Xin

“keep up, little knight,” he’d called over his shoulder at one point, grin sharp as his blade. “or i’ll have to carry you too.”

varka. grandmaster of the knights of favonius. knight of boreas. and right now, a man on the edge.

normally he’s loudest at the fire—booming laugh, big hands clapping shoulders, spinning stories that make even the greenest recruits forget their homesickness. but tonight, he’s restless. too hot. you can see it in the way sweat beads at his temple, in the taut flex of his hand around his mug, in how his grin falters a little too quick when someone bumps his shoulder.

he’s been like this for days. short-tempered, running hot, chewing out the men in a way that’s uncharacteristic. and you know why.

his rut is building.

and you—his so-called “designated knight”—have been mentally bracing for it.

“the knight of boreas looks a little tamed tonight,” one of the younger men jokes, emboldened by drink. laughter ripples, but dies quick when varka’s head snaps toward him.

the low, warning growl he gives doesn’t belong to a man.

your stomach flips. his eyes—bright, wild, hungry—cut past the poor recruit and pin you. you freeze, mug halfway to your lips.

then, in a voice that rumbles low and even:

“my tent. now.”

the fire might as well go out for how quiet the camp gets. no one dares to move, but you can hear the whispers anyway.

“poor thing…” “definitely won’t be walking straight tomorrow.”

your face burns as you set your mug aside and stand, his gaze following you until you slip into the shadows.

inside his tent, the flap barely falls shut before you’re slammed against a pole, breath stolen.

“wait–” you gasp, but his mouth swallows it, hot and demanding, tongue pressing past your lips like he hasn’t kissed you in months. his body radiates heat, burning through your uniform, and his hands—archons, his hands—are everywhere.

you were meant to be a knight. trained with steel in your hand, sworn to fight alongside him. instead, you’d become something else. the one who steadied varka’s shaking hands, who let him rut into you until dawn and left you sore and marked.

“knew you were watching me.” his grin is sharp, feral, as he pulls back just enough to speak. his voice vibrates in your bones, dripping with mockery. “sweet thing, sitting there pretending you aren’t waiting for me to lose it.”

“varka—”

“grandmaster,” he corrects, chuckling darkly, his hand sliding down to cup your ass and drag you against his hard cock. even through his trousers you feel the obscene swell of his knot, already straining, begging to be buried inside you.

you shiver. you’ll never get used to that.

he doesn’t give you time to retort. your back hits the bedroll, his weight caging you in. his big hands tear at your clothes like they’re nothing, tossing each piece aside until you’re bare beneath him, shivering under the heat of his body.

then his belt clinks, trousers shoved down—and when he frees himself, your breath hitches hard in your chest.

“ahh, there it is,” he drawls, fist wrapped around the base of his cock like he’s showing it off. it’s monstrous, thick enough your thighs press together instinctively, heavy veins running along the flushed shaft, the tip already glossy with pre. worse—there’s already a bulge at the base, that small swollen knot that makes your stomach flip.

“fuck—” the word slips out of you before you can catch it, eyes wide.

his grin is sharp, wolfish. “mm? what’s that, little knight? seen me like this plenty of times, and you still look surprised?” he gives himself a lazy stroke, squeezing just under the forming knot, and more pre dribbles down over his fist. “hah, still makes you gasp, doesn’t it? look at you, staring like you’re scared i’ll split you in half.”

you shake your head, but it’s a weak denial, thighs clenching tighter.

he chuckles low in his chest, leaning down until the blunt, leaking head smears against your slick folds, smearing pre all over your cunt. “don’t worry, pup. you’ll take it. you always do. and this time, you’re not just takin’ me—you’re keepin’ me. right here—” he presses his cockhead snug against your entrance, letting you feel the tip straining against your folds, “—locked inside, ‘til every drop’s bred deep.”

outside, the campfire chatter picks back up. boots shuffle. mugs clink. and you know they’ll hear everything.

“lemme hear you, pup.” his grin widens when you turn your face, biting back a whimper. “i didn’t train you to be shy. let them know who keeps you stuffed full every rut.”

and then—he sinks in, thick and brutal, splitting you open until the stretch steals your breath and your nails claw helplessly at the bedroll.

“ahhh, there it is,” he rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips, fingers pressing bruises into your skin. “trying to fight me already? thought you’d be used to this by now, little knight.”

you gasp, trying to arch away, but he just pins you harder, pressing your shoulders to the furs underneath. “you’re not going anywhere.” his free hand slides up to your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his wild, blue wolfish gaze. “look at me. look at who’s gonna breed you tonight.”

your back arches on instinct, hips jerking forward. you whimper, tiny noises spilling past your lips. “varka—please—”

he laughs, low and wicked, and his cock drives into you again and again, heavy body pinning you down so there’s no escape, no reprieve. each thrust is ruthless, deeper than the last, until your thighs are trembling, until you can barely remember how to breathe.

you’re already coming undone, clenching around him hard, body breaking apart on his cock.

“hah, there it is,” he growls, grinning like he’s just won a fight. “sweet little knight’s already twitchin’ on me—haven’t even knotted you yet. that’s why you’re my most valuable one, y’know? don’t need your blade when you’ve got this cunt squeezing me like it was made to.”

his words hit as hard as his thrusts, each one pushing you deeper into that haze of pleasure and humiliation. you try to turn your face, muffle the sounds spilling out of your throat, but his hand is right there, rough thumb pressing against your tongue, forcing you to moan around it.

“good pup. louder.” his voice drops into that sing-song mockery that makes your belly tighten. “let ‘em all hear how well their grand master fucks his favorite knight.”

you whimper, body shaking, nails clawing at the bedroll. “ ‘s t-too much—”

he just laughs, hips slamming forward so hard your back arches off the furs. “too much? no such thing. besides—” his thrusts get messier, sharper, the weight of him grinding you down, “—you know what’s comin’, don’t you?”

the blunt swell keeps bumping against you, pressing insistently, and panic tangles with your pleasure. you’ve taken him before, survived it before, but every time it feels impossible until it’s happening.

“n-no, varka—”

“grand master,” he corrects again, voice a rumble, a growl. his mouth is at your ear now, hot breath washing over your skin. “have some respect, pup.”

you shake your head, but he feels the way your pussy tightens around him, the way your hips try to jerk up even as you plead.

he pulls back, only to slam forward again, knot grinding against your entrance, forcing another sob out of you. you’re half trying to crawl away, half melting under him.

varka chuckles darkly, turning you around and pushing your shoulders down until your cheek’s mashed to the bedroll. “look at you. already crying on my cock and i haven’t even stuffed you full yet. you think you’re ready to march back to mondstadt after this expedition? or should i pump you full right here? make sure you’re carrying my pups before we ever see the city walls?”

your head jerks up at that, but he just grabs the back of your neck, holding you down like a wolf pinning its mate, thrusting with sharp, brutal snaps of his hips.

“hear me?” his voice is a growl now, low and possessive but still teasing at the edges. “by the time we’re back home, everyone’ll smell me on you. might even see your belly startin’ to swell. they’ll know who fucked the fight outta their little knight.”

your whole body jolts at the grand master’s words, a strangled moan tearing out of your throat as your cunt clenches around him. the mental image of trudging back to mondstadt with his scent all over you and his seed dripping down your thighs is too much. you break, gushing around him, eyes rolling back as he snarls against your ear.

“just like that,” he growls, hips never stopping. “show me you want it. squeeze me until that little hole’s ready to take my knot.”

you whimper, still dizzy, but he just presses harder on the back of your neck, keeping you pinned. “good pup. that’s it. the harder you cum, the easier it’ll be to lock you down and pump you full.”

his other hand snakes around to your front, palm flat on your stomach where it bulges around his cock. he presses down, making you feel every inch.

“so small,” he coos, laughing breathlessly. “can feel myself right here. fuck—this cunt was made to hold the grand master’s knot, wasn’t it?”

you whimper something that’s not quite a no, not quite a yes, but he just keeps moving, pushing his knot against you over and over, testing your limits.

“open up,” he grinds out. “gonna split you on it. stretch you ‘til you’re stuck. you’ll thank me later when you’re heavy with my pups, when everyone knows you’re mine.”

then, with one brutal roll of his hips, the knot pushes inside, swelling immediately, locking you around him. your whole body arches, a sob breaking out of your throat as you’re stuffed to the brim.

“ahhh—fuck, that’s it,” he snarls, voice going rough. “tight little thing. keep milkin’ me. i’ll give you every drop—fill you so full it leaks down your thighs. won’t stop ‘til you’re bred properly.”

he moves even while locked, little grinding thrusts that send sparks up your spine. outside, you hear someone shift near the campfire, but varka only laughs, low and wicked, as he bends over your back.

You have heard of him before. The na‘vi they’ve taken hostage.

Not just any warrior from any clan, but the well trained son of the resistance leader. Jake Sully‘s son. He, who took down an entire armed outpost alone. With a fucking bow and an arrow against heavy machinery.

In the hallways, they speak of him in hushed tones, as if saying his name too loudly might summon him from the shadows of the trees. Neteyam. The eldest Sully.

The soldiers who have seen him and lived call him a demon, though not the kind they once thought all Na’vi to be. No, he is something else. Something worse. A ghost that strikes without warning, an archer whose arrows never miss, whose footsteps make no sound. And if you see the shadow of his banshee, you’re already dead.

They say he moves like the wind— there one moment, gone the next, leaving only bodies in his wake. The son of the great Toruk Makto and his sinister, gruesome wife. Raised in war, molded by it.

And now, he is the companies prisoner.

You don’t know how he managed to get himself captured, but it’s not like it matters much anyways. He’s here now and he‘s been the talk of the entire base for weeks. But there is something wrong with him. Which brings us to you.

You’ve worked with the Na’vi before. At least, that’s what your record says. You’ve studied their physiology, their biology, the way their systems work. You’ve patched up recombinant soldiers on the rare occasions they needed it, adjusted their treatments, monitored their vitals.

But this? This is different.

This is a real Na’vi. A wild one. An untamed, battle-hardened warrior who, if circumstances were different, would kill you without hesitation.

When you stepped into General Ardmore’s office this morning, she had barely looked up from her screen as she acknowledged your presence.

"General," you nodded with a tight smile.

"Doctor," she said, voice clipped, eyes scanning through reports. "He is sick. On a hunger strike since tuesday. Not drinking much either." Without mentioning his name, you already know who she’s talking about. You swallow thickly. "If he dies, it’ll be a problem."

She doesn’t say why and you don’t ask.

"I need him stabilized," she continues. "Figure out what’s wrong. Do whatever you need to, just keep him alive."

You nod, swallowing the questions that want to rise. She doesn’t like questions. You’ve learned that much.

Outside, a guard was already waiting to escort you down.

The hallways of the RDA facility feel colder than usual as you make your way toward the cell block. Armed guards stand at every turn, gripping their weapons a little too tightly, their faces set in grim determination. It’s not the usual tight security of a military base, this is fear.

They’re afraid of him.

The room they lead you into is sterile, clinical. White fluorescent lights hum softly above. It smells of antiseptic and recycled air, the way all RDA facilities do. Empty. Lifeless.

A single table and chair sit in the center of your side of the room. Nothing else. No distractions, no unnecessary details.

The partition is thick, reinforced, likely designed for containment more than observation. On the other side, the air is different. Dimmer. The lights are broken, he made sure of that on his first day here. You’ve heard the whispers. He shattered the lights above with his bare hands, tried to turn the shards into weapons, cut off a man’s hand in the process of disarming him. And then they took everything after that. Gutted the room of anything remotely useful. Now, there is nothing.

The walls are bare. The floor is smooth. No furniture, no bedding, not even a cot. Just cold steel and silence.

And in the farthest corner, where the darkness swallows him whole, he crouches. Even now, reduced to this trapped, starving and caged animal, he does not look broken. His posture is low but not slumped, his body wound tight like a coiled spring. Watching. Waiting.

Your gaze flickers to the plastic bowl on the ground. Untouched. The humiliation of it is sharp. No utensils, no dignity. Just a feeding dish, as if he were no more than a dog to be kept alive.

You swallow.

You exhale slowly, trying to regain focus on your task. You set your bag down on the cold metal table, the sound echoing too loudly in the sterile space. One by one, you take out your equipment. Your tablet, your scanner, a notepad for observations. A pointless habit, really. The RDA wants everything digital, but writing things down helps you think. Helps you process.

You press your palms against the table’s smooth surface, inhaling deeply. How the hell were you supposed to do this?

It’s not like you can just walk in there and ask him to hold out his arm for a vitals check. No, if you wanted to get close, you would need security, at least two, maybe three guards. And even then, it’ll be a risk. He is a risk.

You’re so lost in thought that when you finally turn around, your heart nearly explodes out of your chest.

He’s right there, nearly pressed up against the glass.

A sharp gasp leaves you as you stumble back, your hand flying to clutch the fabric of your blouse over your racing heart.

"Jesus Christ," you hiss sharply.

He’s close, so much closer than before. His forearm is braced against the glass, his forehead resting on it, his other hand relaxed by his side. It’s almost a casual posture, but there’s something about it. His head tilts slightly, like he’s trying to see you better past the glare of the artificial lights.

Your pulse hammers in your throat.

Surprisingly, there is no aggression in his stance, no bared teeth, no clenched fists. You’re so on edge, it seems ridiculous for you to have reacted that way, but you couldn’t help it. This whole situation was beyond terrifying.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

You stand frozen, your breath shallow, your fingers still curled into the fabric of your blouse as if that might somehow steady your racing heart. He doesn’t move either, just watches you with unsettling patience, his golden eyes sharp, studying.

The silence stretches.

You aren’t sure what you expected. Perhaps hostility, maybe a snarl or a glare, something that would confirm everything you’ve heard about him. But instead, something shifts in his expression. A slow grin spreads across his face, baring sharp canines, and then—

"Kaltxì, sevin tawtute" [Hello, pretty human].

His voice is low, rough around the edges from disuse, but there’s an unmistakable amusement in it. Like he knows something you don’t.

You blink. Your mind scrambles to process the words, but they mean nothing to you. You don’t speak na’vi. So when you don’t immediately respond, he’s quick to open his mouth again. And again, it takes you utterly by surprise.

"You don’t speak my tongue," he says, sounding equally as surprised as you feel. "I assumed most white coats do."

"White coats?" You frown, then glance down at yourself, at your outfit. The white coat you’re wearing. "Oh! Oh, no I’m not a scientist. I’m—," you pause, considering, "not supposed to be talking to you at all."

"What's the harm in talking to me?" He asks, then flicks the glass with a finger and a ping echoes off the walls. "I can't bite you."

Can't. Not won't, you note.

You ignore his words, pushing past the unease still curling in your stomach, and step closer to the glass. You came here for a reason and you needed to focus.

Up close, he looks worse than in the images you’d seen in his file. The hunger strike is taking its toll. His skin, normally a deep, rich blue, looks dull under the dim lighting. There’s a thin layer of sweat on his forehead and bruises, faded but present, blooming along his forearms and dried blood across his knuckles.

You pull out your notepad, jotting down quick observations. When you glance up again, you realize he’s watching you intently.

His ears are high, alert, fully focused on you. His tail curls slightly, the tip twitching, and there’s something almost… expectant in the way he’s standing now, his weight shifting forward, as if waiting.

You hesitate, then take another slow step forward. And the change in him is immediate.

Neteyam straightens to his full height, a fluid, effortless motion. God, this guy was tall. Easily nine, probably even ten feet tall. His three-fingered hands drop from the glass, but he doesn’t step back. His eyes flick downward, skimming over your coat, and his lips part slightly as if sounding something out.

Then, to your astonishment, he says, "You are a Doctor."

He taps a finger against the glass twice, right where your name tag sits.

Your brows lift. "You can read?"

His ears flick forward, a pleased glint flashing through his golden eyes. He licks his lips, dry, you note absently. Another symptom of dehydration.

"I can," he says simply. "Can you?"

Heat rises to your face and you shift uncomfortably, gripping your notepad a little tighter. In all honesty, it never even occurred to you that he might be able to read english, let alone speak it this fluently. The reports never mentioned it and none of the briefings prepared you for this.

"Forgive me for assuming…" you say, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Neteyam tilts his head slightly, considering you. The grin he wore just moments ago fades into something unreadable. Then, he huffs softly through his nose, his fingers flexing at his sides.

"Hm." He makes a low sound of acknowledgment. His eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and searching, as if trying to decide what to make of you.

You clear your throat, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. Straightening, you glance down at your notes, reviewing what little information you were given before being sent here.

According to General Ardmore, Neteyam must be sick. Some kind of flu or disease like the pandorian rabies they’ve said. You look up at him, then back to your notes. Then back up. Huh. But he doesn’t seem sick. Sure, he’s in an overall bad condition, but that must be due to the circumstances.

The reports are vague, but they all say the same thing: he refuses to eat, he barely drinks. He‘s been acting overly aggressive for the past week and refuses any human contact. Several guards and scientists have both noted his erratic behavior.

He also appears feverish and perpetually on edge. There are nights when he doesn’t sleep at all, tossing and turning as if tormented by unseen pain, and days when he lies in a fitful slumber for hours, his body curled in on himself in a way that suggests both exhaustion and deep distress. It’s an unusual pattern, a disturbing cycle of wakefulness and forced rest, that defies any simple explanation.

And all of this, after over a month of captivity in which he was acting relatively normal. For a na‘vi that is.

But right now? He seems fine, you think, brows creating a deep crease on your forehead as you scan him up and down. Is he just pretending?

You wonder if this fevered state is a defense mechanism, a way for him to mask his vulnerabilities, or if it’s simply the physical manifestation of the abuse he’s endured. The puzzle is as chilling as it is complex, and the urgency to understand it grows with every labored breath he takes behind the reinforced glass.

"So," you nervously clear your throat. "Why aren’t you eating?" You manage to get the courage to ask.

His ears flick at the sound of your voice, but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looks at you, his golden eyes unreadable, like he’s weighing whether your question even deserves a response.

Seconds stretch.

Then, finally, he exhales through his nose. His expression hardens, and when he speaks, his voice sounds strained.

"Because it is not food that I crave," he murmurs.

That’s not helping. You don’t know what that means, but the look he gives you is uncanny. He’s just trying to scare you, you try to remind yourself.

You open your mouth, about to press him further, but before you can get another word out, the heavy door behind you hisses open.

"Time’s up for today, doc," a guard calls from the entrance. His voice is flat, bored, like this is nothing more than routine. Already?

You exhale, forcing yourself to step back from the glass. Neteyam doesn’t move. He just keeps watching you, his gaze tracking your every motion with quiet intensity. And even as you turn away, you could still feel his eyes on your back.

As you pass the guard, you stop just long enough to give a quiet instruction. "Please make sure to take blood samples for me first thing in the morning. I want to check them before I come see him tomorrow."

The guard nods. "Sure thing."

With one last glance toward the figure in the dimly lit cell, you step out into the hallway.

— ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ —

The next day arrives, and you brace yourself as you make your way back to the facility.

Before you see Neteyam, you stop to speak with the guard from yesterday. He’s stationed near the entrance, looking more worn than he did before, his face set in an angry scowl.

As you approach, he doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

"That motherfucker is not cooperating in the ways we thought he would,” he says, voice low and tight with frustration. "Getting that sample when he’s in that kind of mood was a shit idea, doc. No offense." Then his expression hardens and your brows raise in a mixture of shock and surprise. "Two of my men are seriously injured, and one has permanently lost a damn finger."

You feel a sharp pang of guilt at his words. In all honesty, you hadn’t anticipated this. The thought of Neteyam, a prisoner already broken physically and mentally by his circumstances, causing such violence…

"And we didn’t even get your sample," the guard continues bitterly. Your shoulders slumped. "He fought us every step of the way. I don’t know how much longer we can keep him under control like this."

A sense of dread curls in your stomach. "Did you try sedating him?" you ask, almost hesitantly, unsure of the answer you’ll get.

The guard’s jaw tightens, and he lets out a frustrated exhale, as if the question itself irritates him. "We did," he snaps, then adds more grimly, "but it’s not working. He fights the medication too much. The lab coats said if we keep doubling the dosage, we might risk his health permanently. We’ve already given him enough to knock out a horse! This guy is stubborn, I’ll have to give him that."

You blink, trying to process the information. You had assumed the sedation would be a simple solution, but now it’s clear it’s not. Neteyam isn’t just fighting back physically, he’s resisting in a way that seems impossible. For a human.

You glance down, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "That’s not," you shake your head. "That’s not possible."

"Look, doc, here’s the deal. You know what this freak’s been doing for the last goddamn month? He’s been making a damn mockery of us. We try to get samples, he won’t have it. We try to sedate him, he either spits it out or rips out the syringe. You think he’s just playing along?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "This guy’s a goddamn nightmare. I don’t care who his daddy is, but his son is a pain in my ass."

The guard sighs, rubbing his temples. "But… here’s the kicker." He leans in slightly, eyes narrowing. "He’s made a condition. Can you believe that? Never even heard him speak before you showed up, so there’s that."

You stare at him, confused. "A condition?"

The guard gives a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, you heard me right. He said he won’t give us shit— unless you come in and get it yourself. So that’s the situation now."

You feel a wave of unease sweep over you and a cold prickle runs down your spine.

"He what?" You say a little to loud, then, quieter, "Why?"

The guard huffs and shrugs, "hell if I know."

Your hands feel clammy, your pulse hammering uncomfortably in your ears. This doesn’t make sense. Out of all the things Neteyam could’ve demand, like better food, freedom, actual negotiation… this is what he asks for?

The thought of stepping into that room, alone, with him makes your stomach churn. He’s unpredictable, dangerous, but the guard informs you that the General has approved of his condition.

You swallow hard. Of course, she would approve this. If Neteyam is as valuable as they claim, they’ll bend over backward to keep him alive, no matter what it takes. And now, you are part of that equation.

With a sharp buzz, the locks disengage and the door slides open. The Guard nods as you enter, then closes and locks the door behind you.

On the other side of the glass, Neteyam doesn’t move right away. He stays crouched, both forearm resting over his knees. His golden eyes gleam in the darkness, locked onto you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

You force yourself to stand tall, clutching your bag like a lifeline. A long moment of silence stretches between you, but then, slowly, he unfolds himself from the crouch, rising to his full height.

And he looks bad. Horrible, even. So much worse than yesterday that the sight shocks you. He appeared fine yesterday, so what happened since the last time you saw him?

Neteyam sways slightly as he straightens, and for a fleeting second, you think he might stumble. But he catches himself with a hand against the glass wall, sharp chin tilting upward, his expression one of stubborn defiance. His breathing is heavier than before, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate motions, as if he’s trying to keep himself steady.

You swallow against the dryness in your throat.

"You need us to check on you," you say carefully, your voice softer now, coaxing rather than commanding. "You’re sick and your condition is getting worse by the hour."

His pupils are so blown that the gold of his irises is barely visible, swallowed by darkness. Fever, dehydration, exhaustion, whatever this is, it’s consuming him, and fast.

"I need—" You hesitate, then correct yourself. "I want to help you," you tell him. "But you have to let me."

For a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there, eyes locked onto yours, unblinking.

"I am not sick." He says stubbornly.

You shake your head, irritation flickering beneath your concern before you step closer to the glass. Setting your bag down to the ground, you approach the keypad on the wall. Your finger hovers over the numbers.

"Neteyam. If I come in," you swallow, "will you hurt me?"

Immediately, "no."

"Will you try and use me to escape?"

Again, "no."

"Then why me?"

This time there comes no immediate response. Neteyam‘s expression is unreadable, his fever-bright eyes locked onto yours.

"You ask many questions, little doctor," he murmurs after a beat, voice low and rough.

You exhale sharply, then shake your head as you enter the code to the door separating you from him. "Because it doesn’t make sense," you say, frustration creeping in. "You don’t make sense."

The door seals shut behind you with a weighty finality, cutting you off from the sterile white light of the observation room. Inside the cell, the air is different. Thicker, warmer, oppressive in a way that settles uncomfortably against your skin. It smells faintly of sweat and metal, a sharp contrast to the clinical sterility of the rest of the base.

Neteyam stands just a few feet next to you, his hand still steadying him against the glass, his golden eyes tracking your every movement. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just watches. You try not to let it rattle you as you kneel down and begin unpacking your supplies.

"Give me your arm," you say, keeping your voice neutral and professional as you step closer. "Just so you know, if you still decide to try anything, there are guards waiting for me right outside."

At first, he doesn’t react. Then, slowly, he extends it toward you, the movement precise, controlled. His skin is slick with sweat, an unnatural heat radiating off of him in waves. As you swipe an alcohol pad over the inside of his forearm, he flinches when you press your fingers down on his upper arm to stop the blood flow. His breathing shifts, deepens.

Your eyes flicker up to his face. "Did that hurt?"

He shakes his head once, curt. "No."

A lie, perhaps. But you don’t push. Instead, you press forward, inserting the needle carefully, watching as dark crimson fills the vial. He doesn’t react to the puncture, not even a flicker of discomfort. But when you remove the needle and your fingers brush against his burning skin, his breath hitches, a tremor running through him so faint you almost miss it.

Your brow furrows. Something isn’t right.

You set the vial aside and scan his body with a practiced eye, looking for any signs of injury. If he fought back this morning, it’s possible he took a blow, maybe even fractured something. "I need to check you for wounds," you murmur, reaching for his arm again. "You might’ve—"

The second your fingertips press against his skin, his whole body shudders. This time, you ignore it. You let your fingers wander, stretching to reach over his bicep, his shoulder. And then down on his collarbone. Carefully, you prod at his bones, the strong fiber of muscle of his chest, his abs. By the time you’ve checked all of his ribs, his chest heaves.

His breath comes slower now, deeper, as if each inhale takes effort. Up close, you can see the fine tremors in his muscles, the tension coiled beneath his skin like a bowstring pulled too tight. If you thought his pupils were blown wide before, they’re nearly completely black by now, swallowing almost all the gold in his irises, leaving behind only a thin ring of color that’s barely visible.

And god, he’s burning up. Too hot, far beyond a normal fever. The heat reminds you of a furnace, stifling, suffocating. You don’t dare acknowledge it, but his head hangs low. Low enough, his forehead almost rests against your shoulder. He‘s exhausted, tired from whatever illness is plaguing him.

He‘s close enough now, you could only pretend to not hear him groaning whenever your fingertips prodded his flesh. And they sounded breathier the further down your hands wandered.

They move carefully over the planes of his body, fingertips pressing against fevered skin, mapping the unyielding muscle beneath. You try to focus on the task, searching for anything unusual, something that would explain the state he’s in, but it’s difficult.

Neteyam is scorching beneath your touch, the heat of him bleeding into your palms, making it hard to ignore the way his skin twitches beneath your fingers. And the sounds, soft, shuddering exhales that catch in his throat whenever you press a little too firmly. He’s feeling every touch, too much of it, like his nerves are raw and burning.

You swallow against the tightness in your own throat and keep going, moving downward. Over the ridges of his ribs, across the taut plane of his stomach, feeling for swelling, a break, a tear.

But there’s nothing.

No wounds, no fractures, no sign of external trauma. Just heat and tension and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hands.

You tell yourself not to look. To keep your eyes level, professional. But then your gaze flickers downward— just for a second, just to check.

But what you see makes your breath catch in your throat, makes heat creep up the back of your neck.

Just below where his stomach tenses and his prominent V-line marks the way for your eyes to travel down, down, down, before you see it. He’s… Oh god. He’s hard!

Oh.

Your eyes widen in shock.

"You’re—" He‘s in rut!

The realization hits you like a lightning strike and you pull your hand away from his lower abdomen just as quick. But Neteyam is quicker. His three fingered hand wraps around your wrist and keeps you hovering over his skin.

"Figured it out, hm?" He exhales, long and slow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing grin.

You feel embarrassingly dumb for not coming to this conclusion earlier. Or at least, before you started torturing him with your hands all over his body. Of course he’s burning up like this, you think as you mentally slap a hand to your forehead. You’re the only fertile female around and while you doubt you were anywhere near compatible to a Na’vi, their senses were strong enough to pick up even the slightest scents. Even those of a human ripe enough to mate. And the dampness in your underwear from feeling him up and down must’ve been his final straw, you internally groan.

With your eyes wide and your gaze still fixed on it, on him, as you curse yourself for acting so foolish, you don’t even notice how Neteyam shifts his other hand to cup his length. He groans when he squeezes himself over his loincloth, then leans in to sniff at your throat. A gasp escapes you, but you can’t step away. You’re trapped between him and the glass, heart beating like a drum inside your chest.

"Go one, little tawtute, [human]" Neteyam rasps, his voice rougher than before, almost strained. "You can keep touching."

He’s still holding your wrist, but not that tight. It seems more careful, as if he wanted you to want it but couldn’t risk letting you go and loose the warmth of your touch. When you hesitate for a minute too long, he simply guides you to where your eyes are already fixed on. He pushes the cords of his loincloth down until his cock springs free, then wraps your dainty little fingers around the shaft.

"You wanted to help," he whispers. "Then help me out."

You exhale shakily, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you let him. God, you just let him!

You can’t believe yourself.

The part of your brain still rooted in rationality, your duty, the strict protocols etched into every step of your career, scream at you to step back. To draw the line. But your body doesn’t listen. It stays. You stay.

You tell yourself it’s compassion. Just your concern. Just your professionalism being tested in the worst way imaginable. That his fever is spiking, that he’s just disoriented. That this is just some strange byproduct of his rut, something all na‘vi of age experience every other month, you know that. Hell, even the recombinants are required to take a week off and lock themselves into their quarters whenever it happens.

That’s why your hand stays against his burning skin. Because you’re his doctor. Because you want to ease the pressure in his chest, calm the tension running like wire beneath his skin. That’s all. That has to be all.

