Me Fr

Tsu'tey and my OC Ayluna 💜

He always looks after her, coz the TsahÌk told him to do so! After long time spending together, taking care of her and teaching her, how to life on pandora, he starts to fall for her.

I think, he only realises this, after the fear of losing her kicks in. When he starts to be over protective. Being afraid something happenes to her.

In this artwork I thought about, that he realised her beauty for the first time and his heart jumped a big. His body moved at his own, he goes into the water and pulled Ayluna in his arms. Keep her close, after the fear of maybe losing her one time too kicks in. Disclaimer : Ayluna is an Avatar but she is consciousness like Jake, she doesn't has a controller. She is 50% Human and 50% na'vi DNA she is NOT an albino

ok I need you guys to stop being horndogs and start writing some angst to fluff

insecure princess!reader x barbarian!ghost cw: angst, brief sexual mentions, bad writing, confusing ghost insecure princess!reader who has never had any suitors. her sisters overshadow her. her mother pities her, afraid that her daughter will never marry.

fortunately, due to an alliance that her father has made, she finally marries. he's a barbaric prince, shameless and perverted. mean and scary.

princess!reader who tries her best to make love kindle between them, to live the fantasy that she's always had. she rubs lavender oil on her neck, tugs one of her nightgowns straps down her shoulder, to be desirable like the women in paintings. her lady-in-waiting helps her make her hair silky, and her dresses pleasing to the eye. but you can't put lipstick on a pig.

the prince only has her from the back. it's a relief that he wants to make love to her, but at the same time it breaks her heart. she wants to have a face that he wants to look at.

the princess' anxiety only worsens when she notices that the prince's older brother keeps looking at her. she's not used to attention from men, she doesn't know how to interpret it. he might want to hurt her, show everyone just how disgusting she is. or maybe he laughs with his mates about her, just like everyone else. or maybe... he likes the look of her, maybe he'd like to tug her nightgown down and have her chest to chest. it's a stupid thought, she shouldn't entertain them and embarrass herself. and he's her husbands brother!! it's wrong!

then, one night during a feast, her husband's drunk antics drive her to walk away. she wanders the dark hallways of the castle, moonlight and candlelight illuminating the paintings on the walls.

the princess stops to look out of a window, a lone tear running down her cheek. it's an unending weight on her shoulder. she hates the presence of other princess', the prettier princess', they only remind her of what she isn't. knights don't fight for her, artists don't paint her beauty, and princes don't ask her to dance at balls.

a noise makes her jump out of her thoughts, she whips her head around to look down at the hallway. it's him. her husband's brother, ghost. he stands few feet away from the princess, looking her up and down.

"c'mon," he urges, his voice deep and rough. ghost nods, gesturing down the corridor, to the feast. before the princess can even respond, he has already turned around and began to walk back. but she doesn't follow.

the princess stays in place, looking down at the floor as she sniffles. why should she go back there? they don't want her there. the man in armor turns back around when he doesn't hear the princess following after him. ghost lets out a sigh, as he hears her sniffle. with couple of steps, he's standing in front of her.

"why do you cry, princess?" he mutters, reaching up and gently holding her cheek in his scarred hand.

"i hate him..." it's a silent whisper, lost to the silence of the cold castle. her face twists as she fights against more tears.

"walls have ears, and they will twist your words into treason," ghost says firmly, shutting the girl up before she can be her own doom. his thumb run over the bottom of her eye, wiping up the tears that spill. ghost sighs and leans down, pressing a small kiss between her eyebrows.

"sweet princess, you need to return to the feast... i cannot take you away tonight," he whispers huskily.

"take me away...?" she repeats, even quieter, her brows knitted in confusion.

"if i killed him, i could claim you for myself," ghost murmurs. he looks down at her, letting the princess ingest his words.

her eyes are wide in shock. kill? for her? that is the most romantic thing she's ever heard. is this what courting is? if so, then she only wants more of it. she can't tell if he's mocking her, but there's something in his voice that makes her stomach stir with excitement. the wine in his breath makes her consider for a moment that he's messing with her, but she also wants to enjoy the attention.

"h-how would you take his life?" the girl straightens her back, trying to sound more confident.

"i would slit his throat, as easy as slicing a warm pie," ghost says it as if it's nothing, his running along her cheek. "i could take you far away, we would live in a house by the sea and you could wear pretty dresses for only me to see."

her breath hitches, feeling that flutter in her stomach. jesus christ. her hands clutch onto her cute little dress as she squeezes her thighs together. now she regrets giving her virginity to that twig, when a man like this could've had it, a man who truly deserves her purity.

