya.” You blinked. “That one,” he said. “She feels like that.” She shifted in his arms, letting out a tiny sigh before nestling her head beneath his chin. You stared at them, heart thudding, something breaking and stitching together all at once. “Kiriya,” you echoed. “Then that’s her name.” He didn’t say anything else. But he didn’t hand her back either.

The beach wind had quieted, the tide soft at your feet. Kiriya’s cries had faded into soft snuffles as she dozed in Neteyam’s arms. Her tiny hand rested against his chest; her brow furrowed even in sleep — just like his.

You were watching Eylan and Likan build crooked towers of shells in the sand when Neteyam glanced over at you. “I should bring her in,” he said. You turned to him slowly, heart tapping at your ribs. “Will you stay? For dinner?” He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked back to the baby. “Do you want me to?” You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Of course,” you said. “The boys would love that.” Neteyam gave a tiny nod, shifting the baby carefully. “Okay.”

At the mauri, the scent of roasted yovo drifted over fresh leaves and warm stones. Neytiri and Jake were already sitting, Tuk bouncing between them with a carved spoon in each hand. Ronal and Tsireya moved around the fire, while Kiri passed plates to everyone. Lo’ak was sitting cross-legged, peeling fruit with his knife and chatting with Ao’nung.

He looked up when he heard your voice first — then saw who was walking beside you. His eyes widened slightly. Neteyam holding the baby. Lo’ak stood up halfway, his fruit forgotten. A grin broke across his face before he could stop it. “Bro.” His voice cracked. Neteyam paused, shifting under the attention. “She was crying,” he said stiffly. “I was just… holding her.” Neytiri was already clearing a space near her side. “Come. Sit.” Lo’ak backed up, still smiling, as you and Neteyam stepped into the circle. You caught the warmth in his eyes — not surprise. Relief. Eylan barreled past you, nearly knocking over a bowl. “She’s still sleeping?”

“Still,” Neteyam said. Likan scrambled onto your lap, thumb in his mouth, then reached toward his baby sister. “Dada hold her,” he whispered, proud. “She sleep wike a bug,” he added, pressing his hand over his cheek to mimic her squish. Neteyam smiled — a real one. Quick and uncertain, but real. Lo’ak sank down beside him, nudging Eylan aside just enough to pass him a plate. “You gonna eat or just be the baby chair tonight?” Neteyam snorted. “Think she’s claimed me.”

“Good,” Lo’ak said. “She deserves it. So do you.” You looked over at him, and he gave you a small wink — not smug, just glad. Like something inside him had finally relaxed. Dinner passed in slow waves — small bites, soft laughter, cautious conversation. Kiri watched you like a mother pent up with hope. Tsireya offered seconds. And when Kiriya stirred, Neteyam didn’t pass her off right away. He held her close, tracing the fine wisps of hair over her temple. You didn’t say anything. But when he looked at you and said softly, “I like the name,” it almost broke you. “Me too.”

Afterward, when the children had eaten their fill and begun nodding off against each other, Lo’ak helped clean up. He passed behind you and murmured low near your ear: “He’s trying. I see it.” You looked back at him. “And I’m glad,” he added with a grin. “You look lighter tonight.” You pressed your fingers to your lips, almost in disbelief. So did he. Because for the first time in many weeks, you all sat under the stars together. And Neteyam stayed.

Over the next several days, Neteyam had been around sometimes, other times disappearing off to somewhere in the reef. You honestly didn’t think much about it, having your hands full with the children kept your mind occupied, and ever since the night he had dinner things have been better between you, or that’s what you thought anyways. You had no idea he was off bonding with another woman.

The first time, they were hunting along the reef ledge. Lina was leading him through narrow tunnels in the coral, glancing over her shoulder to smirk at him every few paces. “You’re too slow,” she calls over the bubbling tide. Neteyam grins, swimming harder to catch up. “I’m letting you win.”

“Oh?” she tilts her head, treading water as he nears. “You always this generous, or just with me?” He chuckles — can’t help it — and bumps her gently with his shoulder. She bumps him back.

The second time, they were drying gear near the rocks. Lina’s hair is loose, still dripping, skin shining with salt and sun. She reaches out to adjust the strap of his sling.

“Still too tight,” she mutters, tugging it just slightly. “You’ll bruise yourself.” His hand brushes hers. “What would I do without you?”

“Starve. Or bleed out,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes. Neteyam bites the inside of his cheek to hide a grin.

The third time, he finds her sitting on a flat stone, braiding thin strips of shell into a necklace. “That for me?” he asks, flopping down beside her, deliberately brushing her leg with his tail. She laughs, doesn’t move away. “You wish.” He leans on one arm. “What if I do?” She goes still — just for a second — then smiles again. “Then maybe I’ll make you one. If you catch a bigger fish than me tomorrow.”

“Easy.”

“You talk too much.”

“You like it.” She says nothing — but she doesn’t argue.

The fourth time, they were in the shallows, dusk falling in golden streaks across the ocean. She splashes him lightly, then darts away with a laugh. He chases, catches her wrist under the water, and spins her in a circle. Their laughter echoes against the reef wall. “You’re impossible,” he says, chest heaving. “You’re slow.”

“I let you go.”

“Liar.” He pulls her close again — just slightly — hand on her arm, holding her steady. She doesn’t pull away. “You gonna let go?” she whispers. He hesitates.

And that’s when they hear it. A sharp inhale. Both of them turn — and Tsireya is standing at the edge of the sandbank, staring. She wasn’t meant to find them here. Not this close. Not this comfortable. Her eyes flick between their bodies — wet, pressed too close, laughter still fading in the air. Lina steps back instantly and Neteyam’s hand drops. Tsireya’s voice is tight. “Lo’ak’s been looking for you.” He doesn’t answer so she turns and walks away.

That evening when the tide had rolled in, moonlight catching on the crests as the reef swayed in rhythm. Most of the village had gone quiet — the firelight around the Sully mauri low and flickering. Tsireya found Lo’ak by the far edge of the reef, feeding dried root to an ilu calf. His hair was damp, eyes tired. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, jaw tight.

Lo’ak glanced up. “Hey,” he offered, but her expression stopped him cold “What?”

“I saw them again.” He frowned. “Who?”

“Neteyam. And Lina.” Lo’ak’s shoulders dropped. “Yeah, I figured—”

“No,” she said sharply. “You don’t understand. This isn’t just awkward flirting anymore.”

She stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. “She touched his chest today and he was touching her arm. Laughed like it was nothing. Then leaned into him like—like she wanted him to notice. And he did.” Lo’ak looked away, jaw clenching.

“She doesn’t care,” Tsireya hissed. “She knows. She knows he’s married. She knows you all told him. She knows he has children. And she still looks at him like that.”

“Neteyam doesn’t remember—”

“That doesn’t excuse her.” Lo’ak shook his head. “I don’t think he sees it the way we do.” Tsireya didn’t back off. “He doesn’t have to know everything to feel what’s right. Something in him should know. That kind of bond doesn’t disappear just because you forgot a name.”

“He’s not the same,” Lo’ak muttered. “Not yet.”

“And she’s taking advantage of that,” Tsireya snapped. Silence hung between them, thick as sea fog. “I didn’t tell her,” She said quietly. “I didn’t say a word. But I swear, Lo’ak… if Lina puts her hands on him again like that, I will.” He exhaled slowly. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s already breaking,” he said, voice strained. “Every day she’s holding it together for those kids, for the family. You think watching him forget her wasn’t bad enough?” Tsireya’s eyes softened.

“She finally got him to hold the baby,” Lo’ak added. “Named her with him. The day they sat and ate with the family. First time in months. It was right before that.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then why is he out there with her?”

“I don’t know,” Lo’ak admitted, eyes glistening. “But I can’t be the one to break her.” Tsireya nodded once, quietly. “Then I’ll wait. But not forever.” Lo’ak stared at the stars, wondering how long he could keep pretending nothing was burning.

Neteyam sat on the warm stone, legs stretched, hands braced behind him as the waves lapped close. Lina was beside him, knees drawn up, the curve of her smile impossibly soft in the golden light. “Your shoulders tense again,” she murmured, scooting closer.

He didn’t stop her when her fingers brushed along his shoulder. “I think you like touching me,” he said, not quite teasing, not quite serious. Lina laughed under her breath. “Maybe. You’re not stopping me.” He turned to look at her — really look.

“You’re not like the others,” he said slowly. “Everyone stares at me like I’m supposed to be someone they remember. You just… let me be who I am now.”

“You don’t owe anyone a past you can’t remember,” she whispered.

“You don’t even ask questions.”

“I already know the answers that matter,” she smiled. “I like you.”

He blinked. “You don’t care that I’m—”

“Married?” she finished, almost playfully. “You don’t remember that. It’s not the same.” There was a pause. A long, heavy pause.

“I’m still—” he started, then faltered. “She’s kind. Patient. But it’s like I’m supposed to feel something I don’t.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Lina said, brushing her fingers along the side of his jaw. “You just… feel this. Now.” And then she kissed him. Not a short, confused kiss. Not unsure. This was deliberate. Gentle, but real. And Neteyam—he didn’t pull away, not right away. His hands twitched against the rock. When he did break it, it was breathless, conflicted. “Lina—” She smiled. “You can stop me next time. If you want.”

Behind a rock ledge just above them, Neytiri stood frozen. She had come looking. Something in her heart told her something was wrong. And what she heard broke her completely. Every word. “You just feel this. Now.” The kiss. She almost called him out. Almost walked forward and made her presence known. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when her son — her eldest — the one she buried her soul into, kissed another woman while his mate rocked their baby just a few steps away in the village. Neytiri backed away, breath trembling, hand pressed hard against her chest. She didn’t speak. But something inside her, something sacred, began to unravel. Not for herself, but for you.

The night air was still and thick with the hum of distant ocean wind. Only the crackle of low embers broke the silence inside the Sully mauri. Neytiri sat by the hearth, her body unmoving, eyes fixed on the firelight flickering across her knuckles.

Jake entered quietly, wiping his hands with a cloth after helping Kiri settle Eylan and Likan into their sleeping mat while you tended to Kiriya. “You’ve been quiet all night,” he said, crouching beside her. Neytiri didn’t look at him. Her voice, when it came, was soft but cut with steel. “I saw them.” Jake’s brow furrowed. “Who?” Her jaw clenched. “Neteyam. And the girl.” He sat down slowly, feeling the air shift. “What girl?” Neytiri nodded once. “That Lina girl— Two nights ago. I followed him. I wanted to be sure.”

Jake’s voice dropped. “What did you see?” Her eyes lifted to meet his, burning. “They were kissing. Her hand was on his jaw. He did not stop her.”

Jake swore under his breath, rubbing his temples. “Shit.” Behind the thin woven wall, there was a scuffle of movement. Someone breathing too loudly. Too sharply. Neytiri’s ears twitched. A moment passed before Lo’ak stepped into the light, arms at his sides, face drawn in guilt. Tsireya stood behind him, hands knotted in front of her, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“I know,” Lo’ak said before either parent could ask. “I’ve known.” Neytiri rose slowly to her feet. “How long?” Lo’ak held up a hand. “I’ve known for a while. Since before he even held the baby. I saw them. First just talking, then… more. Since he started to go to the tide pools the hunters hand out by.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“I didn’t know how,” Lo’ak admitted. “She’s already barely holding things together. She’s feeding the baby alone. Putting the boys to bed. Waiting on him to come home. And I just—”

“You should have told us,” Neytiri snapped. “I thought he’d come around,” Lo’ak said, voice cracking. “I thought once he saw her — really saw her — saw the kids — it would all fall into place. I thought the memory flashes were working.” Jake’s jaw worked. “But he kept going back to Lina.” Lo’ak nodded. “He kept going back I guess.” Neytiri’s voice was trembling now. “And you let her believe he was trying.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to break her,” Lo’ak whispered. “She still believes in him.” Tsireya finally spoke, quiet but firm. “Lo’ak and I first saw them. I told him we should say something, but he said it wasn’t time.”

Neytiri turned away, her fists clenched. “He kissed another woman. While his mate waits. While she takes care of those babies alone.”

Jake stood slowly, running both hands down his face. “We need to talk to him.” Lo’ak looked up quickly. “Not yet. Please. He’s remembering. Not all of it, but enough that I think he’s confused. Let me talk to him first.”

Neytiri’s eyes narrowed. “And if he touches her again?” Jake answered this time, voice cold and low. “Then it’s no longer confusion. It’s a choice.” The word no one said was still thick in the air. And none of them could bear to imagine the moment you would find out.

The sky was dark, save for a stretch of stars reflected on the surface of the sea. Small waves lapped at the sand as Neteyam stood alone, arms folded, staring out at the horizon. His back was to the village, but he hadn’t gone far — not really. He could still hear the soft calls of nocturnal birds, the echo of distant laughter, the crackling of fires. Lo’ak found him there.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped up beside his brother, letting the silence linger. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, the sea wind tossing their braids gently. Neteyam spoke first, barely above a murmur. “Did they send you?” Lo’ak shook his head. “No. I came on my own.” Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I already know what this is about.” Lo’ak sighed. “Then that makes it easier.” A long pause. Then, quietly: “I saw you with her, bro.” Neteyam flinched, but didn’t turn. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“No,” Lo’ak said softly. “Just looking out. For her. For the kids.” Neteyam finally looked at him, eyes conflicted, searching. “It’s not like that.”

“You kissed her,” Lo’ak replied, not harshly, just stating fact. “And you’ve been sneaking off for weeks.” Neteyam’s mouth opened, but no words came. Lo’ak shook his head slowly. “I’m not here to yell at you,” he said. “I’m not our dad. I’m your brother.”

He hesitated, then added, “And I’m hers too. Not by blood — but I helped catch your daughter when you were unconscious. I’ve held your sons when they cried for you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you like you hung the stars.” Neteyam’s eyes shimmered with something — regret, maybe, or confusion. “I don’t know what’s happening in your head,” Lo’ak said, voice low. “I know this memory thing is eating you up. I know you’re not the same. But that doesn’t mean you get to break her in silence.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Neteyam said. “But you are,” Lo’ak whispered. “Every time you don’t come home. Every time she lies to the boys and says you’re busy, or training. Every time she feeds the baby alone. And she won’t ask you to stay, she has no idea. She’ll wait for you to come to her.”

Neteyam turned his face away. “She thinks you’re getting better,” Lo’ak went on. “She thinks you’re coming back to her. And you are, sometimes. That night on the tablet, when you smiled at her. You felt like you. That’s what’s killing her. She hopes.” Lo’ak paused, then said gently, “Is it Lina?” Neteyam didn’t answer. “She’s not your mate,” Lo’ak said, still calm. “She doesn’t know your sons’ lullabies. She didn’t carry your child. She didn’t sit at your side when you were dying.” Neteyam closed his eyes. His voice was a whisper. “I know.”