Your face is burning, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a question you’re too afraid to ask.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move, either. He just watches your hands, eyes half-lidded but sharp beneath the weight of heat and exhaustion.

You don’t know what he’s thinking. You’re not even sure what you’re thinking anymore. But you know one thing: if this is a line, you’re toeing it and Neteyam seems about ready to push you right over it.

Then his hand squeezes yours, before he pulls back entirely, leaving you to the task. You blink.

He‘s… huge. So alien looking it makes you shiver. He’s smooth and warm, his cock extruding from a slit on his lower abdomen. His tip looks humanoid, and the shape as well. But it also doesn’t.

He feels so heavy in your hand, you instinctively reach out to take him in both. You don’t even mean to, it was just a reflex, but he’s audibly pleased by this. Even more so, when you squeeze him slightly.

"Hmm, good girl. Keep doing that."

When Neteyam presses himself closer against you, you swallow thickly. However, even with his giant frame looming over you and basically caging you in, you don’t feel threatened. Strangely enough, you just feel desired.

Unable to peel your eyes off of him and his length in your hand, you give him the tiniest stroke. The reaction is instantaneous.

Neteyams mouth parts as he pants, hot and wet, against your throat. You feel— jesus, you feel his cock pulse in your palms. When you do it again, twice, stroking with an upward curve and slight pressure on his soft tip, the mighty warrior whimpers.

"Are you okay?" You whisper, afraid you might’ve hurt him since you don’t know how na‘vi react to physical touch in certain places or if their pleasure spots are similar to humans. But Neteyam wantonly pushes into your hand, so that sort of answers that.

You then try to get a decent grip so you can continue to stroke. The size difference makes this a funny angle and he’s not giving your arms enough room to move. When you finally get it right, though, Neteyam makes more noises, little whimpering sounds and deep moans that leave you feeling feverish, too.

By the kind of sounds your touch elicits out of him your hands must feel heavenly. He must’ve been so pent up and frustrated, you think. So needy and driven by these animalistic urges, so much lust with no where to relieve himself, you almost feel pity for him.

"B-Be quiet," you shush him as you glance over your shoulder to the door. There are guards right outside that you haven’t forgotten about and the thought of getting caught with both of your hands around the prisoners cock makes your stomach do jumping jacks.

"Tì'efu Tsìltsan [Feels good]," he whispers, his breath a little puff against your neck. "Eywa srung oe… i want to burry myself in you so bad, tawtute [human]."

It's weird to be able to feel Neteyams reactions, how he gets tenser as you touch him, how his breathing gets uneven. You chew the inside of your cheek, trying not to pay too much attention to the way you’re getting all tingly between your thighs. That's not what this is about. You’re not messing around together. You’re just... helping him out, is all.

"Pretty little doctor, you like this? I can… smell your arousal." Neteyam says lowly. Goosebumps raise all over your skin when his tongue glides over your pulse point. "So sweet. Ftxìlor [Delicious]."

That such dirty thoughts exist behind that inscrutable mask of a warrior still kind of shocks you. Neteyam is back to nosing along your neck, under your ear before you can even find it in yourself to tell him that’s not true. But you could hear him breathing in deep, and while it was good that his breaths were evening out a little as a result, it still made your own arousal deepen. Fuck, you needed to control yourself.

"You’re in rut," you mumble, more to yourself than to him as your hand glides over his shaft. "You’re not yourself. I‘m only helping."

"Oh, you are helping me." Neteyam hissed in pleasure. You had this way of twisting just a bit at the head, like turning a doorknob, that made him wild. "Do you treat all prisoners like that or am I just special, hm?" He chuckles between breathy moans.

With both hands twisting in opposite directions, your blush deepened even more. Then you stroked all the way down his length and back up. Coating the inside of your palms with pre-cum that dribbled down his slit, you stroked down to his base, getting him all wet and slippery. The groan that vibrated through his chest at that made your knees goes momentarily weak.

The faster you moved, the more some of his less human characteristics would take hold of him. Like his tail that whipped and twisted behind him, his lips pulling back and canine flashing in the dim light as if he was holding himself back from ramming them underneath your flesh and claiming ownership on you.

Neteyams hands were balled into fists on either side of your head as he held himself up against the glass. His knuckles white from how hard he was holding himself together not to touch you.

"Zun oen… [If i could]," he grit out between clenched teeth, "oel mìn nga io sì nga skien fìtseng. [I would turn you over and fuck you right here.] Oe would kä'ärìp fta nefma your 'ekxin tsongropx ulte teya si nga fa rina', tawtute. [I would force my knot into your tight hole and fill you with my seed, human.]"

Neteyam says all these words under his breath, low and guttural, in that fluid, lilting Na’vi tongue, and though the words mean nothing to you, the tone coils tight around your spine. It sounds like a plea. Or a warning. Maybe both.

You’re not sure which would be worse.

You might not understand the words he speaks, but your body understands the energy behind them. It’s like he’s fighting himself, like there’s something building inside him that he’s desperate to hold back— for your sake, or for his, you can’t be sure.

But you feel it.

God help you, you can feel it.

There’s a thick tissue of flesh that swells on the base of his cock and every time your fingers brush it, Neteyam makes a sound of pleasure. That must be his knot. It ensures successful breeding when a male and female Na’vi mate, locks them together for a period of time.

You use one of your hands to stroke him in an upward curve once more, while the other gentle massages the knot. Carefully you test for the right amount of pressure, watching out for any negative reaction as you feel it grow in your palm. The skin there is taut and feels hot to the touch, and you swallow thickly as the thought crosses your mind that this will eventually go inside his desired mate one day. A shiver runs through you when you can’t stop yourself from imagining it going inside you.

"Tsu‘sì," Neteyam breathes, so quietly you almost don’t hear him over the thundering of your own blood.

"H-Huh?" You stutter, your blush intensifying as you glance up and meet his half lidded and lust filled eyes.

"Close," he rasps, "I‘m— fuck, I’m so close."

His lips are back on your throat, not really kissing, just licking and sucking as if giving his mouth something to do or he‘ll loose himself in something else entirely. His tongue tickles and his salvia is hot and wet against your skin, but you will yourself to focus. Your grip around his cock tightens and your hand moves faster.

Soon, your strokes are becoming irregular and jerky. Neteyam’s shamelessly thrusting into your hands and when he shudders from head to toe, presses his slick forehead into your hair and swears in his native tongue, he finally comes over your hands in intense waves that makes you flinch and gasp. The ropes of cum that you manage to catch in your palm are thick and sticky and you watch as his cock throbs with his own heartbeat as more and more of it spurts into your hands.

Moments later and with a final, deep exhale, it stops then.

The whole room is spinning around you as reality settles in. You feel hot under your skin and damp between your thighs. Fuck. Fuck! You shouldn’t have—

But then, just as you’re about to wriggle free, before the weight of what you’ve just done crashes in full, Neteyam leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"Thanks for curing me, sevin [pretty]," he murmurs, low and dangerous, followed by a soft, knowing chuckle that sends your heart racing once more.

"A-As your doctor—" you start, voice trembling. Neteyam who seems rather unfazed by what just happened, ties the cord of his loincloth back into place before he tips your chin up with his finger. There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he grins at you. You almost miss the way his ears twitch as heavy footfall approaches the door.

"As my doctor," he says, voice smooth and steady, "you should probably look like you are doing your job. Look busy." The last words come out as a whispered command and you blink a few times to process them.

Your brows knit, confused, about to ask what the hell he means by that, when the metallic hiss of the security door behind you makes your blood run cold.

Before you can even react, he steps back, the heat of his body gone like a sudden gust of wind. His posture shifts instantly, expression wiped clean save for the sharp curve of a smirk still pulling at the corner of his mouth.

The door slams open.

Two, three guards flood into the room, all tense shoulders and scowls on their faces. They’re accompanied by two of the recombinant soldiers. You flinch instinctively, heart hammering, and hastily clasp your hands behind your back, trying to hide the trembling in your fingers and the cum still staining the inside of your palms. You internally cringe when you feel it drip to the floor behind your back and you pray that nobody will take notice of it.

When the recombinants step into the cell, they eye you warily, their noses twitching and for a moment, you hold your breath. But then they just walk past you.

"Sully. Hands up, you know the drill," one of them barks.

Neteyam lifts his arms with practiced ease, wrists exposed in surrender you didn’t expect from him. You’re not used to seeing him yield, if this even is that.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist. Not even a twitch. Just lets them slap the cuffs around his wrists, that grin never fading. They say something to you about the General wanting to speak with him personally, but your mind’s too clouded to process the details. It’s as if you’re acting on autopilot, simply nodding to whatever’s being said to you.

Then comes the second recombinant, slower, more cautious. He approaches with something in his hand that you recognize as a muzzle.

Neteyam’s smile falters just slightly when he sees it, not out of fear, but disdain. Still, he doesn’t fight when they wrap it around the lower half of his face and fasten it tightly behind his head. It’s not to silence him. You know that. It’s to stop him from biting.

You just watch, mute and stunned, as they lead him past you. Luckily, none of them pays you any attention now. They’re too focused on securing him like handlers with a dangerous animal.

Just before he crosses the threshold, Neteyam turns his head, golden eyes catching yours. And then he winks. He fucking winks at you. You don’t move. Can’t. Your limbs are rooted to the floor like they’ve forgotten how to function.

And then he’s gone.

Chapter 2

Your composure is a facade. 

He knows it. He knows it because he sees it. In the way your scowl falters just a fraction as you swirl colorful insults through velvet words and he finally bites back. In the way you push against him when he attempts to offer his help, because the basket you’re lugging is absurdly full, and yet you still let him walk you the rest of the way to the village. 

You snarl at him when he even attempts to correct your bow arm, and it used to make him flush with something sharp and ugly – envy, maybe? – because you didn’t have a problem with authority, he knows because you seem to take his fathers criticism’s just fine. When anyone else rectified you, you adjusted.

It was only ever a him problem, because when he corrected you, you hissed at him like his correcting hand was tipped with arrowheads and poisonous herbs. 

You had a problem with Nateyam.

As a teenager, it used to irk him to no end. As the first born son to the Olo'eyktan he was supposed to be a leader too, an authority that the clan respected and did not question because they trusted him enough to follow. But most importantly, he was supposed to get along with you. 

You– the daughter to the clan's most formidable warrior, his fathers right hand man. 

You– who did not listen. Who did not trust him. Who always–always–questioned him. 

It may as well have been written in the stars by Eywa herself that the two of you were fated to fold neatly into the same position as your father’s. And yet you resisted at every moment possible. You rebelled, and scowled, and cursed at the mere mention of his name. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with the Olo'eyktan's first born despite your role and that made it so exceedingly hard to get along with you. It left his skin flushing that embarrassingly dark purple colour which made his mother chuckle whenever he spoke of you. 

He tried to make sense of it. Of the way you rolled your eyes at his advice, or scowled every time the two of you were paired in training. He couldn’t recall doing anything wrong. Not really. You fought as normal children had, argued and competed as two eldest children to high ranking parents would, but it was nothing sharp enough to leave a lasting wound. Nothing that should have haunted him like this.

However, he wasn’t a young boy anymore and time had an ironic way of sanding things down. He noticed what once felt like a raw hatred you wore like a book written in some foreign sky-language, suddenly became much more legible as his years grew to start with a two, almost as if he learned how to annotate his memories of you with the clarity he lacked as a teen. 

He specifically remembers one time during communal dinner when you asked for the basket of fruit that sat just beyond your reach by the central fire, the one he sat closest to, and of course he picked it up and attempted to pass it, because why would he not? He also remembers the way you had slapped his hand away with a guttural scoff, almost as if he was ridiculous for even offering. The act had his brows furrowing, that familiar anger – the kind only you ever managed to draw out, boiling beneath his skin once again.

But it was only through the snickers of both your mother and his who had been watching the interaction intensely, that he noticed. You still took the basket. 

“Hey!” Your fathers voice rumbled from just to the left, “Play nice.” 

He’d imagine your father was probably less than impressed at his daughters rude mannerisms towards the Olo'eyktan's son – once again – but the reprimand softened almost immediately, soon chased by a low chuckle that started only after Neteyams own father attempted to hide a snicker of his own just beside your father.

They were leaning into one another, shoulders touching, Jake’s head tipped low as one hand, holding a piece of half bitten meat hung limply by his mouth, trying and failing to hide his laughs.

The nudges of your sister's elbow into your side was the last thing he remembered noticing, sharp and mocking but quickly followed by the way you finally shot her a look, warning her in that weird silent language he used to not understand, but one he was now starting to. Because you ate your fruit without ceremony, and your eyes trained forward in an attempt to not glance his way, yet the basket sat firmly within your hands, despite it.

That was when Neteyam stopped letting it irk him. When he realised why everyone else around him seemed to find that mean spirit you reserved only for him so humorous despite his distress. You were composed, yes, but he finally understood why. Your composure was a lie. 

And once it stopped irking him, once it settled into something he thought he understood, all the memories of you persistently adorning the scowl that seemed to exist only for him suddenly lost their bite. 

Which was why, standing across from you now, he didn’t brace for your signature, fang baring scowl. It was expected in a way that made him sigh with knowing fatigue, and yet a little bit of smugness all the same.

“Why must you always be so difficult?” The words surfaced in that defeated tone he reserved only for you and your impertinence for him. 

Your body shifted back and you leaned against your heels to glance over your shoulder at where he stood behind you. You were still kneeling over the stump of braided vines you had been meticulously shredding into winding fibres with your knife just moments ago. 

“I am not.” And there it was – that scowl he expected. “You just insist on hovering.”’

“We were sent out here to collect fibre together. You ‘insist’ on making it a one man job.”

You didn’t look at him again, instead, turning back to the vines, blade already resuming its steady work as if his presence were nothing more than a distraction you had already adjusted.

“I do not need a partner to cut fibre,” Your response was flat as if it were such an obvious observation, and then you sighed, a long drawn out exhale to yourself. “So ridiculous.” The scoff that followed was harsh and hidden under your breath.

Despite its low delivery, the scoff didn't slip Neteyam’s ear, and he raised an unassertive brow at what he thought he heard, the corner of his mouth tipping low in confusion. “What is?” 

The words hit you like a sudden gust, and with a growl that spoke as if you couldn't believe he dared asking, you quickly shot up with a whirl, tail whipping fast in your trail with a force Neteyam had to step back to avoid. Now you were facing him completely. “That our fathers insist on sending us out here together like we are still little children. I do not need a partner and I certainly do not need any partner of mine to be you.”

The words landed harsher than the scowl ever could. For a moment he only stared at you, really observing your features twisted with perplexed anger, yet comically softened by what he could only describe as almost a pout in your lip. He took in the way your stance squared, and the way your grip curled around the knife as if it were an extension of your arm rather than a honed tool.

You looked like a child.

“Right, you are not a child.” He said at last, voice level. “But maybe our fathers would not feel the need to treat you like one if you stopped acting as if.”

“Excuse me?” The grip on your knife tightened, wood creaking under the pressure of your grasp that almost splintered the wood. The corner of your mouth twitched up in that scowl that bared the top of your right fang to his watchful eyes, and your tone was so even it almost made him falter.  

Neteyam held his ground, though. And instead, he replied carefully in an attempt to diffuse that constantly building tension just a little, “You speak against me in every task, as if we haven’t been paired together since we were both old enough to hold a blade. If you wish to be met as an adult, you cannot bare your teeth at every word spoken to you, Fang.”

That age old nickname rolled smooth off his tongue but approached your ears like venom. Your ears pinned back flat against your skull and the muscles along your jaw tightened so hard you felt the throb of it.

Fang. You despised when he called you that. The way he reduced you to nothing but a sneer he so often deserved.

Your ears stayed pinned, chest rising with a slow drawn out breath that carried no warmth, and the barest edge of a laugh that held no humour. Your next words landing bitter and sour on your tongue.

“Perfect Olo'eyktan's son,” you murmured, “always so composed and responsible. Maybe I would enjoy my time with you more if Eywa hadn’t shaped you so stiff in the tail you forgot how to bend, Tawtute.”

For a heartbeat, the words hung between you like a knocked bowstring waiting to snap with release. Then Neteyam’s jaw tightened, because he always hating when you commented on the human in him, as if they made him less Navi. Less than you.

A Tawtute, a sky-person as if it were an insult. Spoken like a curse, when all he’d ever done was try to prove it wasn’t. He let the silence stretch a moment longer, before taking one deliberate breath to regulate his reeling thoughts, choosing to ignore your bait. Low hanging fruit as his father would call it.

“You forget how many times that stiffness kept you from getting hurt.”

You scoffed, turning back toward the vines, knife biting down harder than before. Fibres splitting unevenly, curling away beneath your hands. “I do not need to be helped by someone who can barely hold their bow arm high enough to knock an arrow. I do not listen to you.”

“Yeah,” Neteyam scoffed a humorless laugh, “You never do.”

He suddenly sank down into a squat then, finally turning his attention to the pile of finished fibres you had finished shredding and shoved aside. His hands were quick to gather a few filaments between his pointer and thumb, testing the strands between his fingers as he twisted the two together, before giving them a short, sharp tug. They held for one, and held for another as he stretched them further, then finally faltered with a snap as he pulled them taught enough.

His mouth twitched down. 

“You cut angry,” He observed with a growl. “Uneven. Wasteful.”

You spun once more, this time in your squatted position to meet him at eye level, the knife still gripped between your four fingers almost as a threat. “You waste them with your stupidity! Of course they break when you only weave two fibres!”

“They need to be thick enough for bowstrings, to hold knocked arrows in new bows.” He countered. 

You sneered with a slight hiss, leaning further into him. “Then don’t use them.”

“Oh no, I will.” He smirked, as he finally began his job, looping the fibres together once again, securing them with practiced ease. “Someone has to make sure we don’t come back empty-handed.”

You shot him a glare. “I said I do not need your-”

“You do not need my help,” He finished for you, clearly way too amused now. “I know. You’ve said it at least five times since we left the clearing.” 

He leant closer as he spoke, not directly into your space, but just enough that you had to shift your stance to keep working without him intruding. His looming shadow falling over the stump you worked on, over your hands and the blade that suddenly seemed to falter under a different kind of pressure now.

“And yet,” he continued, eyes never leaving the strands as he calmly coiled the fibres, “you keep cutting while I bind. Funny how that works.”

You stopped your movements, sending him a glare out the side of your eye that had your lashes feeling heavy and jaw slightly agape.

“Get out of my way.” You spat, but it was as if you couldn’t convey the weight of anger you meant to land. Your tone was weak and almost a little desperate.

“You always rush when you are angry,” he ignored your demand - if it could even be called that - with a tone that was almost conversational. “Your tail gives you away.”

Your eyes flashed with the realisation that he even been looking long enough to notice your tells, and your cheeks suddenly flared with something warm and hot that turned you a darker shade of purple.

“Stop watching me, Tawtute.” This time your voice really did sound more desperate.

“I can’t." He smirked, as if it were so obvious. “You make it difficult.” 

You were close enough to see the faint curve of that infuriating smile he loved to wear, and to feel the heat of him that radiated the smug confidence you knew he wore like a headpiece.

Years of success at keeping him as far away as one could be from someone they worked with on a near daily basis, you felt had suddenly dwindled into an endless array of interactions in which he always manages to dominate the conversation. Reduced to this. To the way he always stood too close now, and spoke too smugly, as if he had suddenly decided that he finally had you all figured out.

“You know,” despite your lack of response, he broke the silence, voice dipping just enough to grate, “for someone who insists she doesn’t listen to me, you react an awful lot when I speak.”

“Because you are provoking me!” You snapped in a low growl. 

“You glare like you are about to strike me." He replied, entirely too amused.

“Lucky I’m working, because you would deserve it if I did.” You spat the words in a pathetic cry, and suddenly it felt like you were deficient of every insult you had ever known, reduced to the same childish fury you’d sworn you’d outgrown.

“Oh are you? Wouldn’t have guessed with you looking at me like a Yerik in firelight.” 

Eywa, if you didn’t look angry before. “Neteyam!” This time, you hissed it like a venomous mantra, fangs bared and legs snapping up to your full height as you leaned into his space, close enough to let the words bite the air. Your ears pinned sharp against your braids, and his jaw set as he met your glare without yielding, tension pulling tight between you like that drawn bowstring–

“Oh good, you’re fighting again.”

A sudden unexpected third voice had both your heads spinning towards the break in the clearing just a few yards East, where a very unimpressed Lo’ak tread carelessly down the path with a barely-contained giggling Kiri besides him. Kiri moved with a balled fist pressed against her pursed mouth, supported by an arm crossed along her chest in an attempt to hide her amusement. 

“It’s more like flirting again.” The words Kiri muttered were small and meek but Eywa, if they didn’t hit large.

Both you and Neteyam froze at the intrusion, then stilled at the implication, a beat passing before you each stepped back in the same beat of time. He rose to his feet far too quickly besides you, your own eyes blown wide in something too closely resembling horror, while Neteyam merely rolled his eyes, tired and resigned, straightening back into the perfect son like a it was second nature once more. 

“Stop being a skxawng, Lo’ak–.”

“–We are not flirting, Kiri.” 

The words collided in the air, yours to Kiri a hiss and his to Lo’ak a sigh, overlapping with a defensive tilt that had the other two chuckling harder.

Lo’ak’s mouth twitched. “Wow." He stated. “Touched a sensitive nerve.”

And Neteyam, the all mighty responsible son he is, didn’t reach for the bait Lo'ak hung so low for him, instead, he crossed his arms with a sigh at his unexpected presence. “What are you doing here?”

The answer came before either of them could speak, as a sudden fifth voice came echoing from the brush of leaves. A small, blurred figure soon came dashing out of the treeline, making a b-line straight towards the centre of the clearing in a full stumbling sprint, heading directly towards where you stood in a pout next to Neteyam. 

“Dad said to come get you two because you’re taking too long!”

Kiri and Lo’ak's eyes grew wide. And with a quick exchanged glance of horror, at the same time they barked. “Tuk!” 

But she ran right past them, as if their voices fell silent to the wind.

Lo’ak lunged forward, catching her by the arm just before she could skid to a stop at your feet. The glare he sent her sharp and immediate enough to make her shrink in on herself, ears drooping as she braced for the scolding she knew was soon to come.

“Dad told us to come get them,” He corrected, gesturing between himself and Kiri. “That wasn’t an invitation to follow.”

Tuk's round eyes glint up with that innocent reasoning you just couldn't deny, her pupils glossing over as she pouted heavy in protest and twisted her head to look at you and Neteyam.

“But Dad said you’ve been out here alone long enough!”

Tuk protested, twisting free of Lo’ak’s grip with a determined wriggle and darting straight to you. The moment she was within your range, she grabbed your forearm with both of hers, tugging urgently as she looked up with those wide, worried eyes.

“He told mom that if you and Neteyam keep fighting like this, you’ll probably end up at the Tree of Souls by tonight!” She paused, then her voice pitched higher with pure betrayal. “But you can’t! You promised you’d help me braid my new beads tonight!”

For a heartbeat, the clearing went unnervingly still. You stared still as stone down at Tuk, mortification burning hot beneath your skin at the implication that flew right over her head but knocked you right up yours instead. And besides you, Neteyam fared no better, looking as if the world had briefly knocked him off balance too, His eyes widening just enough to betray him before he could pull himself back together. 

In stark contrast just a ways away, Lo’ak let out a sharp bark of laughter, doubling over with his grip on Kiri's arm, just as she finally outright lost the battle she’d been silently fighting, turning away from the set of two dazed and angered eyes with a hand clamped over her mouth.

She shook with quiet, uncontrollable cackles, restraint entirely gone, fed by the matching looks of mortification plastered across both your faces. The two of you looked ridiculous.

And Tuk, sweet innocent Tuk, oblivious to the chaos her words had detonated in the once silent clearing, glared up at Neteyam's shell-shocked face with furrowed brows and that pouty sneer.

“Stupid Neteyam.” She declared, voice ringing with righteous indignation. “You can’t take Y/N anywhere today. Eywa heard it - she’s with me today!”

She punctuated the proclamation with the scrunch of her nose and a quick, defiant flick of her tongue, poked in his direction.

For a split second, Neteyam only stared at her, still caught somewhere between the weight of what had just been said and the very real presence of his little sister. Then he blinked, jaw tightening as the annoyingly-older brother instinct finally won out over shock. With a sharp, almost automatic motion, he reached out and pinched her tongue between his fingers. An act that had Tuk squealing and flailing in protest.

“Oi!”  Tuk yelped, recoiling instantly, clutching her tongue with a gasp.

Neteyam let the sound settle before he spoke. He shot you a brief, weary glance, as if checking whether you’d reacted at all, then turned back to his sister, composure sliding firmly back into place. His voice level and measured with a delicate care he reserved specifically for her.

“That is entirely enough out of you. Someone needs to give you a lesson about eavesdropping." He glanced back at his brother and sister, motioning a hand to the two still giggling. "Time to take you home before we all get scolded.”

Tuk’s ears drooped immediately, shoulders curling inward as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers still hovering protectively near her mouth. She opened her lips as if to argue, then thought better of it, gaze flicking between Neteyam and the ground with exaggerated remorse.

That was when Lo’ak scoffed, the tension finally cracking as he straightened, still grinning as he shouted. “He's right, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come on, teylupil.”

He didn’t wait for her to comply, instead walking to grab her, planting two steady hand on each of her shoulders, then began steering her away with decisive finality, already turning her toward the path before she could wriggle free.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Tuk protested.

“Tell it to dad.” Lo’ak laughed.

Tuk craned her neck back toward you one last time as Lo’ak dragged her away, voice pitching higher with urgency. “Y/n, don’t forget-!”

“I know,” you cut in quickly, not turning, the words tossed over your shoulder like a promise already made.

Kiri lingered a heartbeat longer. Her gaze flicked between you and Neteyam, something quiet and knowing glinting behind her eyes as her mouth twitched with barely restrained amusement. You caught it quickly, and shut it down even quicker, face smoothing into neutrality as you turned away, dropping back into a crouch before the stump as if nothing had been disturbed at all.

The knife was in your hand again before the clearing could settle.

“We will collect the threads and follow.” Your voice came out flat and deliberately ungiving, spoken without fault or the slightest fracture they were clearly waiting to see. Whatever reaction they had hoped to draw from you never came, your expression smoothed into something unreadable as if nothing at all had happened in the last few minutes.

When he didn't get it from you, Lo’ak shot his attention to Neteyam with a long, assessing look, like he was waiting for the reaction you refused to give. When he found nothing but the faint quirk at the corner of Neteyam’s mouth, he huffed a quiet laugh and finally grabbed Kiri by the arm, tugging her along with him toward the start of the winding path back to the village . “Dad’s pissed.” He called over his shoulder. “Try not to be too long.”

The brush swallowed them soon after, laughter and murmured whispers dissolving into the low hum of the forest. And then the clearing fell still again.

You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shoulders rolling as the tension finally bled off. Remembering yourself, you turned back to the stump, your hands moved quickly now, rough and efficient, gruffly snatching clumps full of fibre from the scattered pile. You stuffed them into the woven basket Neteyam had brought, as if keeping busy might quiet everything still coiled tight beneath your skin.

For a moment, Netayem watched. It almost seemed like that armored composure of yours was taut as rigid as usual, as if nothing in the last five minutes had made you falter for even a moment. To anyone else, maybe, it did appear as so, but he knew you well enough to see the way your jaw clenched so tight he’d envisioned you cracking a molar, and the harsher than necessary grip in your fingers as you haphazardly tossed the fibre around. Not to mention the stutter in your tail’s path, the tell he’d learned long ago as the one that always surfaced when you were lying.

It left him releasing a chuckle he couldn't contain, a deep, rumbling sound which made your ears twitch sideways in annoyance. You paused in your frantic movements, head snapping to the side in a motion which left your glowing amber eyes glaring daggers at his towering form. 

“What?” You spat, tired, irritated and painfully obvious to him – embarrassed.

“Still upset about what Kiri said?"

Your jaw clenched, fangs peeking as you whipped fully around to face him, rising to your full height at the implication. The basket thumped forgotten at your feet as the tension tipped to a peak beyond your capacity, and you stalked towards him with an almost predatory sway. 

"I am not angry about that ridiculous–” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collected a breath of humid air, allowing it to sit in your lungs before releasing in a desperate attempt to somewhat self-regulate. “Do not flatter yourself, Tawtute. Flirting? With you? I'd sooner make Tsaheylu with a thanator."

His eyes gleamed with mischief, but it wasn’t the boyish, innocent kind he wore when messing with his siblings. This one was the kind he wore only where you were involved, deliberate and cocky, slipping neatly beneath the cracks in your composure because he knew where to press. 

The careful, responsible mask he wore all the time loosened just enough to reveal the tease underneath, a glimpse of something warmer and far more dangerous than his jabs at you ever were. He didn’t crowd you with his body so much as he crowded you with his unyielding certainty, leaning in just the smallest amount, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in the a dark room rather than under the open light of tree canopies.

“Funny,” He murmured, and Eywa, the way he said it made your spine want to curl. “Your tail is flicking like it does when you lie. And you react so much when I get close, almost as if... as if you enjoy it.”

Heat hit you so fast it was humiliating, up your neck, across your cheeks, down your chest - anger and something you refused to name twisting together until you couldn’t tell which was which. Your hand shoved into his chest on instinct, a firm press meant to reassert space, meant to remind him you were not something to be read and teased apart like the vines beneath your knife.

But his skin under your palm was solid and warm, his breath even, his posture maddeningly steady. You hated that he didn’t move. You hated that the push didn’t become a shove, that your body betrayed you with restraint and a split-second hesitation that had nothing to do with strength. Your pulse seemed to jump when he watched you like this.