"now be a smart girl and return to the feast." ghost murmurs and turns to walk back to the feast.

what?

she quickly reaches forward, desperately clinging onto the man's arm, to keep him there. if she let's go now, he might just come across a wench or two and change his mind. "b-but you said that-!" she stammers, utterly confused by the change in the air. there's no one there for her. no one who she's welcome to. her heart aches. she thought that this prince wanted her. what did she do wrong? ghost scoffs, gently prying the girls hands off his forearm. "you think it’ll be like a story, a hero slaying the villain and sweeping the princess off her feet. but this is real life," his tone is suddenly colder, more detached. “you’re chasing something that will never be yours.”

her hands stay in the air for a moment when he pulls away from her, reluctant to let go. his words sting, dig in deep and leave a pit for her to collapse in. her hands fall down and settle over her stomach as she fidgets with them.

she opens her mouth to say something, but the words escape her. it all changed so fast. some wench must've bewitched him, taken him from her. why can't she have anything, not even a man who wants her?

he looks at her again, his gaze intense, unflinching. his expression hardens, though there’s still a part of him that almost looks regretful. and then, he just walks away.

the princess can do nothing else than stand in place and hold back tears. she's alone again. the moonlight makes her shaking hands look blue. did she misunderstand? did she wrongly assume the meaning of his words? or was she just so naive?

it hurts to think, and the thoughts themselves hurt even more. it'd better if she just went to bed. ------------------------------------

inspired by the fact that i'm ugly and never had a boyfriend

LOVED THIS OMGGG

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

OKAY YOU ATE THIS UPPPPPPP I LOVE THIS SERIES SM. like i kid u not imo this is one of THE best written eris fics there is out there. love it and love U AUTHOR THANKS FOR WRITING THIS

chapter xxii – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 5,000+

masterlist

Y/N spent the next three weeks hiding in her workroom, making various potions and charms and candles – and anything else that would help the human women and children who now had sanctuary in the Forest House. Many of them could not sleep due to nightmares or anxiety, feeling like they were still in danger. Others had other mental hurdles that prevented them from even finding the will to live.

So, Y/N had been working day and night, casting remedies for it all with her witchcraft. 

She had barely been sleeping. Even worse, she was barely eating. 

Servants would politely knock on her door and silently bring her giant plates of food for every meal – and even small plates of snacks. But as soon as they left, Y/N would forget the food was ever brought in the first place. She would just get sucked right back into working. 

But the humans weren’t the only thing haunting her. 

Y/N hadn’t seen Eris since her confession in the woods. 

Surprisingly, it was because he had respected her request to give them space. 

But she heard the people of the Forest House, and they gossiped in whispers.

Eris had apparently been working himself to exhaustion, visiting various villages across Autumn Court, speaking with the common folk, and delegating tasks to his advisors. 

The wind constantly urged Y/N to go to him. But she managed to ignore their constant torment. 

Y/N now worked on making a tea for the young humans who were anxious as ever, despite now being safe in Autumn Court. She understood that the fae realm was strange and scary – especially after their first exposure to the realm was nothing but torture. 

Suddenly, the door to her workshop was thrown open. 

The five bloodhounds napping near it jumped to attention and growled menacingly. 

Lucien came strutting in, clearly on some sort of mission. 

The dogs snarled at his interruption and lunged for him.

And if it weren’t for the invisible shield Lucien had clearly conjured with a lazy flick of his wrist, his ankles surely would’ve been torn apart by their jaws. 

Y/N quickly looked back down at her work, not even acknowledging his entrance.

“I’m busy,” she muttered with obvious annoyance. 

“Well, now…” Lucien announced as he got into her space, forcing her to address his presence. “You are taking a break.” 

He stood against her worktable, blocking Y/N from continuing her brewing. 

“Lucien, I do not have the mental energy to deal with your antics today. I have work to do.”

“And it will be here when we return. But for now, you are going on a walk in the woods with me.” 

Y/N crossed her arms. “Can’t you find some pretty courtier to entertain you?”

Lucien smirked. “But spending time with a woman who finds me irritating is so much more exciting.” Then his face turned serious as he studied her face, noting the shadows under her bloodshot eyes. “Come, Y/N. You haven’t left this room in weeks. The servants say you ignore every meal they bring you. And Eris…”

He stopped when he noticed her reaction from someone merely mentioning his brothers name.

“Well, we don’t need to talk about him right now,” he finally finished. 

Y/N sighed, and then glanced outside.

When was the last time she’d left the walls of the Forest House? Perhaps some fresh air would do her good. And then she could get back to her work. 

“Fine,” she snapped. “But the hounds are coming with and I don’t care if they bite you.”

All she could hear was Lucien chuckling behind her as she walked out of the workroom. 

———

Lucien had insisted on Y/N wearing a cloak, but couldn’t convince her to put on boots – or any shoes for that matter. 

“What’s the point of a walk if you can’t feel the ground beneath your feet?” Y/N scoffed at him. 

“If you get frostbite and lose a toe, Eris will kill me…” Lucien muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear him. 