Lo’ak looked at him with something like grief. “Then why are you still going to her?” The silence hung, heavy and raw. “I don’t know,” Neteyam said. “She’s… easy. I don’t have to feel like I’m failing when I’m with her.” Lo’ak’s eyes darkened. “She doesn’t ask you to remember.”

Neteyam nodded. “She doesn’t look at me like she’s waiting to find the old me.” Lo’ak stepped closer. “She doesn’t know the old you. We do. And she does.” Neteyam looked at him, chest tight. “What if I never remember everything?”

“Then you start from where you are,” Lo’ak said. “But you don’t build something new while she’s still holding the pieces you left behind.” Neteyam turned away again, swallowing hard. Lo’ak let the words sit. He didn’t demand. He didn’t lecture. Just before he walked away, he added one last thing, soft as dusk. “You were always the one I looked up to. The steady one. The protector.” He paused. “If you can’t remember it from your own memory, remember it came from me.” And then he left his brother alone with the stars.

It’s the next morning. You’re up early with the baby, trying to braid Eylan’s hair while Likan chews on a toy. Neteyam returns from the beach. His shoulders are tense. His steps are slow. You smile when you see him. “Hey,” you say softly. “We missed you at breakfast.” He hesitates. Then: “Can we talk?” Your stomach drops. You hand Eylan the comb and step outside with him, the light warm on your skin.

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. “I… I need some time. To think. To breathe. Things are getting clearer but… it’s a lot. Being here. With you. With the kids. With the pressure to feel everything I’m supposed to feel.” You go quiet. His words twist in your chest. “You don’t feel anything?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No— I do. I think I do. But I don’t know what’s real and what’s me wanting it to be real. Last night felt… good. You felt safe. Familiar. But then I woke up this morning and…” His hands clench. “I was terrified again. Of losing myself to a life I don’t remember.” You swallow hard. “So, you want space.” He nods. You nod too, but your lips tremble. “Okay.”

“It’s not forever,” he says, voice low. “I just need to understand who I am… on my own.” You force a small smile. “Of course. Take the time you need.” But when he leaves, heading toward the far edge of the village — you don’t know he’s going to see Lina.

you’re left standing outside the mauri with the wind in your hair and a silent ache blooming beneath your ribs. And for a long moment… you just stand there. Because what are you supposed to do? Chase after him? Beg him to stay? Demand an explanation he doesn’t even understand himself? No. You go back inside. You wipe your eyes before the kids see.

The sun had barely risen when he walked away. Soft golden light slanted through the mangrove roots, stretching long shadows over the damp earth. The village was still, caught in that in-between hush before the day began — birds just beginning to chirp, ocean breeze barely rustling the fronds above.

Inside, the air was warm and faintly sweet from the firepit’s embers. The kids were already stirring. Kiriya had begun to fuss softly in her basket, tiny fists working against the woven cloth around her. Eylan sat nearby, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm and yawning loudly — a tangle of half-finished braids still jutting out at strange angles. Likan lay sprawled on his belly, drooling into a woven mat and humming something tuneless to himself. You didn’t feel ready. But ready or not — you were their world. And you were not going to let them see you fall. You’ve already let them down too much as it is.

You moved on instinct. You knelt first beside Kiriya, scooping her into your arms with the ease of a mother who’d done this a thousand times, even if it still ached in your chest. She whimpered once before latching against your breast, and the tension in her small body melted almost instantly. You rocked gently, her soft suckling grounding you. “That’s it, my little star,” you whispered, brushing your nose against her temple. “Eat well. You’ve got a big day ahead.”

“Is it done?” Eylan’s voice broke into the silence, scratchy and young. “My braids?” You turned your head to him, gave a soft smile. “Not yet. Come here.” He scooted over eagerly, plopping himself down in front of you with crossed legs. “You stopped braiding it,” he said, not accusing — just observing. “I know,” you murmured. “Mama needed a moment. But I’m here now.”

You finished nursing Kiriya and shifted her gently to your shoulder. With one hand, you resumed braiding Eylan’s hair, fingers nimble even with your youngest curled against you, slowly drifting back to sleep. His hair was thick, like his father’s, and slightly wild — stubborn strands that always slipped from your grip. But you were patient. You always had been. Likan toddled over next, dragging his woven bird toy, his eyes still puffy with sleep. “Hungry,” he mumbled, pressing his face to your knee. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Soon, baby boy. Let Mama finish your brother’s hair.”

“I help?” he asked, pointing at the pile of fruit. You chuckled. “You can hand me the yovo, hmm?” He nodded proudly and waddled off on his mission. By the time you finished Eylan’s last braid and tied it off, Kiriya was burping sleepily against your shoulder and Likan had managed to bring back half a yovo fruit, teeth already sunk into it. You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. “Thank you, sweet boy. Very helpful.” He beamed, mouth full.

You got up slowly, adjusting Kiriya in your sling so she could sleep tucked against your chest. The boys followed as you moved toward the firepit, preparing their breakfast from leftover grilled fish and soft yovo mash. Eylan fetched the dishes, Likan danced in circles, and you worked — stirring, plating, humming softly — while the sun crept higher outside.

There were no grand declarations. No epiphanies. Just movement. Just being present. Just… trying. Because yes, you were his wife. But you were more than that. You were their mother. Their comfort. Their rhythm. Their constant. And no matter who stayed, who left, who forgot — you would always be the one still here.

The stars were beginning to blink awake as the sea breeze curled through the village, quiet and cool. Dinner had come and gone. The children were already tucked away — Eylan and Likan asleep in their nest, Kiriya dozing peacefully in her wrap against your chest. You sat close to the firepit outside Jake and Neytiri’s mauri, cradling her gently, her small weight grounding you more than anything else could.

Kiri was plaiting Tuk’s hair beside you. Lo’ak leaned against a post nearby, Tsireya tucked against his side. Jake and Neytiri sat across the fire, quiet, eyes flickering between the flames and each other. It was Kiri who finally spoke. “Neteyam didn’t come back with you today?” You shifted slightly. “He said he needed some space. Just for a while.” Lo’ak stilled. You didn’t see his jaw tighten, but Kiri did. Jake looked up. “He told you that directly?”

You nodded. “This morning.” There was a beat of silence. You were still trying to gauge the reactions when Neytiri stood slowly, brushing off her hands. “He asked for space,” she repeated, voice carefully neutral. “From what, exactly?” You blinked. “From everything, I guess. The memories. The pressure. Me.” You looked down at Kiriya. “He’s not running. He just… needs air.”

“Air?” Neytiri said sharply. “He has all the air in the world here.” Jake put a calming hand on her leg, gently. “Ma’Tiri.” Lo’ak straightened up suddenly. “It’s not just about the memories.” Everyone looked at him. Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “Lo’ak.” But he ignored her. “He’s confused, yeah. But it’s not just about that.” “Lo’ak…” Neytiri warned under her breath. He backed off instantly. “I just mean—it’s complicated for him. You can’t judge him for needing time.” You watched him, head tilting. “You okay?” He nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You didn’t press it. The odd quiet that followed said more than any of them did. You felt it but couldn’t place it — the edge in Neytiri’s tone, the way Lo’ak wouldn’t quite look at you, the heaviness in Jake’s silence. Kiri shifted closer to you, her presence warm, protective. “You’re all acting weird,” you murmured, trying to joke. “I’m the one who got asked for space. I should be the one brooding.”

“You’re handling it with grace,” Jake said finally, offering a quiet smile. “We’re proud of you for that.” You met his eyes, then Neytiri’s. Hers were guarded. Too guarded. Something was off. Still, you smile and looked down at your sleeping daughter. “He just needs time. That’s all.” No one argued with you. But no one agreed either. And as the fire crackled quietly, your heart ached with the weight of all the things left unsaid — because you were still standing in the light, and everyone else… already knew something you didn’t.

Three months later, your mornings had changed. No longer did they begin with tear-streaked cheeks or aching silence. They started now with purpose. With Eylan giggling as he tried to braid his own hair, with Likan waddling into your arms, babbling half-formed words, and with Kiriya’s soft, sleepy coos as she nursed while wrapped against your chest. You rose before the sun most days, not out of sorrow, but to reclaim yourself piece by piece.

You had begun to hunt again. The first time you picked up your bow, it felt foreign in your hands, the weight unfamiliar after moons of barely using it. But the moment your feet touched the forest floor—alone, quiet—you remembered. The strength in your arms, the rhythm of your breath, the way the jungle had always spoken to you. You didn’t go far the first time, but it was enough. Enough to remember who you were. Not just his mate. Not just a mother. But a warrior. A woman. A force.

Over time, you started to laugh again. It came slowly at first—soft smiles, half-hearted chuckles. But then, one afternoon, you met up with two old friends from your youth, both mothers now, and one cracked a joke about her toddler eating a bug. You laughed so hard you cried. You realized you missed yourself. And more importantly… you missed joy. Joy you haven’t felt since neteyam had his memories. You helped mend nets, wove baskets, joined other mothers in gathering sea fruits, and swam farther than you had since giving birth to Kiriya. You didn’t do it for Neteyam. You did it for your sons, for your daughter… and for you.

Jake and Neytiri loved you like their own. They helped when they could—watching the kids when you needed to gather, bringing fresh meat after long hunts, or simply sitting with you at night when you couldn’t sleep. They noticed your growing strength, the fire returning to your eyes, and they were proud—even if it broke their hearts that it had to be this way.

They said nothing of Lina. They didn’t have to. The pain in Neytiri’s eyes whenever she looked at her son, the way Jake sighed deeply whenever the topic of space came up—it was all there. They knew. And they hated it. But they also understood that Neteyam was lost in his own way, and anger wouldn’t guide him home. Patience might.

Lo’ak was the one who struggled the most. He couldn’t understand why his brother—who had once looked at you like you were the stars—couldn’t see you now. Lo’ak tried to hold his tongue, but it gnawed at him. Tsireya was the one who calmed him, reminding him that love can’t be forced, and healing isn’t always linear. Even Tuk knew. She had cried one night in your arms, confused and worried, asking if Neteyam would ever come back to being him. You didn’t have an answer.

The children were adjusting, each in their own way. Eylan, ever the oldest, had grown more protective, more aware growing into a man who mimicked his father without even knowing. He watched your face carefully when you thought he wasn’t looking, quietly stepping in to help with Likan or Kiriya when he sensed you needed a moment. Likan, wild-hearted and two, was all tangled curls and endless energy, bouncing between tantrums and giggles as he tried to mimic his big brother’s every move.

And Kiriya, just three months old, was beginning to show more of herself: tiny hands always reaching, eyes wide and curious, gurgling happily whenever you or her brothers came near. She loved being held against your chest, calmed instantly by your heartbeat. Together, the three of them were loud and loving and beautifully chaotic. They didn’t understand everything, but they were still happy. Still whole, because they had you.

Each night, after the children were asleep and the fire was low, you knelt and prayed to Eywa. For strength. For patience. For your mate to find his way back—not just to you, but to himself. You no longer waited by the door, hoping he would come. But you didn’t close it either. You lived. You thrived. You healed. Quietly, painfully, and steadily. And though you didn’t know it… Your light was still reaching him. Even from afar. Even in the arms of another. Something in him still remembered. And Eywa… was still listening.

Meanwhile with Neteyam, he spent his months with Lina, she always waited for him at night. Not coy. Not nervous. Prepared. Her hair was down, lips glossed with fruit oil, and her wrap — if you could call it that — barely covered anything. A soft green length of fabric tied at her hip with a loose knot that looked like a gentle breeze might undo it. Neteyam didn’t miss that. And she knew.

“Long day?” she whispered one night, slipping behind him, arms curling around his waist, mouth pressing to the back of his neck. She was tall, taller than you, where you stood at Neteyam’s chest, she stood just below his jaw. “You can relax now, you’re with me.” Her hands slid across his stomach, dipping low. He exhaled, chest tight. Sometimes, he didn’t stop her.

Her fingers found him hard, aching — always from her touch, her scent, the way she pressed into his back like she belonged there. She’d stroke him slowly, lips dragging along his jaw. Sometimes she’d murmur praise. Other times, she’d drop to her knees, hands sliding up his thighs — but every time her lips brushed against him, the sound of footsteps, a call in the distance, a flicker of light— He’d freeze. “Wait—” he’d say, hands gripping her shoulders. “Not now.” She always looked up, mouth flushed, eyes wide. “You’re always say that.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I know.” But he wouldn’t let her finish, wouldn’t let her cross that line. Even the night she climbed into his lap, completely bare under her shawl — guiding his hands to her breasts, her thighs parted over his hips, rocking gently until he gasped against her mouth — he stopped it. Her fingers had worked his tewng loose. Her tongue was in his mouth, his hands full of her heat and softness, his head spinning— Then a branch snapped outside. A child’s laugh. A shadow. He gripped her hips, breathless. “No. We shouldn’t.” She groaned in frustration, but softened, kissing him again. “You keep saying that.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“But you want me,” she whispered, grinding down again, making him stutter. “Don’t lie.” He didn’t. He never did. Because yes, he wanted her. She was beautiful. Willing. Soft and warm and slick against him. But every time they got close — too close — something pulled him back. Something inside or outside stopped him. And when he left her mauri, half-dressed and still aching, he’d collapse onto his sleeping mat and try to breathe.

That’s when the dreams began, not nightmares — memories. You. Laughing beneath him in the forest, hair tangled, your moans stifled by his kiss. And just felt it, he loved kissing you in those dreams, loved dipping his head and pressing up on your skin. You on your back, guiding him in with a sigh like you’d done so many times he just couldn’t remember them all yet. You crying with joy, his son in your arms. You pulling his hands to your growing belly. And the way you looked at him like he was your whole world. He started to wake up with a tightness in his chest. Not just lust. But longing. He’d press his palm over his heart like it could stop the ache. The confusion, the guilt. Because Lina felt good. Safe in a way. Familiar now. But when he touched her, it was never like that. The feeling of worship. Of oneness. That only lived in the dreams. And those dreams were growing stronger, more vivid, more real. Which meant, little by little… Lina was losing him.

he didn’t know when exactly the dreams had started exactly. Maybe it was after the night you looked at him with flushed cheeks, when the sunlight kissed your skin and your laughter echoed through that small space between you, when his fingers brushed yours and something deep in him shifted. Or maybe it was earlier—when Likan grabbed his tail one day on the beach toddling between his legs like he was so used to doing it. Maybe after he once again, stopped Lina from getting her desperate fuck. He wasn’t sure.

But now, they came more and more often. Vivid. Unshakable. Sometimes warm and quiet, like drifting through memories too soft to be real. Other times sharp, intense—desire threading through his body until he woke in the dark, chest heaving, skin damp with sweat, painfully aware of the ache low in his belly.

At first, he thought they were just dreams. Imaginings. Wishes. But they kept happening—so detailed, so real, down to the sounds of your voice, the way you smelled, the exact curl of Likan’s fingers around his thumb. Eylan laughing, splashing in the river as you reached for him. You smiling up at Neteyam in the forest, eyes glowing with pride and love. The feeling of carrying you into your new mauri when you first arrived at Awa’atlu, both of you still dripping from the sea. The first night Likan was born, when you placed the baby in his arms and cried into his chest, or when you both introduced Eylan to his new baby brother.