“Back off,” You snapped instead, aiming for venom and getting something too light, too strained. You lifted your chin as if height alone could restore your pride. “I don not enjoy anything about you hovering like a skxawng who thinks he is Eywa’s gift to the clan.”

Neteyam didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, the gold in them catching the filtered light until they looked almost feral. The smirk was gone and in its place was something colder as he took one slow step forward, crowding you until the basket handle dug into your hip and the scent of him, warm skin, crushed leaves, the faint sweat from the summer heat, filled every breath.

“Gift?” He repeated, voice quiet and flat, the kind of quiet that made your spine prickle. “I am the one stuck dragging your half-finished work back to the village every time you storm off. That sound like a gift to you?”

Something in his words snapped the tension in a way that almost had a stifled laugh escaping you. The image of perfect Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, the ever-responsible son, trudging behind you with a basket full of your messy fibers and a everpresent moping frown to match struck you as absurdly funny considering he was the one who always offered to do it anyways. That short, sharp laugh escaped before you could stop it, low and mocking, cutting through the thick air between you.

“Poor you.” You sang, voice dripping with false sympathy as the anger flipped into something crueler and entirely more enjoyable. “All that dragging must be so exhausting for such meek shoulders to carry.”

His eyes narrowed, the feral glint sharpening into irritation, but you were already moving. You jerked the basket from where it pressed against your hip and shoved it hard into his front, the woven edge leaving him doubling slightly from the sudden jab to his ribs, a smack that landed with a satisfying thud.

A few loose fibers fluttered to the ground as he stumbled back a few steps and caught the basket on reflex, fingers curling tight around the rim. The motion finally giving you the space you longed to breathe once again.

“There,” You said, stepping back with a grin that showed too many teeth. “Problem solved. You can carry it all the way home anyways, like the dutiful son you are. Try not to strain yourself complaining about it later.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, his ears pinning back flat against his skull. The feral edge in his eyes flared hotter, and for a second you thought he might actually snap, toss the basket aside and give you the fight you both pretended you didn’t want.

Instead, he gripped the handle tighter, knuckles paling and barked, “Fnawe’tu skxawng!”

The insult landed far too humorously for you to care, Instead you tilted your head back with an overly delighted smirk, very amused by his irate slurs and the way his facade cracked. “You call me the stubborn idiot? But you carry the basket anyway. Funny how that works?”

He exhaled through his nose, blood boiling at the way you managed to throw his earlier words back at him. The sound was almost a growl, and he took one deliberate step onto the path after you. “Start walking, Fang. The sooner we get back, the sooner I am rid of you for the day.”

“Perfect!" You grinned, but the grin quickly dropped. "Twelve whole hours before you find another excuse to follow me around tomorrow.”  You barely glanced back to see if he was following when you took off towards the village, because you already knew he was.

The clearing was loud with voices and laughter, bodies packed close as food and weapons were passed around in uneven circles, and it felt like the whole village had decided to breathe in the same place at once.

Someone had dragged a fresh kill in not long ago and the smell still hung in the air, mingling with roasted meat, crushed herbs, and the faint sting of smoke from the fire that kept getting fed as if it might swallow the night. Nets of fruit were being unknotted and handed off, cups passed between hands, blades checked and re-sheathed in the same idle rhythm people used when they were safe enough to relax but still too wound up to sit still.

You were wedged between a few of your friends near the edge of one of the many circles, packed close enough that their shoulders kept bumping yours when someone laughed too hard or shifted in their seat. Ki’tiri had been retelling an exaggerated recall of her day on patrol, her eyes gleaming with irate exasperation as she animatedly spoke of the moment Lo’ak decided to start throwing stones out of boredom, nearly nailing Mo’at on the head from the overhang.

Tuk sat too. She had found you the moment you settled onto the woven mat, darting straight to your side to claim her usual spot and spend her evening meal with you instead of her siblings or friends. It's something that had become so common during communal mealtimes that your friends had come to expect the young Sully girl attaching herself to your side like a second tail. It was as if the decision had been made somewhere in her head and the rest of the world simply had to accept it, and now she perched happily at your side like she belonged there.

Her small hand gripped your wrist with the possessive certainty only children had, and she fidgeted with the jewels decorated across your fingers, twisting the woven strands carefully as if she were inspecting treasure. The beads you’d braided fresh not even a few weeks before clinked softly each time she moved, and every now and then she would lean her head against your arm and sigh, pleased with herself like she’d taken down a Thanator.

“Will you make these for me too?” She asked – more like stated – for what had to be the third time tonight, thumb brushing the tiny knotwork with awe.

“When you stop trying to steal mine..” You murmured back, and she grinned, utterly unbothered by the threat.

You let yourself settle into it for a moment, letting the noise wash over you because it was easier than thinking after long days training, because nights like this were meant to feel simple and unwinding. You were halfway through listening to your friend complain about yet another act of stupidity Lo’ak had attempted on their patrol together, when Tuk’s fingers suddenly stilled on your ring, halting and tightening hard enough that the movement forced you to glance down at the girl with a concerned furrow of your brow.

“What?” You muttered, eyeing her of an answer before she spoke it.

Tuk’s eyes flicked past you toward the centre of the clearing, eyeing something in the distance that left you searching the vicinity in hopes of catching the focus of her gaze. Her mouth fell slightly, an almost angered look settling across her face before she scoffed, turning back to you in a huff that had her drawing closer. 

“Neteyam is with that noisy woman again. An’aya.” 

She spat the name in that high-pitched mocking tone children did, and at first, you didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. But something in your chest tightened all the same, small and sadistic, as if it even mattered at all.

You followed Tuk’s gaze without meaning to, your eyes slipping past the firelight and moving bodies until they found him almost instinctively. Neteyam sat just beyond the centre of the clearing, leaned back against a stack of supply crates, relaxed in the way you only ever saw when he was amongst people he trusted, his shoulders were loose and his attention tilted toward the woman beside him.

An’aya was speaking animatedly, hands moving as she spoke and laughed so easily, and Neteyam had angled himself toward her without thinking, one knee bent beside his chest, head dipped slightly so he could hear her better over the noise.

It irked you. And it irked you more that it even irked you in the first place. Because you hated him. You told yourself it irked you because you hated that he was enjoying himself. Right. Of course. 

But the irritation still sat heavy and ugly in your chest, coiling tighter the longer you watched, and you hated that too, hated that your attention wouldn’t let it go, and that your mood had soured so fast despite being so fine just a moment ago.

There was no reason for it. None that made sense. You hated that stuck up tawtute more than anyone else and you argued with him so much you made a sport out of it. So why did your chest tighten when he didn't brush away the hand she put on his shoulder?

Tuk noticed the shift in your mood right away. Her nose wrinkled as her grip tightened again and she leaned in closer, glaring openly now.

“I don’t like her,” she muttered, voice fierce and final. “She talks too much. And she sits too close to Neteyam. And she laughs at his jokes even when they’re not funny.”

You attempted for even a minuscule moment to draw yourself back, to brush it away and forget it ever made you feel anything by resorting to your usual self regulation habits – insulting the man.

“Nothing Neteyam says is funny.” But not even that seemed to work to calm you because that irrationally confusing feeling still clawed at your chest.

“That’s not true,” Tuk called out immediately, tilting her small face up at you with those wide eyes. “You laugh at him all the time! Just not when he’s looking.” She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something hurt and almost bordering a whine. “He’s supposed to sit with us.”

“That is not how this works,” You snapped too quick, eyes diverting from the scene to pick up another piece of utumauti fruit as if it never bothered you.

Tuk’s eyes rolled at the response she should have predicted. She never understood why you acted so weird about it, when it was obvious to her that you liked her brother, because that was just what people did when they liked someone. They got weird and sharp and pretended they didn’t. She hadn't seen it very often, but she knew it because that was what you and Neteyam did.

Your friends had gone quiet at the sudden stir occurring just beside them. Ki’tiri quickly noticed the shift in your mood. She tilted her head, studying you now with open curiosity.

“Why are you angry?” She asked plainly. “Did he do something again?”

“No." You replied stark, and then more sharply, “How could he? Neteyam is all the way over there.”

Ki’tiri exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the friends beside you. “I didn't even mention his name." And the corner of her mouth lifted as a chorus of light giggles sung around the circle. You answered with a quick, harsh warning glare, a motion that had the laughs slowly dying but the smiles still lingering in a knowing gleam.

Ki’tiri leaned in again, allowing you the dignity to stop her teasing, feeling almost a little bad at how astoundingly purple you looked.

"You’re getting upset,” She stated simply and not unkindly. “You do that only where Neteyam is involved.”

“I am not upset.” You snapped, already too far gone for that to be convincing. “And he is not involved. I have been sat here, and he has been there this entire time.” The lie hung heavy and brittle as you clicked your tongue.

"Yeah, sat with that healer girl." Mikatxi interjected low and humoured.

Your chest tightened, sharp and sudden, like the threads Neteyam pulled too taut in the woods. Before you could bite it back, the denial tore out of you, louder than intended and edged with fury.

“I do NOT care who he sits with!” You hissed, voice cracking on the volume. “He can sit in her lap for all the stars in the sky care! I would not notice if Eywa herself told me!”

“What is going on!?”

The voice carried across the fire, calm but accusatory, and edged with something that made the fine hairs along your arms rise. Neteyam hadn’t stood, he hadn’t even moved from his spot. But he had leaned forward with a watchful, almost concerned eye, braids swinging low and hand hanging off his elevated thigh as he observed with what you knew as stupidly disingenuous concern.

The way he intervened like he was preparing for the role of Olo'eyktan burned you, as if he thought he could snuff any simmering flame with his big, proud words because his blood said so. 

And that wasn’t even the problem. The problem was that An’aya followed his gaze immediately, curiosity sparking as she turned to see what had drawn his attention, blinking and glancing between the two of you, clearly lost by why he interrupted her mid sentence.

That alone was enough to make your teeth grind. Because what was your relationship with that skxawng any of her business.

“We’re fine. You called back, sharper than necessary, your eyes not even bothering to glance his way once. “Try having your own conversations instead of monitoring everyone else, tawtute.”

Neteyam’s mouth tightened just slightly at the insult, a breath leaving him slow and measured as if he were counting to three in his head. He didn’t rise, not yet. Only tipped his chin and let a quick “Eywa help me,” fall to the air before pushing himself to his feet at last.

He crossed the space between you in a way that had your fist tightening in anticipation for yet another argument, only fueled by the image of An’aya hot on his heels like a second tail of his own, close enough to the boy that it felt intentional whether it was or not. Tuk sat up, planting herself more firmly at your side like a guard animal half her size.

“I said we are fine,” you warned as he stopped in front of you, too close now as your friends ogled at the scene, ready for yet another brawl between the two of you.

“And I said I was just asking,” he replied, voice calm but firm, eyes searching your face like he could read something there if he looked hard enough. “You are upset.”

“Right,” You went on before he could answer, sputtering a short sudden laugh but your tone held no humour. “I forgot I am only allowed to feel something once you have approved of it first. I forgot I need my lenensip wolf to tail me through the village and make sure I’m behaving. Shall you go report my mood back to our fathers now?”

A few people nearby stilled outright at the sudden outburst, the weight of the scene landing harder than a simple insult. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, his calm finally straining at the edges.

“That is not what I am doing.” He said, lower now and tone measured like he was choosing every word with treading precision. “You know I do not–”

“You do!" Your outburst came hard against his sentence, not having the patience nor heart to hear his excuses. “I sneeze too sharply and it is enough to call a clan council with our fathers! Tell them to rest easy, golden son. I am not about to start a war over one evening meal.”

Neteyam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself. “Well, you don’t have to turn everything I say into a fight.”

“And you don’t have to turn everything I do into your problem to solve. The mantle still sits on your fathers head, you are allowed to have a personality until then.”

An overdramatically long groan suddenly sounded to the left of you, and both your eyes snapped over to Tuks exaggeratingly agitated from, as she sighed in that childish way she did.

“Stop fighting!” she begged, voice whiny with pure childish exasperation. “You guys always pretend like you don't want to talk, and then Neteyam comes and you fight forever, and he won’t leave you alone, and you won't tell him to go away, and it's annoying!"

“Tuk!” Both you and Neteyam barked simultaneously, horror gleaming in both of your eyes because that was so obviously not true!

“That is what happens,” she insisted stubbornly. "You do it all the time.”

"No!" You rejected. "We argue because he hovers!"

An’aya, from the shadow of Neteyam’s shoulder, suddenly appeared forward, finally establishing her presence with a smile that was not wide nor warm, but enough to show she was not very fond of the girl her friend had been talking to.

"Maybe, if we did not worry about what you might do next, Neteyam would not be expected to hover and act like Olo’eyktan already."

Your head turned slowly toward her, blood finally boiling to that point only Neteyam’s presence could push it to. Because who was she to imply you were a burden he had to shoulder, a mess he had to trail behind and fix every time you dared to exist too loudly? And especially who did she think she was, inserting herself into Neteyam’s problems as if they were her own. ‘if we did not worry’ — as if she had any right to speak for the frustration he supposedly felt?

“Oh,” you started, the word soft but sharp enough to startle, “is that your healer’s wisdom speaking, or are you only borrowing the golden son’s voice while he is too busy ogling to use it himself?”

Your gaze snapped to Neteyam, fury bright and uncontained now that this girl he had dragged to your circle had suddenly felt all too comfortable insulting you in front of all your friends.

“Maybe our fathers should stick her as your new training partner since she is already so good at handling me. My guard dog has a guard dog.”

Neteyam stiffened. “Enough.”

But you didn't stop. “Is this what you tell people about me?”

Neteyam opened his mouth to speak, visibly caught off guard by the sudden accusation.

“That is not–” he started for the umpteenth time but again you didn’t let him finish.

“I would think you respected me even a little, enough, considering all my father has done for you and your family. But you let your women speak to me like I am beneath you.” You scoffed softly, the sound carrying just far enough to be heard.

“A leader, they say you will be.” you continued, words mocking. “Tell me how this is keeping the peace. Seems your peace is built on my silence. Both your peace and our fathers.”

You rose without haste, the motion deliberate enough that the space around you seemed to shift with it. The ground felt steady beneath your feet, solid in a way your chest had not been for the last several breaths, and for the first time that night you welcomed the clarity that came with deciding to leave rather than be dismissed.

“Y/n, no– please don’t be mad,” Tuk whined, the plea tumbling out of her in a rush as she reached for you, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist but failing to catch hold. Her face pinched with genuine worry. "I didn't mean to make it worse."

“You didn't,” you said shortly. “This is not on you, Tuk.”

And then you turned and left without a word, the sudden absence of your presence cutting through the clearing sharper than any insult you had ever sent him, and for the first time Neteyam did not know whether you were just angry or actually hurt by what had happened.

It was confusing because you had never let any interaction between the two of you get to you like this, yet now that you had chosen distance in place of where you would usually just choose name calling, he couldn’t help the feeling like he’d missed something far too important while it was happening.

The noise resumed all too quickly behind you, laughter reclaiming the air as if nothing had shifted at all, but he stayed where he was, unease settling low in his chest as he watched your retreating form saunter away, hips swaying with jolting anger and body tempting his eyes to never shift.

He didn’t know when he started noticing things like that. The way your hips rolled as you walked, the flex of the muscles along your thighs with each step, and the way the line of your back shifted as you moved.

It sat wrong that he noticed these things about you, because he didn’t notice them on anyone else. More than anything else, the fact that you hadn’t looked back sat even worse. And the fact that he felt that hollow pull, tight and wrenching in his chest because of it, sat the worst of all.

“At least don't have to worry about watching her anymore." An’aya’s voice cut in beside him, light and coaxing, like she was trying to pull him back by the wrist.

Neteyam nodded absently, already half elsewhere, the hollow feeling in his chest refusing to settle. Even as he turned back toward the fire, his attention lagged behind, tethered not to the laughter or the conversation resuming around him, but to the quiet space you’d left behind. To the quiet, unwelcome understanding that this time, you hadn’t walked away to cool off – you had walked away because he had apparently crossed a line he didn’t even realise he was dancing.

One delicate, purposeful step after the other. Neteyam watched your sultry hips as they worked against the motion of your legs, swaying against the gracefully deliberate rhythm of your strut. Every step was intentional, not a single wasted motion and certainly no hesitation, each one drawing a slow, tightening circle around him. You eyed him like prey and circled him like a predator. 

He, too, circled your figure. Less graceful in his approach, his steps heavier and more grounded, but just as analytical with his eyes all the same. He told himself he tracked your figure because he had to, that he noticed how dangerously alluring you looked in your stride because he was being tactical, certainly not because he found it mesmerising.

Partnered again. You almost rolled your eyes had it not been for the undivided attention you had on his solid figure. You had your suspicions that they were doing it on purpose now, because whenever given the opportunities, your fathers paired the two of you like it was something written into the roots of the forest itself. As if Eywa refused to separate you.

Jake’s voice cut through the air before either of you could make a move.

“Enough posturing,” he barked from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unimpressed. “This isn’t a mating dance. Someone's going to have to make a move soon enough. Engage.”

The command barely left Jake’s mouth before you moved.

You didn’t rush him all at once because that was never your style. You shifted your weight and pivoted to your right instead, just as your tail came down with a sharp snap to the left, a deliberate ploy to feint him around you with sound. Neteyam stuttered for a moment, nearly diving left and falling for the bait, but caught himself immediately, because of course he did. His jaw tightened as he corrected, blocking you by widening his stance, shoulders settling into a space much larger than you had accounted for.

You collided with his chest anyway, steadying yourself with a tight hand clamped around his forearm. It was successful, but your proximity to Neteyam left you vulnerable to an open hand palm against your shoulder, knocking you a step back. It was a warning shot, not meant to land hard, but it angered you all the same.

“Good feint, Y/n. Nice recovery, Neteyam.” Jake called out. 

Your eyes never pivoted from Neteyam, but Jake's words riled you further, knowing he got praise for the first hit. 

"Is that all you have?" You taunted, circling again, your breath steady despite the fire igniting in your veins. "Afraid to hit me for real, golden boy?"

Neteyam’s ears flicked at your taunt, but his expression stayed infuriatingly calm. He rolled the shoulder you’d nearly landed on earlier, circling with you, mirroring your steps like he’d memorized every rhythm you’d ever moved to.

“Would not want to mess up that pretty face.”

You bared your teeth in a hiss at his words, fangs bared and all, as the implication of them did not evade you. The idea that you were to feminine to fight, bullshit. It was bait, you knew it deep within, and yet you lunged for it all the same.

You dropped low, striking dirty with a sweeping leg that made contact with his ankles while your hands aimed for his torso. He leaped back, but you were faster, twisted in the air and raking your manicured claws down his ribs just to watch him hiss. You landed in a crouch behind him, tail lashing with triumph at the hit but he countered instantly, arm hooking yours, using your momentum to flip you over his hip but you held tightly, and this time you both went down. You snapped right to the ground, landing with a splat and a breathy groan, caged beneath him as his braids fell around your face like a curtain.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes dropping to your mouth, “keep rubbing up on me like that and people may talk.” 

Damn his Sully tongue and their dirty human minds. Only they – only he, were rash enough to say such vulgar words.

Heat flared in your face, nothing else but pure rage, and you answered with a growl, driving your knee up sharp between his legs. Not hard enough to hurt, you think, but just enough to make him block instinctively and give you room to twist. You both rolled again, a tangle of limbs and snarls across the dirt, kicking up dust around you until you came out to a stop, this time you were on top, straddling his waist, thighs clamped tight, hands slamming his wrists into the dirt beside his head.

“I will kill you!”

Neteyam’s eyes blazed up at you, all traces of amusement gone. His ears pinned flat against his skull, jaw clenched so tight you saw the muscle jump. He bucked hard beneath you, trying to throw your weight, muscles straining as he fought your hold.

“Get. off. of. me.” He snarled, voice low and dangerous through his squirms against you, wrists twisting against your grip. “Why must you always turn it into this?”

You dug your nails in deeper, refusing to budge, chest heaving with anger. “You started it with your filthy mouth. Think you can say whatever you want and I will just take it?”

He arched again, harder this time, nearly unseating you from his lap and you slid to settle on his chest. His breath came in harsh pants now, struggling under the weight of you on his lungs, but his eyes still burned up at you with pure defiance.

The shift gave him a perfect view of you, sweaty and furious as you loomed above him, your braids wild, chest heaving and skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. A deep flush crept up his neck and face at the sight, dark purple blooming across his cheeks and he prayed to Eywa it looked like it was from a lack of air to everyone watching.

“I’m trying to win a damn spar, not deal with your tantrum. Yield!” He said through short breaths.

“Force me, tawtute,” you hissed, grinding your knees harder into his sides. “Or keep dancing for your sempul like the skxawng you are.”

His face darkened at that, a fresh wave of fury rolling off him. He surged up with a grunt, flipping you both violently, dust flying as you grappled, elbows and knees jabbing, fangs baring and hisses sounding like a tussle of five years olds. He landed a sharp elbow to your ribs and you answered with by snatching at his long swinging kuru braid and tugging at it, pinning him for a split second before you broke free with a snarl.

The spar had turned ugly so fast, no one had time to register what it was until it already had become it. There was no technique left, just primitive fighting and petty aggression mixed with ragged breaths and dirt covered bodies, every strike fueled by years of built-up resentment.

And Jake’s was done watching it.

"That's enough!" Jake barked again, rubbing a tired hand down his face before turning to you both with an outstretched arm that sliced downward in a sharp, commanding swing. "Eywa ngahu, it was funny at first, cute even, when you two were teens and it didn't matter. But by Eywa, you're adults now. You have responsibilities and the clan is going to depend on you." His voice was so demanding and final, it had you cowering in your skin. 

The authority in his voice pinned you both in place. Only two men in this world could make you feel small like this, your father, and Jake Sully.

"I'm sorry, sir," Neteyam spoke with a breathy compliance, eyes trained downwards in a way that almost left you scoffing at how pathetic he looked, at how quickly he folded under the pressure of his father despite talking so big against you moments ago, and it took everything in you not to roll your eyes while being lectured by his father about acting mature.

So, you muttered through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir," forcing the words out while fighting every instinct that screamed at you to glare at Neteyam instead of Jake.

Jake’s gaze flicked between you. “You two are going to be the leaders of this clan some day.” 

As he spoke the words, there was a pause as he immediately noticed the sudden way the two of you began shifting apart, blue faces crawling into flushed purple ones. It only took him another moment to realise the implication of his words, and he saw it. Of course he saw it. Eywa, the two of you couldn’t even look at each other at an implication he didn’t even mean!

Realization dawned on his face, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "And this – this right here – is exactly what I mean. Every little thing between you turns into a problem. You don’t know how to keep things contained when it’s the two of you.”

He jabbed a finger toward Neteyam. "You will be Olo'eyktan one day." Then the finger swung to you. "And you will be the clan's head warrior. His right hand. His most trusted." Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sooner or later, you have got to get along. The People need to see unity, not... whatever the hell this is." 

He said the line so defeatedly, as if his two greatest proteges had become his two biggest failures in that moment, and it left you deflating in embarrassment at the notion that your rivalry with his son had turned into something beyond comprehensive words. Instead, reduced to “hell”, to some weird sky people word, that's what you were deduced to. 

Shameful. 

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. You stared at the ground, heat crawling up your neck, wishing the woven walkway would just open and swallow you whole because it was almost like your own father had just admitted that you were acting a fool. 

Jake Sully, the man who appeared in nearly every childhood memory, who raised you almost as his own in the proximity of your father and their strict training regimes, was sighing down at you and his idiot son with the same weary frustration. And you knew he didn’t mean it cruelly. This was that strange sky-people thing he did when he slipped into what he described as his “military” tone, meant to correct rather than offend, but it didn’t make the cut hurt less deep.

Then you heard it, the tiniest huff of breath from Neteyam’s direction. Not quite a laugh, but close enough, and it had you glancing up at him with the scowl you reserved only for him.

Neteyam wasn’t looking at his father anymore. He was looking right at you, glaring through the corner of his limp braids, head still hung low as one side of his mouth twitched upward in that infuriating half-smirk he saved just for you too. His amber eyes glinted with something resembling a shocked amusement, almost like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually compliant. Like your mortification was the funniest thing he’d seen all day. And in that moment it was like something inside you finally snapped for the first time in a long time.

Your ears flicked back, pinned taught to your hair like an animal on its prey only moments away from pouncing. Tail lashing once almost like a whip.

“What?” you hissed, so low it was almost swallowed by the breeze, meant only for him, but almost so quiet that Neteyam nearly missed the fact that you had spoken entirely. “Something funny, Tawtute?”

He caught your words all the same, the perfect, golden son act completely slipping away, traded for a smirk that widened a fraction larger at your beyond irked facial expression. “A child, Fang.” He taunted, hitting right where he knew you hurt most. “You look like a child scolded by her elder. It’s pretty damn funny.”

That was all it took.

You stepped forward, voice rising despite yourself, despite the voice telling you that only awful consequences would come from acting out right now. The worst part of you could not have cared less that his father wasn’t even through with lecturing the two of you yet, the bigger part of you so enraged, so encompassed by Neteyam and his stupidity, his audacity, that you just-

Did. Not. Care. 

Your figure snapped upright, tall and menacing, body twisting to face him fully as your large blearing eyes glossed over, unblinking and fear-provockingly wide. 

“Open your mouth again, Tawtute, and I swear to Eywa and everything she deems sacred, I’ll slam you down and make you swallow every sorry sound you choke in front of the whole clan.”

Neteyam’s smirk froze, then vanished almost as quickly as it came. His ears were the ones to flick forward now, sharp at the ends and persistently alert. His golden eyes that had been mocking you a heartbeat ago had darkened into molten amber pits, pupils narrowing to slits. The perfect son was gone entirely. 

His tail lashed once, hard enough to slap the air as he twisted his body entirely to tower over yours. It was the first time in all your years of knowing him where he had ever intimidated you, because it was the first time in all the years you’d known him that his size truly registered. Tall, and broad, and built like the future leader he was meant to be. 

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, tracing the sharp lines of his frame all the way down until they stopped to linger on the bold stripes that curved low around his hipbones and disappeared beneath the edge of his loincloth. They had always stood out more than anyone else’s, as darker, thicker, more prominent than the others. The Tawtute genes, you told yourself, that’s why they were like that, no other reason, certainly. A flush crawled up your neck, hot and confusing, and what would have been disguised as pure rage to any onlooker.

It pressed in on you though, close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin. Because, it didn’t feel like pure rage alone. Your mind could try to convince you, but your body would do otherwise, betraying your thoughts with that persistent betraying flicker of your tail.

And Neteyam noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Keep staring like that, Fang,” he said, leaning in until his breath stirred the loose strands of hair at your temple, “and I’ll give you something real to choke on.”

The words hit low and vicious, a promise wrapped in threat and before you even processed which arm had lifted first, your hand, with pre-curled fingers was already moving toward his chest to shove him back as hard as you possibly could. A hiss so guttural and sharp tearing from your gaping mouth, decorated by the furiously purple hue that painted your face like a white canvas. 

His own shot up just as yours had, catching your wrist mid-air in a grip like the metal on the ships the sky people flew. Not painful, but almost entirely unbreakable.

For one suspended heartbeat you were locked there, with his fingers around your wrist and bodies inches apart, both of you breathing hard, tails thrashing in mirrored fury. The space between you felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.

Then Jake’s voice cracked through it like a whip.

“I said enough!”

He was on you in two strides, one massive hand clamping the back of Neteyam’s neck, the other seizing your upper arm and hauling you both apart with force that made your feet skid on the woven mat.

Jake’s eyes were wild, ears pinned flat, chest heaving.

“You two are done,” he growled, voice shaking with barely-leashed anger. “Done acting like feral animals that can’t control their emotions. Grown adults and I’m still treating you two like I did when you were twelve.”

He exhaled sharply, making the decision at that moment.

"You're going out to the eastern watchpost. Tonight. Just the two of you." He held up a hand when you both opened your mouths to protest. "No arguments, not a goddamn word. It's an hour ride so that's plenty of time to cool off and you'll spend the entire night there.” 

Jake was not having it. “I want the supplies inventoried, the platforms repaired, and I want every corner of every ridge scouted for any signs of human activity, and you're going to do every moment of it together. You'll eat together, sleep in the same goddamn hammock if you have to, and you'll come back tomorrow morning acting like the future leaders you're supposed to be."

He released you with a shove toward the rookery.

“Go saddle your Ikran’s.” 

When the two of you hesitated, Jake snarled “Now! And if I hear one more word out of either of you before you’re out of my sight, I swear to Eywa I’ll tie you both to the same tree instead.” 

Jake's voice sounded so tired and the clearing had gone deathly quiet. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing and he was the first to turn without even so much as a glance in your direction, stalking toward the rookery with rigid shoulders, his braids swaying with each step, and every taut line of him vibrating with a restraint he almost lacked.

You stood frozen for half a breath longer, heart hammering against your ribs, wrist still burning where his grip had been. Then you turned too, spine straight with the kind of discipline that fooled everyone but the Sullys, because Neteyam and Jake could both see the bruise that adorned your ego, they just both knew better than to comment on it this far in.

The young warriors scattered around the training grounds let their conversations die and bows lower as you both strode past. Your ikran sensed the rage rolling off you and answered your call with shrieks and flared wings, and an agitation that mimicked your own. And you mounted without glancing at Neteyam once, attaching your queues to the end of your Ikrans with what was probably a little more force than necessary. He did the same and Jake watched it all with a tired stare as Neteyam banked east first, cutting through the darkness like a blade, before you followed silently behind him without a glance back.