To Y/N’s surprise, Lucien allowed a peaceful silence to settle between the two of them as they walked through the forest surrounding the property. 

No guards insisted on joining them, so they must be safe enough to be unchaperoned.

However, they still had five smoke hounds surrounding them. They now sniffed the ground with precision, never straying too far from Y/N. Every so often, they would trot up to her, asking for pets or licking her hand.

“You know, they eventually will learn how to live again and without fear.” Lucien told her gently after some time. 

Y/N just sighed. 

“Humans are stronger than most fae give them credit for. They’re resilient and overcome such terrible things. They have to. Their lives are fleeting, to do otherwise would be a waste of a short and fragile life.” 

Y/N glared at him. “Our lives,” she corrected. “Our lives are fleeting.” 

Lucien watched her carefully. 

“I see Eris told you of our last conversation…” she mumbled with irritation. 

“Well, I had to force it out of him after he started snapping at everyone who dared look at him for longer than a second.” He looked Y/N up and down. “Believe it or not, he looks worse than you do.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh, you are always so kind, Lucien.”

“When did you start to think so little of yourself?” He countered. 

“E-Excuse me?” 

“Do you really think Eris cares about you being a mortal or without noble blood? I thought you of all people could see through his mask and see him for who is truly is. And does that really seem like a concern that would prevent him from loving you?” 

“Do you hear how advisors and envoys from other Courts speak of Feyre? To them she is an ignorant child. Hardly unhuman. She still is learning so much about the ways of the fae.” 

Lucien scoffed. “Only a fool would underestimate Feyre. She is the only reason we were freed from our curse. And she may also be the only reason we won the war against Hybern.”

Y/N stopped walking. “Why is Feyre a High Lady? She is the only female with such a title. Your mother is only the Lady of Autumn.” 

“Because Rhysand wanted an equal. He values his mate's opinion and ethics – as he should. He is progressive in a way most fae will fail to ever understand. Could you imagine Beron Vanserra seeing my mother as anything more than his breeder?” 

Y/N said nothing, but openly cringed at the word 'breeder.'

“And dare I say…if you truly believed yourself so undeserving of a similar title, then why do you hide away in the libraries of the Forest House, learning everything you can of Autumn Court and the politics of the fae realm?” 

Y/N glared at him. “I do not wish to be ignorant.”

Lucien smirked knowingly. “Aye. That is precisely my point.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Why are you so invested in our relationship, Lucien? Recently, you have inserted yourself in a way that you have usually avoided in the past.” 

Any mischievous expression that was left on his face had disappeared. He frowned and his eyes held sympathy. 

“I believe my time here in the Autumn Court is coming to a close.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened. “W-W-What? Why?” 

“Yes, my banishment has been lifted. But this place holds far too many bad memories. My nightmares are filled with them. I don’t think I was ever meant to return. I feel as if I was never meant to be in this Court at all...” 

“B-But where will you go? Back to Night Court?”

“Most likely. Being away from my mate – despite her ignoring my existence – starts to take a toll on me.”

“You ache for her?” Y/N asked him gently. 

Lucien blushed and hesitated before he finally nodded. 

“Well, who will I make fun of and torment?” Y/N teased. 

But before she could answer, a noise caught her attention. 

Y/N held up her hand, signaling for Lucien to also listen. Which was silly, his fae hearing had picked it up long before she had. 

“It is just a fox cry,” Lucien pointed out. 

Then a small wind passed through and he knew she wasn’t listening to him. 

“Not just a fox cry,” Y/N answered and started to follow the sound. 

Then she suddenly remembered the smoke hounds that were surrounding them. 

Y/N whistled to get their attention. And they whipped around to face her, waiting for her next command. 

“Stay with Lucien,” she ordered them gently. “And don’t bite him.”

They all started whining, not liking her to go anywhere without them being able to follow. 

Y/N rushed forward following invisible directions. 

She didn’t stop until she found the source of the noise. And just around a cluster of trees, she found it.

A red fox kit, shivering underneath the trunk of a giant oak tree. 

Y/N rushed forward, but then slowed when she just a few feet away. 

The kit eyed her, still shaking from the cold and probably fear. 

“Y/N, don’t touch it.” Lucien called out, having followed her a few steps behind, with the smoke hounds at his heels. 

Y/N ignored him and kneeled in front of the kit. “Hello there. No need to be afraid. I won't hurt you.” 

“Its mother will come back for it,” Lucien tried to tell her. 

Then a gust of wind passed through, shaking the dry leaves like a chorus. 

“No, it’s all alone,” Y/N called over her shoulder to him. Clearly, the wind had told her. “His mother was killed by hunters. He’s been here for days, waiting for her.” 

She turned back to the kit. “Come on, little one. I will look after you. I know those dogs over there seem big and scary, but I won’t let them harm you.” 

The kit let out a little whimper. 

“I know you want your mama. But she isn’t coming back. I’m so sorry. But I will keep you safe.” 