He started writing them down, carving the details into the bark of a sea tree near the cliffs where no one would look. Just in case. He needed to be sure. Needed proof. He wanted to bring them to you someday, look you in the eye and ask, Was this real? Did I carry you across the ocean? Did we love like this, this deeply, this hard?

And then there were the other dreams. The ones he didn’t know what to do with. Your hands on his chest, your mouth on his skin. The soft groan he made when your hips rolled against his. The sound of your laughter tangled in heavy breathing, the press of his hand between your thighs as your voice broke on his name. Your body beneath him, around him. Sometimes playful. Sometimes desperate. Always you.

He would wake up with his heart racing, painfully hard, breath caught in his throat. It was impossible not to imagine what it had felt like in reality—your warmth, the way you moaned when he whispered in your ear, how you gripped him when he pressed deep inside. Sometimes it left him quiet for hours. Other times, he found himself flushed, frustrated, pacing near the water’s edge, unsure if it was guilt or longing.

He never told Lina. How could he? Those dreams never had her in them. Only you. He still didn’t remember everything. He was still confused, overwhelmed, pulled in two directions. But each night when he curled beneath the woven mat in his quiet mauri, Eywa whispered a little more of his past back to him. Gently. Deliberately. Sometimes cruel in its intensity, sometimes kind in its simplicity.

The cove was half-shadowed, kissed in dusk light and the faint shimmer of tide pools. The waves lapped gently, rhythmic, soft like the hush of a whisper. Neteyam sat alone on a rock worn smooth by the sea, one leg bent, the other dangling just above the sand. His jaw was tight. His eyes distant, mind loud Lina found him there again, just as she always did, silent steps through the shallows, stopping just behind him. “You always come here when your head’s too loud,” she said softly, voice just above the waves. “I like that.”

He didn’t turn, but his shoulders didn’t tense. He was used to her now, her voice, her scent, her closeness. “I’ve been dreaming again,” he murmured, fingers drumming against his thigh. She took the invitation. Sat behind him on the rock, then leaned forward, pressing her chest to his back gently, her arms wrapping around his middle without hesitation. Her hands settled flat against his stomach. “About her?” He nodded slowly.

“I see her sometimes. The boys. The baby… Kiriya.” He said the name carefully, like it might shatter in his mouth. “It’s not just flashes anymore. I can feel the emotion of the moment. Like I was really there.” Lina rested her chin against his shoulder, her fingers tracing slow, calming shapes against his stomach. “Dreams can be like that,” she murmured. “Vivid. Powerful. Especially when you’re searching for something — for yourself. Maybe your mind is trying to fill in blanks with what your family told you.” He was quiet.

She turned her head slightly, brushing her lips just behind his ear, soft, innocent. “But here, now… none of it is confusion.” He inhaled — not sharply, but deep — and Lina felt the moment shift. She took it. She moved to sit beside him, hips pressed to his, then slowly reached for his hand and brought it to her thigh, guiding his fingers to rest there. “You weren’t dreaming when you kissed me,” she said, voice velvet smooth. “Or when we touched.” Her hand slid along his wrist, up his arm. “You weren’t someone else. You were you. And you were relaxed. Real. With me.” He looked at her now, eyes shadowed with conflict — torn. Lina’s smile was soft, never smug. She cupped his cheek with one hand, her thumb grazing his jaw.

“She may have been your past, Neteyam,” she whispered. “But I’m your present.” Then she leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t shy not like the first few times. Her fingers slipped behind his neck, pulling him closer as she moved her body more fully into his lap. His hands hesitated — one landing on her hip, the other still limp at his side — but she coaxed him gently, slowly. Her touch was steady, persistent, like the tide eroding stone. “You don’t have to force yourself to remember someone you don’t feel for anymore,” she murmured against his lips. “What if she’s just part of the story others told you? What if you don’t fit there anymore?” Neteyam looked at her — really looked at her.

“I don’t know what fits,” he admitted, low and raw. “I just… I don’t know.” Lina kissed him again — slower this time, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Then stop trying to remember who you were,” she breathed. “Let yourself be who you are. Now.” And for a while, he let her hold him like that. Let her mouth guide his. Let her arms wrap around his neck and pull him close, as if she could remake him from memory’s ashes into something brand new. And for now — she had him. Right where she wanted him.

Lina’s fingertips danced along the cords of muscle at the back of Neteyam’s neck, so light it almost tickled. She leaned in again — not to kiss him this time, but to let her forehead rest against his. Their breathing synced in the quiet. “You’re always thinking too much,” she murmured, voice barely audible. “Even now.” His hands had stilled at her waist. She could feel the tension buzzing just under his skin. “I see it, you know,” she whispered. “The weight you carry. The questions. The guilt.” She traced down his arm slowly, then took his hand in hers, guiding it back up, placing it over her heart. “But here, with me… you don’t have to answer to anyone. You don’t have to know anything. You can just be.”

His jaw clenched, throat tight. His fingers flexed against her chest, and for a moment she thought he might pull away. But he didn’t. Lina smiled gently and leaned back just enough to look at him fully. “You told me about your dreams,” she said, brushing his hair from his face. “How they feel so real. So full. But those dreams… they’re just pieces. Fragments.” He blinked slowly, watching her lips more than her eyes.

“You said they feel like memories, but maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re just your mind trying to give shape to something you lost.” Her fingers slid up under the leather strap across his shoulder, curling against his collarbone. She leaned in again, this time pressing a kiss to his cheek, then the edge of his jaw. Neteyam exhaled hard through his nose, but his hands came down to her thighs, steadying her in place. Lina’s voice softened, velvet sweet. “But this?” She guided his hands again — down her back, over the curve of her hips — slowly rocking forward so he could feel the press of her body. “This is real. This moment. Me.”

Neteyam groaned under his breath, jaw tightening, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he opened them again. “It’s not that simple,” he said, voice rough. “Why not?” She nuzzled against his neck. “Because I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not,” she whispered. “You’re waking up in a life you don’t remember. A mate you don’t recognize. Children who look at you like you’re someone you’re not. That’s not your fault.” She felt him tense under her, so she kissed the side of his neck, slow and soft. “You didn’t choose this, Neteyam.”

“I didn’t choose you either,” he said quietly. That made her pause. Not because it hurt — but because it told her she needed to move more carefully. So she gave a soft laugh — not mocking, but light, breezy. “No,” she agreed. “But sometimes Eywa puts the right person in your path at the right time. Someone who sees you. Who gives you space to breathe.” Her hands cupped his face gently now. “I’m not asking you to choose me. I’m just here. With you. Right now.”

His eyes flicked down — to her mouth, her neck, the way her chest rose and fell close to his. His hands were still on her thighs, but one began to trail upward slowly, as if he were testing what felt familiar. Or maybe… what felt good. Lina closed the distance again, this time kissing him with more intent — a slow burn, coaxing his mouth open with hers, one hand sliding down his chest and resting low on his stomach. She didn’t push further. Not yet. She just let the kiss carry the weight, the confusion, the need. And when he didn’t stop her, when he kissed her back and let his hands roam, when his grip tightened and his mouth opened wider — she knew. He was spiraling. Floating somewhere between desire and doubt. Between what used to be and what he didn’t remember. So she kissed him deeper, then slower. Then softer.

When they broke apart, breathless and flushed, she smiled and leaned her forehead against his again. Her fingers grazed his chest. “You don’t have to feel bad,” she murmured. “You’re allowed to want something that feels good. That feels real.” He didn’t answer. Just stared at the ground over her shoulder, jaw taut, hands still trembling on her body. “You’re not the same man you were before,” Lina whispered. “You don’t have to force yourself to go back to someone you don’t know. Maybe… Eywa gave you a second chance. A clean start.” Neteyam said nothing. But he didn’t pull away either.

And that was enough for her. Because as far as Lina was concerned — she already had her foot in the door. And every time he let her touch him, let her pull him in, let her speak softly into the cracks in his memory — He was already choosing her. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

His lips were still warm against hers. Lina didn’t move at first — didn’t dare. Her fingers lingered on his chest where she’d pulled him to her, heart thudding like a war drum in her ears. She kept her eyes on his mouth; breath caught in her throat like she’d swallowed fire. That kiss was real. That was progress. Slowly, she let out a trembling breath and smiled up at him, soft and sweet, playing the part, she’d carved out so perfectly.

“You always taste like the sea,” she whispered, voice low. “Even after all this time.” Her thumb dragged gently along his jawline, a featherlight touch meant to make him stay. To keep him close. Hers. Neteyam’s eyes flickered—uncertainty warring with something else. Want. Or confusion. Maybe both, she didn’t care which. Because he hadn’t stopped her. That was enough.

She shifted closer, knees pressing against his hips. Her fingers slipped from his jaw to the cords of muscle along his throat, brushing softly, tracing. “You don’t have to say anything,” she murmured. “I know what it feels like to be lost. You don’t owe anyone your peace.” He swallowed but didn’t answer. Just watched her. Watched the way her hands moved. The way her voice soothed. The way she filled the silence. Lina leaned in, nose brushing his. “Let me be that peace,” she whispered.

She had worked too hard for this, too long. From the moment she saw him step out off his ikran, a baby in his arms and war in his shoulders, she knew. She felt it. The weight of who he was — who he used to be. And she envied it. All of it. The love. The family. The way his mate clung to him like gravity. He never noticed her back then. Not really. But she noticed everything. She started helping with hunts she didn’t care about. Took training sessions near the Sullys. She gave him fruit, offered quiet jokes, asked him questions no one else did — just to hear him speak.

But his eyes always found their way back to her. The mate. The mother. So she stepped back. Smiled politely. Waited. Until the sky burned and blood soaked the sand, and suddenly, Eywa delivered him straight to her — broken, blank, and so beautifully lost. She had thanked the Great Mother that night. And every night since. Lina’s hand slid beneath the braid resting on his collarbone, fingertips brushing the skin just under the hollow of his throat. “I don’t ask you to be anything,” she said softly, lips brushing his cheek. “I don’t ask you to remember. I only ask you to feel what’s right in front of you.”

Her hand guided his again, this time to her hip, letting it rest there, just above the bone. His fingers twitched against her skin, but he didn’t pull away. She smiled. “You’re always tense around them,” she murmured. “Like you’re failing some invisible test. But with me… I see you breathe again.” She leaned in, barely touching her lips to his ear. “You feel like you when you’re with me.” And he did. She made sure of that. She never questioned him. Never pushed. She laughed at everything he said. She let him lead even when he didn’t know where he was going. She was patient. Attentive. Always near but never too much. She never even brought up the mate. Or the children. Not unless he did. And even then, only with a quiet smile and understanding eyes. The kind that said it’s okay that you don’t love them. You don’t have to.

Because eventually… He wouldn’t go back. Eventually, he would stop dreaming of a woman he didn’t recognize and realize how easy it was to just let her go. Eventually, he would choose the calm over the storm. And she would be there. Waiting, still smiling, still soft and still his.

Neteyam began spending more time outside during the day, often seated in the sun with Kiri or helping Jake mend a fishing net, eyes following the sway of the sea in silence. He spoke more now — slowly, cautiously — as if testing the weight of his voice in old rhythms. The boys would come up to him sometimes. Eylan offering him small gifts, Likan tugging at his tail to get attention. He didn’t always know how to respond, but he didn’t back away.

That morning, you caught him holding Kiriya again — this time with her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his braid as she gurgled happily in his arms. He didn’t realize you were watching. But he smiled. The dreams were changing him. He’d begun writing them down — scratching notes into thin leaf parchment when he woke, tracing the edges of memory with almost frantic curiosity. He saw your face in all of them. Your laughter. Your tears. The sound of your voice calling him “tìyawn.”

And lately, he’d been seeing Lo’ak too, laughing with him, hunting beside him, helping deliver Eylan, pulling him from danger. The images weren’t clear, but the feeling was. Love. Loyalty. Trust. He needed to talk to someone. So that night, he found Lo’ak sitting on the rocks near the shore, watching the tide pull against the reef. “You got a minute?” Neteyam asked, voice rough from use. Lo’ak glanced over. “Yeah, Whatsup bro?” They sat together in the moonlight, the ocean lapping at their feet. For a long time, Neteyam said nothing. Then, “I keep dreaming of you.” Lo’ak blinked. “Uh… thanks?”

“No,” Neteyam huffed a laugh. “Not like that, skxawng. I mean… we were close. Weren’t we?” Lo’ak’s smile faded into something soft. “Yeah. You are my brother. My best friend.” There was silence between them again, warm and heavy. Neteyam nodded slowly. “I feel it. Even if I don’t remember it all yet. I feel like I trusted you more than anyone.”

“Besides your wife, you did,” Lo’ak said. “You still can.” Neteyam rubbed a hand over his face. “Everything’s so loud lately. The dreams won’t stop. And every time I look at her—” His voice faltered, but Lo’ak knew who he meant. “It’s like… my body remembers even if my head can’t.” Lo’ak swallowed, choosing his next words carefully. “You don’t have to force anything. But if you feel it… follow that.” Neteyam looked at him, searching. “You think I’m a terrible person?”

“No,” Lo’ak said without hesitation. “I think you’re lost. But you’re finding your way back.” Neteyam exhaled, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “I missed you.” Lo’ak grinned. “I missed you more.”

But further back, hidden in the shadow of the reef wall, Lina stood — her back pressed against the stone, breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t meant to follow him, not at first. But when she saw him walking toward Lo’ak, toward his family, something gnawed inside her. And when she heard what he said — that he dreamed of them, felt something for them, missed them and that gnawing turned to fear. No. No! She had worked too hard to lose him now.

She had touched him, claimed pieces of him, given him herself in every way he would allow — all to be the one he reached for in the darkness. She couldn’t compete with dreams. Not if he started believing they were real. And so, as the brothers laughed quietly under the stars, Lina stepped back into the shadows — her smile gone, her hands curling into fists. If he was starting to remember who he was… Then she had to remind him who he could be. With her.

The lanternlight inside Lina’s mauri flickered low, casting her face in a warm, amber glow. Outside, the reef was quiet, only the occasional lap of water against stone and the breeze threading through the woven walls. Neteyam stood near the entrance, silent for a long while. He shouldn’t have come. He knew that. But her voice had pulled him in again, soft and aching when she’d said, “Can we talk?”

Now he stood in the hush of her space, tense and unsure. She hadn’t touched him yet — not like she usually did. She just sat there, on the mat, her knees drawn to her chest, her head resting lightly against them. “You didn’t come yesterday,” she said quietly. His brow twitched. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“I noticed,” she said, her voice tight. “You’ve been… different.” He didn’t answer. She glanced up at him — eyes glistening. “I keep thinking I did something wrong.” Neteyam exhaled. “You didn’t.”