Jake finally let out the breath he’d been holding, dragging a tired hand down his face. The forest answered him with the soft rustle of leaves and distant night calls of your fleeting Ikrans, nature utterly unconcerned with the problem he’d just sent walking into it. He had broken up enough sparring matches to know the difference between anger and whatever that had been.

Eywa help them, he thought. Because I am officially out of patience.

Behind him, the rustle leaves and heavy approaching footsteps had his ears perking up, expecting the presence before the sound of a low chuckle could startle him. The sound of a man who had already arrived at the same conclusion and was simply waiting to see if Jake would catch up.

Jake turned to find your father standing there, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him as his eyes tracked the two figures disappearing into the trees. There was concern there, yes, but there was also something else that Jake had seen displayed on his face every time your families met and you and his son fought. Something almost… entertained.

Your father watched the treeline a moment longer before he spoke, his expression thoughtful rather than amused, though the hint of it lingered all the same.

“You finally snapped.” He said, eyes not glancing at Jake, but to the sway of trees that shielded your retreating forms in the distance. “Only took till the moment they stopped trying to fight clean.”

Jake let out a slow breath and rubbed at the back of his neck, because that had been the exact moment his stomach had dropped, when the spar had stopped looking like training and started looking like something feral. “I told myself it was just their temper getting the best of them,” he admitted. “That they’d settle once one of them landed a solid hit, but I’ve never seen them go at it like that.”

Your father hummed softly in agreement. “Even anger has rules.” He said. “What I just saw forgot them. No form. No distance. Just hands… wherever they could reach.” Your fathers eyes finally glanced over to Jake, a knowing smirk leaving him chuckling at the revelation.

Jake snorted quietly, humour slipping through despite himself and soon they were laughing low in unison. “My son knows better than that.”

“As does my daughter,” He replied, and there it was, that note of worried pride that always crept in when he spoke of her. “Which is how I know they have reached a point where the body starts answering questions the mind refuses to ask.”

“You’re worried.” Jake observed. 

“I am a father,” he simply replied, and then after a beat added, “And I have eyes. I know Neteyam is fond of her.”

“He wont–,” Jake moved to start comforting his friend, shifting to place a hand on his shoulder when your father let a short snort leave him.

“I do not worry about Neteyam, I worry about her,” he said, with no effort to soften the curve of his mouth. “Neteyam has always known where the line is even when he pretends not to, and I have watched him choose restraint around her provoking comments time and time again. When it would have been easier not to.” A pause, then quieter, “That matters to me. It is her who has no restraint.” He ended with a chuckle.

Jake’s smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges, tempered by something more careful in tone. “Yeah, well, they have both been very good at lying to themselves.” He let a beat pass before he chuckled. “Well, maybe not your daughter, she can’t lie to save her life.”

“It really is her we should worry about.” Your father laughed. “If I were foolish enough to wager,” he suddenly turned, clapping a hand to Jake’s shoulder, “I would bet they return insisting the night was torture, then flinch every time their queues touch because they finally know what they’re used for.”

This time, the laugh Jake let out was almost too loud for his liking, glancing around in hopes that no one had heard the less than tasteful wording. 

“I’m not taking that bet,” he said, then hesitated, the amusement fading just enough to let the doubt through. “I expected you to be angrier with me for sending them off together.”

Your father snorted. “You did the same with Neytiri,” he replied. “And you didn’t exactly handle it with grace.”

Jake grimaced. “That was different.”

“No, It was not,” he said lightly, his gaze flicking back toward the trees, “and Neteyam’s trying too hard not to cross the same line. My daughter has never been good at pretending there isn’t one.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, rubbing yet another exhaustedly stressed hand down his face at the implication of his words. “I’m not gonna sleep tonight.”

“Good,” Your father said quietly. “Someone should keep watch. In case they burn the forest down. Let us just hope we do not share the name Grandfather and time soon either.”

Your feet hit the platform before his did, heavy with a careless thump that transitioned quickly into long strides against the creaking wood, riddled with the intention of getting as far away from Neteyam as possible, who was landing close behind you. There wasn’t anywhere far to run off too, especially in the dark of night on a foreign base you had visited not even twice before, so you settled towards the end of the platform on a pile of large crates that rattled against your weight.

Neteyam dismounted much slower than you had, gently detaching his queue, before petting his Ikran three times, signalling its dismissal to perch elsewhere. It left with a shriek, chasing your own which had scattered the moment you landed. 

Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, adorning everything in a bleary silver and deep shadows illuminated by bioluminescent blues. The base was rickety and barely large enough to accommodate a few people with all the supplies stolen and housed from the sky-people around. The wooden branches sagged and the leather tarp frayed, neglected and unkept for what seemed to be decades. But it was going to have to work considering you were banished here for the night. 

Neteyam didn’t look at you right away. He took the first few moments to busy himself checking over the boxes, silently counting the stock in the typical Neteyam way that forced him to be a stickler for the rules, to listen to every authoritative voice, to be the most stuck up Na’vi to ever grace Pandora's blue planet.

It took him a second of a forced and uncomfortable silence before he finally broke the tension, his voice low and failing to hide the tinge of irritation behind it despite his attempts to at least try and get something done. “We should start with inventory. Get it over with.”

You didn’t move from your position on the crate farthest south. And you almost laughed at how pathetically authoritative he attempted to sound, because you knew his blood still seared hot with boiling anger at being scolded not even an hour ago. Instead, you tugged at the string of the bow you had picked up from beside you, slowly swaying the one foot you left dangling as you fidgeted with the fraying thread. 

“Do it yourself.” 

Your voice – so dismissive and blunt in tone – had Neteyam’s pointy ears pinning back and deep amber eyes snapping at you in a quick, sharp warning. 

“Do not start.”

You took the first moment since he entered to direct your attention away from the flimsy bow, finally looking up at him with an all too unimpressed glare. “Too late.” You sneered, your typical fang glaring snare on full display. “You started it the second you opened your skxawng mouth back at the training camp. Even children know to be silent when Toruk Makto speaks, yet somehow you can not manage to get that through your thick skull?”

“My thick skull?” Neteyam’s big eyes bore straight through your own, blown wide and non-blinking almost as if trying to read you for an answer he wasn’t going to find. He looked absolutely exasperated and a breathy laugh that held no humor escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Thats rich coming from the one who is sat on a crate of knives, doing absolutely nothing.”

“We are only here because perfect son could not bite his golden tongue long enough to remember his father was still speaking. You listen to him when we're here but not when it counts back home. I thought you were supposed to be the smart and disciplined one.”

“Kind of difficult to concentrate on a lecture when the woman threatening to make me choke is attempting to swing her claws into my chest.”

“I only reacted because you–!” 

The words stuttered in your throat, dying in your mouth as heat flooded your face in a violent wave, remembering what led to your outburst in the first place. Remembering the explicit words he let slip from soft yet smug lips like he had any right saying it in the first place. 

–Because you speak lewd words that should only be muttered between the most established of mates. 

“–Because I what?” Neteyam’s voice was softer now, but the smirk that followed was anything but gentle. It spread slow and lethally arrogant across his face, eyes glinting with a new light that felt almost predatory, as if he’d just found the one loose thread that would unravel you completely.

“Because–” Your face was so flushed, you could hardly bring the words to the surface. “–Because you- you have a vulgar mouth! Y-You speak filth just to provoke me.”

 “Vulgar?” Neteyam's eyes glinted with something completely different from the irate exasperation from earlier, it was like his entire demeanor had calmed, replaced completely by that arrogant smirk, like he was the only one able to translate the book the two of you had been trying to read your whole lives. “Me? I think I recall you mentioning something about slamming me down on my back.” 

A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The words hit like a physical blow, twisting your earlier threat into something raw and unmistakable. Your face burned hotter, if that was even possible, violet spreading across your cheeks as you instinctively looked him up and down.

“That is not what I speak!” you snapped, the words tumbling out too fast and breathless to be convincing. You almost kicked yourself for the delivery. “Why must you keep bringing up those words?”

“Because you are the one who said them,” he replied evenly as he began stepping closer. His strides were so deliberate, as if planned in advance, and unhurried, as if you were not another moment away from clawing out his eyes. “You just don’t like what they mean.”

“They meant nothing,” you shot back, chin lifting in defiance. “You twist everything.” 

The sound of Neteyam’s footsteps drew your eyes to lock on his figure, tall and looming as he strutted one slow step at a time closer, and you found your eyes doing that traitorous thing they did a lot now, wander. Wander down. And down. 

It started with his face, as you watched the sway of his braids while he strode with that infuriating arrogance, brushing the sharp lines of his jaw with a clatter of his beads. Then it was his impossibly round eyes fixed right on you – which they always seemed to be when you were around – unblinking and heated through a downwards gaze. They were eyes that masked what you knew to be such a conceited personality as so deceivingly innocent. 

Soon your gaze fell to the wide frame of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, and it dawned on you that you’d only just noticed how much broader they had become over the years spent together, carved from tireless hours of drawing bowstrings and traversing the harsh landscape of Omatikiya forest, lean with muscle that shifted under blue skin with every stride he took closer.

Your eyes wandered again until they finally fell right to where they seemed to stop at a lot now; his lower body, narrow hips marked by the most vibrant stripe pattern you’d ever seen on any man – on any Na’vi you’d laid eyes on. They were darker and thicker, more pronounced and unlike any others, they trailed off and disappeared so low into his loin cloth it almost felt purposeful in the way they pulled your eyes. Like they were specifically made to draw your eyes and your eyes only, and hold them there by design.

Those lines were unnatural in their perfection and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they made your face so hot and your heartbeat feel as if it could move to places it should not be, and it especially wasn’t fair that it wasn’t a you thing, it was a him thing. You only liked it on him.

You told yourself for the hundredth time – that it was the Tawtute genes making everything about him just a little too defined, a little larger. Not that you were staring, of course, just studying. Because he was different and you were always curious, you told yourself. But your tail flicked once, another betrayal that told you that was a lie, and you prayed the shadows hid it..

The shadows did not hide it. And of course he noticed.

Neteyam slowed, stopping just close enough that the space between you felt inconsequential. He wasn’t touching you, at least not yet and somehow it still felt as if he had pressed his entire body against yours. As if you were suffocating beneath him. 

His gaze dipped and it wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t subtle either, following the same path yours had just taken; down the line of his chest, over the sharp cut of his hips, to the stripes adorning his body next to the band of his loincloth before lifting again, eyes glinting with the most unbearably smug sense of amusement you’d imagine possible from a single man at the realisation he had just made. 

It was silent for a beat, air heavy with tension before Neteyam spoke. 

“You must really like my loincloth.”

Your ears shot straight up and outwards, standing tall and perky as if alerted by a lingering predator, eyes blowing wide as you shot your head up to meet his gaze head on. 

“Shut up–!”

“–You know, my mother makes them–”

“ –I don’t care–!”

“ –Shall I ask her to make another? She does adore you–” 

“–You do not know anything–!”

“–I know exactly when you lie.”

The words were being sputtered so fast, they crashed into each other in an overlapping, frantic mess. To any onlooker, it would have almost sounded as if you were talking in unison. 

Your tone was desperately sharp, doused in mortification and hidden in anger. And his was flooded with pure, unadulterated tease, knowing very well how every word he spoke rolled down your ears and crawled beneath your skin. You blushed so often around him he could almost mistake you as a purple Na’vi now. 

The overlap fell apart as abruptly as it had started. You glared at him, chest tight, ears still rigid with embarrassment and fury, daring him to say one more thing. He didn’t… 

At least, not right away.

His gaze dipped instead, unashamed and bashfully amused, tracking back down to where yours had been just moments ago. His mouth curved like he’d found something amusing he was excited to explain. But you knew he was only rubbing the fact that he caught you staring in. 

“My mother uses five beads on each knot,” he said smugly, and you followed his fingers as they brushed against the small carved beads on the loincloth’s cords. “She says it is the number of balance. Five for the senses and all.” 

Then he suddenly looked up at you, those overly round, innocent eyes portraying that innocence all too well. “Seems it isn’t working, you don’t look very balanced right now.”

If you were in half a mind with any common sense, you would have scolded him once again and shoved him as far back as your arms would allow in hopes for a little space and clarity. Unfortunately for you, however, that sense was ripped directly out of your already fumbling grasp the moment your eyes followed his hands to where he gripped that damned loincloth you really couldn’t escape.

They were larger and longer than others, scarred from weaponry and cliff climbing, and calloused in places where the overuse was notable. His fingers grasped the thread of the cloth, and as his grip tightened, the purple veins littering the surface of his skin protruded along with it. 

Watching the way his fingers curled, and the way his veins pulsed, it sent heat crawling up your throat and pooling behind your ears. Every flex of a tendon, every faint flicker of those tiny freckled lights, felt like a private taunt aimed straight at whatever composure you had left.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady even as it came out breathier than you wanted. “Five is a greedy number anyway.” You muttered, eyes still traitorously fixed on his hands.  

His gaze followed yours until it landed on his hands  – on the way your eyes lingered there too long, and the way your breath had betrayed you before your mouth ever could. A slow smile curved across his lips, smug and knowing.

“Greedy?” He echoed softly. Without haste, he lifted those hands, the ones you couldn’t stop staring at, toward your face. “Is that what you think this is?” 

His long fingers spread deliberately to parade all five fingers to your wide, helpless eyes, and began wriggling them in slow, teasing beats as if he, too, were suddenly fascinated by the anatomy you’d just mocked. 

“Tawtute.” He uttered, his voice dipped low with smug delight. “That is what you call me.”

He let his hands hover close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, close enough that if you stuck your tongue out just slightly, you’d be able to taste the skin. Close enough, that the fact you had even entertained that thought made you sick to your stomach with dizzying confusion.

“Txampay tawtute.” He purred, eyes half-lidded and glinting as he drank in the flush climbing your neck.

Then, unhurried and impossibly sure of himself, he leaned in. His body now crowding every inch of air yours occupied, chest nearly brushing yours, until he reached past your shoulder and caught your wrist in one smooth motion. He brought your hand up between you to display the four fingers you always had, and his golden eyes gleamed as if it was the first time he had seen it. Slowly, he lifted his own hand to mirror yours, five fingers spread to contrast the four of your own just across from his, hovering directly opposite it.

“Demon blood.” He muttered, though he wasn’t offended. It was more a statement, or amused even, awaiting a reaction.

You watched, breath caught, as he hesitated for a single heartbeat, watched in your peripheral as his eyes bore into your face, searching for any flicker of protest or resistance. A sign that never came.

And once he realized that, he dipped one long finger down between the gaps of yours. Then another, and another until he slid each one of his fingers between your own, interlocking your hands like he was claiming every unoccupied space he could find. 

“Do you call me tawtute so often because you think about how my hands would feel on you?”

Then he guided your joined hands, fully intertwined, up and back, lifting them slowly until your knuckles brushed the rough-woven wall behind you. He pressed them there and the motion brought him so much closer, it was as if he had taken up all the air, because why were you suddenly finding it so much more difficult to draw a breath?

“Neteyam.” The name came out like an unsure whine, nothing like the sharp hiss you’d wielded against him a thousand times before. Because the last place you had ever imagined yourself being was here, pinned beneath the steady weight of his gaze, his body, his five greedy fingers laced so perfectly through your four and it confused you that no fiber of your being was begging to reject it. 

You watched with greedy eyes as his face twisted from out of your view, head shifting down towards the crook of your neck and the frantic rate of your breath betrayed every last pretense of calm. His mouth stopped just on the cusp of your left ear, and you felt the warm, velvet skin of his lips brushing the sensitive shell of it, tied with the cherry on top by the soft sway of his braid against your cheek and the smell of him. That intoxicating scent which smelt of eclipse leaves and sweet hearth vines.

They had been your favourite scents for as long as you could remember, and it was only just dawning why that is now.

He took a beat, his breath warm on your skin before he spoke. “I know you hate me.”

You did. You hated him, the Olo'eyktan perfect first born. The boy that followed you like a shadow through the winding roots of Hometree. The child you had been measured against since the first time a blade had been pressed into your palms.

“Neteyam learns quicker,”

“Neteyam already wields a bow,”

“Neteyam never loses his temper.”

You had heard it from your father your entire life and you hated him for being the excellence you couldn’t be. You hated that he wore it so smug. And more than anything, you hated that he actually tried to soften it and make space for you beside him instead of behind. He was so good to you, and you hated that he never got mad when it counted.

And now – now – you couldn’t reconcile that boy with the man standing close enough to steal your breath, hands steady where your resolve should have been. You couldn’t fathom how you were letting him do this. How the same Neteyam you’d spent years resisting, spitting at, and training like Eywa herself had told you to do so in order to best him, had slipped past your defenses without even raising his voice. All it took was him invading your space closer than he ever tried before and your resolve dwindled. 

“I know you think you hate me.” He repeated, but this time you could hear the smirk that crept up his irritatingly gorgeous face. “But you never look at me like this when you say it. And this–” his free hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting along the tense line of your hip until they found the base of your tail, “--this is the most still your tail has been all night.”

The gentle, knowing stroke along the sensitive underside made your spine arch involuntarily before you could stop it, so far into him you could feel the press of everything below his loincloth against your lower belly and it made you whine. A guttural, involuntary sound you didn’t mean to make, nor had you realised escaped you until Neteyam’s glowing amber eyes widened alongside his smile. 

You struggled to find your voice, with the overwhelming feeling of Neteyam all around you, touching every inch of your skin, all consuming and intoxicating but when you did, it was breathy and weak. 

“Do not–” you stuttered, pausing your words to find breath.

Then your voice came again, interrupting his thoughts in a moment where his grip faltered slightly around your fingers and tail. You sounded so primitive and defeated, it was like the entire forest in a ten-mile radius had stilled.

“–stop.”

Neteyam stilled, mind reeling and eyes searching every inch of your face in desperate search of an answer to an unspoken question you sparked within him. Do not? Stop? 

Do not stop?

He gawked at you, ogling at every inch of your face in hopes of an answer. Your eyes, droopy and half-shut, turned sideways as if too ashamed to look him in the eyes. Mouth just a touch open, drawing long and heavy breaths, and your beautiful blue skin, flushed that purple colour he was becoming so fond of seeing, gleaming with a layer of warm, sleek sweat. 

You looked absolutely ruined. And he absolutely detested the idea that you might have been telling him to stop – truly stop – his advances because now that he had a glimpse of such a sight, he cursed the idea that he may never see it again knowing exactly what you looked like underneath him. So he waited with baited breaths, a wait you did not make him stand long for, and then you delivered.

“Do.. not.. stop.” You spoke between heavy breaths. “Neteyam, please.”

And then he saw it. The way you had been pressing up against his right thigh, locked between both your own thighs and rubbing against your core, just close enough to create friction. The sight and the plea shattered whatever thin thread of control he’d been clinging to as he finally realised what you meant. 

A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his chest, a half growl, half reverent thanks to Eywa herself, as he surged forward, releasing your tail momentarily, only for the hand to sweep through the air, landing right on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him with a roughness he rarely displayed. 

And that's when it finally happened. His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and possessive, swallowing the next broken gasp that spilled from your lips. His fingers curled into the sensitive skin just below your hairline in a way that made your knees weaken, and had you not still been sitting on this crate, you were sure you would have faltered and folded to the ground. 

His tongue pushed at the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart with a devastating hunger, as if he had been waiting far too long to claim this moment, only clarified with the roll his body made to press into your own. The muscles of his abdomen elongated and protruded against the skin, screaming at you to touch them, to feel them, as he pushed your intertwined hands further back into the wall. 

That was when his hand around your neck finally began its descent downwards. It started at your shoulders, brushing against your collarbone and lingering just a moment around your breasts. He swirled against the curve underneath the soft fat and the trail left hot tingles in its wake, sending blood rushing to every nerve the pinpoint of his fingertips lined. 

It continued on, searing down the arc of your waist, against the curve of your hips and drew a curl to stop just a few paces below your belly button, and yet not even a breath above from the band of your loincloth.   

Your breath hitched as those fingers paused there, so achingly close, tracing lazy, maddening patterns just above the thin strip of woven fabric – the only thing left between you and completely surrendering to the man who haunted your every waking moment. Neteyam pulled back from the kiss, only far enough to watch your contorting face, the molten amber of his eyes now nearly non-existent, replaced almost entirely by his pupils, blown wide with lust and a restraint that was seconds from snapping.

He could feel the heat radiating from you, and could tell you were trying to resist whatever thoughts were happening in your head, unsuccessfully so. He could see it in the way your thighs tremored ever so subtly, and in the way your hips shifted restlessly against him, as if seeking friction but hating who the friction you seeked came from. A low, approving, yet humoured growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged.

“You're always so responsive.” He murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing yours as he spoke and fingers still working their patterns at the lowest part of your belly. “Every touch… you light up for me.”

“You always think you know what I feel.” The words spat harsh but breathless, trying desperately to deny him the satisfaction of winning.

But Neteyam just laughed, stating flatly. “Your freckles glow, fang.”

And your flush deepened knowing your body was betraying your mind. 

“Stop talking. I still despise you.”

Neteyam took the opportunity to lean back, making enough room to have a full view of your body without disconnecting your lower bodies. Finally his hand strayed from your belly, sliding to the left of it before stopping right at the rope that knotted your loincloth into place. He glanced down at it expectantly, then up to meet your eyes, his own glinting with mischief.  

“Funny way of showing it.” He commented.

Then his fingers pulled at the string, and all you did was let your head fall back against the wall in response. 

The knot gave with a soft tug, the woven cord loosening until the loincloth sagged against your hips, and you felt the cool air kissing at your newly exposed skin. It left your sighing, and Neteyam actually laughed at the sight of you. 

His next move was to grab at your right leg, lifting it high until it settled on top of his right shoulder. The motion had you shifting forward slightly, nearly hanging off the edge of the crate now. Once it was placed, he leaned down, meeting the slant of your body against the crate until his face met just above yours.  

“No fangs now, huh?” He taunted, voice dripping with smug triumph, his breath hot against your lips as his free hand slid up the thigh draped over him with the most reverently possessive grip.

Your eyes narrowed, a spark of fury cutting through the haze of pleasure. “I’ll silence you.”

Before he could fire back another cocky word, you flexed the leg hooked over his shoulder and shoved hard. Your heel dug into the muscle of his back as you pushed, using every bit of leverage to force him downward and surprise flashed across his face for a split second before he dropped to his knees in front of you, left hand disconnecting from yours and instinctively reaching to grip your hips as a means to steady himself.

There he was – all mighty Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, future Olo’eyktan – kneeling between your thighs, directly in front of your exposed core, with amber eyes flicking a mix of shock, defeat and drooling hunger.

You let your head rest back against the wall again, eyeing him through the brush of your lower lashes and fingers threading roughly into his braids to hold him exactly where you wanted him. 

“I told you I’d make you swallow your sorry sounds.” And with a sharp tug forward, the control had been shifted to your hands. “Now swallow.”

The low, involuntary groan that vibrated through his chest and into your core was the only answer he managed before his mouth obeyed. His head moved first then his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, tasting you like he’d been starving for years and refused to rush the meal. But the grip you kept in his braids, tight and unforgiving, told him exactly who set the pace. 

Heat slammed through you, ugly and mixed with the pure rage of having him under you. You hated him for making your body clench like this, hated the way your thighs shook because his tongue felt so damn good, but hated it more that you questioned if the reason he felt so good was because he had done this before. Hated that the idea made you jealous. 

You were a mix of pleasure and shame – that Neteyam was on his knees, eating you out like he had no choice and that he was disgustingly good at it. And when you rolled your hips forward, demanding more, he gave it without hesitation, lips sealing around you, tongue curling deep and relentless, then it dawned on you that he was worshipping your clit like he was singing a prayer.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, the leg still hooked there locked tighter, heel pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him exactly where you wanted him  – on his knees, serving the woman who’d sworn to hate him forever. And he did it so well you had been reduced to a moaning, whining and squirming mess beneath his hands that were holding you down.

“Eywa, shit– Y/n– ” The name slipped out raw and whiny, and the vibration of his voice had you absolutely feral, snapping in an instant. But not to your end. No.

Because the only thing you could think about was why he felt so good. Why he was so talented at everything. The idea of him having experience with this, of him doing this to someone else, made something vicious twist in your chest.

So your hand in his hair tugged hard, snapping his head back and away from your core to glance up at you with daze in his eyes and your slick dripping down his chin.

He blinked up at you, lips swollen and shining, breath coming in rough pants. For once, the smugness was gone, replaced by raw, hazy want and a flicker of confusion at the sudden stop.

You stared down at him, chest heaving, jealousy burning hotter than the aftershocks still pulsing between your legs, and the words came sharp, cutting through the air like an arrow.

“Who else?” You spat, voice accusatory and ugly with envy, fingers tightening in his braids in a visceral way you couldn’t help.

“What?” He sounded so breathless, and so confused, eyes still foggy from being buried between your thighs.

“You move like this isn’t new for you.” You snapped, the words spilling out jagged. “People don’t learn that by accident.”

“Fang, what are you–”

Then your mouth spat the words like the answer was so obvious, like you had been just waiting for the name to be mentioned. “ –It is An’aya, isn’t it?”

“An’aya!?” He said it like the name didn’t belong here at all. Because it didn’t. Because twenty seconds ago he was face-deep drowning in what he deemed to be his new favourite flavour, and now he’s thinking of a girl he’s barely spent more than 10 minutes alone with.

“You lie with her too!” The accusation came out sharp enough to feel final, as if it wasn’t something to be debated and you had already made up the answer. 

Neteyam stared up at you for a beat, eyes wide, mouth still wet and open like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or groan. Then the laugh won, short and completely disbelieving as the weight of your words settled into him. He searched your eyes, stern and glazed, angry with something he knew you barely understood and it dawned on him. Holy shit.

“You are jealous.” He said it so incredulously, like it was the best revelation he made all week. A rough laugh tore out of him, head tipping back in your grip, the sound raw and disbelieving. And it was like you couldn’t even deny it, all you could do was sneer your usual fang baring scowl and snap your head away with a tsk of your tongue.

“An’aya?” he rasped, grin sharp and crooked, chin still dripping with you. “Eywa fang, you think I’ve ever touched her? Ever wanted to?”

He shifted forward on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs as he finally raised to his feet off his knees to meet you at eye level. His face was inches from yours, grip firm but not pushing and you watched as that aggravating amusement melted into the softest look you think he had ever sent you. His smugness fell, the cocky edge dulling into something so honest.

“I don’t lie with An’aya. Just you, fang.” he spoke so slowly, voice low and steady, and almost gentle despite the filth of the moment. “I only ever think about you.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Heat flooded your face, your chest, mixing between the jealousy and the flattery until you couldn’t tell which burned more. You didn’t know if you believed him – or more so didn’t know if you wanted to believe him. So you picked your arm up to pinch the side of his ear, using it to drag his face impossibly closer. Your gaze flickered between both his eyes, searching for something, an answer to a question you weren’t even sure you knew what.

For a split second, something in your grip faltered. The idea that he might be telling the truth was somehow worse than the lie. So you tightened your fingers on his ear for a beat before yanking his head back with a force meant to hurt.

“Prove it,” you snarled.

Neteyam’s breath hissed through his teeth at the sting, but the look he gave you was pure lust, not a single trace of softness left. In one brutal motion he tucked one hand under your ass, and the other around the curve of your waist, before spinning you around so fast the world tilted for a fraction of a second. Your chest slammed against the crate, palms scraping metal as he kicked your legs wider and pressed his full weight into your back.

You heard him before you felt him, the quick tug and rustle as he worked the knot of his loincloth free behind you. Something involuntary dragged your head back, forcing you to peek over your shoulder. The fabric fell, and it was like every silent inkling you’d ever felt bite at you, every reflexive moment that told you to study his stripes despite never knowing why, finally dawned on you why it had always been so urging.

Those large, vibrant stripes were only a preview into what the loincloth hid. They tapered lower and thicker up the base of his cock, before finally crawling into a thinning stretch that ended just beyond the tip of his head, which was slick with precum and the most angry, swollen shade of red. Red. Like a Tawtute.

And it was in that moment you realised that all those little characteristics that made him slightly different – the broader shoulders, the extra finger, the sheer size of him below the cloth and the way his tip skin flushed pinker than any Na’vi you’d ever seen – weren’t the flaws or accidents you convinced yourself was the reason you fixated on them. They were proof that he had Toruk Makto’s blood running through him, the son of a leader, born to be a leader. And right now that blood had him hard and leaking for you, the girl who’d spent years calling him sky-demon scum.

The realisation twisted hot and ugly in your gut, hate and want braided so tight you couldn’t pull them apart but that was so swiftly disrupted by the feeling of him pushing forward, the tip of his achingly large cock making contact with your swelteringly wet entrance, and it had you absolutely unraveling at the mere contact of it.

You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of you at both the stretch he gave with just the top of him, barely even a quarter full, and at the sight of him ogling down at the space between you, at the way the tip of his cock looked barely swallowed inside of your warm hole, his fist gripping at the base.

Neteyam caught the sound, eyes snapping up just in time to see you bury your face in your arm and he laughed that irritatingly smug laugh that vibrated through his chest and into your back. 

“Already moaning for me, Fang?” He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You can’t even pretend to hate me anymore.”

“Do not…,” you hissed with a breathy sigh, the words cracking despite your best effort to sound venomous, “…dare assume you know what I feel.”

He hummed, amused, like your denial was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

“I do not think I'll have too.” 

Goosebumps rose in its wake, your hips stuttering back despite yourself before you could correct it. His hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid up your spine in a slow, deliberate path until his fingers closed gently but firmly around the thick base of your kuru, the long, sacred braid that cascaded down your back.