Then the kit shakily walked toward Y/N. 

As he did, she took off her cloak, preparing to wrap up the shivering fox in it. 

“What shall we name you?” Y/N asked the kit gently, as she stood with it wrapped cozily in her arms.

The wind brushed through her hair, and Y/N giggled at what they said. “The wind thinks we should call you Ronan. How does that sound?”

The kit squeaked out a happy noise. 

“Ronan it is then,” Y/N answered back with a smile. 

But when she turned to walk back to the others, Lucien was staring at her strangely. 

“What? What is it?” 

Lucien blinked, snapping himself out of it. “Nothing. It is only…there was once a tradition in Autumn Court. High Lords would gift their Lady of Autumn a fox kit to raise. Obviously the tradition hasn’t been practiced since before Beron’s time.” 

“O-Ohh,” Y/N managed to stutter out. 

What was he trying to say?

“Foxes are sacred animals in this Court,” Lucien continued. “Though they are tricky to tame, once you do, they are fiercely loyal creatures.”

“So why are you looking at me like that?” She asked. 

“The Cauldron works in mysterious ways,” was all he would give her. “Come. Let us get our new friend home.” 

Ronan almost instantly fell asleep as Y/N carried him to the Forest House. The kit already trusted her to keep him safe. 

Y/N started muttering to him as they entered the gates. “We will get you the softest bed. And I will feed you fresh fruit and I’ll sneak the best cuts of meats for you. You will be spoiled rotten, Ronan.”

“Motherly instinct has already kicked in, has it?” Lucien teased. 

But he didn’t expect for her entire body to stiffen. 

“I have no desire to be a mother,” she answered darkly before she could stop herself. 

That was when Lucien put together a whole different argument for Y/N forcing distance between her and Eris. 

His posture straightened and his mouth opened slightly. Without thinking, he blurted out. “You are worried about an heir.”

It didn’t come out as a question; it was a statement. 

Lucien now looked at her as if he could read her very mind, like a daemati. He could see every one of her fears on display. And she just stood their, as vulnerable as ever. 

Before Y/N could defend herself or come up with some blatant lie, the guards around them stood at attention and turned to face the direction of the Forest House’s main entrace. And they bowed slightly. 

Eris stood at the open door, watching the two of them. 

It was the first time he and Y/N had seen each other since the lake. 

And the two of them couldn’t take their eyes off one another. Their gazes locked. 

“Leave us,” Eris gently commanded without looking away. 

All Y/N could do was hear the shuffling of armor as Lucien and his guards quickly made their escape from the front courtyard, leaving her with the male she had been trying to avoid for the past few weeks. 

“And who is this?” Eris finally broke the silence, pointing to the fox.

Y/N clutched the kit tighter. “This is Ronan.” 

Eris didn’t question her further. Instead he blindsided her with a subject change. “You haven’t been eating.”

She blinked in confusion, then recovered by glaring at him. 

“I have respected your wishes to keep my distance these past few weeks,” Eris continued. “But when my guards and servants say you have not been eating nor sleeping, I will ignore such a request.”

“I am fine,” Y/N defied him. 

Eris lifted a brow, challenging her. 

But she was too tired to pick a fight. 

“Come,” Eris gestured behind him toward the Forest House. 

And she begrudgingly followed. 

The two of them didn’t speak as they walked down the winding halls. 

Eris didn’t stop until they were in the grand banquet hall. 

There was a feast already prepared on the table. It could’ve fed a royal party. But there were only two dining chairs set at the long table. 

“This is far too much food,” Y/N muttered. 

“Yes, so you will not have the excuse of disliking the options,” he countered. 

And before she could say anything else, he added, “None of it will go to waste. Whatever you don’t eat will be shared with others.” 

For good measure, he sent her warning look and pointed at a chair. “Sit, Y/N. And eat.” 

Y/N knew there was no use arguing about this. And the smell of the food alone made her realize how hungry she was. Her stomach ached from the emptiness. 

She slowly sat with Ronan in her lap, who was fast asleep. 

“And are you here to simply watch me?” Y/N asked Eris. 

“No, I’m joining you.” He answered as he pulled out the other chair. 

Y/N listened to her stomach and grabbed a few things that seemed appetizing, but also would give her fuel to continue working rigorously. 

As if Eris knew she was already thinking about getting back to work, he commented. “The humans are in good health. I have my finest soldiers guarding them at all times. I even sent some of the hounds there to play with the children.” 

“I know,” Y/N mumbled. Her eyes flickered up to his. “I know you will not let any harm come to them while they are here.” 

He blinked. “Then why will you not rest?” 

“If I can keep helping them, then I must.” 

Eris sighed. “I am not telling you to stop. I am asking that you find balance. You will be helping no one if you are not taking care of yourself. Eating consistent meals and getting a full night’s rest is part of that.” 