“Then why don’t you want me anymore?” He flinched. Lina dropped her gaze, fingers curling against her legs. “You come here, but you don’t touch me like before. You don’t even look at me the same way.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m just—” she whispered cutting him off. “I know. Confused” A shaky breath escaped her lips. “But… you kissed me, Neteyam. You held me like I mattered. And I—I thought that meant something.”

“It did,” he said quietly. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He stepped forward, uneasy. “You’re not.” But she shook her head, blinking fast. “You are slipping away, and I can feel it.” A tear slid down her cheek, and she looked at him with trembling lips. “What did I do wrong? Why can’t I be enough?” Neteyam’s chest ached. He didn’t have an answer. His mind was too full — dreams, flashes of laughter, touches he couldn’t place, names that held weight even without memory. Lina leaned forward slowly, crawling toward him on her knees, eyes wide, wet. “Do you still want me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or was I just… something to hold while you were lost?”

“Lina—”

“Because I was there,” she said. “I didn’t ask for anything. I didn’t push. I just stayed. I listened. I held you. And now…” She reached for his hand. “You won’t even look at me.”

He looked down at her hand in his — warm, trembling. Her fingers threaded with his, then slowly, she guided his palm up to her shoulder, pressing his hand there like she was pleading with her skin. “Touch me like you did before,” she whispered. “Like I matter to you. Even if it’s just for tonight.” His fingers twitched.

She moved closer, lifting his hand to her collarbone now, guiding his touch as if it were his idea. Her breath hitched when his thumb brushed her neck. “There,” she said. “Do you feel that?” He swallowed. “That’s me,” she murmured. “Still here. Still wanting you.” Her hands slid to his waist, her head tilted, eyes searching his face. “Let me have this. Let me keep something before it all disappears.” His heart pounded. She rose slightly onto her knees, her chest pressed to his, her breath warm on his lips. Her hands curled around his shoulders, pulling him gently, softly, until his forehead was resting against hers.

“I need you,” she whispered. “I need us.” His eyes closed for a moment, the weight of her words curling around him like vines. Guilt. Sadness. Confusion. His body responded — it always did — but his mind was a storm. And then, like always… a noise outside. Children giggling, passing by. A familiar laugh in the distance — his brother’s. Neteyam tensed. He stepped back slowly, his breathing unsteady. Her hands slipped from his skin, her face falling. “Why?” she asked, voice breaking. “Why do you always pull away?”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at her, gaze heavy with something she couldn’t quite decipher — sorrow, maybe. Or guilt. Or both. Then he turned and left. And she stayed there, staring at the doorway like it betrayed her. But in her chest, something twisted. If soft didn’t work… maybe it was time for something harder. Because she was not going to lose him. Not after everything.

The stars blinked above him as Neteyam walked the short distance from Lina’s mauri to the Sully’s. His hands were still warm from her touch, but his heart felt heavier than it had when he walked in. He hadn’t said anything on the way out. He never really did. The flicker of torchlight reached him first — then the sound of laughter, children’s voices, and the smell of grilled fish and roasted sea roots drifting through the humid evening air, home. He stopped at the edge of the mauri, just out of sight, watching.

Jake sat cross-legged with Tuk and Eylan, cutting bits of fish for both of them while they chattered excitedly. Neytiri was nearby, laughing softly at something Lo’ak had said while Kiri fed Likan, who squirmed and babbled with his usual endless energy. You sat to the side with baby Kiriya in your lap, bouncing her gently while you tried to eat with your free hand, the sling now loosened. Her little head bobbed as she cooed and reached for a piece of your braid.

The space was warm and full, lively and familiar. It felt like something he didn’t realize he’d been missing. Then Tuk spotted him. “Neteyam!” she chirped, waving hard with both arms like her life depended on it. Everyone turned. And you—your head snapped up, eyes meeting his with that small, soft smile that hadn’t changed, even through all of it. He stepped in slowly. Lo’ak shifted over without a word, patting the space between him and Eylan. “You’re late,” Jake teased. “I didn’t know I was invited,” Neteyam replied lightly, settling down between his brother and son. “You always are,” Neytiri said, smiling warmly at him.

Eylan wasted no time crawling into his lap, talking a mile a minute about the reef games he played with his friends and how he won twice but only because one of the boys cheated once and tried to pull his tail underwater. Neteyam listened. Really listened. His arm curled around the boy instinctively, his smile more genuine than it had been all day. Kiriya squealed from your lap; eyes locked on her big brother now curled in her father’s arms. Her little hands wiggled excitedly in the air. “She’s been very chatty today,” you said softly, brushing a hand over her head.

“Like you?” he replied before he could think twice. Your eyes flicked to his and your open your mouth in offense playfully, the words surprised even him. “Was that an insult? You saying I talk to much?” You laugh and so did he, a real chuckle. Then Lo’ak leaned in, smirking. “We were just talking about the clan gathering.”

“The big one?” Neteyam asked, eyes going to Jake. Jake nodded. “Few weeks. All the coastal villages are coming in for it. Singing, dancing, food — even a few races and competitions.” You grinned. “Eylan is already planning what he’s going to wear. And I’m thinking we’ll leave Kiriya and Likan with a sitter so we can all actually enjoy it.” Neteyam blinked. “A sitter?” You nodded and told him about a friend of Ronal’s who volunteered to watch them. “She agreed to watch them,” you said. “So the family can go.”

“She’s kind,” Neytiri added, “and Likan already loves her.” Neteyam looked toward Likan, who was now face-first in Kiri’s lap, pretending to be a sea creature while she dramatically scolded him for drooling on her skirt. Everyone laughed. Neteyam looked down at Eylan still cuddled into his chest. The world felt right for a moment. Lighter.

“I remember this,” he murmured softly. “This feeling,” he said more clearly. “This noise. The way everyone talks over each other. It’s warm. I remember that.” Lo’ak smiled at him, wide and proud. “You always said it drove you crazy.”

“But I liked it,” Neteyam replied. Eylan looked up. “You remember us, sempu?” Neteyam hesitated. He didn’t want to lie. “Not fully. But I dream about you. A lot.” Eylan’s eyes lit up. “What do I do in your dreams?”

“You cry a lot,” Neteyam teased, nudging him with a grin. Eylan gasped. “I do not!” Everyone burst out laughing. Likan shouted something unintelligible and flailed in agreement, as if he understood everything and Kiriya squealed again, bouncing in your lap. For the first time in weeks, Neteyam laughed — fully. Loud and real. He leaned into his brother, who bumped shoulders with him. You looked down at your baby, then at your boys, your mate sitting there like he always belonged, and you smiled.

Dinner had ended with the warm hum of laughter still lingering in the air, the scent of smoked fish and sea root still clinging to everyone’s fingers and hair. You’d barely noticed how late it had gotten until Tuk yawned with a dramatic stretch, and Eylan slumped more into Neteyam’s side, rubbing his eyes and murmuring sleepily. Likan was already asleep in Kiri’s lap, his little hand still clutching a half-eaten piece of roasted yovo fruit. Kiriya lay against your chest, blinking slowly from the sling, her fists curling into your wrap like she didn’t want the night to end. You rose slowly, brushing the side of her cheek. “Alright, bedtime,” you murmured. Neteyam was already shifting, carefully gathering Eylan into his arms. The boy sighed, nestling in with a contented little hum.

“I can get Likan,” he said, glancing toward Kiri. She smiled softly and handed over the sleeping toddler. “He’s heavier when he’s asleep. Good luck.” Neteyam gave a little huff under his breath and took him carefully, one arm under Likan’s bottom, the other supporting his back. “When did they get so big?” he muttered. “You’ve been gone a while,” Kiri said gently, then turned to help Neytiri tidy the dinner space.

With the baby against your chest and the boys in his arms, the two of you left the Sully mauri and padded softly across the sand toward your own. The stars blinked above, and the soft crash of waves against the reef formed a lullaby in the dark. Your home was quiet, warm. The fire pit glowed low with embers, just enough light to see by. Neteyam crouched and carefully lowered Likan onto the sleeping mat, then Eylan, who stirred immediately with a dramatic groan.

“I don’t wanna sleep,” Eylan mumbled. “You’re already sleeping, itan,” Neteyam said dryly, nudging him. “Am not,” came the sulky reply. “I’ll settle Kiriya,” you murmured, already tugging at the ties of her sling, her soft breath hot against your skin. “If you settle the boys—?”

“Done,” Neteyam said. It was not done. Eylan rolled onto his side, bumped into Likan, and immediately yelped, “He’s kicking me!” Likan sat up with a startled cry, wide-eyed and completely disoriented. “No kicking! No!” You sighed. “Great. Now they’re both up.” Neteyam rubbed his face. “I jinxed it.”

“Clearly.” The next half hour was a blur of soothing and shifting. Eylan wanted a different pillow — “not that one, the soft one!” and Likan kept scooting off the mat to look for a rock he swore he lost during dinner. You nursed Kiriya while walking gently in a slow loop, whispering soft lullabies, but she squirmed and whimpered, unsettled. “I think she’s overtired,” you murmured. “She gets that from you,” Neteyam called quietly from the mat. You shot him a look and he grinned.

Eventually, Eylan conked out again, curled around one of the large shell-shaped pillows. Likan was sprawled across Neteyam’s chest, one tiny hand curled against his father’s collarbone, breathing slow and deep. And Kiriya… well, she was still fussing. You sat on the edge of the mat, nursing her again, hoping this time it would soothe her to sleep. Neteyam turned his head where he lay on his back, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. “You make that look so easy,” he said softly. You huffed a tired laugh. “I don’t think my back would agree.”

“She looks so much like you when she’s angry,” he whispered. “She looks like you,” you corrected, brushing a finger down her nose. Neteyam’s voice dropped lower, warmer. “You’re really beautiful when you do that, you know.” Your eyes flicked to his. “Feeding her,” he added. “You look strong. Like a mother. Like a wife.” You felt your cheeks flush, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ve been doing it for months.”

“I know.” His gaze lingered on your chest for a moment longer before flicking back up to your eyes. “Still.” You cleared your throat. “You should get up. You’ll fall asleep like that.” He smiled rubbing a hand on Likan’s back “I might.”

“You haven’t slept here in months.” He looked down at the cozy chaos beneath him — soft woven blankets, the seashell pillows, Likan drooling slightly on his chest. “It’s nice,” he said quietly. “You made this warm. Safe.” You smiled, brushing Kiriya’s cheek. “That’s what a home is supposed to be.” He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move either. His hand rested lightly on Likan’s back, rising and falling with the toddler’s breath. “You’re good at this,” you said softly, surprising yourself. “At what?”

“Being a father. Even if you don’t remember how you got here… you belong here.” He turned his face toward you again. “You really think so?” You nod, “I do.” The fire popped gently. You switched Kiriya to the other side, and Neteyam’s eyes flicked toward your chest again before quickly looking away. “You know,” he said after a pause, “some of those pictures we saw… you looked downright dangerous.” You laughed under your breath. “Dangerous? You were looking at pictures again?”

“In a good way. Like… you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I did,” you teased. “You liked that.”

“I do like that.” You glanced over. “Don’t flirt with me while I’m breastfeeding.”

“Why not?” he said, voice a little lower. “You’re still hot.” You laughed again, quieter this time, trying not to jostle the baby. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“Neither can I.” There was a pause. Then, softer: “But I think I mean it.” And when Kiriya finally drifted off against your chest, her little lips still puckered, Neteyam reached out and adjusted the blanket around your shoulder, fingers brushing the skin just beneath your collarbone. “Thank you for this,” he whispered. You met his eyes, voice almost too soft to hear. “You’re welcome home.” The mauri was quiet, soft with the hush of the ocean beyond its walls and the occasional murmur of sleeping children shifting in their dreams. But Neteyam lay wide awake, still and silent, his arms at his sides, his head turned slightly toward you.

You were close, closer than you had been in months. Eylan lay between you both, curled into his father’s side, one hand resting over Neteyam’s chest. Likan sprawled in his usual starfish pattern across the bottom of the mat, and Kiriya had been swaddled and tucked close to your chest earlier. But now, it was the middle of the night. The stars outside had shifted overhead. And Kiriya stirred, giving a soft, sleepy whimper. You woke immediately — that mother’s instinct still razor sharp. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, careful not to jostle Eylan. Kiriya let out a soft protest again, louder this time, and you pulled her into your arms, guiding her to nurse as naturally as you breathed. Neteyam didn’t move. But he wasn’t asleep. His voice came softly, almost hesitantly, like he was testing the darkness.

“If someone… forgot their whole life,” he said, “and started over… are they still responsible for what they do when they don’t remember who they were?” You blinked at the question, caught off guard. “You’re awake?” Kiriya suckled quietly, your hand stroking her soft downy hair. “That’s a strange thing to ask,” you said gently. “I know.” You could hear the tension in his voice — low and conflicted, almost uncertain. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just…” he paused. “What if… they did something they wouldn’t have done before? Something that… wasn’t fair to the people who love them?” Your heart tightened. Your fingers stilled where they stroked the baby’s back. The air felt thicker now. In the dark, you couldn’t see him. But you knew. You knew what this was. “Neteyam,” you said quietly, “did you do something?” He didn’t answer right away. You reached out, careful not to wake Eylan, and your fingers brushed across your son’s curls before finding the edge of Neteyam’s arm — warm, steady, trembling slightly. “I didn’t know who I was,” he said finally, barely a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t… feel. I still felt things. Wanting to be wanted. To feel like I mattered to someone.”

“And now?” He exhaled shakily. “Now I remember more every day. And I feel like I’m… two different people trying to live in one skin. The man who forgot, and the man who’s starting to come back.” Your hand stayed there, on his arm, fingers tightening just slightly. “And both of them are hurting.” He swallowed. You heard it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You whisper, “I know.”

“I think I already did,” he whispered. You were silent for a long moment, and Kiriya stirred again in your arms, unlatching briefly before shifting and settling once more. You brushed her cheek and whispered, “She’s hungry again. She does that. Doesn’t like to be alone.”

“I think I understand that.” You looked at where you knew he lay. “I don’t need a perfect version of you, Neteyam. Just the one who tries.” He was quiet, but your fingers still felt his — brushing lightly over your knuckles now, just barely. “I don’t want to be lost anymore,” he said. You nodded. “Then come back. Piece by piece. I’ll wait.” And there was something in his next breath — a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob, so soft it barely made it to you. You didn’t say more.

You stayed there, in the dark, with the baby nestled against you, your fingers resting against the edge of his hand across Eylan’s little head. And somehow, even with all that had happened — the heartbreak, the confusion, the silence — it felt like you were finding your way again. In the dark, but still together.

The rain had slowed outside, just a gentle patter on the leaves now, but inside the mauri, it was still warm with your shared breath and the soft sounds of your sleeping children. Neteyam hadn’t moved since your conversation started. Likan was curled up on his chest, Eylan pressed into his side, and Kiriya was snoozing in your arms. You let a beat pass. Then you whispered, not quite able to let it go, “Is that all you did with her?” He blinked slowly. “…You mean—”

“Yes, Neteyam,” you cut in, voice hushed but clearly not done. “Because I’ve been sitting here, holding our daughter, who literally looks like a smaller, grumpier version of you, and wondering how far another woman got with my mate while I was leaking milk and chasing toddlers.” Neteyam groaned softly, covering his face with his free hand. “You really want to do this now?”