The feeling of his hand around your kuru had your entire body jolting, a sharp, electrifying shock racing through every nerve in its wake. You spun in his grip with a surprise he’d never seen on you before, eyes blown wide, breath caught, and all that sharp defiance from before suddenly fractured by something he had never seen painted so vulnerably on you.

You looked so unsure, so confused, so conflicted, staring at his hand like it was both a threat and a gateway to something new.

At your face, Neteyam’s expression softened too, the smugness fading completely as he brought the end of your braid up between the two of you, turning it so the the wispy ends of your braid went limp to expose the pink tendrils beneath. They snaked in the air, searching the air as if awaiting what was yet to come.

His own kuru hung over his shoulder, and he used his other hand to grab at it, settling it so close to yours that the tendrils already began reaching for each other, drawn like magnets, but far enough that they did not touch.

“I will not force this, and I will not continue with this if you say no. I honestly don’t think I can.” he said, voice low, rough with restraint but steady. “Tsaheylu with me… or we stop right here. Your choice, Fang. Always your choice.”

The words hung heavy. You hated him for giving you the out. Hated him for making it feel safe to say yes even though you really thought you would have said no. Hated how much you wanted him, and wanted to know what it felt like to be bound to the one person you’d spent your whole life trying to push away.

Your chest rose and fell fast. The tendrils of your kuru twitched, brushing the air toward his and you didn’t speak as you watched them try to connect. Slowly, deliberately, you reached your hand up to wrap around his forearm, watched as the hand that held his kuru faltered at the intrusion and met his eyes as he searched yours for answer.

It didn’t come as a verbal one, but your mind had been made the moment you tugged his arm forward to allow his kuru to connect to yours. And in an instant the tendrils met, wrapping and fusing, snapping the bond into place.

A gasp tore from both of you at once, backs arching, eyes fluttering as raw sensation flooded through. The pleasure was intense and overwhelming, but more than that: every buried feeling, every unspoken want, every flash of anger and longing and need crashed together in a single, shared current that left you both moaning messes.

He groaned your name like it hurt and you whined his so helplessly, fingers digging into his shoulders and the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Neteyam moved first, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he spun you both around and sank to his knees. He laid you gently on the cool floor beneath him, settling between your legs, face-to-face now with his forehead pressed to yours, kuru still joined, the bond pulsing with every heartbeat.

He slid back into you slowly, eyes never leaving yours, letting you feel everything – his awe, his hunger, the years of wanting you he’d hidden behind every smirk and fight. And you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and for the first time with there being no crate, no wall, no anger between you, nothing but the bond, neither of you could deny the truth that lingered between you for years anymore.

The bond made it unbearable in the best way because you could feel everything. 

You could feel every slow drag of him inside you echoed back through the link. You felt his pleasure at how tight and wet you were, your helpless clench around him, and the ache that flared harder with every inch he gave. You felt the way your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go, and he felt it too, a low, broken groan rumbling from his chest as his hips finally seated flush against yours.

“Fuck–” he breathed, voice ragged, forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, the golden amber almost gone. “You feel… I can feel you everywhere.”

You couldn’t answer with words. The bond carried it for you: the rush of heat, the ache, the impossible fullness of him stretching you open while his emotions poured into you

He started to move, slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged the thick length of him along every sensitive spot inside you. Each thrust sent a wave through the bond, pleasure looping between you until it built on itself, amplifying, stealing your breath. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines over his stripes; he hissed and answered by snapping his hips harder, driving a sharp cry from your throat.

Through the link you felt how much he loved that sound, how it made him throb inside you, how close he already was to losing control and you responded by sticking your mouth to his neck, and sucking hard in an attempt to quiet yourself.

“Tell me,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping your faces close, noses brushing, “tell me you feel it too.”

You did. Eywa, you did. The anger was still there, flickering at the edges, but it only made the pleasure sharper, almost as if the bond was burning it clean and turning years of hate into something so much more overwhelming.

“I feel you,” you finally gasped as your mouth left his neck with a slimy pop, and you noticed the angry purple mark that sat in its wake. Your voice cracked, legs tightening around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper. “All of you. Don’t stop–!”

The next thrust ended with another broken sound from you, a half-moan, half-word that slurred through your tongue almost incomprehensibly.

“Mmm– ’tayem–”

Neteyam’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then picked up again, faster now with a cocky triumph you felt flooding the bond like heat. A low, smug chuckle vibrated against your neck as he nipped the skin, sucking and pinching at it with pride.

“I got you that good, huh?” He murmured, voice rough but dripping with satisfaction, hips rolling deep and deliberate. “Got the stubborn Fang stuttering my name?”

You tried again, desperate, the pleasure coiling so tight you could barely think.

“Ma– tayem–”

He laughed again, breathlessly arrogant and loving every moment of this – loving that you, always so sharp-tongued and composed, always throwing insults at him and trying to embarrass him in front of your families, was reduced to this, such a moaning, whiny mess you couldn’t even get his name correct.

“Can’t even get your words right,” he teased, smirking against your lips, eyes gleaming down at you with such amusement. “If only everyone could see you now.”

“Ma ‘teyam.” You managed it this time, much clearer and insistent of every syllable that trembled out of you on the next thrust. And he froze.

Not completely, his hips still rocked shallow and instinctively, but the rhythm stuttered hard, like someone had yanked his hips backwards and held them still. His eyes widened, searching yours through the haze, the cocky smirk smacked off his face in an instant as the meaning finally slammed into him.

Ma ‘teyam. 

Your Neteyam

The bond flared hot with it, your claim, raw and unfiltered, pouring straight into him. A ragged groan tore out of his chest, half between shock and something much, much deeper, like a stirring pot of pleasure and disbelief and possession all tangled together into two bodies merged as one. His forehead dropped to yours again, losing every trace of that smug control because the words were echoing through the link like a vow, and it broke him.

A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat, deep and wrecked and his whole body shuddered as the realization hit him harder than any phrase ever uttered to him. His hips jerked forward once, hard and uncontrolled, completely unlike his usual poise, as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, and that was it. He came with a broken cry of your name, voice cracking on the syllables as he spilled hot and deep, pulse after thick pulse flooding you.

The bond amplified everything and you felt every throb of his release as if it were your own and that made yours follow soon after, the overwhelming rush of his pleasure crashing into yours, the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the dizzying mix of disbelief and euphoria that Neteyam was now claimed by you in the most intimate way possible, solidified by the way your attached kuru still hung besides you, your deep purple marks decorated his neck, and your bodies lay against each other, sleek and fucked out.

His forehead pressed hard to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants against your lips. His arms trembled as he held himself above you, hips still twitching with aftershocks, grinding slow and shallow as if he couldn’t bear to pull out.

“Fuck… fuck–” he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling, nothing left of the smug warrior who’d been teasing you since you got to this forsaken watchpost. “You… you said…”

“That I despise you?” You murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in, beyond exhausted, tail finally curling loose and lazy behind you. “I do.”

A broken laugh tore out of him, warm and disbelieving, his nose brushing yours as his breathing slowly began to steady. “I don’t even need to see your tail to know you lie.” 

And as if to prove his point, he brought his hand around to the place where your kurus joined, stroking the exposed, sensitive nerves gently with his thumb. The bond hummed softly at the touch, sending a lazy ripple of warmth through you both and your tail flicked once, then curled deliberately around his thigh, holding him close.

He felt it, of course and a quiet, satisfied hum left his chest.

“See?” He whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Even your tail is done fighting me.”

You opened one eye, glaring weakly up at him. “Don not get used to it, skxawng. The second we are back with the clan, I’m telling everyone you cried after your father yelled at you.”

Neteyam snorted, shifting his weight so he could prop himself on an elbow and look down at you properly. His braids fell forward, framing his face, and the bond carried the soft glow of affection he was trying, and miserably failing to hide behind his usual smirk.

“Then I’d have to tell them how the almighty daughter of our clan head warrior begged for me to–”

You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing. “Finish that sentence and I’ll bite you again.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter muffled against your palm and you narrowed your eyes as you spoke once more. “I could still push you off this ledge. No one would find the body till morning.”

“Maybe so.” He conceded easily. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your kuru in a way that made your spine shiver despite your best effort to stay at least a little defiant. “But then who would keep you company on patrol anymore? You’d miss arguing with me.”

You huffed, shoving at his chest. “I would finally earn peace.”

“Peace is boring.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, soft and infuriatingly gentle. “And you’d miss my family interrupting us every five minutes, thinking they’ll catch you slipping in the act. My dad likes messing with us too much to let you go.”

You snorted, but the sound lacked real venom. “Your father likes me because I’m not afraid to yell at you when you are being an arrogant teylupil. That is not the same as liking me.”

Neteyam’s grin turned softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He likes you because you are strong. And because you force me to be better. Even when you are threatening to skin me alive.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but your tail betrayed you again, curling tighter around his leg like it had decided it wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“Flattery will not save you,” you muttered, dropping your head back to his chest so you didn’t have to look at that stupid, fond expression on his face. “When we get back at dawn, we say nothing. We walked the perimeter. Inventoried the stock. End of story.”

Neteyam arched a brow, amusement flickering through the bond. “You think they’ll believe that? Nothing has been done here. And you look…” He brushed a thumb over your neck, tracing where his mouth had been earlier. “…thoroughly ruined.”

You swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat in it, not like before. “You look worse. Like you lost a fight with an Ikran.”

He laughed, full and unguarded this time “Then let them think what they want, I already won.” he whispered when you parted. 

You rolled your eyes, but your tail tightened around his leg again, betraying you.

“I still despise you,” you muttered into his neck.

“I am aware.”

Geto’s spit-slicked lips part open to steal a sharp gasp of the sweltering lecture hall air- it couldn’t be. And his bleary irises can’t even focus, can’t lock on anything but the figure of you mere feet away. 

…Could it?

With a slight tilt of your head, you’re staring back at him - and something…carnal pangs through his suddenly-boiling veins.

Then you smirk- and Geto twitches.

Fuck.

He would’ve crashed onto his knees right then and there if it wasn’t for the way that you proceed to dig through your cute, useless bag - still in the middle of a conversation with your friends - and throw something flimsy and pale pink at him.

No shame. No regrets.

None for either of you; but especially not Geto once his strong palms reach out to urgently scramble for the shred of gauzy fabric in midair. 

Tangling the stringy satin between thick, ringed fingerpads, he’s sinking his face into its sugarcoated scent before sinking into the realization that you’d had the audacity to throw your fucking panties at him in the middle of a bustling seminar. 

Yet, he was even worse - jaw slackening, broad chest heaving with rasping ahs! as he drinks in loooong repeated puffs of your pheromones. Coating his brain in melty molasses of sugar and spice and you. 

There was a reason you were the most sought-after omega on the entire campus. With your filthy skin-tight outfits, and your flirty smiles. 

And him? He couldn’t get enough.

Smearing away a sloppy splotch of saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth- when had he even started drooling? Geto watches through watery peripherals as you mouth a smug “an advance” at him, and saunter out of the class in your tightly-knit group.

Too tightly-knit, if you asked Geto. Dead-on stare narrowing, he catches the way one of your so-called friends brush away an invisible piece of lint from your shoulder. 

Just barely. His head snapping towards Geto when the latter growls-

Oh.

Oh, fuck. 

He was fucked.

.

.

.

Listen, it’s not as if you make Geto finish all of your homework - just the ones that you found too tedious, too complicated, or too time-consuming. Which might just happen to be all of them, but you digress! 

He was more than happy to collect those slutty scraps of silk you called “panties” and you were proud to keep your streak of having the second-highest GPA in class (after the man himself, of course.)

The more important the grade the more sinful the panties. 

After all, it wasn’t as if you minded all of Geto’s fiery stares at you during lectures, the spark in his eyes when he tried to drill a difficult concept into your mind, or the way his dark lashes would flutter drunkenly the moment you got too close. 

In fact, you might even admit that you…like it.

Because Geto was hot. Fuck- he was fucking pretty.

You’d seen just how fawny his amethyst eyes were behind those clunky glasses. Lengthy Stygian hair, so many inches above six feet, and biceps that pull his gamer t-shirts so taut that it made you wonder what was underneath.

But it wasn’t as if a nerd - and a beta, obviously, though you didn’t care for secondary gender - like him would ever make a move. 

Hell, he barely even talked to anyone other than the professors. 

All grumbling and rude. It took you weeks to even get him to acknowledge your existence, and that was only by giving him an “accidental” glimpse of your red, red bra strap. 

So you were mostly fine and dandy with this lecherous transaction of yours. Geto was smart; he was never a minute late in emailing you your surely A+ worthy work before their deadlines, and you’d gift him his little treat just the day after.

Except- you were lounging on your couch as the 12:00AM deadline for your latest essay rolled around and there was still no sign of Geto. Not a single ping from your inbox. 

With an impatient thumb, you’re idly scrolling through the sparse chat history you’d all but bullied him into sharing with you, brows furrowing deeper and deeper at your plethora of ignored texts and calls. 

Nothing new but, seriously…

Scoffing as the clock tick! tick! ticked! its way to 12:01AM. 

He was late - and your homework was, too. 

You’d been feeling a little too…feverish tonight to attend that one party your friends had invited you to, and thank your stars for that. Because not even minutes later, you were stomping the few blocks down to Geto’s apartment building and all the way up to his white-painted front door.

“Hey, Sugu—” You rap your knuckles harshly on the wood, exasperated. “Are you in there?”

No answer. 

Huffing, your heated skin stings where it clashes even harder against his door. Impatiently, “Hah- making an omega walk all the way out here…I should take back all those panties I gave you. Yaga deducts points for late submissions and I am not leaving until you come out.”

Still no answer. Not even a sound. 

“In fact, I’ll only get louder.”

Not even a breath. 

That was…strange. He should’ve at least come out to shut up your racket so that he can study, if not at the mention of your panties. 

And right now your annoyance was being washed away with sharp waves of concern, a nervous bout of laughter escaping you as soon as your hand falls on the door handle to find it shockingly unlocked. Oh? 

You and Geto might not be the best of friends, but you wanted him to be alright goddammit. 

“Better come out and stop me now, unless you want me to barge in!” You call out, jostling the cold, metallic knob for good measure. It holds firm in your hand, the only thing grounding your swimming mind as you bask in a second of silence. Two. Three. Before sighing, “Have it your way then. I’m coming in–”

Then it hits you.

Slow, at first. Like a smell from a distant memory that you find yourself aching for - find yourself stumbling a few steps inside Geto’s cozy apartment and devouring in generous lungfuls. 

You slam the door shut to cloud yourself in the saturated air and gasp.

This was nothing like any expensive perfume you’d smelled before. It felt like your entire body was on fire, like every one of your pores was scorching from deep inside. Like you needed him.

Head whirling with the heady concoction of caramel salt scent and those dark undertones of wine. Something so dangerous. So tempting. So…Suguru.

You jolt. He was in rut. 

Wait, rut? Geto Suguru? Wasn’t he…wasn’t he a beta? 

You swear he was. You didn’t know what was happening, only angling your head up for more and more and more-

Shit, you’re shoving your thighs together before you know it. Already feeling the slippery stream of slick that sloshes past your pussy lips and puddles at the bottom of your underwear. And you know you’ve never been wetter. 

“A-anyone home?” You’re straining out, the doughy mountain of your palm rubbing mindlessly up n’ down through your thin skirt. 

Undoubtedly, there’s still no response. And yet, it’s almost as if he’s calling to you - and maybe he is.

Feet wrenching one jerky pitch after the other, you have to balance yourself on the hallway walls to fucking keep your sanity.

And to perhaps stop your weakened knees from slipping you into a pile on the polished hardwood floors. Perhaps to stop yourself from breaking out into a run to wherever your inner luna was clawing to take you. 

You breathe, “Th-this isn’t funny, Suguru…”

The soft thuds of your padded steps thunder in time with your racing heart. Louder and louder. Deafening by the time you’re catching sight of a large mahogany door at the end of the corridor that waves ever-so-slightly ajar. 

Where those hypnotic pheromones were the most saturated. And your mouth waters. 

It’s only once you’re reaching it - trembling, standing stock-still, right outside what you now assumed to be his bedroom - that you realize Geto was calling to you. Well, more like he was calling out for you. 

Your name. 

In soft, breathy moans that make his rich baritone crack.

“Get the fuck in here.”

.

.

.

The moment Geto Suguru catches a glimpse of your oh-so-cute face - the moment he senses that you’re actually, honest-to-goodness here - he cums. 

And he can’t help it- fuck, he can’t help it.

Even dabbing the fat of his massive thumb right over his bawling tip can’t stop the heaping torrents of gooey white escaping from him. Such slick ribbons upon ribbons crawling their way up Geto’s washboard abs, you can only watch with bated breath as his messy, round globs of seed trickle up n’ down until they drench his dark happy trail. 

Your watery thighs stick together, maw falling agape because you’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined this.

You had. Once or twice or many, many times. 

All splayed out on his Digimon sheets like this; meaty thighs cracked open, silky locks slathered across every inch, glasses fogged up. Ruined. Geto’s sweat-shimmered back arches off the outdated bed springs with a creak! while his hand flew furiously up and down his swollen cock.

Shit, you’re biting your lip. Syllables jumping roughly off of your heavy tongue, “S-Suguru?”

SLAM!

It’s like the sound of your voice does heavenly wonders to him.

Plump, tender balls squeezing, Geto’s free hand encloses behind his sweaty scalp and onto the headboard above him. Hard enough that the sturdy frame snaps, pale biceps flexing enough that you find your skin clammy with need. 

“Fuh-fuck.” He’s hissing through clenched teeth. Staring right at your meandering form through dazed half-crescents, mouth departing endless husked grunts. And oh…oh a few more dewy droplets of cum spray out of his bawling orifice once you gulp. “Look what you’ve done t’me.”

“Y-you’re an alpha?” You finally manage to find your voice. 

He snickers, the murky scent of the room growing ever-stronger. And even more than that was your own scent, mixing and melding until you felt dizzy. “And you’re in danger, little omega~”

Your widened gaze grows to lock on the way that his rugged fingers continue milking out creamy sploshes of cum. Expertly flying up, up, up– before fisting his hefty base with an airy sigh. 

Large. He was so large. 

And in so many ways more than one. 

An alpha. He was an alpha. 

Seductively sculptured body dwarfing his single bed with what looked like miles upon miles of toned, tall muscles. Were those tattoos spying out from the sides of his back?

A syrupy geyser of sap formulates between his two legs the size of your head- this was Geto Suguru? 

And his cock - oh, he was so perfectly massive. Oversized, even in Geto’s engulfing hand. 

So painfully hard that he was blushing a blossoming magenta near the very tip of his globular cockhead, throbbing. Pulsing. Thick lightning bolts of veins gripping down either side of his pink shaft and all the way down to his breeder balls.

With a harrowed gasp filling your lungs, you’re spotting just the barest fringe of something soaked-through and gauzy tangled underneath his digits. 

Fuck. 

“Is that-”

“This?” Geto grins - grins. You’ve never seen him smile let alone show off this dopey, predatory leer plastering all over his flushed features. A gentle dimple embeds near his curled lip, and he quirks an eager brow. 

You can barely even think while he untwines the frilly pair of panties you’d thrown at him in class from around his aching cock. Sticky and stretched now, it finds home right near his flared nostrils as Geto brings it up and sniffs. Crazed. “C’mere.”

The rawest of glints twinkle in his half-lidded vision as you inch closer, the way you tremble on your two feet like a newborn fawn was adorable. And he can’t stop himself from letting out a low whistle–

“Yeah. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your body kneels you right by Geto’s bedside before your mind can even think to catch up. Head lolling lecherously against the wide plane of his shivering thigh, you let your tongue lap up a pearl of his buttery white cum and keen. He was even bigger up close. “Sugu—”

“Nuh uh, gorgeous.” Geto tuts, gravelly tonality rendering you confused just as much as you were needy. His two palms grip the crown of your head to peer upwards, “S’all because of you. You n’ those d-damn panties. M’not your hck! nerdy fuckin’ Sugu right now. Best remember that- m’gonna make sure you remember that.”

He’s more than gazing down at you, he’s boring right through you. 

Spectacle frames creeping precariously down his nose bridge, tendrils of his shaggy hair almost curtaining him, pellets of sweat trickle down his temples and hit you in thin spatters. So close. And you wanted him closer. 

“Tilt your head back, lemme see that ngh- pretty mouth.” One hand slips from your head to curl around Geto’s fattened hilt, nudging his puckered tip to strike your lips with a dull thud! “Count.”

“One-”

And it’s not once. 

“T-two-”

Not twice. 

“Three- hah!”

Not thrice, until he’s leaving your mouth whimpering and stinging with the slam of his rock-hard shaft slapping down your tender flesh. Leaving a slimy trail of pre and salty cum that leaks between your maw and drives you wild. 

Then - and only then - is he wrenching you up closer. Manhandling your pliable body until the very tip of his perfectly button nose meets yours. So close.

Your teary lashes flutter halfway shut once you feel the foggy breeze of his breath scorching your face, cunt quivering with the anticipation of a kiss. His pheromones hit you in powerful gusts, your primal urges scratching up to the surface.

Closer. Too close- for a kiss that never comes.

“Heh. Cute.”

He doesn’t kiss you.

But before you know it, Geto pitches his tongue back and wets your shimmery pouted lips with a large wad of his syrupy saliva. 

In just a split-second. 

Bowing you back underneath him and stuffing your chatty mouth so damn full of his swollen cock that you can’t even think of anything else. Fat droplets of tears fountain up at the edge of your eyes, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so split open.

He was eight- no, maybe nearing ten whole inches that scraped the back of your mushy throat with his ruthless mushroom tip. 

Hard. Girthy. 

Cratering out a wet circumference of bruises into your melty mouth with a singular thrust, and it wasn’t enough- fuck, it might never be enough.

Geto’s throwing his head back, toned core muscles tensing. “O-oh. This. Th-this is what it feels like?” 

You almost wonder whether he even knew what he was doing once you feel a shaky thigh throwing behind your neck and reel you in close. Drawing you all the way up until your nose scratches his tufted pelvis, mouth hanging wiiidely agape. 

“Sh-shooo big–” You’re mumbling through a scalding mouthful, slicked walls clenching at the realization that he had you trapped in a headlock. And by the looks of it, he was never going to let go.

“Yeah- yeah?” He shudders out, bass cracking into a zillion shatters near the end. Octaves higher. Unsteady. Meanly, Geto’s leg jostles you even further from behind to probe his shaft even deeper into your velvety mouth, your chin buckling underneath his curvaceous ballsack. Holding you still. Firmly. “Fuckin’ l-like that, don’t you?”

You can’t nod. You can’t hum affirmative. He was so bulky inside you that your lips sag underneath the sheer weight.

But your omega preens for the attention, sleek tongue zig-zagging over one of the pounding veins that poked into the roof of your mouth. And it’s enough of an answer for Geto.

Spitting out, “Oh yeah? Dirty girl. Didn’t expect your loser lil’ Sugu to have such a fat fuckin’ dick, huh?” 

So fucking…rude, words teetering right on just the edge of being menacing. And you were just so gorgeous crying all over his cock like this, so much better than when you were hanging off of other alphas. 

So much better when he strays a thumb to feel your filling throat, the way he’s lodged deep inside. Him. All him. 

You let off a whiny gag the moment his blushing red cockhead twitches up ferally at the thought. The static cotton in your head making you slurp his length with a sloppy squelch! 

He’s pushing up his glasses furiously, “Can you even take it? Seriously- acting so popular n’ mighty when you can’t even take my hngh- cock.”

And you’re about to rebuke, you’re about to- you swear.

But oh, he didn’t have mercy now. 

“Whaaaat? M’just saying.” The ridges of his head press up all against every nook and cranny of your mouth, a silvery trail of drool now seeping from between your locked lips. Geto wipes away his own cobwebs of drool with the back of his mouth, giggling. Giggling when you scuffle, “S’it too big? Too big for our f-famous lil’ omega?”

Your throat aches something carnally delicious when he keeps a hold ‘round your neck to plunge into the waterlogged bottom. Bobbing your head in lewd maneuvers allll the way up n’ down. “Ngh- Sugu–” 

“Hah- hah!” His glassy eyes gleam something wild, microscopic tastebuds watering all over again with just how intensely he was gawking down at you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that his eyes were glowing- “Why are ya still fuckin’ speaking, gorgeous?”

It wasn’t a Command, but oh did it feel like one.

Only mere moments later and Geto’s springing himself off of the bouncy mattress to shovel your hot throat full of copious inches and leave you spellbound. Swirling a lazy few half-circles of his heavy tip where you were most sensitive.

“Cool that pretty lil’ head. You’re cuter when yer like th-this, y’know?” He groans, feeling your slippery cheeks grip his shaft in an adorable hug. Knee drawing up even tighter to hold you still while he fucked your mouth the way he’d been wishing he could for so long. “All shut up a-and mine and…”

Ah, breath wisping away. He’s prodding your poor gag reflexes at the very same time he rovers up a stray hand to squeeze your nostrils together. “-only mine.”

“Nghh- G-etooo—” And yet, he still doesn’t let up. You’re cupping Geto’s plumpened balls with a delicately loving touch, lustrous strands of spit layering your lips. “Want you.”

“Hm?”

“Want you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Those are the very same words he’s been dreaming of every single rut since meeting you. And he can’t help himself, he can’t stop himself from letting out a slew of swears and cumming.

Shocked. 

“Sh-shit—” It’s all Geto can do to bite down on the plush of his bottom lip and wrangle back those embarrassing fucking whimpers on his tongue, dewy eyes sparkling with a few overstimulated tears. “You’re gonna- f-fucking…”

But he’s not given the privilege to finish his thought let alone his sentence. 

Just flooding your senses with the caramel salt of his scent, and his gobs of pearly seed. Every jackhammer has Geto pinpricking it on the back of your bruised and battered throat, every squeeze of his hand around your neck makes him drool out in wiry oodles of sap more and more and more-

“S’what you w-wanted, right?” And you’re sensing the way his scent tinged with something maddened, leaving your eyes popping. “Prancing around with your hah- p-pre-heat panties and your- fuck!” Geto fights to keep his eyes from flapping closed, “Take it- ohhhh take it all.”

As if you could do anything else.

Every tiny twitch leaves your cavern flooded. Geto was cumming so hard that it was overspilling from each crevice of your lips, a silvery waterfall of cum that he’s dabbing around a thumb to smear. 

Letting your pouted lips wobble at the fresh topping of white gloss, “There’s a good girl. My goood fuckin’ girl.” 

Oh, there’s no doubt in your fractured mind right now that Geto Suguru was an alpha. Inhaling his deep puffs of contentment, you’re arching your back mindlessly in delight. Throat loosening with the motions to-

“Don’t swallow.”

So mean. 

You don’t think you’re given the split-second to wonder otherwise before he’s grappling for the pretty column of your throat and kissing you raw. 

You’re gasping when his depraved tongue smacks down between the seam of your mouth to lather in every scorching hot mess of sap he’d left behind. The mess that he made. And he was only making it messier.

Watching you through barely-cracked open pupils while he scooped up the sticky webs of seed dangling from your mouth. Scratchy buds taking over. A kiss so filthy that you felt shy to even call it that. 

“Mmm—” Geto’s skidding his tongue down the buttered length of his lips, flicking over any stray droplets he could find. And something in his eyes told you that he was mere seconds away from doing it all over again. “Not bad for a first kiss.”

Fuck- what?

“Sugu- what-” You’re panting out measly syllables through the gaps of his sappy mouth. “I-I thought you’d be more…”

“What? A heh- bumbling loser?” His eyes narrow down at you, words purring sexily. “Oh, gorgeous…”

Fuck, and if the rasping growl in his tone didn’t shut you up, the way that Geto’s throwing you onto the bouncy bed sure does. 

He doesn’t have a care in the world, he doesn’t have a single thought other than ripping off your flimsy clothes. Everything but those very same cherry pink panties you’d teased up at him, well- more see-through than anything right now.

Kneeing apart your jittery legs to watch the way your cunt gushes in pure need. Lips curling into a leer at the way she winks up at him through filthy masses of slick.

“Sh-she’s mine now, isn’t she?” Rumbling out, eyes wide. Unfocused. And the look on Geto’s face made white-hot trills sprint down your spine - ones you couldn’t decode between primal need and fear. “She’s…”

Ptwah!

The vicious goblet of spit that hits you this time is somehow even meaner than the last, striking at the very top of your sobbing pussy and disappearing riiiight between your folds. 

“Mine.” Awestruck, Geto bullies one capped knee to smooch up against your slit. Gleaming his heated skin with the bucketloads of cute sap that you kept pouring out by the second. Geto was greedy, he was grunting. “Beg for it, omega.”

You’re squirming underneath him impatiently, clawing all over his unmoving wrists. You ached all over for something. Anything. “Don’t- don’t wanna-”

But Geto had ten times your strength and wasn’t afraid of using it. Oh, he wasn’t afraid of using it - wasn’t afraid of pinning down both your trembly hands on the bed springs with one of his. Rutting his knee up even more mercilessly, murking his pheromones until it burned of salt and spice. “Beg.”

You mewl, “P-please-”

“No stuttering.”

“Please.” And if that wasn’t enough, you’re batting your lacquered lashes up at Geto in exactly the way you knew was his weakness. Exactly the way that got you the second-highest GPA for so long. Jutting your back the perfect curvature off of the bed, “I’ll let you k-keep my panties, Suguru—?”

“Oh, giiiirl—” He husks out, leaning in so close to plant a yearning snog on your mouth. Blushing pink lips wrapping around your tongue and sucking. You always got what you wanted. “M’keeping those regardless.”

In his special drawer for all your slutty underwear, of course. 

And just as soon as Geto’s kissing your lips, he’s trekking his way downwards to make sure that your other ones don’t feel left out. 