“I know,” Y/N repeated quietly. 

Eris seemed taken aback by her submission. He was fully prepared for her to spend the whole meal arguing with him. But it only proved how exhausted she must be. 

Without allowing himself to think of stopping, Eris’ hand reached toward Y/N’s face and cupped her cheek so gently. 

“Please, talk to me.” 

His words were pleading. His eyes desperate. 

Her eyes teared up, but she blinked to control her emotions. “I-I-I’m just tired.”

“Yes, I know.” Eris agreed, but his look indicated that it was obvious there was something more than her general exhaustion. 

“I do not like being away from you,” Y/N finally admitted quietly. “But I know it is what we must do.” 

If she was less tired, she would never have allowed herself to speak such words. 

Eris sighed and finally leaned back in his chair, dropping his hand from her cheek. “What I must do to convince you that it isn’t?” 

But Y/N just shook her head, quietly begging him not to have this conversation right now. 

As if sensing her turmoil, Ronan woke up startled. Then he took in Eris and growled as menacingly as a little, helpless kit could. 

Y/N giggled as the ridiculousness of it brought her out of her gutter of emotions and cut the tension that had been building. 

“Hush. None of that,” Y/N laughed before kissing the top of Ronan’s head. 

Eris gave her a look, silently asking, ‘Are you going to explain this to me now?’

“I found him in the woods,” her voice sad as she explained. “His mother was killed by hunters. I’m going to look after him now.” 

“You have a kind heart, Y/N.” Eris explain softly. “Any in need within your reach, you help. But when will you allow others to do the same for you?” 

She couldn’t answer such a question. Instead, she stroked Ronan’s head and went back to eating. 

The two ate in silence for the rest of the meal. 

Eris didn’t stop eating until Y/N did, not wanting to give her a reason for finishing before she was actually full. 

“I am sorry,” Y/N told him. 

He gave her a questioning look. 

“For worrying you.” 

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I will always be worried about you, Y/N.” 

And they both heard the unsaid possibilities with such words.

If she were to truly leave Autumn Court and Prythian altogether, how much sleep would Eris lose worrying about his mate being away from him, living a life without him? Could someone worry themselves so sick that they left the living completely?

“Come,” Eris stood and walked behind her chair to pull it out. “I will walk you to your bedroom.”

Silence once again settled between them. 

But any time Eris got somewhat close to Y/N, Ronan would give him a warning growl. Clearly it hardly took any time for the little fox to grow attached to Y/N – and protective. 

“Now I know how Lucien feels with my smoke hounds…” Eris muttered with a smirk. 

“You don’t mind that I’ve taken him in?” Y/N finally asked. 

“If it will make you happy, you could take on a dragon as a pet. However, it is not all that unusual for the ladies of this Court to take foxes as companions.”

“So I’ve heard…”

Eris nodded. “Did you learn that from your reading or from my loudmouthed brother?”

Y/N smiled. “The latter. He said the Cauldron worked in mysterious ways...but didn't elaborate." 

His face turned serious. “Yes, it does.” 

They were at he bedchambers just a moment later. 

Eris stalled. “Goodnight, Y/N. Do try and get some rest tonight.” 

—🍁—🍁—

Y/N shot up in bed, gasping for breath from a nightmare. 

She was covered in sweat and had even soaked her nightgown, as well as the bedding. 

Then she looked around and immediately found another reason for it: the fire at the other end of the room was roaring and none of the windows were open. 

Strange. She always opened all of them before going to sleep. 

No wonder she had sweat through everything, her room was like an oven. And the wind that comforted her every night while she slept had been kept out. 

But then images of her nightmare flashed in her mind.

Her sister, eyes staring lifelessly up at the full-moon sky. Her dead child in her arms along with her. 

Y/N had repressed the memory for so long, hardly allowing herself to think of her sister.

But Lucien bringing up motherhood and heirs earlier that day must have unlocked it from deep within her subconscious. 

She shook her head as if the movement would erase the memories. 

Then she slowly got out of bed to open the windows.

But as soon as she would swing one open, the wind would slam it shut. 

Y/N glared at the gesture. “What are you playing at?” 

She tried another window, and the wind did the same. 

“Do you wish for me to roast alive?” 

But the wind was not taking her sass.

Suddenly, a tornado-like gust flew into the room, whipping all the windows open. 

“Go…to…him.” The wind called. “Do…not…be…alone.”

Then the windows all slammed shut in unison. 

It should’ve made Y/N jump, but she'd grown accustomed to their dramatics. 

And they were right: she didn’t want to be alone. And she definitely didn’t want to try to go back to sleep, fearing that she’d see more of her sister’s cold, dead body. 

Forgoing a shawl or robe, Y/N tiptoed down the halls. 

When she reached her destination, her fist hovered over the door. 

But before she could knock, the door flung open. 