“Yes.” He peeked out between his fingers at you. “…You’re serious?” You narrowed your eyes. “Dead serious.” He sighed, careful not to jostle Likan. “She… tried things.” You raised a brow. “She kissed me. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you muttered, nose wrinkling. “And, uh… she touched me.” His ears twitched slightly in embarrassment. You waited, blinking slowly. “Touched you how, exactly?” He gave you a long look. You didn’t blink. Neteyam cleared his throat. “With her hand.” You blinked again. “And?” you pressed, biting back a smirk. He gave a half-hearted shrug, lips twitching. “She tried to go down on me. Like… a few times.” You gave him a scandalized look, eyes adjusting to the dark. “She was very—forward,” he muttered quickly. “I never let her. But her hand… got there a couple times.”

You just stared at him and then shook your head. “Couple times, he says. Neteyam, a couple is two.” He looked at the ceiling like it held answers. “It was more than two.” You let out a soft snort. “I should throw this baby blanket at you.” He gave you a sheepish grin. “Please don’t. Likan might wake up. And I’m currently pinned under his drool.” You stared at him, lips twitching despite yourself. Then your voice turned teasing, but it held an edge. “So? Was she good at it?”

He choked. “What?” You tilted your head. “I’m asking. Was she good with her hands?” Neteyam looked like he wanted Eywa to strike him down where he lay. “I—I mean. It was… fine.”

“Fine?” He winced. “Okay, good. Whatever. It felt good. I’m not made of stone.” You leaned closer, voice lower. “Better than me?” He looked horrified. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I’m your wife,” you said, barely containing your laughter, “and if another woman had your favorite parts in her hands, I want to know if she did it right.” He groaned again. “It’s like you’re trying to kill me.” You shrugged, totally unfazed. “Was she better?”

“No,” he said without thinking. Then added, “Like—I mean I don’t fully remember everything with you, but I know how it felt with you. That connection. The trust. The way we… moved together. That’s not something you just replace.” You smiled a little, then asked slyly, “Did she smell good?” Neteyam paused. “What is this?”

“Answer the question.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She smelled like seaweed and flower oil.” You wrinkled your nose. “I knew it. That woman bathes in crushed petals like she’s trying to lure in unsuspecting men.” Neteyam chuckled softly. “You were always so territorial.” You shrugged. “Yes, but I’m more protective. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, lips twitching. “Was she softer than me?” His eyes slid over to you, finally catching on to the playful, wicked glint in your gaze. “You’re soft and strong. Best of both.”

“Was she prettier?”

“No.”

“Curvier?” Neteyam smiled. “No one fits against me like you do.” You paused, surprised by how much that made your heart skip. Then, in a quiet moment, you asked, “Did you want her?”

He went still. His gaze dropped to your daughter, curled on your chest. To your hand resting on the mat near his. And finally, to your face. “…No,” he said. “I was confused. Lost. And she was there. But I didn’t want her. Not like I want you.” The silence that followed was full of everything unspoken, all the weight of grief, memory, love, and longing. You exhaled. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoed softly. You nodded. “We’ll figure it out.” He looked at you a moment longer, then brushed a knuckle across Likan’s back. “You’re incredible, you know that?” You smirked. “Yeah, well. Your memory may be slow, but your taste is still perfect.” Neteyam laughed under his breath, and for the first time in ages, it felt like home.

The mornings felt different now. For the first time in what felt like seasons, Neteyam was back in the mauri where he belonged — where you and the children had waited for him without ever stopping. His things had been moved quietly during the early hours of his return, his arm brushing yours as he helped fold blankets, tuck them into corners, smooth over sleeping mats. The space had always been his, and yet now he treated it like a sacred gift he was trying to earn back every day.

He hadn’t gone to Lina since you told him not to — since he agreed not to. He hadn’t even looked in her direction when he passed the outer reefs. Every time guilt threatened to creep up his spine, he reminded himself that he was here because of you. Because you still loved him, still prayed for him, even when he’d forgotten everything.

He remembered more now — slowly, in pieces. The way you used to curl into his chest at night. The way Eylan would cling to his shoulders when he was younger, pressing his cheek into Neteyam’s neck. How Likan used to demand to ride on his shoulders, yelling “Up! Up!” with a chubby little hand tugging his braids. And how Kiriya’s lips curled the tiniest bit when she nursed, like she was smiling up at you in her own way.

He apologized over and over. Quietly, loudly, sometimes with tears in his eyes, sometimes with flowers braided into your hair when he thought words weren’t enough. He hadn’t slept with Lina — but it didn’t make what happened disappear. And he didn’t expect your forgiveness quickly. He just wanted the chance to prove he was worthy of it. You let him. Slowly. On your terms.

He swept the floors of the mauri. Took over the task of bathing the boys in the lagoon when they were fighting so you didn’t have to. Cooked badly — and burned things often — but he kept trying. Kiri joked once that he was trying to atone through labor, and Neteyam didn’t even deny it.

One afternoon, a few days into his return, Lo’ak came by to help him fix a crooked support beam that held up the side of the roof. The boys were napping after an afternoon of chasing each other in the sun, Kiriya nestled against your chest while you rested in the shade nearby. “Hold this steady,” Neteyam said, gripping the thick vine and pulling it taut while Lo’ak looped it around. Lo’ak grunted. “You got heavier since the war, bro. You’re not fun to lift anymore.”

“You got scrawnier,” Neteyam shot back, smirking. Lo’ak snorted. “You wish.” They worked in easy silence for a bit, sweat collecting at their temples, the weight of the sun warm but not oppressive. Then Neteyam asked casually — too casually — “So… you and my mate. You kissed her?” Lo’ak froze like someone had poured cold water down his spine. “What?” Neteyam didn’t look at him right away. He was focused on tying a knot. “She told me. Said it happened the night before I woke up.”

“You—she—oh my Eywa.” Lo’ak dropped the cord. “Bro, I didn’t mean to—she was crying, I was—Neteyam I wasn’t even trying to—I’m sorry.” Neteyam let the silence stretch. Then: “Was it… passionate?”

“Bro!” You, overhearing from the shade, couldn’t stop the snort that slipped from your nose. Lo’ak looked like he wanted to fling himself off the reef. “I mean I just—” Neteyam’s mouth twitched, trying to keep a straight face. “Should I be worried?”

Lo’ak waved his hands wildly. “There was no tongue, okay?! It was like—a sad, forehead-touchy kind of thing, and then we kissed but like—your wife kisses with emotion, okay?! I wasn’t trying to seduce her—” Neteyam was laughing now. Fully, openly. Lo’ak narrowed his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m serious,” Neteyam said between laughs. “Was it good?” Lo’ak turned to you. “Are you hearing this madness?” You were howling now, arms crossed as Kiriya snoozed peacefully, unfazed by her family’s antics. “I’m just saying,” Neteyam added, wiping his face, “if my brother kissed my wife, I at least want to know how I rank.” Lo’ak pointed at him. “You ranked. I promise. I almost got punched by guilt mid-kiss. It’s you, bro. It’s always been you.”

Neteyam’s expression softened at that. He nodded once, serious again. “I know. It’s okay. I just… I needed to hear it.” Lo’ak tilted his head. “Are we… cool?” Neteyam clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You raised my kids with her. Helped her when I was gone, kept them safe. I’m not just cool with you—I owe you.”

Lo’ak smiled. “Just don’t make me babysit all three at once again. I still have nightmares.” You grinned, watching the two brothers laugh again. The ache in your chest softened. This was what you’d missed. What had been missing. And slowly, piece by piece, the bonds were stitching back together.

The dreams were getting worse. Or… better, depending on perspective. But for Neteyam, waking up next to you every morning while you slept peacefully—with your curves tucked beneath soft cloth, your breath warm and even, and Kiriya cooing quietly against your chest—was becoming increasingly difficult. Not because he didn’t want to be there. But because he really wanted to be there.

The dreams started off soft, tender… sweet flashes of you and him tangled in the glowing forest under a curtain of bioluminescent vines, your skin glowing, your laugh echoing in his ears as you kissed his cheeks, his mouth, his neck. But then they escalated. Faster than he was prepared for.

Now they were… loud. In every sense. They were full-body, flushed-skin, back-arching, tweng-tangling flashes that left him panting awake in the dark, his hands fisted in the bedding, his chest heaving, and a very obvious situation in his lap that he had to hide quickly before Eylan or Likan stirred beside him. He thought cold water would help. He was wrong.

So, every morning, right as the first rays of dawn touched the edge of the reef, Neteyam would sneak off into the waves, slipping into the water with a hiss through his teeth, determined to let the icy ocean chase the heat from his blood. It never worked. And when he came back in, shivering, teeth chattering slightly, you always gave him the same look. This day was no different. You blinked awake slowly, brushing a hand over Kiriya’s soft little back where she lay snuggled against your chest, her lips still puckered from nursing. Then you caught sight of him, dripping wet, shoulders hunched slightly, arms wrapped around himself as he tried to warm up. You blinked again. Then smirked. “Another swim, mighty warrior?” He cleared his throat, doing his best to look casual. “Just clearing my head.”

“Sure.” You sat up slightly, brushing Kiriya’s curls from her cheek, her sleepy little eyes barely cracking open. “Did the ocean help, or just make your balls disappear?” Neteyam choked, whipping around. “Skxawng!” You were laughing before you could stop yourself, your shoulders shaking, one hand trying to cover your mouth. Neteyam was pink around the tips of his ears as he rubbed his arms. “It’s cold out there.”

“Well maybe,” you said, setting Kiriya gently down beside her brothers, who were still tangled in a sleepy pile, “you should try not torturing yourself.” He huffed. “It’s not like I can control what I dream about.” You gave him a knowing look as you moved to him, placing a thick, woven cloth over his shoulders. He flinched at the warmth, grateful. “But you can control what you do about it,” you teased. He looked at you warily. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you said, beginning to rub warmth into his arms through the cloth, “I see you, Neteyam. You wake up every morning tense and hard like a stone pillar under that tweng. You’ve been diving into the water like some cursed, guilty little boy. But you’re not little. You’re a grown man. My mate.”

He looked anywhere but your eyes. You lowered your voice. “I know what your dreams are about.” He finally met your gaze, his voice low. “Do you?” You nodded slowly. “You talk in your sleep sometimes.” He groaned, pulling the cloth over his face. “Great.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you said, laughing softly. “They’re… kinda flattering.” He peeked at you with a look of dry betrayal. “You’re enjoying this?”

“Just a little.” He scowled, though it lacked heat. “It’s not fair. I remember just enough to want you, but not enough to feel like I deserve to act on it.” Your smile faded into something softer. You moved closer, fingertips brushing his arm. “You’re my husband. The father of my children. You don’t have to earn what’s already yours. You just have to come home to it.”

He looked at you for a long time, jaw tight, eyes searching your face. “I dream of you,” he said. “The way you used to kiss me. Touch me. Your voice—sounds—I didn’t know I remembered… They wake me up shaking.” Your lips parted slightly, your own breath catching. “And then I look at you,” he added, “and I just feel… pulled. Like my body remembers everything my head forgot. Every time I brush against you by accident, it feels like lightning in my chest.” You swallowed thickly, stepping closer. He glanced toward the children. “But I can’t keep waking up like this, hard as a rock, running into the ocean like a fool—freezing my balls off.”

You laughed again, unable to help it. “Do you want help next time, ma Neteyam?” His eyes darkened, lips quirking. “Don’t start, yawne. I’m barely holding on as it is.” You smiled at him with soft eyes, brushing his hair from his face. “Then maybe you should stop fighting so hard. Come back to me. All the way.”

He leaned in, almost without thinking, but then pulled back with a sigh. “I don’t want to mess this up again,” he said. “So I’ll wait until I know for sure I’m ready. You deserve all of me.” You nodded. “And you’ll get there. But maybe next time, skip the icy ocean.” He looked down at his lap, where the evidence of his dreams had finally subsided. “Good. Because my balls still haven’t recovered.” You giggled, smacking his arm. “Go warm up, skxawng. I’ll make tea.”

As you turned, he reached out and caught your wrist gently. “Hey.” You turned back. His gaze was full of everything he couldn’t quite say yet. “I love you,” he said, voice quiet. Your heart skipped. You squeezed his hand. “I know.” I giggle, “I love you more.” And as the morning sun broke through the clouds, there was a quiet promise lingering in the space between your joined hands: He was coming home. Fully. One dream, one breath, one kiss at a time.

The night was still. Quiet but for the gentle whisper of waves against the reef, and the occasional coo or sigh from the children shifting in their sleep. Neteyam sat on the mat, legs crossed, the tablet glowing faintly in his hands. You had already told him—twice—to come to bed. You were curled up at the far end of the mat, Kiriya tucked in your arms, Likan curled against your side, and Eylan’s head resting gently near yours. But still, he stayed up. Still, he scrolled.

He couldn’t stop. The images, the videos… they were you. Him. All the small things that should’ve been ordinary felt sacred now. You walking through the forest, barefoot, laughing. You trying to cut fruit with a curved blade and muttering curses under your breath when it slipped. You with the boys—smeared in mud, singing lullabies, dancing in the kitchen. Every second was a thread. And slowly, they were stitching his life back together.

Then he tapped a file. One he hadn’t seen before, the screen went black for a moment, then it lit up. It was you. Dressed in Omatikayan wedding cloth—deep forest green and rich maroon threads, handmade jewelry wrapped delicately around your wrists and ankles. Beads adorned your hair. Your face was dewy with tears. You stood inside a new home, just barely furnished, still smelling of fresh cut wood and woven palms. You looked straight into the camera and sniffled, smiling so wide it cracked through your tears.

“We’re mated.” You laughed, wiping your eyes. “I can’t believe it. I mean… I can, because of course it’s him. But I’m still—I’m married to Neteyam. The love of my life.” You giggled. “He went back to get the rest of our stuff. He wouldn’t let me help. He said, ‘Just stay here, baby. I’ll bring home our whole world.’” You glanced around, eyes full of emotion. “This is it. Our home. He built this with his own hands for us. And somehow, I get to live here with him.” The camera shook slightly as you leaned in. Your eyes were shining. Honest. “He loves me. He loves me so much. Even when I’m angry. Even when I don’t get things right. Even when I talk too much or sleep with my feet freezing cold. He never complains. He just… pulls me close. He tells me I’m everything he ever wanted.” You breathed out slowly, clutching something—your courting token—in your hand. “I never thought I’d have this. I never thought I’d get to be chosen. But he chose me. And I’ll spend, the rest of my life loving him the way he loves me. The way he made me feel like I deserve and the way I know he deserves.” The video ended quietly. Neteyam’s chest caved inward as he stared at the dark screen, frozen.