“Look at her.” He breathes, words taking on an airy tone that makes him sound as if he was furious. Blistering with the anger that he’s been deprived of the heavenly proximity of your soft, seeping cunt for so long. “H-heh, if o-only those tch- popular friends of yours could see. Just look- look how wet she is f’me. All me.”

A fattened thumb fringes past your panties, and you flinch at the cold press of his silver rings. Rovering all the way to greet your puffy pussylips in languid drags uuuuup and down, pricking his manicured fingernail on the button of your clit. 

Geto’s hooded lids widen, heat rushing all over his cheeks at the sloppy squelches he draws out. So easily. Adorably.

And it was true - he did have a tattoo. A splashing inking of a dragon all across Geto’s muscled back, somehow making him even more unintentionally hotter. 

“And look how loud mmm–” He’s kissing the mound of your folds like a lover, lingering. Loving. Stealing deeeeep gasps of your scent, “M’gonna ruin you. Ngh- ohhh, m’gonna r-ruin you, gorgeous. Ruin ya for anyone else.”

And when Geto meant he was going to ruin you - he meant it.

“Shit.” He was going to mush his pretty features up into your sopping wet pussy until you could feel every minute, warm pant. Staring right up into the target of your fuzzy heart-eyes, “How do you- how do you taste so good.”

Every gasp he’s drinking in of your murked perfumed pheromones, showering ‘round every sense and making him dizzy.

“Squeeze- wanna feel-”

And maybe it’s his rut, maybe it’s the way your tension was so thick - but you instantaneously know what to do. 

To close your legs in a deadlock around Geto’s oily scalp. Your weighty eyelids bat up and down subconsciously at the attractive way he was digging his bulging biceps into the sides of your thighs. Pulling you in closer and closer and closer. “That turns you on, huh?”

But that wasn’t all- oh, that wasn’t what he was making out with your cute cunt and begging for. 

His mouth lathers over with a fresh bout of watery spit the moment your rubbery ring of muscle clench all around him. Making every ridge of his hot tongue catch on your gooey innards, the texture of it enough to drive you positively wild. 

“Sh-shiiit–” You’re letting out a primal groan, clawing at his tattooed back. Chest shuddering underneath the strain of one powerful hand pinning you down. Holding you painfully still. “Suguru- want more. More.”

Slipping his slick tongue in and out of your fluttery hole, Geto keens at the way your entrance kept on trying to suck him back in. 

“Fuckin’ know-” In one second, he’s pushing his cloudy glasses up his nose, and in the other he pries apart your puffed lips and caresses. “Yer turning into a fucking w-waterpark, dirty girl. Even wetter than all that p-porn I learned from…”

You’re whimpering, legs falling further n’ further open until it burned your inner quads. No matter how deeply Geto stuffed his face between them it just wouldn’t be enough.

It was almost as if…

“Heat.” He’s slurring a looong lap of his grooved tastebuds all over the lustre of your sweet, sweet juices. Free hand wrapping at his favorite position around your neck and making sure to angle your head so that you catch the twinkling droplets of slick pouring down his tongue. “You’re in heat, little omega.”

Gasping, “W-what?”

But it made sense. It was falling into place and that only made you wetter.

With a smirk, Geto swats your hands until they tangle into his silken tresses. “Lemme take care of you.” SWAT! The plapping sensation hits you before the realization that he’d run his crowned digits over to spank your perked clit. “Ngh- just sit tight n’ let your nerdy ol’ Sugu here take g-goood care of you.”

He was pleading with you - begging you - to latch onto his pretty locks and grind your pussy in repeated gyrations all over his face. Guiding him, using the hook of his pert nose as the perfect ridge to rest your throbbing clit on. 

“Th-thank you, alpha—” Too good. You were giving into something baser, to let your head loll into the cushy pillow behind you in sweeping motions. And it was so cute he could cum. 

“Yeah? Who- who?”

“You, Suguru.”

“Damn right.”

With every drag of his hoarse syllables, Geto was trawling his face across every inch between the beautiful legs that you had to offer.

Purposefully. 

You’re holding back his endless, inky strands just to admire how pretty he looked. How ravenous. Greedy. 

Fuck, Geto was making up for all these years he spent parched. Spitting out streak after streak of spittle that made your pussy pour out all over his snogging mouth. “Gonna- gonna fuck you like this w’my cock next.”

His tongue folds into your slobbery hole and slithers into every tender orifice - so staggeringly long that you were feeling a lump in your own throat. 

Just a few flops into your earliest magical spots and Geto could already hear the way you were fighting to hide your little sobs. 

“Th-this right here-” He’s probing a finger underneath the panties that stuck to your cunt like adhesive, letting it spring back to hit you with a smack! Tittering at your yelp, “S’mine.”

Rubbing a fat few crowns of his fingerpads at the tender area underneath the base of your pussy. Pressing down. Hard. “And her? All the w-way from here-”

Drawing sensual patterns up, up uuuup all the way to your sensitive clit, and oh- it felt so right to have him draw sultry little hearts on your weepy hood. 

Tugging it over to nip underneath one sharp canine - one that you swear had grown even longer in the last few minutes. Geto was gone in the depths of his rut, hallowing out his cheeks to eat you out as if he was a man starved. And you were his favorite dessert. “To here? S’mine, too.”

RIIIIIP—!

Through your glossy heaps of tears, you can make out the fuzzy shapes of Geto tearing your satiny underwear into tatters. Balling it up into a wad of sugarcoated fabric that he unapologetically stuffs in your drivelling mouth.

“Gonna add these t-to my collection.” You feel him smile against the outer edges of your claggy cunt, tittering at the stupid way your overspilling lips slacken with a soggy pwah! You’re hearing and feeling a long-winded woooosh from below once he takes a deeeep breath in with his over-delicate senses. “Th-thereeee we go. Cum all over my mouth, gorgeous.”

And if you were in any better state of mind perhaps you’d have noticed the way that Geto’s driving his hips into the bed like a damn dog when he sensed your scent peaking. Sensed you getting closer.

Ragged breaths striking your quivering pussy mercilessly and making your teeth sink desperately into the muggy jumble of underwear in your mouth. 

Your broken moans burst out even through that particular watergate, right along with a slithery trickle of saliva and a huff of “S-Suguru—” Craning your head to watch his nostrils flare with knowing, “Close- clo- cumming.”

Eyes flashing. Heart thumping not just within your rib cage.

When it rains, it pours. 

But you weren’t just pouring - you were flooding.

Such glutinous ropes of your orgasm, it sprays Geto’s sexy face in squirts. Clinging onto the edge of his glasses and forming little puddles right at the apples of his high cheeks.

Suddenly, you were oh-so-thankful for the way he’d stuffed your mouth mercilessly full - because by the rusted rasp in your throat, you’re sure you’re singing out shrill trills loud enough that his neighbors would file a noise complaint.

But that was the last thing on his mind.

The last thing- well, fuck, it wasn’t on his mind at all. Geto’s cooing at how unstable you feel, treacherous fingers mazing across your fat clit and giving her a goood few pushes just the way he would with his gameboys.

“Good girl-” he spits into your gapingly widened cunt, still suffering from the remnant tremors of your high and still slopping out wads of juices. Like a mantra, Geto’s dark brows scrunch in concentration, “Good girl good girl gooood fucking girl.”

Words hitching up into something shrill near the edge, he sounded as if he was fraying his sanity with every droplet of slick you pumped into his mouth. With every single second. 

Pushing his aching hot cock deeper and deeper into the sullied sheets. More. He needed more. 

Every sloppy swivel of your widely pried-apart pussy on his tongue made him leave an open-palmed smack! on your thigh. Other hand traipsing to pin your hips down with his big, vein-decorated forearm. 

He doesn’t want to let go.

You’re barely letting off a whine at the lack of friction before Geto lets his mouth depart from your cunt with a soggy pwah! Leaving a final few French kisses on his favorite sweet orifice, he’s pecking a loooong open-mouthed pathway up to your loosened maw.

“Good girl…” He hiccups, clammy forehead sticking against yours. Each syllable struggles to wrench past the leaden ball slowly forming on Geto’s mouth. 

The syrup-glazed lenses of his glasses clash into you, and Geto himself seems to notice. “Look what a fuckin’ mess ya made.” He’s gruffing out at the thick topping of oozing gloss that made the frame impossible to see through. 

Immediately pulling back a few millimeters to take them off and dump them on your own nose bridge. Unceremoniously. 

And it was so wet. 

Almost as wet as Geto’s features were - all showered in gunky dredges of glistening sap. It streaks all the way from his pointed chin and up to his handsome cheekbones. Beads of it hitting your panting chest in a pat! pat! pat!

Heaving out a shaky exhale, he’s pushing away a few elegant strands of charcoal bangs. 

“M’gonna…m’gonna fuck you now.” Sounding more as if he was talking to himself rather than you. Or perhaps both. Puffy folds being rubbed all raw with the depraved back and forth of his veiny under-shaft. “Gonna fuck you. So take it- take it.”

Geto stares deep into your whirling eyes while he sinks his hefty cock into you just as thoroughly. A clingy film sticks to his gaze, dazed and all half-hooded that you wondered if he could even register what was in front of him.

Crazed.

And he’s such a fucking tease, too. 

Creating a slimy trail of pasty pre all over your weakened inner thighs, he drags his bawling divot all over every stretch of your entrance. Around and around in circles. 

“B-big, huh? Better take it b-before I- make it- fit-” He’s echoing, dimples peaking out at the cute way your breath hitches once you feel the sheerly massive circumference of his fat tip. “Shhhh shh sh, s’alright- s’where you’re m-meant to ngh- be.”

Even for an alpha, he was always staggering - but having him stuffing you to the brim would be a whole other feeling. Would have you ruined. 

You’re peering up at him through humid lashes, borrowed glasses smearing wet splotches of slick underneath your skin. Eventually, those panties had found themselves spilling out of your unfastened jaw, “Meant to- hah! be?”

“Mhmmm— pretty omega.” You’re hit with a sudden wave of coaxing pheromones, the gentle salty breeze making your hips buck subconsciously upwards. Subconsciously aching. “This s’where you’re ngh- meant to be.”

And as much as Geto loved hearing whiny questions bubble their way up to your spit-layered lips, oh- was it so much more fun to eye down at your speechless self when he snugly squeezes just a mere sensual inch.

Leaning back to watch the way his bustling cock was stretching and stretching and stretching your tender walls flawlessly. You were taking him so ridiculously well. 

“Fuh-fuck you-” His plush pecs rumble with his bass from above, words tumbling. Hips rolling. And Geto was fucking gone- staring at you with wide, humorless eyes that you doubt were even seeing. “Fuck you- m’fucking you…fuck you fuck you fuck!”

With every sharp fah! being whirled into your loose mouth, Geto rubs his puffed-up veins into the tender mound of your cunt. You can’t help but count every rapid ba-dump—! his achy length throbs. 

Desperately. Rutting and rutting just to fit himself inside. 

Around the time he’s only halfway in, Geto circles one hand over his drenched base to skid taut O’s at the edge of your hole. Nudging his fat girth past your entrance and keening-

“M-more!” You’re barking out primally, your tongue tied into all sorts of bows and ribbons with the way this stretch was searing. And it was the best sort of tight fit, you were practically drooling all over again at the fleshy thwack! of Geto’s rounded balls smacking your thighs. “More, Sugu—”

“M-more…?”

It wasn’t just you - your luna needed more, too. 

You’re nodding and nodding- only to realize with a harsh muffle of Geto’s palm over your noisy mouth that he wasn’t even talking to you.

No, he was tittering away in a small sort of voice. Octaves higher. Strained. Goosebumps smatter all across your skin at the way he sounded so unstable. 

“More…” Irises flashing a glowy purple, fingers twitching where he held you. A loser like him. A nerd like him. “M-more she says.”

Fuck. 

Without another word - without another breath - Geto’s flipping you around with only one beefy palm clawing at your hip. Shoving your face deep into the puff of his nerdy pillows, he’s bottoming out with just one thrust-

You think you scream, you think you bawl once you feel his plummy mushroom head draw a long line of pre along the insides of your cervix. And your pussy felt so full you could burst, your walls crushed with all overpacked inches of his.

Finally. 

“Thaaaat’s it, that’s it-” He’s grunting through furiously clenched teeth, a hand crowning the back of your scalp and muffling your words into the bed. Hard. Fuck- he was going to pass out if you made another pretty sound. “S’where you belong.”

Ah, there it is - that little broken prayer.

Except, this time it was being respired in boiling hot pants against the tips of your ears. Was being wheezed out of Geto when he lurches his sweat-simmered hips back to hit your ass with a resounding pap!

“All f-fucked dumb on my ngh- biiig fucking cock, hm?” He tilts your head up with one hand, smiling to himself once he catches a glittery flash of spit leaking from your lips. “All…” A warm splatter! strikes your back, and only then do you realize that he’s slobbering. “Mine.”

And where Geto was talking all possessively - he was fucking you even more so.

In the blink of an eye, he’s planting two sets of fingers on either of your wrists and pulling all the way back, back, back. A length foot being placed right at the small of your spine to get you to bend in a delicious arch-

“Fuck!” Your cute voice rings hoarse, like music to his blushing ears. Struggling to regain the gasps of air leaving your lungs, “There- th-there.”

Oh, shit.

The way Geto was manhandling you was not only bending you in all sorts of lecherously pliable ways that had your slit dripping, it was making his rotund cockhead stub oh-so-viciously into your cervix. 

Rough. Probing. 

“H-heh, guess I lost my first kiss there, too.” He’s giggling out, biting down on the rugged mewls that threaten to depart every time your cunt swallows him whole. “Congrats on being my ngh- first, little omega— yer e-even better than my ngh- bodypillows of you.”

Bending you over ever-deeper, honestly- your walls were cloying onto him so desperately that it was making Geto’s heart pang with disappointment every time his ruddied tip recoiled back from the bottom of your sloppy pussy. 

He wanted to be this close to you forever. 

Treacling out stringy wads of pre, he’s furrowing brows and making sure each n’ every jackhammer fills you up impossibly. 

You can barely grapple for air at this point, the sloshes of syrup left after each barrelling strike leaving you star-struck. 

He grins, “Shit, d-do ya ever stop fuckin’ drooling? Gonna hafta call the f-fire department, girl.”

“Can’t help it–!” All you can do it let your mouth unlatch to warble whimper after whimper–

“C’mon now, gorgeous- aren’t ya ashamed?” Licking his lips free of your taste, Geto diverts more pressure to his foot. Hefty balls rippling wickedly against the sobbing end of your slit with just how easy you were to throw around like his favorite toy. Like his favorite figurines. “Look at what a mess yer making. Being fucked so f-filthy. And I haven’t even ngh- found it, yet.”

Haven’t found it. Oh, but he knew he was going to. He was going to make you scream.

Your syrupy whines slip into something desperate, “Y-you don’t know…?”

“Of course I f-fuckin’ know. Who d’ya think you’re ngh talking to?” As if you could forget you were being thoroughly pounded by the smartest person on campus right now. And evidently the filthiest, too. 

A ringed finger treks down to your sensitive nub, soothing over where you were throbbing the most violently. Cute. Lulling you into a sweet, sweet state of bliss before Geto pinches–

“Oh p-please!” You’re targeting your hazy vision over your shoulder, and somewhere along the lines Geto’s spectacles had slid cleanly off of you. Toes curling as his bloated head bludgeons just the creamy edges near your g-spot. “Please- y-you’re so close, Suguru-”

You didn’t know whether it was your heat or just Geto that had you so desperate. Your sparkless mind blames the latter.

“Am I?” He hums, leaning over so that the soft tendrils of his hair tickled your back. 

Whacking his painfully achy crownhead mere centimeters below your magical spots, and you’re starting to think he’s doing this on purpose. 

Geto starts holding it there for lingering French snogs into the steamy inner depths of your cunt and then you know he’s doing this on purpose. Spitting in your mouth with a smile. 

That mean bastard.

Jittering your hips to chase the texture of his curly pubic hair against your ass, he snickers. “Are you ngh- suuuure? You haven’t done a s-single one of your ngh- human biology essays lately, dirty girl.”

You’re molding your lips into a pout - difficult, with just how many loads of saliva were pouring out of you and cementing a puddle onto the Digimon pillows. “F-fuck you.”

“No…” You set free a gasp of air you didn’t know you were holding the very second he lets go of the rough foot anchoring your spine, instead- in only mere nanoseconds you find yourself jerked up into Geto Suguru’s hold with a hand at your throat. Back gluing against his glissading abs, even his voice was unbalanced and trembling now. “I’m fucking you, little omega.”

And you were about to remember it.

With an immediate pitch of his gasping breaths, Geto’s angled hips go from steadily ruined to sloppy. Calculated. 

He didn’t care if he made a mess of stringy slick that circled in the satiny sheets around the two of you, he didn’t care if your eyes were bulging out of their poor sockets when his pronounced hips dig into your backside with blistering bruises. 

He didn’t care for anything but digging the curled fringe of his fatly bloated tip right into the target of your g-spot. 

Mazing through your gluey folds and keeping them snugly open with his reddened girth, Geto knocks your sweetest spots with vengeance. 

“There–!” You call out, as if he hadn’t already felt the gooey seize of your pussy trying to hold him hostage. 

His mouth trudges over your throat, fingers roaming over to give your clit a nice few pinches. Meaningfully, “Here? Orrrr–” Punctuating each word, each second with a thorough drilling into your g-spot. “-here? Make up th-that ditzy lil’ mind. Seriously.”

Your head drunkenly crashes on top of his collarbone and stays there, “R-right here- there. Both, Sugu.”

“Again with the f-fucking Sugu-” Geto snarls out, though you can sense by his cloudy scent that he was anything but irritated with you. 

Your whines had quietened down into something more of an incoherent mess, and the main things ringing in Geto’s ears right now were the creaky protests of his bed and the clammy plops of his thrusts. 

“C’mon now— where’s my bossy fuck! omega? The one who loves her poor, nerdy Sugu?”

Arousal reaching a peak, and now that he’d found your g-spot, he was probing into it with fat thuds. Not just once or twice. Nooooo, it was over and over and- 

“Just w-wanna cum—” you’re sobbing out. Jerking your body like a bobble-head up and down to further feel the drag of his Herculean form behind you, to savor each ridge and sculpted curve sweatily massaging your back. “P-pleeeeease, Suguru. Let me cum?”

Swerving his tensing hips out alllll the way back to leave solid smooches ‘round your pussy entrance each and every time, and then there were the squelches-

Oh, you were just flooding a slippery sheen all over his hefty, swelling base. A viscid luster of slick that glided all the way down to drip off of his sack n’ between his legs. 

Your eyes manage to snatch themselves open- hissing at the realization that it was pooling especially around that particularly ballooned-up ring right over Geto’s breeder balls. 

Was that? With a shiver you’re rutting backwards, feeling for yourself the slow drag of his proud knot. Bigger than any else you’ve ever seen. It was. 

You rasp, throat itchy and raw. Sweltering droplets of tears streaming down your cheeks when he matches the stuttering beat of your heart with every pressurized push- “P-please.”

“Needy thing. Cum, huh?” Geto drawls out, voice thick with need and something else you were too stupid to register right now. He collides you even tighter against rippling pecs. Taking the sweet, sweet opportunity to poke his nose into your scent gland and steal a looooong breath of your overdriven pheromones. 

“Cum then, c-cum. Fucking cum all over my cock.”

Fuck, it’s with those exact words in mind that you do.

Startling straight headfirst into your high - and you don’t think you’ve even crashed into one wave of bliss before the other overtakes you. And another. And another-

“Oh g-god—” You’re trilling, only held up by the ruthless grip that Geto was maintaining. His hips were deep, and your pleasure even deeper. “-please. Please- please, Sugu-”

He’s hunching over your body ever-so-slightly, resting your thighs against his thick, flexing ones. Only bending you over to kiss your g-spot even more sinfully, Geto’s response comes out ragged into your lobes. “Tch, wh-what now?”

His ruby-red tip was blushing like a strawberry and just as plump - swirling around your treasure trove of spots, pounding you through each peak of your orgasm until you saw stars. 

“Cum i-insiiiide-” Your barely-audible groans spring out into the heady air, adding to its hypnotic mix of perfumes. And it’s not just the heat that made you crave Geto carnally, every pap! against the puffy ring at his base making you crave more more more- “Want it a-all up…”

You’re trailing off, melted mind unable to do multiple things at once. 

With tottering fingerpads, you’re trapping one of his palms underneath your own. Homing itself right above where his rounded tip was stretching open your insides, right above your womb.

“H-here, okay? Don’t miss-” 

You blink up at him and Geto thinks he might just be having a heart attack. Sparks fizzing around his sloshed brain, “Fuh-fuuuuck– don’t talk out of yer pussy, gorgeous.” He spanks your clit once. Twice just to watch your eyes glaze over stupidly. “Or m’gonna get you pregnant.” 

Soothing over that faint bulge he was fucking into your tummy, “Gonna h-have my baby growing allll up in here. Make you round and…” His voice sounds faint, whispering. “-big and…glowing. And…and pregnant.”

But, ah- you never did make it easy for him. Did you? Always had to have your way. 

Which Geto Suguru gladly gave. 

“But I want that, Sugu—” You pout, “Wan’ your knot…please?”

You didn’t have to say another word before Geto’s finishing off in such a messy way, reaching the biggest fucking orgasm he’s had in his entire life. The strongest. The most heavenly and oh- oh, were you an angel?

He’s collapsing onto the drenched sheets before he knows it, pinning you down with the strong v-line of his hips. 

“Shit-” Geto emits through the cracks in his bitten canines. “Shit shit shit- shit-”

You don’t know who’s losing their mind more, you or him. Falling into the well of a second, third, perhaps even fourth orgasm with how blissfully his fattened, split-ended cock bruised every nook of your adhesive-like walls. 

Your saliva cascades in puddles that soak the pillows through. “Suguruuu— a-are you okay-”

“Do I look okay?”

Sexily ridged abs kneading your back, hands scrambling on the mattress, inked shoulders shivering. His swollen knot hits and hits your pussymound. 

And it’s only once his trembly fingers latch around his glasses - fumbling, dropping it copious times before Geto manages to push them haphazardly onto his face. 

Tilting his head back just enough degrees to watch as the curved fringe of his knot disappears past your puffy folds. 

“There we- there…” He’s driveling clingy wads of translucent saliva, letting the stray pouring excess hit your fluttering hole with a splat! One eager thumb of Geto’s hooks into your entrance and bullies it aside to let his incredible perimeter sink iiiiiiiiin-

He’s melting into you now, spent. Ruined. “Get pregnant.” Geto whispers into your sweat-glossed shoulder blade once he feels the back of his knot get fully enveloped into your pussy with a gummy pop! Once he feels himself finally tip over- “Get pregnant.”

And it’s not just mindless babbling - it’s a promise. 

A promise that he rasps out time and time against with every wadded slip of seed that dollops out across your cervix. Pushing it so deep. Smearing acres of ribbony streaks all over your most precious orifices and spots. 

“Gonna know wh-what we did.” Geto whimpers, shit- he couldn’t pound his voluminous ounces of cum into you as aggressively as he wanted with this damn knot. “Entire campus. Professors. Everyone’s gonna know ngh- how I fucked ya full. F-fucked you pregnant. Gonna wonder.”

But that didn’t stop him from trying.

That didn’t stop him from wrenching out a hand to squeeze the ends of your sopping wet slit, forcing down on his very knot. Squeezing out so many numerous dredges of syrupy white cum that thwack! thwack! thwacks! a filthy second skin against your walls. 

“Fuh-fuuuuck— get pregnant, gorgeous.” He’s rutting. Grinding. Humping you like some beast more than man. “Gonna l-look at you all round n’ big and see me- me me me. Get pregnant get pregnant get-” 

Geto’s mouth parts at the pearly dewdrops of seed that leak from the overstuffed ends of your cunt. He can feel his entire body twitch, can feel his sharpened teeth lacquer so rabidly. 

He still wasn’t done.

Still letting one prespired forearm of his dangle around your neck, manhandling you into a fucking headlock. The other tracing the edges of his digits over your glands, squeezing until your skin was all tender and raw. 

And puffy. 

Perfect for him to tilt his head and bite—

“Ohhh- yes!” Every fibre of your being delights at the way Geto’s biting you so hard that you can smell crimson iron. Your pheromone bubble pops! to mix together with his own. Becoming one. And you can scent him - you can feel him. 

Glasses clashing, teeth tearing. Before you know it, you’re doing the same. “Suguruuuu— m’yours.”

Your mate latches onto the curves of your hips - your soon-to-be birthing hips. 

And the way Geto rediscovers that - tucking his face into the ruined, drenched fabric of those cherry pink panties and taking an endless, husky sniff - tells you that this was going to be a long, loooong night. 

“Mine.”

A/N. MMMMMMMMM NERD GETOOOOOOOO

“Oh, thank fuck! You have no idea how much I appreciate it, man.” Kusakabe bellows in celebration, and Shiu’s forced to lean his head away from the speaker if ever he valued his ear drums.

Atsuya Kusakabe was a farmer specializing in hybrids just like Shiu was, though his friend had taken it a step further and raised only bulls on his farm. Though he really did reconsider this friendship when the other was trying to pawn off one of his biggest bulls on him for a few days.

In his bemused wonderment at his friend, Shiu almost doesn’t register the soft nudge of something against his open palm. Something warm, something silky. He snaps his head down- and a sudden smile spreads across his face as he realizes just who it was.

You’d wandered off from your cosy lil’ corner, and cuddled up to him leisurely. 

“Hey there, girlie.” Shiu whispers, reaching his fingers up to scratch behind your ecstatic ears. You weren’t quite the social hybrid, even amongst your own kind. Always frolicking by yourself when let out to graze, always straying behind the group after milking. 

Shiu couldn’t even tease enough out of you (not even half a bucket!) when compared to the rest of the cows here. But the thing is, you seemed perfectly content with your few close attachments on the farm, your few friends, your rejection of many bulls (and trust that the attempts to woo were many). And whether that was because you’d grown too attached to him, whether that was just the way you were - he didn’t exactly mind.

He knew he shouldn’t have favorites, and yet…here you were.

“Feeling all better?” He’s asking, and you’re nodding languidly. Still tired, then. This season’s heat had been as powerful as ever - out of all his hybrids, it was safe to say that you had one of the strongest.

The neediest.

The sultriest.

Which wouldn’t even have been notable if you’d just let another bull hybrid mount you through them to ease the urges, perhaps even result in a cute lil’ calf for his farm- but that was exactly the problem. 

You didn’t.

Shiu couldn’t even count on two hands how many times he’d tried to pair you off with one of his bulls - and each time had ended in a disaster. Either you’d barricaded yourself in another part of your barn room, or you’d claw your way outside altogether. Each and every time, Shiu would check on you in the middle of your heats to find that you were in the throes of your desires, fiddling with nothing but the toys he’d gifted you, and his sullen bulls would be pouting n’ pushed off to one side. Useless, really.

No matter how needy you were, you just wouldn’t take to them. And it wasn’t that they were particularly weak, or unattractive - there was Ino who you’d just ended up chatting through your heat with, Kashimo and Ijichi who you’d both kicked out, Takaba who you didn’t even look at, Naoya who you…

Yeah, he didn’t want to think about the beaten-up state you’d left Naoya in. It made him laugh.

He wondered who the problem was - those bulls that couldn’t woo you properly, or you who couldn’t be wooed.

He blamed the bulls.

And he’s patting the top of your head tenderly, carefully avoiding the slight protrusions of your horns that were oh-so-sensitive. Mutterly absent-mindedly, “It’s alright, it’s alright. Trust that we’ll find you a proper mate next year, girlie.”

You can only nod unsurely, gesturing at his phone. “Someone’s talking, Shiu.”

“Huh? Oh someone’s-” Oh, right, he was in the middle of his call still. He’d almost forgotten. Shiu tunes into the latest of Kusakabe’s spiel, and it didn’t seem like he’d missed out on anything too important—

“-had no idea what I was going to do for the few days I’d be in Tokyo for the Hybrid Farms Convention, I’ll pick him up right on my way back from there.”

“Mhm, sounds good.” He rattles off.

“You can keep him anywhere you like, to be honest. He doesn’t have any specific requirements, he’s just as sturdy as he is massive- hah! Though, I do give Toji a separate room of his own from the others…just in case.”

“Mhmmm.”

“My apprentices will be taking care of it while he’s gone, all ready for that big boy to be back.”

“Mhmmm.” Shiu lightly furrows his brows—if he has apprentices, and he has other bulls he’s leaving behind, then why did he need to leave Toji in particular with Shiu again? Oh, whatever…

“And you remember what I said earlier, right?”

Well, he wasn’t really listening but…“Mhm-”

“You have to keep an eye on Toji while he’s in rut.”

“Mh-” Shiu’s eyes bug out of his scalp, his knees grow a little weak, and he damn near drops his phone- oh, too late. He’s already dropped his phone down into the green grass below, startling you in the process. “While he’s in what?”

.

.

.

Name: Toji Fushiguro

Age: 30’s (approx.)

Hybrid type: Bos taurus

Height: 6’2+

Weight class: 1600kg - 1800kg.

Other notes: Subject has a sleek black coat, high intelligence, and a somewhat temperamental demeanour. He will insult you if it comes to infringing upon his freedom. Does not care for medical exams. Continuous horn growth that shows evidence of strong fighting capabilities, fatal power, and weapon-like appendages. It should be noted that the subject is of a larger size even amongst Bos taurus (in particular, the Nambu shorthorn bulls) and needs larger spaces of leisure than most. Take care to handle, needs multiple handlers.