“Oh,” Y/N gasped. “I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you.”

There stood Eris, looking somewhat alarmed. He was shirtless, only wearing sleep shorts that stopped midway down his thighs. His hair was slightly messy, proving that he had been sleeping at some point – or at least trying to.  

“What’s wrong?” Eris asked. 

“Did you know it was me at the door?”

“Of course. I can smell you,” he explained as if it were obvious. 

Eris could also feel her in his heart and his soul. She was his mate, after all. But he kept that bit to himself.

“Right,” she answered, feeling stupid for even asking. 

He took a step closer to her. “Y/N, are you alright?” 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Her answer hurried out, not wanting to alarm him. “It was just…I had a nightmare. A-A-And the wind is being cruel, making my room far too hot.”

But she quickly shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said once again. “I shouldn’t have woken you.”

She tried to make her escape, turning to leave.

Then she was suddenly being scooped up into Eris’ arms. 

She squeaked in surprise and her arms gripped his shoulders by instinct. 

He carried her fully into his bedchambers and kicked the door closed behind him. 

“Eris, put me down!” But her voice was anything but stern. 

“No.” 

Then they were in his bedroom. And though it was nighttime, the moon still clearly displayed the giant windows taking up an entire wall. And they were all open, letting in the brisk night air. 

‘Traitors,’ Y/N thought to herself. 

Then Y/N realized that she’d never been in Eris' room before. Well, she stayed in his old room. But this was clearly a chamber for a High Lord, and it showed. 

“This is unnecessary…” she groaned when Eris walked toward the giant bed. 

He ignored her, of course, and gently placed her on the side of his bed. 

Y/N expected him to jump right in along with her. But instead he took a step back and kneeled in front of her, forearms balancing on his knees. 

“You have two choices: you can either tell me about your nightmare or you can keep it to yourself. But either way, I am sleeping in this bed beside you. Is that understood?”

Y/N was taken aback by his calm, yet unmoving, authority. 

Realizing that he was expecting some sort of response, all she could mange was a stiff nod. 

He waited a few moments to see if she would speak. 

Instead, Y/N laid down in his bed, turning so her back faced him and pulled the covers high over her shoulders. 

Eris sighed and stood, walking over to the other side of the bed. 

He slowly and carefully joined her under the covers, making sure to keep a respectable distance between them. Which was fairly easy with how large the bed was. 

He settled on his side, watching Y/N as she got lost in her head. 

When he stopped moving, the room was filled with the crackling of the fire in the room that was much lower and calmer than the one in Y/N’s room. 

A rumbling of thunder started in the distance and rain began to fall outside. 

“I dreamt of my sister,” Y/N whispered. 

Eris just waited, silently hoping his mate would keep speaking. 

“She died in childbirth.”

He shifted ever so closer. “I thought your entire coven was killed by a nearby village.”

“They were,” Y/N muttered. “This was only a year before that. She had fallen in love with man from the village before the one that slaughtered us. He was smitten…but he did not love her the same way she loved him. Men were not common companions of ours. They either feared us – or wished to tame us and rip us away from our coven to take us for themselves.”

Her eyes glazed over at the memory. 

“She thought he would travel with us, that she could have a family and her coven. It only took a couple of months before she was with child. But just weeks before the baby was due, there were complications and she went into labor. And even with a whole coven of magic, we couldn’t save her. They said that the man had cursed her – whether he realized it or not – and the magic was too strong to save her. He wasn’t even there when it happened."

Her voice shook as she finished. "I held my sister’s hand as the life left her body. Her baby didn’t survive.”

Tears dripped down Y/N’s face. 

“We had a ceremony for her... and he didn't come. It was like he had never met her at all. He took what he wanted, and didn’t mourn my sister. But he was the only reason she was dead.” 

Y/N rubbed the tears from her face. 

“What was her name?” Eris asked her gently. 

A sad smile pulled at her lips. “Neve. Her name was Neve.”

Eris couldn’t help himself any longer. He pulled Y/N to him, cradling her into his warm chest. 

He kissed the top of her head before he whispered in her ear. “I am sorry that you lost her – and in such a manner.” 

“I thought I was so alone after she died. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the loneliness when all of them were taken from me.”

Eris’ pupils shrunk as he got a dazed look. “I grew up in a home filled with servants, advisors, courtiers, my brothers. But…” His words died out. Perhaps it was selfish to compare his life to hers. 

But Y/N squeezed him.

“The worst loneliness is felt while surrounded by others,” Y/N offered sympathetically. “Yes, I lost my family, my coven…but to live as you did – and for centuries! I am sorry for you, too.” 

Eris pulled away from her so he could look in her eyes. 

“Y/N, we do not have to be alone anymore.” 

She gave him a pained look. So, Eris wouldn’t push her. 

“At least for tonight,” he corrected slowly. “We will not be.” 

He pulled her into his chest again. “Sleep, Y/N. I will fight your nightmares.” 

And it only took her minutes of listening to the sounds of the rain mix with Eris’ soft breathing and smelling his autumn scent for her to give in to sleep. 

—🍁—🍁—

The next morning, banging at the bedroom door startled Y/N awake. Either Eris had heard the interrupter long before her or he had already been awake for awhile, because he barely reacted to the sound. 

Though with Eris’ magic, no one was permitted to enter without his permission. 

Y/N was sleeping on top of Eris’ chest as he sat with his back against the headboard and his arms wrapped around her. 

“Eris!” Lucien yelled as he continued to bang. “Y/N has gone missing! She was not in her room and she slept through her lessons! No one has seen her in the house all morning!”

Eris and Y/N shared a mischievous look, but still didn’t move away from each other. 

Suddenly, Y/N couldn’t stop herself from falling into a fit of giggles. When Eris smirked down at her, she stopped, moved away from him, and hid under the covers. 

With a groan, Eris got up and moved to the door. 

Even just the subtle action of opening the door was done with clear irritation. “She is fine,” he growled at his youngest brother. 

Lucien looked over his shoulder just in time to see Y/N peak out from the covers, her face clearly hot with embarrassment. 

“Oh, good.” Lucien’s tone was sarcastic, but it was clear he was honestly relieved to see her alright. “Mother wishes to prepare you for the coronation.” 

“W-What?” Y/N stuttered out her confusion as she sat up in bed. 

Lucien glared at his brother. “You didn’t tell her.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “We both know this is an unnecessary spectacle…”

Lucien glared harder, then turned his attention to Y/N. “An official celebration for Eris becoming High Lord. It will be a grand ordeal, I assure you. And my mother was looking for you to get your dress fittings started.” 

––––––––

Thank you thank you thank you for being patient with me. Also, thank you to everyone you messaged kind and supportive words. hope this was worth the wait. 😅

HWEHEEHHEHEHHEH

hey siri, play wannabe by hey mona

posted on twt too bc why not

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

so excited for pt 3!!!! i loved it

nina cried power |tsu'tey x reader|

part two of this

a/n: please forgive me lovelies :) i can't help but crave the chaos, currently working on the final part!

warnings: angst, cliff hangers, one singular cuss word

vocab ‘Itan: son - sa'nok: mother - syvue: food - tsngan: meat - tute: female - oel ngati kameie: i see you

Days. Weeks. Months. 

You no longer kept count, why should you when your heart has stopped beating the moment her hand touched his? Why should you be held responsible for keeping score of the days that had passed? Why was your heart the one to be consistently broken over Tsu’tey and Sylwanin?

You knew the blame you placed on him was not fair. It was not called for, yet that didn’t stop the anguish from rising in your chest every time you were a witness to their growing love. No matter how far you distanced yourself from the clan, there was always talk of their future Olo’eytukan and Tsahik. 

Everyone was waiting for the day the two of them were officially mated, the day the clan would welcome the new leaders. But you knew in your heart, you would run away before you ever had to see it come true. 

It was no surprise that you had changed dramatically since that night. You traded your bright beaded tops for dull feathered ones instead. No longer wishing to finally catch the eye of your oldest friend. 

But it seemed no matter how hard you tried to hide away, Tsu’tey always noticed you. He was no fool. He knew how hurt you had been, the look on your face so raw and full of anguish. No one could have missed you running away towards the woods. 

He himself would have been surprised if he hadn’t been told mere minutes before the announcements. It was a reminder that he could never fully choose his future. No part of him had ever craved to mate with Sylwanin, but every fiber of him ached to be with you. You who had stuck by his side through everything, through the fights with his family, his flight of passage, and every other challenging moment. You were a constant, you were his. 

————————————————————

“Ah, Y/N, he is staring at you again. You must put him out of his misery,” Ninat giggled, lowly gesturing to the group of warriors across the way. 

Eyes quickly darting upwards, your heart sank as you met the eyes of Orew. The slightest glimmer of hope, wishing your eyes met his. 

“Ninat! Do not spread rumors you baby! I know nothing of this misery you speak of! Orew is nothing but a skawang, a foolish boy,” you hissed, face heating as she just laughed harder at you. 

Bearing your teeth at your friend, you turned your attention towards the necklace you were making. Smiling downwards at the colorful gems you had spent weeks collecting in the forest. So absorbed in your work, you didn’t hear the footfalls behind you.

“That necklace is going to look beautiful on you,” a deep voice rumbled, spooking you from your inner thoughts. 

Quickly looking up, you met the sparkling eyes of Orew. Heart racing in your chest from being snuck up on, a polite smile gently finding home on your face. 

“Thank you Orew, it is quite pretty but it’s not for me. It’s for someone very special to me,” you answered sincerely, hoping he would just walk away. 

“Well they are very lucky. One could only be so lucky to wear something you’ve crafted for them. I hope to one day be so lucky,” he spoke confidently, before sending you a striking smile and heading back towards his friends. 

The moment his back was turned, Ninat tightly grabbed your arm and practically screamed, “He is so into you!” 

Rolling her eyes as you pushed her away, you were oblivious to the tall na’vi watching you closely from the treeline. 

—-------------------------------

One thing about the clan was that the minute a rumor was whispered, it spread like wildfire throughout the entire village. Whether it was true or not hardly mattered, as long as the members of the clan had something to keep their days interesting. 

So it was no surprise to you when a rumor that Sylwanin was choosing to mate with Ayawon started to make its way through the clan. It wasn’t the first rumor of its likeness to be passed around. From the moment she came of age, every elder sa’nok hoping the name of their ‘itan would stick. The Olo’eytukans family always fell unlucky to the gossiping of small minded na’vi. When you heard this rumor you couldn’t help the hollow laugh that escaped your throat. The harshness of it surprising even yourself. 

Deep down, you and everyone else knew that Sylwanin would never go against her fathers orders. She was promised to Tsu’tey and in order to be the next Tsahik, she would have to make tsaheylu with him. Why would she give up a lifetime of training for a mediocre warrior? When she had the finest warrior the clan had to offer and the future Olo’eytukan? She was no fool and knew the importance of the future of the clan. 

Pushing the rumor out of your mind, you continued on with your day. Spending much of the morning helping forage for herbs with the healers before heading back to the village for syvue. As you walked towards the large fire, whispers flowed throughout the clan already gathered. Grabbing a bowl of tsngan, you found a quiet spot to enjoy your meal. The comfort of the moment ruined when a voice bellowed, “YOU DID WHAT?”

Looking up from your bowl, your eyes widened at the scene unfolding in front of you. There before you stood Sylwanin. Hand in Hand with Ayawon, but further than that, they stood with their queues connected as the final sign of mating. Beyond her stood a furious Eytukan, glaring at his eldest daughter. 

Gasps rippled throughout the village as they watched with rapt attention. Rumors were one thing, but you could barely comprehend what was happening. 

“Ayawon and I have mated before Eywa. It is done,” Sylwanin spoke fiercely, never breaking eye contact with her father. 

“If you chose this Sylwanin, you can and will not be Tsahik,” Mo’at rushed out quickly, almost as if hoping her daughter would change her mind. 

“I have made up my mind. I choose him as my mate,” she replied strongly, turning to smile lovingly at her new mate. 

“Then that is how it should be. Sylwanin will no longer lead our clan as Tsahik. She has chosen,” Eytukan declared loudly, “Tsu’tey may choose my youngest Neytiri as his promised and keep his place as future Olo’eytukan or pick a mate of his choice and continue down his path as a warrior. Like Sylwanin, the choice is his.”

Your heart couldn’t take the implications of what just happened and you felt as though you would faint on the spot. Voices erupted from throughout the crowd as the other tute na’vi weighed the newest addition to the mating pool. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes scanned the crowd until they met the familiar yellow ones you adored. Tentatively Tsu’tey raised a hand in a small wave. To anyone else it was insignificant, miniscule in the grand scheme of things. But to you, it was a new beginning. 

It was Tsu’tey telling you Oel ngati kameie. 

You raised your hand to wave back and was on the verge of a genuine smile for the first time in months, when the ground shook and all hell broke loose. 

----------------------------------------------------

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UGHHHH. LOVE THIS

simon telling the guys he's got a girl to go home to post op and johnny's gobsmacked because him??

his simon? with a sweet thing?? that isn't repelled by his very existence??? he's gotta meet you! (he's also mildly upset that the rest of them are single. or is it jealousy that the man he's gotten himself off to is finally taken?)

it takes a little (a lot) of cajoling to at least show johnny a picture and when simon hands him his cracked phone, johnny whistles low and murmurs out a pretty lass.

and you do look pretty. you look pretty from the side as you're washing dishes, even with the gaudy yellow gloves covering up to your elbows. you're so pretty from the back as you're bent over, carefully basting the chicken you're baking. you even look pretty fuzzy, the camera blurring your features while zoomed in.

there's even a video of you but johnny doesn't overstep. he knows better. he waits for simon's go ahead, and once he gives the almost imperceptible nod, johnny quickly presses play.

the room is dim, the television casting a soft glow upon your face. your legs are folded beneath you, your gaze fixed on whatever it is you're watching, your hand reaching for the bowl of popcorn on the nightstand.

"ken wha' she's watchin'?"

"i dunno, but she's been into nature documentaries as of late."

johnny hums softly and the video comes to an end.

"yer a lucky man, LT."

simon doesn't say anything.

(and neither does johnny. not about the grilles of the window in every picture nor the quiet chirping of crickets and even quieter crunching of leaves in the video.)