And then—It hit him. Everything. Like water crashing through a dam. The forest. The moment you first reached for his hand. The first time you slept curled up together under the stars. Your first kiss, his fingers trembling where they touched your jaw. His face pressed into your neck the night you gave birth to Eylan. You squeezing his hand, eyes locked on him as Likan came into the world. Your laughter. Your cries. The fights. The passion. The love. Every. Single. Second. He gasped—choked on air—and jerked forward as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His hands trembled violently. You stirred. He didn’t even realize how loud he’d whispered your name. “Ma—ma yawne—” You blinked awake slowly, sleep-soft and groggy. “Teyam?”

But his hand was already on your cheek, his breath hitching, eyes wide and wet as he leaned over you. And that was when Kiriya stirred—your movement jostling her. She let out a sharp cry, confused and still tired. Likan, pressed against you, whined and flailed sleepily. Eylan murmured something and turned over. You sat up quickly, trying to hush her, but Neteyam was shaking—smiling—and crying all at once, one hand over his mouth, the tablet slipping from his lap. You turned to him in confusion. “Neteyam—what—?” He was already pulling you close, chest heaving as he clung to you, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I remember.” His voice broke. “I remember everything.” Your heart stopped. “What—”

“Everything.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “You. Our life. The boys. Kiriya.” His hand hovered over her; chest wracked with emotion. “*You were right. You’ve always been right. I was yours. I’ve always been yours.” The emotion in your chest was a storm. You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

Then you heard feet, running. Kiri burst in, wide-eyed, Neytiri behind her. Jake wasn’t far. Tuk, sleepy and bleary, trailed behind holding her bow. Lo’ak came in next, tense and worried. “What happened?! Is something wrong?” Kiri’s eyes landed on Neteyam’s face—his tear-streaked, smiling face—and yours, where you trembled and wept against him. Neytiri’s breath caught. Jake’s shoulders slumped in relief. You turned to them, cradling Kiriya as Neteyam wrapped an arm around all three of his children, pulling them in.

“He remembers.” The room stilled. Kiri’s hands flew to her mouth. Neytiri was crying in seconds, turning into Jake’s chest. Tuk ran forward, hugging Neteyam’s leg. “You’re back?” He laughed wetly. “I’m back, Tuk.” Lo’ak stared, stunned, then shook his head in disbelief. “You’re such a skxawng,” he muttered, voice cracking. “I’m gonna punch you so hard later.” Neteyam only nodded, tears slipping free as he held you tighter. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “I probably deserve it.” You were sobbing now, holding onto him as he kissed your temple again and again, touching your face, your hands, your belly, like he had to feel every part of you to make sure you were real. He remembered. Everything. And from this moment on, he would never forget again.

Once the noise settled and the tears dried, the Sully family gave their son one last round of bone-crushing hugs, quiet laughter, and forehead kisses before Neytiri gently ushered everyone back to their mauri, smiling through her tears.

“I’ll see you in the morning, ma’itan,” Neytiri whispered as she smoothed his hair like she had when he was a boy. “My son has returned.” Jake gripped his shoulder with pride, his eyes red. “We’ll talk tomorrow. You’ll explain everything… after you sleep.” Kiri gave him a long, tight hug, and even Lo’ak ruffled his hair with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like relief. “You’re lucky I love you, bro,” he muttered. “You’re lucky I remember you,” Neteyam replied with a grin.

After the family trickled out, leaving only the soft glow of a candle and the quiet hum of night, you found yourself staring at the mat, where the three kids had already started dozing again in the aftermath of their interrupted slumber.

Likan had kicked off his blanket and sprawled belly-first across a woven pillow like a tiny lizard. Eylan had found his way to the spot Neteyam sat in earlier and curled up there like it was still warm, his little face slack with sleep. Kiriya, sweet and full after nursing, lay content against your shoulder, her soft breaths ghosting across your collarbone. “Stars,” you whispered, looking at the chaos. “They sleep like drunk adults.”

Neteyam let out a small, husky laugh and dropped into the mat beside you, his shoulders finally relaxed, his posture slouched in a way you hadn’t seen in months—like the weight of confusion had fallen off his chest. “You always said that” he said with a grin, brushing Likan’s stray braid out of his face. “I never understood it until now. He sleeps like he fought a tree.”

“He did fight a tree yesterday,” you said, smirking. “Lost, too.” Neteyam chuckled, glancing at you as you gently laid Kiriya down between the pillows and tucked her beside her brothers. You both stared down at them in silence.

“I missed this,” he said softly. You turned to him, laying on your side, your hand propping your head up. “You didn’t know you were missing it.” He groaned and replied “I know. That’s the part that kills me.” You reached across the mat and touched his wrist. “You came back to us. That’s all that matters.” His eyes softened. “You kept this going. All of it. The home. The kids. Me.”

“I cried. A lot,” you admitted. “And yelled. And didn’t shower nearly enough.” Neteyam grinned. “You smell fine. You always smell like… berries and sunlight and baby.” You giggle softly. “That’s either really sweet or mildly offensive.”

“Depends on the baby,” he joked. Then, after a beat, his smile faded into something gentler. “I remember what you went through. At least, parts of it. When I was shot. When you saw me unconscious. The birth of Kiriya.” You blinked. “You remember that?”

He nodded. “Not the pain. But I remember her crying. And Lo’ak’s voice. And yours.” His gaze dropped to your belly. “You were in so much pain, and I wasn’t there. And then you were holding her and sobbing because I didn’t wake up.” Tears welled in your eyes. “You remember that?” He reached over and cupped your cheek. “I do now. It all came back. I felt like I’d forgotten how to breathe without you. But the second I saw that video of you—our wedding, you talking to the camera—it was like my whole soul snapped into place.” You sniffled, trying not to cry again. “I didn’t know if you’d ever see that.”

“I’m glad I did. You were so beautiful in that video.” His grin returned, sly this time. “I remember how long it took me to take those wraps off.” You flushed. “Don’t start, Neteyam. The kids are—” He leaned closer, teasing. “All asleep. Deep, drooling sleep. We could draw on their faces and they wouldn’t notice.” You swatted his shoulder, laughing into your hand. “You’re horrible.”

“I’m yours,” he whispered, brushing your fingers aside to kiss your knuckles. You stared at him, your heart full to the brim. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He lay down facing you, so close now your foreheads touched. “I remember every scar, every fight, every kiss, every moment I told you I loved you—and everyone I didn’t say it but showed it anyway. I remember you, yawne. All of you.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat, your fingers finding his, tangled loosely between your bodies. “You’re gonna have to prove it, you know.” He smirked. “Oh, I plan to.” Kiriya stirred in her sleep with a little grunt and both of you froze, peeking over her bundled shape. “She’s got your nose,” Neteyam whispered. You smiled. “And your attitude. She screams when her milk isn’t warm enough like I can do anything about it.” He laughed softly “She’s perfect.”

“She’s ours.” Neteyam leaned forward, gently pressing a kiss to your brow, your temple, then your lips. It was soft. Familiar. Like coming home. When you pulled apart, he yawned—finally—and tucked himself closer to you, curling behind Kiriya as you remained on your side facing him. “This side better than mine,” he mumbled. “Because it’s mine,” you teased. “I’m never leaving it again.” And you believed him. As the rain danced on the thatched roof above and your family slept safely around you, you let your eyes drift closed. Neteyam was home.

Lina paced the length of her mauri, the woven floor creaking softly beneath her bare feet. The ocean breeze no longer felt soothing—it was biting. Mocking. Her hands trembled as she set down the shell bowl, she had no intention of eating from. The scent of sea fruit made her stomach turn. Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since she’d last seen Neteyam.

No word. No visit. No trace of the man who once sat beside her every evening, tangled in her nets, tangled in her. Gone, like fog when the sun rises. And worse—worse—he had moved back into the home he once shared with you. That forest-bred thing he couldn’t remember loving. That mate who stood in her way again. She had heard it secondhand. Whispers from the market, low murmurs from children, the ripple of gossip as effortless as breath. “Did you hear? Neteyam moved back in with his family.”

“He carries the little one again, helps the boys bathe by the shore.”

“They say he remembers.”

That last part hit like a blade. He remembered. She’d dropped her basket when she heard, too stunned to care that her gathered sea herbs had spilled across the coral path. Her chest had gone tight, her vision narrowed. She hadn’t cried. No. She didn’t cry. But the burn in her throat was undeniable. He remembered. And he didn’t even say goodbye. He hadn’t needed to. You’d won. Again.

All her work, all her effort—everything she gave him: her attention, her patience, her body, her time—it had been for nothing. For a glimpse. A taste. And then gone. But Lina wasn’t the kind of woman to lose quietly. She sat that night beside her hearth, face lit by dim firelight, fingers curled tightly around a carving knife. She didn’t think about stabbing anything. Not really. Just the weight of it. The way the handle fit in her hand. She needed control. She needed something. Then the plan began to spin in her mind, fine and sharp as woven fishing line. If Neteyam remembered everything—everything—then surely, he also remembered pain. Jealousy. Doubt. The flaws. The insecurities. And maybe… just maybe, if she sowed the right seed, it would take root.

She didn’t know about your moment with Lo’ak—how could she? But that didn’t stop her from making one up. She found the right voice, trembling, sweet, just innocent enough. She whispered it first to a pair of girls near the shore. “They say she was never loyal,” she sighed. “Even when Neteyam was still unconscious. I heard Lo’ak was always around. Maybe too much.” She knew how to pick the right moments. Who to speak near, she wasn’t foolish enough to name names or say it too directly. But whispers had power in a clan this tightly knit. “Did you see how Lo’ak always carries the boys around? It’s like they’re his.”

“I thought she moved on. I heard she and Neteyam weren’t… together when the baby came.”

“She and Lo’ak used to sneak off into the woods before dinner, remember?”

Lies. Crafted with care. Not wild ones, but the kind that sounded like they could be true. And they spread. Lina watched from the rocks, arms crossed, as you passed with Kiriya in your sling and Neteyam at your side, your boys trailing behind him, clinging to their father’s fingers. You were laughing. He was smiling—genuinely smiling. Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair.

She had earned him. She’d been there when no one else had. When he didn’t know his name, she had whispered it against his skin. When he forgot who he was, she told him he was hers. But that version of him—blank, open, lost—was slipping further away with each passing day. So, her smile turned thin and patient, her hands laced sweetly in her lap, but her eyes stayed sharp. Scheming. She wasn’t done. Not yet.

It started with whispers — again. You had exactly, one week of peace together. But this time, the whispers were about you. At first, Neteyam tried to ignore them. He wanted to. He wanted to stay focused on the life he was building back — the family dinners, the quiet moments with Kiriya curled into his chest, the way Eylan giggled when he tossed him into the shallows, Likan’s sticky kisses, your soft sleepy smile before dawn. That was his life. But the voices got louder.

“She was with Lo’ak even before the baby came, I heard.”

“I saw them, always together, before Neteyam woke up. Touching.”

“Maybe the little one isn’t even his. Look at her eyes.”

“You think that’s why Lo’ak always helps with the kids? Guilt?”

One thing Neteyam had learned since regaining his memories: gossip in the clan was like a storm on the sea. Small at first, and then suddenly everywhere, churning, devouring, crashing over every surface. And it hurt. It hurt more than anything had in the last few months — because he had forgiven you. You had told him everything. That one kiss. That one moment of weakness. And he knew you regretted it. You had been broken. Alone. You had never stopped loving him. He knew that. But now, it wouldn’t leave his mind, the noise of it. Over and over. What if there was more? What if everyone else knew something he didn’t? He tried to push it down. Until the final blow came. “Lo’ak said something once… he said he loved her. That’s what I heard.” Neteyam lost it.

The entire family was gathered, talking near the cluster of Sully-linked mauri when it exploded. You were inside yours with the kids, nursing Kiriya down for her nap, and Neteyam was supposed to be helping Jake with spear repairs — but his voice rang out loud enough to stop everything. “You swore it was only one kiss!” Neteyam’s voice cracked like thunder, loud and hurt and furious. “One mistake! And now I’m hearing that my daughter might not even be mine?! That you and my wife—” Jake stepped in immediately, pushing a hand against Neteyam’s chest. “Hey! Hey! Watch yourself—” Lo’ak’s face twisted in confusion and disbelief. “Bro—what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You knew she was mine!” Neteyam shouted at him, ignoring everyone else, fury pouring out of every muscle. “You stood by her while I was dying, and now I’m finding out you touched her? Loved her? Are you proud of that?” Lo’ak stumbled back, face blanching. “No. What—Neteyam, I never—! It wasn’t like that! You know that!” Neytiri’s voice sliced through the air. “Enough.” But it was too late. You stepped out of the mauri then — Kiriya in your sling, wide-eyed, blinking against the noise. You looked… shattered. Neteyam saw you. The pain on your face. The hurt. The sheer shock at what he was saying. And still — still — he couldn’t stop himself. “Did you sleep with him?” he asked, low now. “Tell me right now, if you ever—” Your eyes welled up. “How dare you?” Everyone froze. You backed away slowly, turning without another word, disappearing down the sand path.

And then, a day passed. Two. You barely left the mauri, save for fetching food for the kids, helping them bathe and nap. You didn’t want to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him. Which is exactly when she came. Lina, you didn’t realize it was her before, honestly you didn’t even know what she looked like, but then she started talking. Soft-voiced. Sweet-smiled. Innocent eyes. “Oh,” she said gently, “I just… I saw you out, and I wanted to say I’m so sorry for what everyone’s saying.” You didn’t respond. She stepped closer. “It must be hard, all the lies. But if anyone’s lying, it’s not you.” You blinked, confused. She leaned in, whispering. “Neteyam lied to me too. Said he wasn’t with you anymore. I wouldn’t have ever let it happen otherwise. But… he got me pregnant. So… I guess you’re not the only one he’s been lying to.” Silence. Your vision blacked out. You shoved Kiriya’s fruit basket into Lina’s chest and bolted.

The entire family saw it. The storm that broke next. You stormed into the Sully cluster of mauri, hair wild, eyes blazing, your body shaking with rage, and before Neteyam could say a word—your fist collided with his jaw. “Motherfucker.” He stumbled back, hand to his mouth. “Wha—?!”

“You accused me of things I never did! Sleeping with your brother?! And now—NOW I find out you got the girl pregnant?! After everything?!”

“What?! Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?!” You shoved him again, sobbing, your arms flailing, “I loved you. I forgave you! I took you back, I let you in our home! And the whole time—”

“She said I what…?” Neteyam asked again. Lo’ak repeated it, slowly, disbelief still etched into his features. “She told your wife… that you got her pregnant, bro.”

“She—” Neteyam shook his head, blinking fast like he could erase the whole moment. “No. No. I never… Eywa. I never even slept with her.” You scoffed bitterly, a sharp sound that cut deeper than your fist had. “Well, she says you did.”

“I didn’t!” Neteyam barked, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “We… we kissed. She touched me, I told you that. But I never— I never laid with her.” You held up your hand, cutting him off like a blade. “Don’t. I swear to Eywa, don’t come any closer.” He stopped dead in his tracks. Jake stepped forward. “We need to get to the bottom of this. Now.”