Shiu’s face only grows pale as he reads down the medical sheet, quickly flicking his eyes to the very end so that he might be able to spare himself some of the torture.

-particularly powerful ruts with the urge to breed. According to the handler, it is noted that the subject has not spent a rut in the presence of a mate.

Even paler.

To emphasize, he is unmated.

And paler.

And currently nearing his rut.

For the second time in the past 24 hours (which isn’t many times, but it’s strange that it’s happened twice) Shiu’s fingers drop whatever he was holding in shock. Diligently, you’re right beside the farmer to pick up the piece of paper and hand it to him - giggling when he drops it for a third time.

Though, it was by sheer miracle that he doesn’t just faint right then and there.

Oh—he catches a glimpse of Kusakabe’s large white cattle trailer backing up into his hybrid pen and can feel himself teetering already. Thankfully, you were right there to nudge your head against his frame in support, slightly worried for the human man.

Because not only was Toji said to be nearing his merciless rut, but according to the medical sheet that his friend (‘friend’ hah!) had handed to him, he was unmated?

Makes sense, Kusakabe’s farm specialized in bulls.

But perhaps if Toji had a mate then the cow hybrids of this farm would be safe- he casts a sidelong look your way. Perhaps you - with your still-sweetened pheromones, and your even sweeter demeanour - would be safe.

“Something wrong, Shiu?” You’re asking, worriedly.

“N-nothing-” The farmer places a hand on your head and pats, faintly. “Nothing at all, don’t you worry about a thing, girlie.”

Ah, well…Shiu thinks to himself, watching as the truck finally finishes reversing, and Kusakabe (that bastard!) slides out of the driver’s seat to open up the towering steel door in the back. It looked so massive compared to the admittedly above-average man, and that only made Shiu’s tension increase twofold at what may be lurking behind those metal gates.

Ones that seem to burst open with a roaring screeeech—

“Oh, shit.” His mouth was desert-dry, his grip unyielding on you who’d been angling your head to get a better look. “Oh, shit.”

Because Toji Fushiguro was massive.

Dominating.

So many thousands of kilograms of a hybrid that sauntered smugly out of the trailer, as if he owned it. As if he owned this entire farm and everyone in it. 

The rest of the hybrids were drawn in by the commotion, turning their curious eyes towards the refined horns that gleamed as they entered the light. Towards the thundering ground. The powerful flank. The polished coat. The single golden ring ‘round his nostrils.

And you had to admit that you didn’t expect him to be so…handsome.

All ruggedly scarred lips from his tussles, and a face that seemed to be carved by the heavens above. You let your widened peripherals glide down the smooth skin of his front; all broad shoulders, prominent pecs, the cutest golden hoops pierced through his pink nipples, and abs for days. He shakes his shaggy black bangs out of his gaze. 

Those smug verdant eyes that take one look your way - the way that Shiu had his possessive hold on you - and narrow. 

Kusakabe startles as his prized bull hybrid suddenly stops in his tracks, his grip on his leash slightly faltering. And it seems that everyone within the pen holds their breath as a low huff of gruff displeasure leaves Toji, scorching hot fury reaching where you were.

Jaw clenching.

Eyes flashing.

He lowers his horned head as if he was about to-

“Ah ah-” Kusakabe’s the one to break through the charged tension on the farm with his command. He tugs on Toji’s firm leash, though, as a farmer, Shiu thinks he could see the slight waver in his movements.

Toji’s rumbling in refusal, tugging against the restraints. And Kusakabe’s nearly thrown off his feet- before he’s holding onto the side of the truck for balance, pulling the bull hybrid away from where his sights were set. “Easy, boy, easy.” He’s looking at you two with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, he’s just a bit excited with the ru-”

“Ahem ahem ahem-” Shiu suddenly coughs, cutting off the other man. “Better get him settled inside his enclosure, Kusakabe. Don’t want any more trouble now…”

“Ah- right, right.”

And with a slight swat at Toji’s flank, he’s fighting against the hybrid to guide him towards that lil’ enclosure made specifically for him. Shiu had taken care to section it off from the rest of the pen where the cows were, with hardy wooden tree trunks that composed the fences. And not one, but two padlocks that Kusakabe seems relieved to lock once he’s managed to get him inside.

Hands slightly shaking where Toji breathes hotly down his neck, black tail flicking in irritation.

“Calm down, calm down.” The farmer wasn’t sure whether he was telling it to Toji or himself- finally finishing off with the locks and looking up at him. “Now- you be a good boy, alright. Don’t give Shiu any trouble, don’t fight too hard with the other bulls- no use in telling you not to fight, I know you won’t listen to that anyway, and no matter what-”

Toji raises an unimpressed brow as Kusakabe raises a directing finger.

“-no going overboard with your rut.”

“And what exactly does ‘overboard’ mean?” Shiu wearily nears the special pen, arms carefully lifted off of you and wrapped around his own body in comfort.

Kusakabe beams, “No idea! We’ve never had him near cows before!”

Shiu felt like hitting him.

“Well, she just got off her heat-” At the way that Toji’s nostrils flare, his grin widens, Shiu almost regrets saying that with a gesture towards you. Oh? He blocks the bull’s greedy line of sight towards you, and grumbles. “-so no funny business.”

Toji scoffs.

“Use your words, Toji.” Kusakabe pleads, “No need to be like that.”

And he takes a second to pause. To consider. To seemingly mull over his words before- “Eat my ass-”

“Toji-”

“That’s it-” Shiu spits, not waiting for either man nor hybrid to finish before he’s stomping off to where you were watching the commotion from (as was the rest of the farm, but it seems like this hulking intruder had eyes only for you). 

And with his hand placed gently where your flower-patterned collar was, Shiu leads you away from the herd. Away from the pen. Away from Toji, towards the barn where your room was. “That’s it- for the time that that bull is here, he won’t be seeing a single glimpse of you, that’s for sure.”

“But why?” You whine, your head tugging backwards. And Shiu could almost balk at the way that you - you - were half-heartedly resisting his grip, trying to look back at Toji. “Why can’t I-”

“Because.”

And that was that, you were isolated inside the barn, and Toji was padlocked away in his pen. Far, far away from you for the time that he’d be staying there.

And as Kusakabe waves his exit from his farm, promising to be back in a few days, Shiu makes sure to get a good punch in (all in good friendship, of course). Because Shiu Kong was calm. Shiu Kong was composed. Shiu Kong could survive just a few days with an in-rut bull hybrid infiltrating his farm.

“And how long until you’re back again?”

“Three- ouch, three days. You have a good right hook, man.”

After all, it was exactly that - just a few days.

What’s the worst that could happen?

.

.

.

The first day.

Toji could see you.

Through the slightest crack in those barn doors, just the tips of your ears peaking out as you glimpse at him. It turns out that just Shiu’s command couldn’t hold you, and you staggered your way up to the barn doors whenever that damned farmer of yours wasn’t around to see. Watching. Waiting.

Taking in the sight of him.

And it wasn’t that Toji wasn’t used to stares - he was a prized bull hybrid, larger than most. So it was quite the given that he’d gather stares from competition, from unmated cows, hell, even from farmers who would like their chance at raising human-hybrid offspring. And so it wasn’t exactly new…

But just this way you were looking at him…it made him shiver.

Those pretty doe-eyes held up a curious, somewhat fearful, admiration. A slight arousal dampening between your legs that his honed senses could smell from even here—

Toji swears something in him had snapped the very split-second that he’d arrived here.

That he’d first locked eyes with you.

That he’d first sniffed at the remaining sweetness of your heat. Your sex.

Every sense in him right now (even the rational ones) were screaming at him to break out of this enclosure and waltz right up to you, break through those barn doors if he had to. He wanted to smell your pheromones. To hold you. To stuff his hot, throbbing cock between your legs and watch as you struggle to take it all.

He wanted to breed you.

And - multiple times - Toji found himself barging against the locked doors of his pen. Whispering your sweet, sweet name underneath his breath (learned from some of the other hybrids that watched him), ramming his horns against the wooden walls.

He was in rut.

Badly.

Badly, badly, badly.

The sheer intensity of it was more than anything else he’d ever felt- fuck, not even his first rut had felt this strong. It wasn’t that he was unmated. It wasn’t that he was in an unfamiliar place. It was just you, you, you.

Taking the wind out of his lungs. Making his length ache heavily between his strong legs. Wafting his intoxicating scent - something spicily sweet, with a peculiar tang in it that made you drunk on it like liquor, like mulled wine - all the way to where you were watching from the barn doors.

You’re sagging heavily against its wooden frame to take it in, sighing at the murky pheromones that seemed to cloud the entire farm-

“Oi, girlie!” 

And through it all, that damned Shiu had made sure to cockblock him.

Even now,  here came his annoying, grating tone. He’d kept a close eye on Toji ever since Kusakabe had left in his truck, rarely straying too far from the hybrid pen. He was always butting in, always breaking the stare-down between you two.

With one hand on his hip, the farmer watches as you startle at his voice. Suddenly hurrying to stumble back inside the barn where you came from.

And it would’ve almost been cute had it not been a result of you breaking one of his direct rules: do not interact with the bull in rut. But the thing is, you’d never seen a bull like him—and he was in rut? Oh…

Shiu barks out, “Where’d you think you were going, huh? Yeah- that’s right, inside.” And with you gone, Shiu would glare up at Toji. Toji wasn’t shy to glare right back.

“Problem?” He smiles.

“Yeah-” The farmer had crinkled his nose- and pointed at the way that Toji had been impatiently pushing against the enclosing walls, trying to break out, trying to get to you. He spits out distastefully, “-that. Don’t think you’re getting anywhere near her, got it?”

“Not at all.”

That night, Shiu had sent for a few more locks to be delivered from the hardware store downtown (he wasn’t even sure that they did delivery, but he’d coax them into if it meant not taking his eyes off of you). Multiple. He’d fixed them onto the gates of Toji’s pen, “This should keep you out.” Shiu had declared, jangling the metallic additions with one hand. “Not even the finest bulls in the world would be able to break through these. Hah! Take that.”

“Fuck off.”

He’d charged at the other man, but alas, the gates stayed steadfast.

.

.

.

The second day.

Toji had murmured your name like a mantra all night.

All night.

Again and again and again-

“He really doesn’t seem so bad, Shiu.” You’d tried to whine to the farmer, when he’d come back into the barn after fixing a few more locks - the count was reaching upwards of ten by now - on the gates of the bull’s enclosure.

But Shiu had only waved off your pleading noises, “Now, don’t give me that look. I heard the way he was ramming against those gates last night, I heard his bellows.” Needless to say, you had, too…“And I just don’t think it’s safe for you to be out when such a bull is in rut, girlie. Not unless you wanted to be mated- hah!”

Well…

You pushed your quivering thighs together. You’d hate to admit that in the privacy of your room last night, listening to Toji grow so desperate, listening to him say your name like that…you’d actually reached for your heat toys about once or twice.

You’d never felt this way about a bull before- hell, you’d never felt this way about anyone before.

And it was such a strange sensation to be glidin’ up the buzzin’ tip of your vibrator to your clit, massaging that sweet lil’ nub without the carnal pangs of your heat. Just the carnal pangs of…pure need-

“Besides.” Shiu’s cutting through your lecherous memory, and you hope the evidence of your lewd acts don’t show on your face. He gently pats at your head, the way he’s done so many times before. “You don’t need to be mounted by such a big, bad bull. My poor girl.”

“I don’t?” You mutter to yourself.

And Shiu doesn’t seem to catch on, “After all, it’s not like you’re in heat.”

No…you suppose not.

But you can’t help but raise your face into the saturated atmosphere, seemingly so balmy and languid ever since Toji stepped foot onto the farm. And there, you can smell the most addictive scent- fuck, something that just made your core twitch with need.

“Feeling alright, my girl?” Shiu looks on at the way you shiver, and whatever he sees there makes him lead you back to your place within the barn. “Hm, maybe you should get some rest- it’s probably that bull’s pheromones messing you up.”

“M-messing me up?” You’re asking, your entire body feeling set alight. Though, you didn’t feel the slightest bit messed up.

“Mhm- since you’re unmated, just coming off an unsuccessful heat. But it’s alright-” Shiu reassures, starting to shut your door, and there’s a meaningful look in his eyes. “We can try again next year, I have a few other bulls in mind that you might like to mate with. And he won’t be getting anywhere near you until then.”

“He won’t…”

Shiu continues, “Besides, Kusakabe will be picking him up tomorrow, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

You don’t say anything, but you know that you aren’t worried. Not even the slightest bit.

In fact…your body wished he’d be here even longer.

But ah- if he was just going to be taken away tomorrow, then what was the use in wanting? As your wooden door slams shut, you’re realizing that you just might never see him again.

And, outside, Toji only rams against the pen fence even harder.

He wanted you.

He wanted you.

He wanted you.

.

.

.

The third (and final) day.

Or is it…

“What?” Shiu barks into his phone receiver, so loud that it startles every hybrid grazing in the vicinity. All of them were out, leaving the barnhouse all barren by this point - though Shiu didn’t doubt that his voice reached even you inside. And the sheer incredulousness in his tone makes even Toji look over, with a smirk that told the farmer that he was quite enjoying witnessing his distress. But Shiu paid no mind to that.

He couldn’t.

Right now, he was much more frazzled by the words that had the utter fuckin’ audacity to sheepishly leave Kusakabe’s mouth on the other end of the line. Almost in a trance, Shiu pinches the bridge of his nose and repeats. “So…you’re telling me…” Each word tremored with the sheer effort that it took to keep the rage out of them, “That you want me…to come…”

“All the way to Tokyo to help me fix up my engine and save me from being stranded? Yes.” Kusakabe’s voice finishes off, “Shiu, my oldest friend, my dearest pal, have I ever told you how much I love y-”

“Atsuya Kusakabe I will kill you.”

Toji snorts out in laughter, and Shiu is suddenly reminded that he’d been in the middle of fixing up just one more lock to the bull’s pen when he’d gotten the call. Gate held ajar for now. Padlocks unlocked as he fixed them on. 

Glaring at the hybrid for the interruption, Shiu’s pinching the pen closed as he grumbles. “And you need me - you can’t just go to one of the many, many, many mechanics in Tokyo - because why exactly?”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Shiu!” Kusakabe cries out, “Do you have any idea how expensive Tokyo is? I just bought a cute lil’ pastry before the convention, and it bankrupted me for generations!”

“And you don’t have any other friends that are closer?”

“Man, if I had any other friends, period, do you think I’d be calling you?”

Shiu supposed that was a fair enough statement. “But- but I can’t leave…” He clicks his tongue, “Just get a train then! Leave that pile of junk at some trash site where it belongs-”

“I mean, I could…” And though Kusakabe’s tone was one of curious innocence, he’d long since learned that nothing ever boded well for him when he used it. He waits with bated breath until the other man continues- “-but that just means I’ll have to leave my truck - including my cattle trailer, which I use to transport my cattle - here. And you know what else that means I’ll have to leave?”

Shiu shivers, “Wh-what?”

“Toj-”

“I’ll be there right now.”

Kusakabe cackles, “Take your tiiime~!” And soon enough, the sharp tone of the call being ended reaches Shiu’s ears.

With one last semi-glare thrown in Toji’s direction, the farmer is speed-walking to his own truck - all those tools Kusakabe needed still inside from his last fix-up. More like running. More like sprinting to save his friend.

Not because he wanted to save his friend, of course. But because every second that Kusakabe was stuck in Tokyo, was a second even longer that you were stuck with Toji on this farm.

All alone.

And he couldn’t have rushed out of here more determined.

More hasty.

More careless-

“Well, would ya look at that.” Toji’s scarred lips twitch upwards into a grin. And he’s reaching one of his beefy arms out to lightly - just lightly - nudge at the wooden gate of his enclosure. Watching as it swings wiiiiiiide open—creeeeak! Bearing the rest of the farm to him with welcome arms. “What a sweet little gift f’me.”

All those pesky padlocks and ties, carefully added over the last few days, were useless if some silly lil’ farmer ever forgot to lock them.

Toji takes such delight in taking that first step out of his enclosure, broad pecs heaving as he takes in the candied trail of scent left all over by a certain pretty cow hybrid. You.

He then takes a second step, a third, a fourth—

And he knows exactly where he’s heading to - the barn.

Where you were just settling in for the day, your feverish body settling atop a particularly soft, tangled mass of golden hay. Cuddling in. You’d heard Shiu’s truck take off, though it would be out-of-character for him to leave so suddenly. You weren’t sure what to think, and you were just about to nod off when…

Creak-creak-creeeeeak—!

The barn door opens.

Shiu? Fluttering open your eyes, you’re just about to raise your head and ask him what all the yelling and commotion was, when-

Oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t the farmer at all.

Toji’s large, sculptured figure takes up nearly the entire door frame. And even from here you can see his sultry grin, his agitated hips. You can smell his intense drunken pheromones—“Room for two, sweetcheeks?”

.

.

.

“I’m- hah, sensitive there…” You’re pouting as Toji relentlessly tugs you by your stubby horns towards him. His overlarge hand plastered to the back of your scalp and guided you down between his meaty thighs - not only had he kissed you silly by this point, but the hybrid had you drenched and quivering all over the hay for more.

But first…

Your watery eyes bulge as you take in the sheer length between Toji’s legs - inches upon inches, throb after throb, all looooong and rock-hard with need. His erection stood right up to graze his navel with glittery drops of precum.

Decorated with so many puffy veins down his shaft that your cunt twitched just imagining how he’d feel inside of you.

Each one pulsated as Toji drip-drip-dripped in gooey sap down his cock, all ready to pierce your hot sex. Heavy balls tightening with even more, with the urge to breed. And you’d do well to remember that bull hybrids in particular were known for having absolutely massive cocks-

“What’cha thinking about, sweet girl?” Toji hums, the point of that nickname proven when he takes a deep, heaving gasp of the pheromone-saturated air. 

Before you can answer, one of his hands slither down to grip that heavy cock of his. Right ‘round the fat hilt where he can move his long length to smack! down between your half-parted lips. Using just the globular tip of his cock, he’s smearin’ apart your maw and just glossing over it with his creamy pre. “You’re not thinking of tapping out already, huh? You’re not…scared are you?”

There’s a slight mocking hint in his tone, nevertheless you’re shaking your head fervently. 

He snickers, “That’s right. You don’t care what that stupid farmer of yours has to say, hm?” And oh—Toji has to stop himself from simply stuffing every inch inside your mouth already, instead wetting your lips enough so that he can sliiiiide in. “You’re not really such a good lil’ hybrid like he says- huh?”

“No-” You’re hiccuping out, “Not at- mmpf.” 

Only for big, bad Toji to rut his cock against your mouth. Shutting you up with his flared tip, you can taste the pure arousal seeping into your mouth.

All warm n’ wet on top of your tastebuds—you’re drooling around his thick tip before you even know it.

“No, because you’re a baaaaad girl, aren’t ya?” He’s tutting, swiping away the splatters of saliva that just kept on leaking from the edges of your mouth- and instead, he’s reeling back to replace it with a jetstream of his own spittle. Straight onto the middle of your tastebuds.

With a second hand tugging open your mouth, Toji takes a nice look at that gluey wad sitting on your tongue- before he’s plunging his rude cock right back in between your lips. “Because you’re- haaaaah, careful, careful, no teeth- because you’re my good girl, aren’t ya?” Staring at you with half-lidded green eyes, “Allllll mine.”

“Mmmpf—” You’re muffling out around his raw girth, Toji was just so big that your maw was constantly open in this lecherous ‘oh’ shape.

Gobbling his veiny inches up even deeper and deeper, you’re only growing wetter at the way that his bawling divot scrapes down the roof of your mouth. Swervin’ left and right, and reaching for that cute lil’ dangly thing at the back of your throat-

“Ever taken a bull’s cock before?”

Choking at the lodgement in your throat, “N-no—”

“Yeah? Thought so. Ever taken anyone before?”

Shaking your head.

“Well then, she’s taking me so- hah, well.” Toji’s crooning out from above you, fucking his hips in sloppy half-thrusts inside your mouth. That rough line of his happy trail ends up scratching the tip of your nose, and you find that his intoxicating scent only grows stronger the closer you get…“Haven’t you had breakfast today, sweetcheeks?”

With tearful eyes, you’re looking up at him in confusion. “Mmm—ngh.”

“Ah ah- flick your tongue at my tip if you wanna say ‘no’—oh, just like that.” And then his mean, scarred lips end up formulating a mocking pout. “Such a cute tongue, can’t believe she’s gone hungry for so long- ngh.”

“I-” Tears stream down both your cheeks, and you’re panting out through each thrust of his achin’ cock. “Fuck, Toji, you’re just so big-”

Other hand pushing on the back of your clammy head, deeper n’ deeper. His superhuman strength was just incredible- “And look, she’s just become so greedy.” As if he wasn’t the one tunneling every spot inside your mouth, spotting it with his pre. “Don’t you know you don’t have to take any more, sweet girl, don’t you- oh—” Toji accurately hits the back of your throat, a direct thud! of his globular cockhead. He grins, watching you salivate around his cock- “-oh, fine, if you insist…”

“You’re- hck!” And the fact of the matter was that he hadn’t even fully bottomed-out yet. Criss-crossing your eyes, you spot that you had even more inches to go- “You’re so ngh-”

“And you want me to bruise the back of your- oh, throat, you say?” Toji’s cutting you off with his mean grunts, smack after smack of his heavy balls. 

They graze the front of your chin and make you feel such carnal pangs, your cunt grinding back against your heels. “I didn’t even- oh.” But too late - his geysering divot was already bruising away back there. 

Push after push.

Probe after probe.

Until Toji’s shaft had stirred up every single hidden spot inside of you, and he was swelling up even more like he wanted more, more, more—

“Toji-” Your nails claw down the pale expanse of Toji’s thighs, just so plush rippling underneath your touch. “Toji I want-”

“Ohoooo?” His raven brows raise in amusement, a mean grin spreading across his face. “The good girl is making demands now, hm?” As you whimper away, he’s thrashin’ at the back of your throat- again and again. “I guess I can’t just keep listening to her, huh?”

Her? Who…oh. 

He was talking about your thoroughly damp pussy, with the sappiest noises leaving you each time you’re pushing back on your heels. Soaked with desire.

And Toji seems amused by your shocked reaction, “How cute…go on then, sweetcheeks. Go on. Lemme know what that cute lil’ heart of yours desires.”

You’re pulling back from his red, glistenin’ tip with a lecherous pwah! “I-I want…” You’re sobbing, lashes fluttering in a way that makes- oh, you won’t be mad if he told you he was getting even harder now, would you? “-I want to feel you, Toji.”

To feel him?

To feel him?

His hazy peripherals snap down to see the way you were eyeing his long, long length. And then he’s realizing - oh, you wanted to feel him inside, did you?

Inside…fuck.

Your eyes damn near bulge out of your skull at the way that Toji’s rock-hard length only seemed to grow even…bigger at your words. Flaring up until he was red-hot at the tip, all slicked with a glaze of saliva and pre.

Toji smacks his painfully hard shaft down once more at your maw, “What dirty, dirty words- and from such a good girl?” He scoffs.

And just as you’re about to explain yourself, you’re suddenly feeling near whiplash at the way that Toji grabs onto your throat and flips the two of you around. Hoisting. Manhandling. Ending up with his back against the floor, head against the hay, and your naked cunt drivelling right above him. 

So wet and pretty.

Toji’s mouth waters at the sight of your damp, glistening hole. And he can’t help but immediately reach one hand over to thumb apart your puffy pussylips, pressin’ apart your folds and spitting straight into your hole.

“Or were they words from her, hm?” Toji’s gruffly snickering, flopping that wide tongue of his out to catch your droplets of slick. “Talking out of that pussy, hah- you’re even dirtier than I thought, sweetcheeks.”

Your thighs ache as they hover, slightly chasing the warmth of his mouth. “M’n-not dirty! I just wanted to feel you…” Casting a longing look behind at his throbbing length-

“As if. And you can have my cock-” You look up hopefully at his answer, how cute—you couldn’t even properly fit his cock inside your mouth, and now you think you could fit him inside your cunt? “-but first I’ve gotta stretch this dirty girl ouuuuut.”

“But, I can take- hngh!”

As if. Before you know it, Toji’s slithering his long, looooong tastebuds inside your cunt with absolutely no warning, no hesitation.

Just the ridged texture of his muscle slithering inside, and you’re quivering at the sheer size of him. And he feels the tightness of your circular innards and grins- “Woah…” Just a single taste of you, and his pheromones are blasting out in pure need. “Don’t you know that you hafta stretch ‘er out first, hm? What- never done this before?”

Gingerly, you shake your head ‘no’.

“Oh- reeeeeally.” Just pryin’ aside your folds, you were so fucking wet that that honeyed slick splashes down onto his face like a puddle. Toji rolls his eyes, “I would’ve never thought.” 

You huff n’ puff atop him, “Don’t- don’t tease, Toji-”

“Why, m’not teasing..” He’s spitting on your cunt yet again, letting the dewy excess trickle back down into his throat. “I already know that this pretty pussy hasn’t been satisfied like she deserves. I can fucking taste it-” Tunneling back in again. “Can hear it.” The most lecherous slurps echoing in your ears as he does, the bull’s ears flick your way to listen to it. “She wants only me- heh, wants me to be her first, doesn’t she?” 

Slurp-slurp-sluuuuurping as he’s rovering his tongue, somehow contracting it and extracting it in a way that massages your velvety walls.

Again and again.

“All you hafta do is sit there- all pretty, and take it.” Toji croons, and something dark glints within that gaze of his as he catches your lost expression. “What? That dear farmer of yours never taught you how to take it like a good girl when yer being eaten out.”

“N-no-”

“Then let me teach you—” Oh, you knew he didn’t bode well by the way that he said it. You knew it. 

And in a split-second, Toji has one hand plastered at your hip, and the other veering upwards to smack! down on your swollen pussy. “Ah ah-” As you buck, that hold he has on you grows numbing, and you’re sure he’s leaving nail marks there for weeks. “Toji’s first rule- don’t run.”

“I won’t—” You’re swallowing your words back just as soon as you say them, because just then- two of his rovering fingertips intrude their way inside your cunt.

Not even waiting for you to get used to him, not even faltering as you squeeeeeeze.

He’s straightly stuffing two of them inside your snug channel, the bulbous ends of Toji’s digits digging into each of your hidden spots without even trying. Turning them over. Pushing into every nook n’ cranny n’ crevice over and over- “Oh my god-” Bellowing out, your body starts to move back and forth against him - as if it didn’t know whether you wanted to bounce down or run away- “Toji, I’ve never felt something like this- ngh.”

Only for a loud smack! to ring out against your wet pussylips once again, and for Toji to haul you back onto his mouth with his beefy arm. “What’d I say about rule number- hah, one, hm? Silly girl.”

He was stopping you from running from it.

He was looping one of his thick, beefy biceps ‘round your waist, stopping you from moving away from his open-mouthed kisses. “Good.” Pulling you in so close that his golden nose ring presses frigidly against your clit and makes you flinch. “Atta girl- atta, sweet girl.” Toji smirks against your cunt, once you try squirming your hips and find that you can’t move even a single inch. “Now squeeeeeze those pretty legs around, I don’t care if I fucking suffocate, use me, sweetness- that’s the second rule.”

“Like- like this?” You ask, your whiny pitch trembling just as much as your legs were by now. Feebly, they attempt to straddle Toji’s head properly. 

To which it almost looks as if the bull hybrid was about to laugh—“No.”

Numerous more spanks of his fingertips on your cunt, and soon enough you’re finding yourself completely limb atop him. As he fingers you to tears, rotund fingertips scouring all the way to your cute cervix-

“I mean-” From your hips, his hand is then moving to your thighs. Wrapping around them to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze- until Toji felt light-headed. “-like this.”

“I think m’d-doing it.” You’re gyrating atop him wildly by now, finding a staccato in time with his thudding! fingers. Not only were they thick, they were just so long too - and they left you feeling dizzy with his vulgar strokes, with his incredible scent.  

“Third rule, fuck back into me.” He commands, with that specific tone of a bull in rut that made you want to listen to him immediately. Your hamstrings screamed in protest as you continue, “Fuck her back into me- harder now, aren’t you a cow hybrid? Buck.”

You could barely even believe your ears, “You’re just so fucking mean- fuck!”

“Yeah, yeah, just like that.”

And Toji’s tongue? Oh, he wasn’t just staying still - not at all.

Toji had his tongue wrapped ‘round your throbbing clit and spanking down with his tastebuds. “And the fourth and final rule-” He gurgles through the wettened wads you were seeping out,  “-is to get ready.”

You’re blinking your teary eyes back open, looking down at him in shock. “Get ready for what?”

It takes a few more probin’ thrusts before he can bear to pull away- and that, too, with the loudest smooch! The bull hybrid’s pants come out in heaving gusts, scalding air making you quiver at the sensation.

“Get ready…” Toji rattles off, after a few sultry seconds. And oh- you wonder, why was his tone octaves higher? Why did he sound so breathy? Why was there something…crazed in the way he said it- “-because you think a bull hybrid in rut would really be this nice, sweetcheeks?”

Jaw dropping, “Oh-”

“You don’t know how painful it was to hold myself back-”

And before you know it, your spine’s arching as you struggle to accommodate him- struggling to handle the raw primal pressure of his thick tongue and two- three of his fingers plunging into your hole. Pushing and pushing and pushing—

You’ve become masterful at rule number three, it seems, as you’re pressing your thighs upon either side of Toji’s face until he groans. 

All of his appendages just reaching all the way for the very back of your cunt—“Ohhh, please-” Your head throws backwards as you feel him fuck you with his tongue like he was trying to ruin your inexperienced pussy. “P-please-”

“Oh m’ having a pleasant time alright.” Toji snickers, his heated pants leaving your skin perspired. The mountains of his knuckles were striking your outer pussy so hard now that they were starting to grow red on his skin. “S’fuh-fucking sweet.” Stinging.

Plap! after plap! You’re moaning as his mouth unhinges undeniably deeper to let even more of his tongue’s inches inside. Stretchin’ out your cute orifice, “Gonna hafta stretch her at least twice- haaah- twice as fuck! much if you wanna fit my cock, sweet girl.”

“Twice as much…” You’re repeating breathlessly, you couldn’t even begin to imagine it. It already felt like Toji was pulling you to your very limits - so even more…

“Rule number five- just made it up, heh.” Toji spits out - literally, a glittering glob of spittle that sticks to your slit. It slides down to your hold and makes it easy for him to thrash his tongue inside like an animal- like he was frenzied by his pheromones, like he couldn’t control himself from push-push-pushing.

Not even at a controlled cadence- Toji couldn’t stop himself from squishing your sweetest spots at the very back of your cunt. In almost no time, he’s finding that cute lil’ heart-shaped g-spot of yours - and Toji’s fingertips and tongue were fighting over which one gets to press on it the most.

Again and again until you’re in actual tears- “Rule number five is- ngh, you have to take it.” Holding you to him, until your cunt folds were plastered against his puffy lips. “Take it all like my good girl if you wanna finally take my cock.”

“Please-” Being pummelled away to the maximum, it’s all you can say like a constant mantra. “Please please- ngh! Please-”

“That’s all that dirty mouth can say now?” Toji tuts, “Tch- what happened to wanting me inside? Wanting my cock? Wanting to be fucked like the slut you secretly are?”

Primal swabs, again and again.

Twofold.

After each word, Toji’s tongue sizzles against your tender pussy - lips glued so deeply against your folds, that you can feel him lappin’ away every ounce of your slickness.

It drips slightly down his chin, and leaves your cunt slipping on top of Toji’s handsome face. You grab onto his large horns with a yelp- “Oh! Fuck, Toji- did I really say that?”

“Of course you did- hah, gallop, sweethearts.” With yet another spank, he rovers his face even deeper between your trembly legs. Nose-deep. Skin-deep. So deep, in fact, that the veins on Toji’s sculptured neck pop out.

You’re unsteadily bucking against him on instinct, and that leaves the man groaning. “Just like that.” Swallowing up every inch of your outer cunt, you’re being pierced by the relentless ministrations of his tongue again and again—“You asked to be fucked like a slut- hngh, and that’s exactly what m’giving you. Aren’t I just the beeest mating partner, sweetcheeks?”

“But I didn’t-” You’re babbling out, drunk on the vicious scrape-scrape-scrape of his intrusions. His fingers pushed just as your g-spot, and you could feel him glissading down even deeper. Deeper. Deeper. “-I didn’t say that—”

“Oh, didn’t you?” He’s hazily looking up from between your legs - there was something bleary in his eyes, something gone. “I think I remember-”

“Well I don’t-” As you’re raising your voice, you can’t believe it- Toji’s powerful tail wraps around your thighs and drags you back down.

He rumbles, “Rule number one…” In warning.

And it’s only with a few more thuds! that Toji’s pretending to remember just what you’re whinin’ away about, his dark brows shooting up to his bangs. And you can feel your treacly cunt quiver with the vibrations of his laughter, “But ah- I remember now.” His eyes crinkle into slits of amusement, eating you out until his nose ring slicks with your syrup. Just the notion is enough to leave his pheromones heightening, “I believe you said…‘you wanted to feel me’.”

Mouth dropping in recognition, “Oh- I did.”

“And what did you mean by that, hm?” Toji speaks through the ringing slurps, zap after zap of pleasure. “You’re already feeling me here-” Pokin’ at your g-spot, “And here-” His tongue snakes out to suck on your clit once more. 

“I just meant I wanted to feel you- hck!”

His sweaty brows furrow, “But yer already feeling me-”

“No- more like I wanted to feel your-” You’ve never spoken words like this before, not even in the throes of your worst heats. You glance back at his twitching erection, “-there.”

“My where?”

“Your- your cock, Toji!” You’re wailing out, your legs feeling numb at the way he strikes your sweetest bundle of nerves. “I wanna feel your thick, looooong cock- please.”

Oh, you really were such a dirty girl. He’s gnawing down on that nub of your clit, “And where do you wanna feel my thick- looooong- cock, hm?”

You’re stammering, mouth growing less in-your-control the longer he’s making a mess of your poor pussy. “Inside-”

“Inside where?”

“Inside my cunt-” And you’re shocked you manage that out without stumbling over your words, gryatin’ back into his open maw with sly figure eights. But even that wasn’t enough—

Toji rolls his eyes, such a mess. Such a shattered mess. Just pushing and tasting and lavishing his tongue all over- “Say it again-” When you’re repeating your sultry words, “More- dirtier. Be good f’me, girl, say it again-”

“I want your cock inside my cunt, Toji.” You’re whimpering out, you’re shaking. Feeling the inexperience bubble within each of your veins, because the hybrid was just having so much fun corrupting you. “I want it inside- want you to fuck me with that cock so badly-”

“Atta girl.”

Forcing you to say those lecherous words, forcing you to cum—

“Oh my god-” With your back arched, you’re throwing your body into the wave of pleasure that suddenly bursts inside your body. “C-cumming- I’m cumming, Toji-”

“And it’s all because of me.” He’s smugly saying, perfectly puncturing at your g-spot with his constant pushes. 

Because of Toji’s rut, his senses were so honed that he could mark each peak of your high- the explosion of bliss that he pinpointed with his fingers, with the slashes of his tongue. “Heh- me.” With a wet chuckle, Toji’s tongue was going to lick up every inch of your pussy like he was frenzied. Couldn’t get enough. Lap after lap. “Me me me me-” He sucks on your clit, letting his canines nibble lightly on them, and it lets out the most lewd sluuuuurp. “-and look- she’s thanking me.”

“Fuck! Never felt something so good-” Whining out, you’re bouncing your back into each of his hits. “-might be the best orgasm I’ve ever had- hck!”

“S’a pleasure, sweet girl.”

By the time the best of your high bates, Toji still hasn’t let up between those syrupy legs of yours. When he’s licked up every droplet of sap you’re letting out, he’s moving over to lick at the sheen of slick glued to your thighs. 

Again and again.

Until you’re all the way overstimulated, and tears start to drip as if from a faucet. “I th-think m’done, Toji.” As if he already didn’t know - you’re pushing at his clammy head. “My orgasm’s over, I wanna try taking your cock now-”

“And you’re sure?”

He wasn’t asking to be nice. He was asking to make you turn your head and balk at the way his impossible size had only seemed to grow even bigger. Your lips wobbling, “Y-yes.”

“Oho?” Dark brows raising, he stops his ministrations and moves both hands to now grip at your waist. “Well, you did tell me to put my ‘thick, looooong cock inside of your cunt’-”

“So shut up and do it.” Huffing in embarrassment, you pound at his muscular chest - and he could barely even feel it, like kitten kisses on his bulky body. It’s enough for Toji’s cock to jolt with need, and for his attractive face to break out into a grin.

“Atta girl.”

And with that final compliment, Toji’s making to grab onto your waist and lift you off of his face—with the loudest smooch! It’s ringing out like the prettiest melody in both your eardrums, and Toji just barely manages to disconnect himself with your sweet pussy.

Just barely breaks his lips from your tender folds, all slickly glossed.

Just barely wrenches you off with ease, and takes one nice look at your hole - when you’re realizing that Toji Fushiguro suddenly stops. His nostrils suddenly flare. He suddenly stutters-

“O-oh, sweet girl. I don’t think you even realize-” Toji gawks up at your cunt. And you’re feeling somewhat shy when he filthily leans his features in and takes a good, long sniff at your cunt. As you’re looking up at him in confusion, “-you’re in heat.”

“In heat?” He sets you down near his rugged v-line, and you’re animalistically grinding your cunt down on his thickened length. You look up at him for answers, “What do you mean? Shiu said I’ve already finished my heat-”

“Fuck what Shiu says, silly girl.” Lightly spanking your pussy, Toji rolls his sage eyes. His pupils were all blown-out and bleary with lust, only darkening the more he takes in your buttery pheromones. 

Oh, you smelled like the sweetest freshly-whipped cream - and that only made his mouth water as much as his swollen cock was. Drenching the cute innards of your thighs n’ your pussy mound with his sap, he grins. “I can smell it.” He parts his scarred lips, a thin line of saliva trickling down one side. “I can fucking- taste it-”

“Oh—” You’re gyratin’ back against his plummy cock tip, oh-so-lewdly. And you take another sniff of yourself, reaching up to feel that your scent glands have swollen up. “I g-guess you’re right-”

“Sugar, I am right.”

Before you know it, the world’s a blur around you- and suddenly you find your back against the soft hay. Your head being cushioned by one of Toji’s rugged palms, Toji’s large body hovering over you. Pressing you down-

“And this pretty pussy’s tellin’ me that this is yer first heat with a bull, hm?” Sliding his thumb between your glossy crevice, he listens for the squelches. “Awww, how cute—so m’your first, sweet girl?”

“Yes- yes.” And when he places his fleshy cock between your legs, at that sweet spot where you wanted him the most, you can’t help but realize that oh- he’d been stretching you out for so long for a good reason.

Because Toji’s hybrid cock looked absolutely ginormous between your legs, especially with the way he’d thickened up in size while eating you out. His cockhead was as red as a huge strawberry, and multiple times bigger. Bull hybrids, famed for the shaft length - now slipping n’ sliding between your pussylips.

Just kissing at your geysering orifice- “Oh- fuck.”

“And you know having you on top would be the easiest for her…” That said, he’s swatting his rough fingertips down on the nub of your clit. He’s spitting. He growls, and it’s enough to send shivers down your spine- “But m’still gonna have her in a mating press.” Throwing your legs over his shoulders, folding you damn in half. “Because you also forget one- fuck-” Just feeling you clench around nothing, enough to make him reach up and grab at a wooden beam. “-thing, sweetness.”

“And what’s that, Toji?”

“I’m in-” Hard enough that the wooden beam breaks—“-rut.”

Fourth rule, remember?

Because you didn’t think that he’d go this easy on you when he’s in fuckin’ rut, did you? You didn’t think that he was going to fuck you nicely, did you? You didn’t think that he wasn’t going to act like a damn animal, did you?

In a sudden motion, Toji’s plugging your hole up with his thick cockhead- and shoving it deep into your deepest insides. Long. Hard.

You’re yelping, nails finding purchase on his deltoids and clawing on for dear life because- “A virgin, are ya?” He tuts, “Don’t think m’gonna go easy on ya.”

“Oh my goodness-” Thighs curling around his toned waist, hips attempting to buck away. “Holy fuck-”

“Easy, easy.” It was just so cute the way you were struggling - especially when you were talking so big about wanting him. “Breathe in, girl- there ya go.”  You’re following as he instructs, “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in—” And suddenly there’s a sodden spank at your pussy, “-you, too, pretty pussy.”

Something that catches you off-guard, and makes you swallow him up an inch deeper. Your eyes rolling all the way to the back of your skull, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- I’ve never felt like this. You’re so big- hold on, Toji, you’re so-”

“Hold on?” 

“What-”

“Hold on?”

He’s then spitting out into your open mouth, and slapping your pussy so hard that you’re seeing stars. Instantly, you’re set on edge by the way that his rugged cock suddenly slams- “You’re telling me to h-hold on?”

And was that a stutter in his sentence?

A laugh?

Toji Fushiguro sounded like he was fucking losing it by merely hearing your whining questions- “You seriously want me to…” Clawing down in front of your body, one of his rude hands press down on your stomach as he’s sinking iiiiiiin. It makes you feel every ridge n’ vein, every inch, every bit of his thick shaft intruding in. “-hold on?”

“It’s just- I just didn’t think you’d be so big-” He was barely even halfway in and you could already feel Toji at your throat, gushing out sticky wads of slick. With your feet planted on the hay-littered ground, you’re trying to arch your back nearly away from—

“Oi- who said you could tap out?” Before you know it, Toji’s hand lifts from your thigh to grab onto your tail - one pulling you in by the tail, his right hand still feeling for that tummy bulge he was fucking into you.

You can’t get away by the way he’s manhandling you back down into his hips, skidding straight across the barnyard floor. “Tch- ya need ta be herded or what, silly girl?” Grazing his dark happy trail against your front, the curly tufts of it scratch your clit. “Come back t’me- rule number one, remember?”

“Fuck-” Throwing your head back in tears, your legs were limp from the sheer pressure being put on your lower half. “-I can feel you reaching in so deep-”

“And you wanted me to hold on?”

He was never going to let that go - he was never going to give you even the slightest second to get used to his incredible length. 

Palm pressing down on the cylindrical outline makin’ itself known on your tummy - just that big. Pelvis moving in a rapid, urgent half-thrusts-

Toji isn’t even waiting for your cunt to take it all, his red cockhead probin’ just inwards. Inwards and inwards and inwards. He can feel the tight resistance of your pussy, your sweet body unable to take him whole right now- and it only makes him groan.

With his head thrown back, he’s letting go of your tail to smear apart your pussylips. “M’in fucking rut and you wanted me to hold on-” He’s hissing, pushing your snug folds so far apart that you have no choice but to take his hammers. “Been teasing me with that s-sweet scent ever since I fucking got here and you want me to hold on-” Pulling you to him. Dragging you to him.

Toji breaks every single second that he’s not fully sheathed inside of you, and he’s just pummeling his hips deeper- “Hold on, hold on, hold on.” After each mention of his mantra, he’s rutting in. “You want me to h-hold on and-” Harder. “-and you know what-” Deeper. “-I want to do, sweet girl?”

“What-” You’re gasping out through your tears, sticking to both of your cheeks by now. “What do you want, Toji?”

“I want to- fuck! Well, first I want to fucking fit-” He’s whispering underneath his breath, darkened eyes narrowed as he takes it in. “Fit- fit- fit-” Before you know it, he’s spitting down once more on your cunt and shoving his cockhead inside. “-fucking fit-”

Blinking away the tears in your eyes, “And- hah, and what else did you want?” By the heightening of his pheromones, you already knew that it was something about to ruin you.

“I want…” He was teasing you now, just lightly grazin’ that blushing hot tip against the roof of your cunt. You could feel him filling up every sneaky orifice, and Toji was fucking you like he’d just gone feral- “I want to-”

“Oh, fuck!”

With a final, lewd thrust- Toji Fushiguro bottoms out.

“-breed ya, sugar.”

And he meant it. The massive bull hybrid was drilling into you like a madman- his cattle nose ring clanging with each rut. “I’ve been wanting to breed you since the moment I stepped foot here.” Toji growls, the red crown of his shaft directly heading towards your cervix now. Bruising. “I want to fuck- fuck you through every day of your heat- my rut.” And he was emptying out such long strings of precum into your womb, “Try to get you pregnant every single day of my rut.”

“You’re going to get me…” Your pupils are swirlin’ in comical circles within the whites of your eyes, and just the mere notion makes your tastebuds sizzle with saliva. You hadn’t spent your heat properly with a bull- let alone found yourself mated by one.

Bred by one.

“Fucking pregnant.” Toji finishes off with a snicker, pushing against that cute lil’ tummy bulge that he was pounding into you. 

“Oh, please-” You’re throwing your head back with a mewl, “But I’ve never been m-mated to anyone before. Are we sure it’s going to take, Toji-”

“I’ll make it take.”

His jackhammers were so hard by this point, enough so that your sap splatters out of you in puddles. It glistens right down the inner parts of your thighs, and Toji swipes his thumb down from your pussy to glaze it in the syrup. To reach up to his scarred maw and suck on it.

And when he feels your spit-slicked lips start to wobble out more concerns, he’s pushing that very thumb between your own lips.

“Shut it, silly girl. Ya really think that when I hah- when I fuck you like this—in this mating press.” As if on cue, his manhandling strength seems to be folding you even deeper in half. “With this pretty pussy-” Dragging out a few more slurps with his thrusts, “-and my rut- you’re not gonna be walking outta this barn stupidly pregnant?”

“I-I don’t-”

“Silly, silly girl.” It’s a rude thwack! of his curvaceous ball sack after each slam, and you can feel your body grow more restless after each of his spat-out words. So mean. “Silly lil’ hybrid thinks she’s gonna make it outta here- hah, without bearing my calves.”

You’re shivering, your body so limply fucked by this point- that Toji’s tail has to wrap around one of your thighs. Holding you up. Interlocking your ankles around his neck with that silky tail- “Well, since m’inexperienced-”

“And m’gonna give you the experience of yer life- heh, I already am.” 

He was - he really was. Just making you see stars every time Toji’s overlarge, plump cockhead dug into your g-spot. Somehow he’d managed to map the insides of your walls, and each thrust grazed his length against your sweet bundle of nerves. 

Probing and probing a bruise exactly the size of his round circumference- “M’gonna corrupt you, sweet lil’ thing.” A sleazy smile spreads across Toji’s handsome, perspired face. “M’gonna fill you up with so much of my cum that- hah, they’re gonna be milkin’ it out of you for months afterwards, sweet girl.”

“Fuck, I’d like that-”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’d like that s-shoooo much, Toji.” 

“Bet you’d like it even more after I fill you up with my calves, hm?” He titters, pheromones slowly growing saturated enough to mingle with your own. “After I fuck this pretty pussy pregnant ‘nough times that she remembers how it feels when I fill you up? After I breed you until we can- hah, fill this whole damn farm with them? After I make a momma out of you and no other bull can ever even think of touching you-”

You squeal, “Yes- yes yes yes yes-”

His tail tightens around your ankles, horns charging as if he was only growing more n’ more excited. Throbbing with more need. “And you better fuckin’ know that these are promises, sweetness. That no fucking farmer can ever break.” Toji stares you deep in your heart-shaped eyes as he says, “I will get you pregnant.”

“Oh, I’d fucking hope so.” You glide your hands down your front, “I wanna feel you right h-here, Toji.” Down where your womb was.

Fuck…you were dangerous for a bull in heat.

And his entire body feels feverish with need, the burning sensation of his rut overtaking Toji completely. 

As his hips only grow sloppier, you’re grazing your sweaty palms further down his body. Starting from his shoulders, before ultimately you end up squeezing Toji’s massive milky pecs.

Even for a bull, they were just so plush. And you can’t help but twiddle your thumbs ‘round the golden rings that he had pierced through his pinkish nipples, lecherously.

He shivers at the sensitive sensation, “O-oh? Look at you.” Snapping his head down, you swear you could see a rouge flush take over his cheekbones. “You’re corrupted already.” And both of Toji’s own hands end up removing from your stomach and your pussy, ending up- oh, you could’ve already guessed.

Both of Toji’s hands end up on your tits.

Squeezing.

Kneading.

Before you can say a word, he’s already growling out- “And as any momma would- we’re gonna hafta make sure you’re making enough milk, huh, sweetcheeks?” That last bit of his sentence ends up drowned between the valley of your chest.

Toji’s gaping his maw wide open and sucking on your right tit, his left hand pinching the nipples of your left tit.

“I don’t think anything’s gonna come out just yet-” Your tail swishes in arousal as you watch him hollow out his attractive cheeks, thoroughly sucking on your tit like his favorite lolly. Sucking like he was trying to make milk come out—“I never did produce…much…milk…”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re being proved wrong. Because with a gushing sensation, you can feel your hardened nipples stream out something straight into Toji’s open mouth. “You were saying?” 

Pure white milk.

And he was such a messy eater, your ivory syrup dripping down his lips. It glosses them and created the sweetest lacquer that Toji himself was addicted to- “Mmm, so much, sweet thing—fuck.” He’s pinching at your left tit, too, a splashin’ puddle of milk that he immediately plops his mouth over to gulp up. “Ya really are a sweet thing-”

“I’ve never made this much even for the farmer-” You’re gasping, and your milk cascades down Toji’s chin like a waterfall. Constant. Sloppy “How did you even…”

“Because you’re in heat.” He says- choppy, through the way that he barely wanted to speak, barely wanted to remove himself from the sweet fountains of your spurting milk. “Because m’in rut.” Toji’s hips smack into yours so hard that you see white for a second, and his happy trail perfectly carnally itches at your clit. “And tonight- we’re gonna make a fucking baby, sweet mama.”

“O-oh—” With your voice cracking, you’re reaching your high. It comes instantaneously, and you arch into Toji’s glissading muscles as you ride through it.

As you’re fucked through it.

“Cumming again?” Toji’s marvelling, his words thick - he had his mouth full, after all. Smelling the saccharine sweetness of your orgasm in your pheromones, he’s marking each peak of your high with a bang! of his reddened cockhead. 

Slowly opening up your womb even more, your g-spot felt so red-hot and raw from the inside as he just kept on thumpin’ away there. Again and again and again. “Of course, ya are- fuck. Just like thaaaat, fuck back into me- third rule. They say the momma needs to cum good if we wanna get you pregnant after all-”

“And what about you?” Still in the throes of your bliss, you feel absolutely no inhibitions in babbling away. Drunk on the thick, veiny size of him fucking you through your high—“Aren’t you gonna?”

“Gonna what?”

“Fuck…”

“Rule number six-” Toji pipes up, a mean glint in his eyes. “-is to use those words like the big girl you are.”

And you best believe that he was fucking you like he was trying to push the very words up to your throat, his veins massaging your sweet spots and making you shiver, his pearly white teeth back to sucking on your milk. “I want- hah!” You wince when his right hand slithers down to pinch your clit, “-you to cum- fuck.” You moan when his left keeps toyin’ with your nipples, streaming out dairy for Toji to swallow up. “-inside my cunt, Toji.”

And there—his eyes slightly widen in interest, “You really said it.” A proud smile gracing his face, “You really, really…oh.”

With a few more lewd thrusts, he’s emptying out his heavy balls. 

They tighten as they spurt out the creamiest wads of cum waaaaaay back into your spongy womb, suckin’ up each pearly droplet as Toji fucks them inside you. Splashing out. Pooling out. That bawling divot in the middle of his shaft just leaves a murky mess behind, ribbons of ivory that glue your walls together.

“Oh fuck-” He’s clenching his canines, you swear he’s holding back tears—“And you’re gonna take it-” Toji snarls, fighting against the urge to throw his head back - simply because he wanted to look at you as he stuffed you till you were overspilling. “-take every single last drop-”

The hulking bull hybrid shakes as you clench your velvety walls. “Oh, yes.” You’re shivering once he smacks! your clit once more, swirlin’ those sultry webs of seed with his fingertips.

Toji’s pushing them inwards, again and again. “And yer gonna keep it, aren’t you?” Fucking you, again and again. 

He hums, gluing the edges of his fingers inside your channel, so that not a single gumdrop can leak out of you. “Second rule, sweetness, squeeze those pretty legs. S’gonna tell that pussy to keep my cum inside- give me a lil’ calf, heh.”

“Shit- keep talking and I’ll…”

It’s too late for you. You’re so far gone on his pummeling length that with a few more strokes, you’re reaching your high once more.

White-hot.

Toes curling.

Back arching.

You can’t even control yourself, it’s the most powerfully sinful sensation you’ve felt in your entire life. And this time, not only are you overspilling in Toji’s glutinous white cum - you’re also spraying out your own slick. Translucent splashes of sweetness, so powerful that your entire body shakes. 

Your high was being dragged out of you.

Squirting. You can’t believe you squirted during your first heat with a mate, your first heat mounted.

And as he instinctively bucks his hips through it, your new mate swears- “Fuck- fuck, don’t tell me you’re- oh. You are. Turns out I milked you dry, hm?” Something in him oh-so-triggered by the way you just kept on drippin’ from that pretty cunt, it’s as if the hybrid part of him knew that he had to do something to stop you from losing so much of it. “Rule number four, my sweet mate.”

But no bracing in the world could prepare you for what you felt in that very moment - because suddenly you’re feeling a strength so incredible that it’s as if you’re being split apart. “Your- your knot?”

“Damn right.”

You just had to see this for yourself. Chin hitting your chest as you watch Toji push n’ push the incredibly swollen base of his cock inside you. It was so round n’ red, about four times his actual circumference. 

It sinks in with a lecherous sluuuuuurp—and Toji empties out a few more streaks of cum just from the sheer sensation of having his sensitive hilt sheathed inside of you. Isn’t that every bull’s dream? To have a mate as pretty as you, choking and overstimulated around his knot? Ready to take all of him until you’re pregnant-

“We’re mates now.” You’re still shivering from the shockwaves of your multiple highs, so overstimulated that you don’t hear his murmurs. Sobbing, you’re tugging cutely at his nipple piercings to garner his attention. “Wh-what was that, Toji?”

“I said–” Roughly, he pulls off from your lactating tits. Your milk drivels down either side of his greedy maw, “-that you know a bull’s rut lasts days, right, sweetcheeks?”

“Oh.”

“Guess we have a lot to learn…h-heh.”

.

.

.

Shiu was halfway through his drive to Tokyo.

Halfway through his window cracked down halfway, his dark hair playing in the breeze, head nodding in time with the beat of some early 2010’s pop hit that’d surprisingly managed to calm him down during his drive.

Sure, Kusakabe had completely ruined his plans and forced him to leave you unattended on the farm - but Shiu can’t help but almost feel grateful towards his friend.

After all, it’s not every day that he gets to go out like this - the life of a farmer sure was a busy one. And it was such a nice day out, driving along smooth and silent in his truck like this was almost therapeutic. He’s almost considering getting an apprentice or two so that he’d be able to do this more often. He really thinks he could find inner peace like this, maybe all those self-help magazines he grimaced at in convenience stores were onto something. A man needs time for himself, too, y’know?

Yeah, time for himself. Time to just wind back, enjoy the highway, just appreciate the beauty of the world, y’know?

Halfway through a drive of peace and quiet, when he suddenly realizes-

And Shiu’s stepping so hard on the brakes that he wouldn’t have been surprised if about five other cars smashed into him from behind right about now. And he wouldn’t have noticed, either—”I left the gate of the bull in rut fucking unlocked-”

Immediately after he remembered, Shiu had gone and done a (likely illegal, most definitely illegal) U-turn right then and there. Heading right back where he came from, he’d cut off multiple cars, almost run over some unsuspecting old lady in his haste to get back to his farm - Kusakabe be damned, his best friend could rot in Tokyo until the end of time for all he cared. After all, he was the one that caused all this!

Shiu made it back home in less than half the time it took him to halfway down his journey to Tokyo (he’s sure he ran a few red lights).

And he’s fumbling with the keys of his gates, forgetting his truck and sprinting right up to where his cattle hybrids were. All cooped up inside the pen, they hadn’t gone into the barn still - and yet, with one sweeping glance, Shiu can’t really find any missing.

So he almost dares to breathe a sigh of relief- before his eyes catch the placement where Kusakabe’s bull had resided. Where Toji resided.

And Shiu’s heart drops at the same time as his jaw.

It was empty.

Quickly, he’s suspecting just why the cows and bulls outside weren’t going inside the barn, and Shiu takes another look at his herd—fuck!! Fuck, fuck, fuck - there was one missing.

And he knew exactly who it was.

In urgent, jerky motions, Shiu’s throwing open the gate to the pen (this time double-checking to lock it behind him) and heading straight towards the barn.

The barn where he can hear the rustling of hay, where he can smell the saturated sweetness of hybrid pheromones, where he can see—oh, you on your hands and knees, with your pretty ass raised high in the air for Toji’s cock to plough into, his powerful body. You’re all sprawled out on the hay, saliva and milk splashing out of you at a constant pace. You mewled as he stretched out your cunt so mercilessly, again and again and again. The plump knot ‘round his base hitting your pussylips with almost painful thwacks! 

And by the ribbons of miry cum that clung onto both your lower halves, Shiu was safe to assume that this certainly wasn’t the first round…

Shiu’s nostrils flare, and he’s realizing that this wasn’t just the heady scent of Toji’s rut - it was your heat, too. That luscious creamy smell that made his mouth water, and his cock twitch in his pants as he took in the sight-

BZZZZZZZZ—!

Thank god his phone was on silent mode- Shiu hastens to pick it up before either of you can hear. Though, he doesn’t think he’s very successful with it.

Because just as Shiu places the crackling phone against his ear, whispering out a quiet- “H-hello?” He sees that Toji’s smug, handsome head turns in the direction of the barn door. And he’s smirking straight at the other man as he claims every inch inside of you, Toji’s honed tip pinpointing into every tiny nook and cranny. 

And if that wasn’t enough, he’s leaning down to grab onto your leaky tits- and squeeeeeze out a pure white stream of your milk. Much more than Shiu’s ever been able to tease out of you during milking sessions.

He was making his mate known.

Slowly, Shiu backs out of the barn without you noticing (though, you were so deep in the waves of your carnal pleasure, that he thinks it would’ve been impossible to get your attention anyways).

Only once he’s out of the headiness of the barn does Shiu finally manage to register the other man’s voice-

“Hello? Helloooooo? Man, where are you now-”

“Hey, Kusakabe.” Shiu speaks, still slightly dazed. Still slightly staring through the barn doors from afar - all because of a fucking gate. “Take the next train here from Tokyo- no, don’t worry about your truck, you can pick it up later. No, you don’t need the cattle trailer anymore.”

Kusakabe sputters, “Huh? But why?” At the other man’s silence, one could almost hear the moment that understanding sets in. “Oh man- oh wait, don’t tell me that Toji and that sweet cow hybrid of yours has-”

“Yeah.” Shiu grits, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Unrelated, but would you happen to know any good names for calves?”

A/N. YOU ASK AND DADDY PROVIDES (not child support tho-) YES I SAW Y’ALL IN THE COMMENTS-