That’s when Kiri ran up, breathless. “I heard it,” she gasped. “The other girls were talking. It’s Lina. She started the rumors. She’s the one who said the baby might not be Neteyam’s. She’s been lying this whole time. I knew it. I knew something was off—” The entire family turned quiet. Everything made sense. The rumors. The whispers. The timing. Neytiri’s face went pale with rage. Jake’s jaw was clenched like stone. And you—broken, shaking, furious—you stepped back, whispering only: “I hope she’s worth it.” Neteyam didn’t say a word.

Because for once… he had none. The silence after your final words was thick and suffocating. Your voice still rang in everyone’s ears. Kiri stood stiffly off to the side, face pale and lips pressed tight, trying to catch her breath after rushing from the far reef. Neytiri stood close to her, a trembling hand on Kiri’s shoulder. Lo’ak had his hand on your back, trying to steady you as you held Kiriya close now, her tiny fists gripping your braid, confused by all the shouting. Likan and Eylan stood by Jake’s side, wide-eyed and silent, watching everything with the sense that something very, very big had just happened.

Neteyam’s lip was bleeding. A trickle ran down the side of his mouth, where your fist had landed hard. He didn’t wipe it. He didn’t move at all. Just stood there, heart pounding out of rhythm, staring at you like he couldn’t breathe. Jake crossed his arms, staring hard at Neteyam. “Then you need to find out the truth.”

“What?” Neteyam’s eyes darted from his father to you, shaking his head. “I told you. It’s not true.”

“You think I care what you say right now?” you hissed, voice low and deadly. Kiri took Kiriya from your arms gently, but your hands didn’t fall limp — they curled into fists again. “I stood in front of your family, of my family, and defended you when you asked for space. When you forgot me. When you kissed her. When she touched you. I let it go because I loved you enough to let you find your way back. And now this?” Neteyam opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“You accused me of being unfaithful,” you said through your teeth. “Of letting your brother touch me. Of lying about our children. You believed the rumors without asking me first, and now you expect me to stand by and let you see her again? After she says you got her pregnant?”

You took one step closer, the fire from your soul blazing in your eyes. “I don’t care what you find out. I don’t care what she says. I don’t want you anywhere near that woman again. You walk into her mauri, Neteyam, and you stay there. You hear me?” He flinched at your words like they were lashes. Neytiri finally spoke, her voice cold, quiet. “She manipulated you. Lied. Twisted her way into this family’s peace. If you don’t find the truth, she will never stop.”

“And if she’s not pregnant?” Lo’ak asked warily. “If it’s just another lie?” Jake added grimly, “Tonowari and Ronal will deal with it.” Neteyam looked torn apart. His face was pale, expression twisted with a storm of pain. “I never wanted this.”

“But you made choices,” you said softly now, quieter. It was worse than yelling. “And now you live with them.”

“I’m sorry.” You scoffed. “You believed everything she said.”

“I didn’t! Not all of it, not really,” he argued, eyes desperate now. “But I— I wasn’t thinking. I was a mess. And she— she took advantage of that—” Lo’ak cut in, jaw tight. “Yeah, we know. But the damage is done. The clan’s talking like it’s already true.”

“I don’t care what the clan says!” you snarled. “I care about my children hearing lies that their father has another family!” Jake raised his hands, trying to calm the growing storm. “Enough. Both of you. We need to figure this out. Without sending Neteyam back there.”

Neteyam looked over at Jake now, lost. “How do we find out? If she won’t talk to anyone else, and I can’t—won’t—go near her?”

Kiri stepped forward slowly. “I might have a way.” Everyone turned to her. Kiri’s eyes were steady, serious now. “She talks to someone every day. A younger girl named Aluke. She was the first to start repeating the rumors about everything — about the baby not being yours. She might’ve overheard something else. She’s not very good at keeping her mouth shut.” You narrowed your eyes. “You think you can get her to talk?” Kiri tilted her head. “If she’s anything like she was as a child, yes. If not, I’ll figure out another way.” Lo’ak nodded. “If she’s saying too much, she’ll keep talking. Maybe she knows Lina’s real intentions. Maybe she even knows it’s a lie.”

“I’ll go with Kiri,” Neytiri said, jaw clenched. “That girl said she saw the kiss between you two.” Lo’ak grimaced. “That lie ends today, too,” Neytiri hissed. Jake nodded. “Good, go.” You didn’t speak again — just nodded, sharp and stiff, and turned back toward the mauri with your children. Neteyam reached out instinctively — not to stop you, but to be near you. “Ma yawne—” You turned your face just enough to look at him over your shoulder. There was no softness in your eyes. “I meant it,” you said again, low and quiet. “If you go near her, we’re done.” He watched as you disappeared inside with Kiriya on your hip, Likan trailing behind you sleepily, Eylan still gripping your hand tightly.

The night settled in around them like a heavy blanket, no stars visible behind the clouds. And all Neteyam could think, again and again, was: ‘what if it is… and I’ve destroyed everything anyway?’

The rain had started up again just before nightfall — soft and drizzling, tapping against the woven leaves of your mauri like a lullaby meant for someone else. Not for you. Not for the mess your life had become. You sat curled up against the far wall, knees pulled tight to your chest, your arms wrapped around them as Kiriya nursed at your breast, her soft suckling the only real sound in the room. Likan and Eylan were asleep on the furs, their small bodies curled up together near the low-burning fire pit, unaware of the storm — outside or inside.

Your face was damp, and not just from the rain that had kissed your skin earlier. You’d cried so hard your ribs ached. Your stomach burned. Your soul had frayed. You didn’t look up when you heard the flap of the doorway shift. Neteyam stepped in quietly, his shoulders hunched, eyes rimmed red and jaw tight. He was breathing like he’d run here — or maybe like he was trying not to scream. He saw you and stopped mid-step. You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. “Can I talk to you?” he asked, softly. Like you were something fragile. Like the wrong word would break you for good.

You didn’t answer. Just stared down at Kiriya, who had stopped feeding and now blinked up at you sleepily, pawing at your chest. Neteyam took it as a maybe and came closer, crouching slowly beside you, careful not to disturb the boys. “I know you’re hurting,” he whispered. “And I deserve it. I do. I just— I need you to know something. Really know it.”

You finally looked at him. Your face was blotchy, lips trembling, eyes bloodshot. His heart cracked wide open. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he said, quickly, his voice raw. “No matter what she says, or what anyone says… I swear it on Eywa. On my soul. I didn’t. I never did.” You stared at him for a moment, like you weren’t sure if your heart could risk believing him again.

“She tried,” he said. “A lot. But every time… something pulled me back. It didn’t feel right. It never did. Even when I didn’t remember everything, there was something wrong about it. And I promise, I promise baby I told you everything. Everything that happened.” Your voice cracked when it came. “You touched her.”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I did. And she touched me. I’m not going to lie to you. But it didn’t go further than that. I never let it. I never wanted to go all the way, even when I was confused. I didn’t let her stay with me. I didn’t let her into our home. I never crossed that line.” You choked. “Then how—how could you still accuse me?”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice nearly breaking. “I heard what people were saying and I thought… I thought maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was true and I— I couldn’t breathe. I lashed out. And I know it was wrong. I’m so sorry.” He dropped his head, resting his forehead on your knees. “I was stupid. I let myself get pulled into something I knew deep down wasn’t real. Not like this. Not like us. And now you’re hurting. And I did that. I did that.” You finally spoke again, whisper soft. “She said she’s pregnant.”

“I don’t care,” he said quickly. “If she is, it’s not mine. It can’t be. She’s lying. She has to be. And if she’s not… she was with someone else.” You stared at him, your hand resting on Kiriya’s back. “Why would she say it, then?”

“Because she knew I was slipping away,” he said. “I stopped going. I stopped touching her. I came home. She saw. She knew I remembered. That’s why she did this. To punish me. To keep you from forgiving me.” Your bottom lip quivered. “You don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“I know. But I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it if you’ll let me.” A silence passed. The sound of Kiriya’s breath. The fire crackling. A gust of wind outside. You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. “I don’t believe she’s carrying your child.” Neteyam’s eyes met yours, startled.

“I don’t believe her,” you repeated. “Because I know you. Even with your memory gone, I knew who you were. You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t give her that. You could make mistakes, sure. But that? No.” His throat bobbed. “I swear I didn’t.”

“I believe you.” Tears welled in his eyes, falling freely now. “Thank you.”

“I’m still angry,” you added quickly. “I’m so angry. I’m not ready to just… be okay. But I needed to hear it from you. That it wasn’t true.” He nodded, eyes shining. “I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

“I can’t give much,” you whispered. “I’ll still be here.” You exhaled slowly, eyes falling to the sleeping boys, then to Kiriya now curled against your shoulder. “I need you to be the father they deserve. Not the man that woman wanted you to be.”

“I will be,” he whispered. “I swear, yawne. No more lies. No more her.” Your lip trembled again. “You’re not allowed to leave us again.”

“I won’t.” He reached out, gently covering your hand with his.

The fire had burned low. The boys still slept, warm and safe beneath the woven furs. Kiriya dozed in your arms again, her soft little face pressed against your bare chest, one tiny hand curled at your throat. You rocked her absently, though your eyes stayed locked on the flames.

Neteyam hadn’t moved far. He knelt just beside you still, silent, watching the way you held your daughter. The weight of everything hung between you — grief, pain, betrayal, but also something else. The flicker of something alive. Something trying to bloom back to life in the ash of everything you’d survived.

When Kiriya let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering fully closed, you shifted and began to lower her gently to the mat, tucking her into the blankets beside her brothers. You stroked her cheek once and then let yourself sit back — your hands trembling from the storm you hadn’t yet shaken loose. Then… Neteyam reached for you. Slow. Gentle.

His hands came to your waist first, then slipped around your back, tugging you into him. You let it happen, though your arms stayed limp at your sides, your face burying into his shoulder automatically as your body began to tremble again. Not loud, not dramatic. Just deep, silent sobs. The kind that come when the worst has already passed, and all that’s left is the exhaustion of surviving it. He rocked you gently. “Ma yawne,” he whispered, over and over. “Oeyä yawne. I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’m here.”

His hands rubbed up and down your spine, anchoring you against him, his breath warm at your temple. You clung to him then, arms looping tightly around his chest, pulling yourself into his warmth as if you could melt into him and never have to leave. “Forgive me,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Please. I’ll say it every day. I’ll say it in my sleep. I’ll never stop saying it. But you have to know — I never stopped loving you. Even when I didn’t know who I was… something in me always knew you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was wet with tears, his eyes searching yours like he was still begging to be allowed this moment. And you nodded. “Then show me,” you whispered. “Show me, ma Neteyam.” He blinked. “Are you sure?” You nodded again, slow and full of meaning. “I want to feel you again. All of you.” He inhaled sharply, heart pounding, and then — reverently, slowly — he reached for your kuru. The moment he touched it, your chest fluttered, and your hands instinctively rose to the braid at the base of his skull. Together… you connected. Tsahaylu. And in an instant — the world shifted.

You gasped softly as everything came crashing in. The pain he’d been holding onto. The regret. The confusion. The shame. And then—underneath it, rising like the tide—the love. So much love. You felt it — how he’d carried your voice in his soul even when he didn’t know it was yours. How home had always been the sound of your laugh. How the dreams haunted him because you were in every one of them — your smile, your body, your touch. How much he missed being yours. Being Neteyam — your Neteyam. And you let him feel everything too.

The moment your belly swelled with Kiriya, and you lay awake at night just praying he’d live to see her. The quiet strength you held for your boys every day while breaking inside. The ache of being forgotten. The pain of being blamed. The unbearable longing for his arms, his voice, his eyes full of love. How you still wore his courting token in your hair every day. How even after everything — you still loved him. Still chose him. A choked breath left his throat, and he crushed you into his chest again, one hand cradling your head, the other spreading across your back.

“I can’t believe I forgot I had this,” he whispered hoarsely. “Everything. Every moment. Every promise I made. I meant them all.”

“I know,” you whispered back, your breath catching as more tears fell, softer this time. Cleansing. “I know, ma tìyawn. So did I.” He kissed your hair, your cheek, your temple, tenderly, over and over like he couldn’t stop. His hands shook against your skin. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he murmured.

“You already have it,” you said quietly. “You always did. You were sick, Neteyam. Lost. But I knew you’d find your way.”

“And you waited,” he whispered. “Even when I was breaking your heart.”

“I prayed for you every night,” you said. “I loved you even when it hurt.” He pulled back and touched your cheek with such reverence it made your eyes sting all over again. “I don’t know how I ever looked at another woman when you were right here.” You let out a broken laugh, and he laughed too, just a little, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re such an idiot,” you whispered, watery and smiling. “Biggest skxawng in the clan,” he agreed softly.

You both stayed there for a long time — connected, bonded, whole — until the fire burned down to embers and the soft rise and fall of your children’s breathing filled the quiet night. For the first time in moons, you weren’t broken anymore. You were together You looked up at him, your fingers still trembling in his. Your tears had dried, but their weight clung to your chest. The soft glow of the lantern in the corner of the mauri cast golden light over Neteyam’s face, over the worry in his brow, the love in his eyes.

You had missed him. Missed the warmth of him. The way his arms felt like protection. The way his presence calmed the storm in your chest like nothing else ever could. His hand rose to brush your cheek, thumb grazing softly over the edge of your jaw. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his voice low, reverent, full of ache. Your breath caught. “You don’t have to say that just because you remember now.”

“I’m not,” he murmured. “I’m saying it because I feel it. Because I’ve always felt it.” Then he kissed you. Slowly, gently—like a prayer, like an apology, like a promise. His lips moved with care, like he was relearning the shape of you, the rhythm of your breath. You shifted carefully until you were straddling his lap, your hands slid up his arms, his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as his fingers trailed down your sides, not rushed or demanding—but familiar.

He paused, eyes locking with yours. “Can I…?” he asked, voice quiet, but full of need. Full of reverence. You nodded, breathless, pulling him closer. He leaned in again, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I want to take every doubt out of your body,” he whispered. “Every lie she told, every word I ever said that made you feel less.”

Slowly, tenderly, he slid away the fabric of your chest wrap, revealing skin he hadn’t touched in what felt like years. He kissed every place he uncovered—your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, your shoulder. His hands were careful, steady, full of quiet devotion.

“I missed you,” he said against your skin. “The way you laugh. The way you look when you hold our children. The way your eyes soften when you’re teasing me. I remember all of it now.” You breathed in shakily, fingers in his hair. “Then show me.” And he did. Every kiss was a promise. Every whisper a vow. No rush. No demands. Just the slow, sacred return to something only the two of you had ever shared. To something no one—not even memory loss, not even betrayal—could truly erase. When he finally held you in his arms, skin to skin, soul to soul, the weight you’d been carrying fell away. You weren’t just forgiving each other. You were finding your way back home.

His hands moved with a reverence that made your breath catch, as if every part of you deserved to be memorized all over again. And maybe you did—maybe he did, too. His lips traveled slowly, unhurried, pressing to every dip and curve like he was rediscovering sacred ground. Neteyam was about to lay you down onto the mat but then the Likan shifted, and you both paused looking over at him. Instead, you silently pointed to the fur rug in front of the fireplace, and he lifted you effortlessly, laying you down in front of the warmth.

When he kissed down your body, over your chest, the soft skin of your stomach, and lower, you gasped, a quiet sound that broke somewhere between relief and longing. Your fingers curled against the blankets beneath you, your eyes fluttering shut. It wasn’t just the sensation of his mouth or the trail of heat he left in his wake, it was what it meant. It was him choosing you—not out of duty, not because memory demanded it, but because his heart knew it. Because he remembered. Because he wanted to.

You felt it in the way his lips lingered. In the way his hands steadied your hips like you were something precious. In the way he paused, looking up at you with dark, reverent eyes before continuing, like asking for permission even now. Your heart thudded in your chest, overwhelming and fragile. You whispered his name. Not in desperation—but in awe. He smiled. Softly. Like he knew what this meant. It wasn’t frantic or rushed. It wasn’t about need. It was about presence. You had him again. All of him. The weight of his body, the brush of his breath, the worship in his touch. And for the first time in so long, you weren’t surviving. You were living. You were loved.

Neteyam’s lips brushed your collarbone, slow and warm, and you gasped softly half-laughter, half-need. “You’re laughing?” he murmured against your skin, lips curving into a smile. You giggled breathlessly, your fingers brushing through his braids. “It tickles,” you whispered, voice catching. “You’re not usually this slow.” He chuckled, dragging his lips to your neck. “I’ve been gone a while,” he said lowly, “I think I’m allowed to savor my wife.”

You bit your lip. “You’re lucky I missed you.” He lifted his head just long enough to meet your eyes. “Missed me? Or missed this?” His hand slid along your thigh, deliberate but gentle. You grinned. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I want to hear you say it,” he teased, voice dipping as he nipped at your shoulder. “Fine,” you breathed, a flush blooming over your cheeks. “I missed your mouth… and your hands… and the way you—” You broke off with a gasp as he found a spot that made you squirm. “There?” he said with a smirk, nosing into your neck. You shoved at his chest, laughing. “You’re so smug.”

“Only when I’ve earned it.” You arched slightly, brushing your lips against his ear. “You haven’t yet.” His growl was soft but promising. “Challenge accepted.” You both laughed, your bodies close, breaths mingling. Then he stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “I thought I’d never remember what you felt like. But now… I’ll never forget again.” Your eyes stung, heart pounding. “Then don’t ever leave me again, mighty warrior.” He leaned in, brushing your lips with his. “Never,” he promised.

Your breath hitched as his mouth wandered lower, slow and reverent, and your hand found its way to his hair. “You always do this,” you murmured, voice trembling with a smile. “Do what?” His voice was low, warm against your skin. “Take your time… like you’re unwrapping a gift.” He chuckled. “You are a gift. I’ve been starving, yawntu. Let me taste what I nearly lost.” His lips kissed down and around both your breast before kissing your nipple softly, his lips dragged against the harden nub You blushed hard at his words, shivering under his touch. “You’re saying things that make my knees weak,” you whispered.

“Good,” he said, tongue darting out to give you a tantalizing, slow flick. “Because I remember now. I remember exactly how to make you fall apart.” You gasped, laughing lightly, trying to tug him back up to kiss you, but he resisted, trailing his fingers up your sides instead. “No, no,” he teased, grinning against your skin. “You said I hadn’t earned it yet.” You whined. “Neteyam…”

“Say it again.” His tone was softer now, tender. “Say my name like that.” He moved his head down after biting your nipple and tugging softly making a little mess in his mouth. “Neteyam.” Your voice cracked on it, raw and breathless. He kissed down the curve of your ribs, slow and steady. “There it is.” A pause. “You always said it like that. Like it was sacred.”

“It is,” you whispered, cupping his face and drawing him up to you. “You are.” He kissed you then — slow, searching, aching — and as he hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, your legs tangled beneath the covers, you felt the shift. “Do you remember this part too?” you asked shyly, teasing. He laughed softly. “I remember everything to know you used to beg.” You let out a scandalized gasp. “I did not.”

“You did,” he said with a smug smile. “Especially when I’d tease these cute nipples with my tongue and my fingers….and when I sucked on your pretty clit and stuck my tongue in this tight little hole.” He leaned down and whispered something in your ear that made you swat at his arm, breathless and flushed. His fingers ran down your body, all the way dow between your bare thighs to rub small light circles on your clit, making you whimper “Fuck…!” you said, burying your face in his neck.

“You love it,” he whispered against your shoulder. “I love you,” you corrected, breath heavy on his neck as you kissed under his ear He froze, just for a moment but didn’t stop his movements. Then his voice broke as he said, “Say it again.” you repeated, one hand over his heart. “I love you…Always.”

“Even now?” You nodded. “Especially now.” He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. “Then let me show you how much I love you too,” he whispered. “Yes please…” you whisper as he worked his was down once more, smiling as he already got that little ‘please’ out of you. His head disappeared under the thin blanket, kissing and sucking the skin of your thighs, grazing his fangs and sometimes biting like he really was getting taste out of the act. Your moaned softly into the air having to control your voice now more than ever, not wanting to be interrupted. Neteyam’s hands wrapped around your thighs pulling you closer and tossing your legs over his shoulders, his breath lingered on your core making you clench around nothing before you felt his mouth on you.

His tongue worked magic between your thighs, hit the spots he had hit perfected for years, as if it was the only thing in the world he was supposed to remember. It’s been so long since felt him you didn’t realize you’d want to cum so fast, his tongue flicked up and down, side to side making you arch your back and whimpers escape from your lips. Your hands tangled into his braids tugging him closer as if his face could be anymore buried in you. He sucked on your clit making your eyes go wide and your grip tighten in his hair as you hiss into the air, “oh…oh my Eywa…” you whispered clenching your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut as he fucked his tongue into you, it only took a few sweet thrust before you were cuming on his tongue, your essence messing up his face, your thighs, and leaking down his chin to his neck as he lapped you up sweetly.

His head rose from the blanket as you were trying to catch your breath, he looked very pleased with himself. He wiped his face with the back of his hand before hovering over you again, his fingers trailing down to your core as he kissed you again letting you taste your cum on his tongue, it was sweet, like the flowers he picked for you yesterday. Your thighs twitched as his fingers made may to your hole, but you stopped him, “Ma Teyam…” you mumbled against his lips. He pulled away and looked down at you, “what is it sweetheart?”

You bit your lip at his sweet nickname and took a breath, “don’t…. don’t put your fingers in..” Neteyam tilted his head at your request, it’s been months since the last time you had sex he wasn’t to stretch you out, so it doesn’t hurt as much, and he was about to say so before you spoke again. “Want your cock to stretch me out…wanna feel it” you bit your lip and smile up at him sweetly, as if the most vile words ever didn’t just come out of you. Neteyam let his fingers pause where they were toying between your folds, rubbing against your tight hole and look he gave you was wrecked. “Oh, Great Mother…” His groan punched from his chest like he’d been struck.

You snorted through your nose, half laughing, half breathless. “Shh, the kids are asleep, ma Teyam—” You put a finger to his lips, wide-eyed. “Do not wake them.” He caught your wrist, kissed your fingertip, his voice rough and dark: “Then stop saying things that make me forget we even have children.”

He dipped his head into the crook of your neck, panting hard, his hand that was between your legs now gripped tight on your hips. “You can’t say things like that.” His voice was wrecked, trembling. You tilted your head sweetly. “Why not?” He growled, lifting his head to look at you, eyes ablaze. “Because I’m trying to be gentle, and that…” —he kissed you hard, teeth grazing your lip— “makes me want to ruin you.” You gasped into his mouth, heart pounding. His hands roamed now, slow but more desperate.

“Stars, yawntu,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to kill me.” You giggled — quiet and sinful. “You keep saying that.” He groaned again, softer this time, but no less strained. “Don’t do that, don’t laugh like that after you didn’t just say the nastiest thing to me” which made you giggle again. “You want me just like this?” he whispered, voice dipping low, dangerously low. “Want my cock in you just like that?” He asked as if he was confirming that’s what you so desperately wanted. You nodded, lips parted, breathing shallow. And the fire in him roared. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” But even as he said it, he was already gone for you.

His body shifted again, ridding himself of his loincloth now hanging, hard and heavy between his strong thighs over cunt. Before his hand could, you swiped your fingers on your tongue giving them a nice wet lick before grabbing his cock in your hand, your stroked it softly and his body tensed, “oh fuck—great mother” he cursed dropping his head down, so your foreheads touched. “That feel good baby?” You whisper into his mouth as your lips brush, but you didn’t kiss.

“S-so good…” he matched your tone, strained. “My poor husband…so touch starved..” you giggle wickedly but it was still so, so hot to him. “You missed me muntaxtan? Missed the way I touched you? Stroked your cock?” Your words were hot down his throat he couldn’t breathe, so he nodded against you, brushing your skin close, quiet, hot. Like you’d just created a whole world for this moment. “Wanna fuck me muntaxtan?” He nodded again, hand running down your body to grip his out cock over your hand, “yea? Do it…fuck me, put it in muntaxtan…” you edged him as your jaw went slack as he entered you. Slowly, like he was memorizing how ever ridge on his cock, how every bugling vein felt going into your sweet, hot, cunt.

His jaw matched yours swallowing all the moans you let out, with every inch of his thick cock stretching you open. His eyes shut to calm himself, he felt like he could cum on the spot. “Oh…Eywa” you moaned and his eyes darted open, taking in your furrowed brows and heavy panting. His cock was only halfway in at this point, and he stopped, moving back and forth giving you a few shallow thrusts, “calling for God baby? Eywa’s not fucking you, my cock is fucking you…say my name.” His voice was soft but commanding. Your legs wrapped around your waist, one over the other on his back, his tails wrapped around your ankle and yours around his thigh. Neteyam dug his cock deeper in, until he was fulling you completely, cock snug in your cock, “f-fuck…Neteyam.” You whispered into his mouth making him smile, “that’s my good girl…so perfect for me…so good at taking instructions.”

Your eyes rolled you swear you was your brain when he started to move, shallow thrusts at first, balls slapping your skin softly as you took him in. “ah, ah, ah…” you went softly moaning against him. Your hands went up and over his shoulder to his back, digging into the skin as he started to spreed up his thrust. Your moaned start to get louder but he smiled and locked your lips in his kiss, swallowing all your noises, “shh baby…gonna wake the kids and I don’t wanna stop…” his tongue invaded your mouth quickly finding dominance over yours. It was sloppy and wet; you could barely kiss him back feeling him drag his cock against your sweet spot. His thrusts continued to get faster and faster until he was pounding into you, your entire body shook with his movements, but he kept you grounded, complete covered by him.

Your back arched off the soft mat, bringing your chest closer to his. His elbows hit the mat next to you bringing himself impossibly closer. “Oh—oh just like that…please tey—teyam..” you moaned into his mouth, and he let out a grunt. “Just like that?” He repeated moving a little harder and you lost the ability to kiss completely, as you nodded against him. Then suddenly he pulled out completely, you let out a whine in frustration, but it didn’t last long, his hands moved you without a thought, pushing you over onto your side and sliding into the spot behind you, back pressed against his chest facing the fireplace. His hand moved down to grip your right thigh pulling your entire leg up into the air as he effortlessly slides his cock back into your warmth with practiced ease.

Your stomach did flips when he started fucking you again, your hands gripping his arm that ended up under your neck and around the upper half of your body and you bit down on his bicep to keep from getting too loud. Your eyes were teary at this new depth, the way he just fit so perfectly into your cunt like you were made just for him. You sniffled leaning back against him wanting to be as close as possible while made him chuckle, “keep your leg up.” He commanded and took your hand bringing it down to your lower stomach where his cock bugles out and pressing down. You chocked on air feeling his cock move in and out of you, heightened the sensitivity, it was as if he knew (which he did) that spot would over activate your sweet spot. Your eyes widened and your jaw went slack once more; you couldn’t help the moans that escaped you. But he could, he gripped your lower face turning you to kiss him again swallowing up your moans, “feel that baby?” He whispered against your lips, “that’s how good I make you feel, you love it when I pump this cunt full huh?” He asked and you nodded frantically, “yes…yes yes yes feels so good…”

Neteyam smiled into your lips once again, “fuck you’re clenching so hard baby…gonna cum on my cock?” He asked speeding up his thrust once more, he was close too he wanted you to cum with him, and when you confirmed through a heavy moan you were close, he fucked info you faster. His grip tightened and so did yours, his hand that was in your stomach moved—with yours— back around your right thigh intertwining your fingers together as he fucked you. Your release hit you like a rough wave as he emptied himself in you at the same time. Neteyam came so much while his cock was thrusting more and more cum into you, he filled you to the brim, so much so that it leaked out the sides of your cunt even though he was still inside you.

You both came down from your high, cock still snug in you, and his hand rubbed up and down the side of your body, then he stopped and wrapped around you even more holding you there against him, the way it was always meant to be. “That was incredible” you bummed out making him chuckle. “I love you muntaxtan” you whispered to him, eyes closing. “I love you more tìyawn.” He said as he kissed your skin softly.

The fire crackled softly in front of you, casting flickering gold over the quiet curve of your back. The thin woven sheet barely covered the two of you, tangled between legs and limbs as you lay tucked between Neteyam’s arms, your back to his chest. His breath brushed the curve of your neck, slow and even now, but his fingers hadn’t stopped tracing patterns into your skin. Outside, the night sang with insects and the ocean’s lullaby. Inside, it was still. Warm. Full.

Neteyam’s voice broke the silence gently, quiet and husky, his chin resting just above your shoulder. “I used to think home was a place. Forest. Sky. Clan.” You hummed softly, fingers brushing over his as they danced across your stomach. He paused, then pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder, reverent and slow. “But I know now… home isn’t a place.” He paused. “Home is who you fight for. Who you crawl back to. Who you breathe for.” Another kiss, this one behind your ear. You felt the lump rise in your throat. He whispered it into your skin like it was prayer. “Home is You.”

You turned your face toward him, eyes full and glistening, and he kissed you. A soft, sacred kiss — not rushed, not fiery — just full of love. Of peace. Of truth. In that moment, with your body tucked to his, the fire warming your feet, and the stars peeking through the cracks in the thatched ceiling, everything was exactly as it should be. You smiled against his mouth, your voice a whisper. “And you’re mine.” He pulled you closer. Held you tighter. And there, beneath the soft songs of night and the gentle crackle of fire, the story that once felt like it shattered — finally felt whole again.

💜 Likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

💜I hope you all enjoyed reading this, honestly I tried to make it as realistic as possible, relationships are messy, especially when trauma is involved. So please any feedback I’d love to hear, and any ideas are welcome!

Taglist: