𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: The story of a girl and her fallen flowers, as well as a boy who can't seem to forget either of them.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning(s): 1940s!Bucky. 1940s!reader. winter-soldier!Bucky. TFATWS!Bucky. non-linear timeline (time-jumps). childhood friends to lovers. kissing. profanities. canon typical violence. bucky in the electric chair. brief mention of suicidal thoughts. fluff. kinda cheesy if you squint. mild angst. implied death (?). platonic sambucky. bittersweet ending I guess?? (you'll see what I mean)

Author's Note: okayyy so this didn't quite turn out the way I thought it would, but I loveeedd the concept as soon as I got it in my head and still wanted to share this story with you guys 🥺 idk why I seem to struggle translating my ideas properly lately 🫠 anywho, this is officially the shortest piece I've ever written, and I'm actually kind of challenging myself to start writing shorter pieces because I always end up blabbering non-stop in my fics (a side effect to being a yapper, I guess 😭). but despite all, I hope you'll still like this one and find it enjoyable! ❤️ and if you do, please don't forget: like, comment, and reblog 💞

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“This is for you.”

Twelve-year-old Bucky Barnes looked up from the wriggling worm on the ground and squinted his eyes against the blinding sun. The sky of Brooklyn was the color of his eyes today, bright and vast as if someone had splashed a painter's brush across the horizon. Under the stretch of blue, his gaze landed on you—the new girl at school, the one his classmates had been whispering about since Mr. Morris decided to take everyone out to the park for today's PE lesson.

Johnny Hurst told Bucky that you were the prettiest dame he had ever seen.

And boy, if the punk weren't telling the truth.

Bucky's eyes flitted over you from head to toe—taking in the slight tilt of your head, the subtle curve of your lips, and the worn blouse that clung to you at least half a size too big—before they finally landed on the hand outstretched towards him.

“What's this?” he asked.

“It's a flower.”

“I can see that.”

Abandoning the worm, Bucky rose to his feet and brushed the dust off his slacks. You observed his movements with fervor, your hand still curling around the yellow daffodil as if its petals held the cosmic tethers that kept the entire universe from falling apart.

You extended your palm further, positioning the flower directly under his nose until he could smell the fragrance caressing his cheeks.

“It's for you,” you repeated.

Bucky's eyes flicked twice between your face and the daffodil. “Is this a trick?”

“No.”

“Someone put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Where'd you get the flower?”

“From there.”

Bucky's eyes followed the direction of your finger, spotting the daffodil bushes located just a few paces ahead. Not in full bloom yet, but nearly. A golden oasis in the midst of a playground of gray and trampled grass.

You turned towards him again, your expression remaining unchanged as you told him, “I picked it up from the ground.”

Bucky stared at the daffodil in silence. “You're giving me a wilted flower?”

“It's not wilted.”

There was a shadow appearing in the center of your forehead. Your fingertips twitched where they hovered attentively around the yellow petals, as though the accusation had offended you, as though Bucky had spoken blasphemy against the flower by calling it wilted.

“It's been on the ground,” Bucky pointed out.

“So? It simply fell off. Doesn't mean it's wilted.”

“Ain't that the same thing?”

“No.” You pouted, your forehead creasing deeper as your hand cradled the daffodil closer to your chest. “A wilted flower is dead. It doesn't have any love remaining inside it. This flower is not like that.”

And then, like some kind of switch had been flipped, you angled your head towards him—entwining his eyes with your steadfast gaze, rendering his legs motionless with the sight of a brilliant grin stretching across your beautiful face.

“This flower still has a lot of love to give to the world,” you proclaimed.

Bucky's heart stuttered.

It must have been a premonition from the heavens when Bucky's arm began lifting of its own accord, receiving the daffodil from your hand and relishing in the elated hum that the gesture elicited. The petals were delicate against the skin of his palm, and Bucky suddenly feared the possibility of crushing them due to his overt carelessness.

“She's yours now.” You beamed, swaying slightly on your feet as your hands clapped in infectious joy. “She'll give you all of her love if you promise to take care of her.”

His lips quirked. “It's a she?”

“Of course,” you replied, the sun glinting radiantly in your pupils. “All the beautiful things in life are a she.”

Bucky couldn't find it in himself to argue.

He watched you leave with heart on his sleeve, bewitched by the ribbon of your laughter dancing in the wind. His fingers curled protectively around the yellow daffodil, his heart singing in tandem with the rhythm of your skipping feet echoing through the earth.

“Hey!” Bucky called out. You stopped halfway in your tracks, smiling at him from the distance like his wildest daydreams made into flesh. “Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why'd you decide to give the flower to me?”

The grin on your face widened, and Bucky—bless his heart—thought for a moment that his entire limbs might collapse.

A breeze rustled the surrounding trees, cavorting around until it floated across your cheeks. You stumbled back a step upon its intrusion, your eyes peering shyly under the harsh judgment of the sun. And yet, your smile prevailed—still soft as a wisp, still managing to make Bucky's chest alight with something more precarious than a raging flame.

“Cause you're handsome,” you answered at last, the sound of your giggles resonating throughout the air and straight into Bucky's soul. “Take good care of her, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Blue eyes trailed along as you disappeared around the hedge, remnants of your melodic voice still dithering in the sky, a gentle lull against the wild thumping of his heart. As the world settled into its insipid normal, Bucky Barnes knew that there were two things of which he was absolutely certain.

One: the flower in his hand had now become the most prized possession in his otherwise monotone life.

And two: he had actually never told you his name.

Somehow, Bucky found that he didn't quite mind both.

“Say, handsome. Any chance you could tell a girl where to find a good time around here?”

Bucky hadn't even turned when the smile broke across his lips.

His soul meandered towards your voice, his heart leaping out of its cage as he took in your entire figure for the first time that night—flowy dress and red lipstick, platform heels and a pair of lips that looked like they held whispers of a secret he would spend a lifetime trying to unravel. Your own smile blinded him as you approached closer, the cadence of your steps a harmonious symmetry with the surrounding ruckus of the carnival.

“I'd show you a good time, doll.” He smirked once you stood in front of him, your chin tilting up in a way that made Bucky want to drop to his knees and worship the ground you had walked on. “All you gotta do is ask.”

“Really? Just ask?” You hummed, fluttering your lashes and sending a whole swing band loose in Bucky’s gut. “Shame. Here I thought I'd bargain a smooch for your company. Guess I'll just have to give it to someone else, then.”

You didn't have a chance to turn before Bucky yanked you back towards him, firm fingers curling around your wrist like a ship finally mooring to land. He swallowed your surprised yelp with a kiss, devouring your gasps as if the two of you weren't standing under caramel-slicked air and a parade of balloons and shrieks.

“Quit jokin’ about kissing someone else, sweetheart,” he rasped against your lips, fingers resolute where they squeezed around your hip. “Lest you're lookin’ to see me die of a heart attack.”

Your smile bloomed. “Then why don't you kiss me some more, Buck?”

He was more than happy to oblige.

His lips found yours again, slower this time, savoring every second as if he were living on borrowed time. The world around you faded away into an abstract background, centering you in the moment, where everything you yearned and cared for was the hint of sugar you could taste on your boyfriend's lips.

When the two of you parted for the second time, Bucky studied your face as though memorizing a miracle right before his very eyes. It made something stir in the depth of your chest.

“Got you something,” Bucky admitted, excitement and joy spilling out of his skin.

You waited patiently as he reached into his pocket, pulling out an eyeglass case that made your eyebrows pinch in wonder—since when did he wear glasses? But before you could ask, Bucky was already opening the lid, and the view of its content managed to coax a gasp of awe from somewhere within your ribs.

“Bucky, this is amazing.”

You picked up the tiny arrangement between your pointer and middle fingers, admiring the way the flowers were bound together into a miniscule bouquet. They were tethered to one another by a string of stem and twine, a thread of nature and mankind, existing side by side in an eternal waltz that fate had bestowed upon them.

Your chest tapered, bringing the tiny bouquet closer to your heart as you captured the giddy blue of Bucky’s eyes. “You made this yourself?”

“I did.” Bucky nodded, his chest inflating in a pale delight. “Well, Becca helped. Who could've guessed that tying a yarn around flower stems required nimble fingers, huh?”

You laughed along, concealing the way your insides were melting into a puddle as if this weren't the nicest gesture anyone had ever done for you.

“Ma gave me an earful when she saw me in the garden, dirt on my hands and knees, lookin’ for fallen blossoms. Said I'd better get some proper flowers for my girl if I didn't want her runnin’ off with another fella.” Bucky chuckled. “But I told her this was more special. After all, these buds ain't wilted yet, which means—”

“They still got love to give,” you whispered, void of air and yet brimming with boisterous affection. You kissed his chin and rewarded him a grin. “You know who else got love to give, Buck?”

Bucky laughed, that rare, beautiful sound that always seemed too big for the world to hold. He cupped your cheek like he was holding a precious porcelain, leaning closer until your foreheads rested against one another.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He breathed, nudging his nose to yours. "I sure as hell do.”

“Mission report,” a voice commanded.

In the center of the room, the Soldat sat on a throne made of metal and terror. A cushion designed not for rest, but for bearing witness to the drips of blood pooling beneath restraint-bound limbs. Other soldiers stood all around the room, their cowardice louder than their breathing, their backs refusing to peel from the walls as if it could absolve them of their complicity.

The quiet stretched.

Out of the shadows, the tall, fiendish man emerged, carrying the kind of cruelty that even hell would cower from. He examined the Soldat and raised his eyebrows, noting down the asset's lack of response—an observation for later, an error to repair as if the Soldat had been a mere machine instead of a living soul.

The man stepped closer, repeating himself with a bellowing voice that would beckon the dead from their graves, “Mission report, Soldat.”

Still no answer.

The tension sweltered.

“What's wrong with him?” another man chimed in.

The first one shook his head, his mind already gearing, going through the motions on how he could pick apart and assemble the Soldat into something new, something better. But before he could jot down the evil plan on his notepad, his gaze slid downward, spotting the defensive curl of the Soldat's flesh fist hidden partly by his right thigh.

“There is something in his hand.”

The second man sprung into action, approaching the chair and demanding the frozen man on it to unclench his fingers, now. But the Soldat didn't move, not even a single indication to acknowledge the receival of the command. Even when the smack thundered across his cheek, the Soldat continued to stand his ground, a show of defiance through the very last thing he could still afford.

“Soldat.” The first man attempted again, a cold edge coursing through his words. “Give us what's in your hand before we put you back in the cryo.”

The Soldat didn't say anything, but his fingers flexed—just a tiny bit—though it was enough to help the second man pry the mysterious object out of the Soldat's hand.

“What is it?” the first man asked, a hint of impatience leaking through his practiced image.

“It's, uh… It's…” the second man stammered.

He turned his palm around, confusion palpable in his eyes as he showed his colleague the mysterious object that the Soldat had guarded with more ferocity than any weapon they’d ever placed in his hands.

A slightly crumpled yellow daffodil.

“It's a flower?” the first man nearly roared. “It was just a fucking wilted flower?”

“It's not wilted.”

The room fell into an instantaneous hush. Every pair of eyes inside ambled towards the center of the room, towards the assassin who had just decided to break his silence over the trivial matter of flowers.

The first man turned towards the Soldat with a menacing stare, his eyes a pair of blades as he stepped closer towards the seat of torture, studying the Soldat who was still sitting stiffly as if awaiting the next round of nightmares. But beneath the blue eyes, usually steely and cold, something else had clawed its way through—something fiery and reckless, something akin to humanity.

The first man sneered, turning to the entire room to bark his orders, “Wipe him. And put him in the ice until further notice.”

People moved in a flurry of limbs as soon as the instruction had settled. Amidst the havoc, everybody failed to notice the silent tick of the Soldat's jaw, the scintillating shift of his pupils as unsolicited hands forced him back against the chair, strapping his entire body with restraints that felt more like burning coals against an expanse of skin.

The Soldat kept his eyes trained on the drab surface of the ceiling, bracing himself for the pain to come, for the same searing agony that had muddled his brain far too many times to count. He wouldn't remember much afterwards—wouldn't remember how desperately he kept wishing for death in those horrifying moments—but he would certainly remember the fear. Thrumming under his skin like lightning against a drowning man's ribs.

At the first descent of the machine upon each side of his head, the Soldat suddenly heard it—the voice.

The one who wasn't his own but sounded like a missing piece of his soul.

The one who always appeared in times when he needed an anchor and something to hold.

The one who had told him to pick up the daffodil while he was on the field.

“Take it,” the voice had adjured. “Take the flower. It's not wilted yet, it has simply just fallen.”

So he did.

And right now, the voice was returning once more, only this time, it didn't come alone.

It came with flashes—images.

An image of laughter and smiles, of promises and dreams. An image of two bodies tangled beneath the sheets, spent breaths and a humming pleasure rushing through bloodstreams.

It came with an image of you.

“It's gonna be alright,” you told him, so gentle and kind that he almost believed it. “Everything's gonna be alright, honey. I'm right here with you.”

The machine awakened with an ominous snarl, triggering a low whine inside his skull, rising gradually until it split the edges of his mind apart. He tried to hold onto something, anything, but there was nothing left inside him except for scraps of bones and a heart mangled beyond any devastation the world could ever imagine.

He was no one.

No name. No face. No soul.

Just a body, wired and broken, as mechanical as the chair he sat upon.

As good as wilted.

“You're not wilted.”

The Soldat blinked.

“You've merely fallen, honey,” you assured, smiling so sweetly he could almost taste it on his tongue. “Fallen things aren't wilted. And fallen things—oh, sweetheart—they still have so much more love to give.”

“You dropped one, Sarah.”

Bucky bent down to pick up the flower on the floor, the one that had fatedly fallen from the bouquet of fragrance and colors that Sam's sister was currently moving to a clear vase. The petals fluttered like silk on the skin of Bucky's palm, and his knees nearly gave out from underneath him when he finally took a proper look at the blossom in his grasp.

A yellow daffodil.

“Just throw it away, Buck,” Sarah said from her place in the kitchen. She crumpled the parchment wrapper of the bouquet before throwing it into the bin, the arrangement of flowers now sitting proudly on the kitchen counter. “It's been on the ground, anyway.”

“Just ‘cause it's fallen, doesn't mean it's wilted yet.” Bucky sauntered towards the kitchen, stopping to position the bud amidst the array of petals and stems. “They still got a whole lot of love left to give, you know?”

Sarah's eyebrows rose.

Before she could comment on Bucky's surprising sentiment, Sam came striding into the house, his dark eyes immediately zeroing on the two people standing by the kitchen counter.

“What's this?” Sam asked, suspicion dripping from his voice. “Yo, man, I told you to stop flirting with my sis.”

“Nobody's flirting, Sam. We were just talking,” Bucky clarified. Then, just to ruffle Sam’s feathers, the super soldier flicked his gaze towards Sarah, tilting his lips in the way he used to do when he wanted to coax something out of you. “Right, Sarah?”

The woman giggled, and Bucky could almost beam in satisfaction at the imaginary smoke coming out of Sam's ears.

“He was just helping me, Sam,” Sarah told him. “One of the flowers fell, so he returned it to me.”

“Nuh uh. I don't believe that's all there is. That must be him tryna make a move. That was you making a move, isn't it?” Sam demanded, his gaze jerking aggressively between his sister and a smug Bucky. “What'd he tell you? Whatever it was, don't listen to it. Don't believe him. It's just a bunch of bullshit.”

“God, Sam, he didn't say anything.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “He just told me something about flowers. About how they aren't wilted if they fell, and… what was it again, Buck?”

The man tensed.

Bucky regained his composure in the blink of an eye, keeping the other two oblivious to the surge of turmoil that the simple question had sent. Keeping them in the dark about the way Bucky's heart had stumbled at the mere memory of your smile flaring across his mind and straight into his soul.

“It was nothing,” Bucky said. “Just a silly saying.”

“Oh, right!” Sarah snapped her fingers. “Fallen flowers still have lots of love to give.” She smiled proudly, eyes flickering towards Bucky with conspicuous excitement. “Was I right?”

Bucky's jaw clenched.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam questioned, his forehead knitting, vexation melting into incredulity. “That your game, Buck? Sounds lousy as hell.”

Bucky sighed. “Sam…”

“Did that kinda thing really work in the forties? ‘Cause damn, I could've been a real ladies man back then. Would've been so easy if all it took was one lame shit about flowers, and—hey, where you goin’?”

“Getting the hell away from you!”

Bucky heard Sam's laughter echoing from behind him, mocking and unaware of the wound in the former's chest that was beginning to crack and bleed all over the floor. The sound of your voice lingered in Bucky's mind, a ghost only he could hear, a cursed rapture that broke him apart at the seams before stitching him together all at once.

Before Bucky could exit the house, Sam's voice erupted again, “Hey! At least tell us how you got the idea for such a cheesy saying!”

“I didn't.” Bucky's grip contracted around the front door's handle, a shaky smile stretching his lips before he caught Sam's gaze from the distance. “Someone taught it to me. A long time ago.”

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Reader Flinching During An Argument W Neteyam?

pairing: neteyam x omaticaya fem! reader tags & warning: reader is pregnant but not showing, a mom of one child, dad! neteyam, they're both aged up, angry neteyam, reader is so stubborn summary: with the sky people back, neteyam doesn't want you going out in the forest without his company. he's been extra protective of his family within reason, but you didn't like feeling helpless. you went to the forest without telling anyone, maybe you should have. index sempu - dad, muntxate - wife/female spouse, tawtute - human, nìftxan - so, ngäzìk - difficult, olo'eyktan - clan leader word count 3.5k

a/n spinned this a little hope you like it! i've been working on this for a while because i wanted to make sure it was good. enjoy <3

Because of the pregnancy, your duties as a warrior were temporarily suspended. It was frustrating that you were forbidden to participate in the raid. You were barely showing and still capable of fighting, but Neteyam insisted that you stayed behind.

With the the sky people back, their attacks became even more ruthless and unforgiving. Their technology advanced which gave them the upper hand, but everyday you prayed to Eywa that she protects the people. Especially your family.

Nutxe watched his father putting his cummerbund on followed by his leather armguard. Neteyam was preparing for another rally to stop the humans from creating their own space to live in. They were getting too close, and their preparations have been getting quick. Because of it, he's barely home and only coming back to his wife and son asleep.

"Sempu, how hard will it be this time?" asked Nutxe, eyes wide from curiousity.

"It doesn't get easier, 'itan," sighed Neteyam. He managed to pull a smile for his child, and placed his hand on top of his head. "We will do everything to stop them," he reassures.

Nutxe nodded. "I know. You'll defeat them because sempu, uncle Lo'ak, and grandpa are there!" he cheered as he raised his fists.

You laughed from where you were standing. After hearing his father's accomplishments, Nutxe admired him greatly. You'll always hear him saying he wants to be like his sempu one day, and protect you from danger.

Of course, he got the idea to protect you from the man himself.

Neteyam only chuckled. He approached you, and you handed him his bow and arrows. You couldn't help but inspect his warrior look with envy. It's been a long time since you've worn your own cummerbund, and the feeling of adrenaline was missed.

"I am still strong enough to fight," you said. You made sure to keep your voice low from Nutxe's big ears.

Neteyam exhaled before he pursed his lips momentarily. "We've talked about this, muntxate. You are with child, our child," he emphasised with a frustrated look. "I want you out from the field."

You hissed, "I feel helpless! I wouldn't be the first woman pregnant there."

"Munxtate."

"Your mother went to war with you inside of her. I don't see why I cannot be there."

He shook his head. "I don't want to argue about this with you anymore. I don't want to leave like this, please."

Both of you stared into each other's eyes intensely. Neteyam waited for you to back down, your eyes were full of determination that he almost felt like you would go against him. Eventually, your eyelids drooped, showing your defeat.

Neteyam couldn't help let his grin show. "See me off?" he asked softly.

"Always." You managed to crack a little grin, which was enough for him.

As the three of you went towards the edge of High camp, Nutxe shifted on your hip and Neteyam's hand rested on your back. There were already warriors staying by there ikrans as they waited for their Olo'eyktan's signal. Jake could be seen standing beside his ikran, speaking with Neytiri about the raid.

"Grandpa!" yelled Nutxe.

Jake turned his head to the voice, and his lips broke into a smile that was rare to see lately. With the tawtute's back, it was difficult not to worry each second that they striked back with an even callous defense. But he can't hold back the joy he sees from his grandson.

"Came to see your grandpa and grandma off, bud?" he opened his arms for the boy.

Nutxe jumped off from your arms and dashed to his. Jake groaned when he lifted him up, complaining about how heavy he had gotten. Neytiri laughed, her finger tickling the boy's chubby stomach which earned her a fit of giggles.

"Look at you, so big," cooed Neytiri.

Nutxe smiled, "I cant wait to be taller. I want to be tall like sempu."

Jake gasped, offended, "What about me?"

He shook his, a mischevious smile on his face. "No."

Neteyam chuckled at his father's playfulness. Nutxe truly is a blessing from Eywa, he brought joy everywhere with him in the midst of this war. The burden of being Olo'eyktan had gotten heavier, and the bags under Jake's eyes only turned worse. He was relieved to see his father relaxed even for a little while.

"Dad," called Lo'ak as he approached them firmly. "Tarsem and his unit is on the way to tail the humans."

Jake nodded, his playfulness was now gone. He put Nutxe on the ground, and the boy went to your side. He turned to the warriors, telling them to get ready. As a parting gesture, Neytiri gave you a squeeze on the shoulder.e, before she headed to her ikran.

Nutxe patted his uncle's hands and smiled at him, "Good luck, uncle Lo'ak."

Lo'ak returned the smile, placing his hand on top of his head. "Thanks bud." He gave you a nod before he left to his own ikran.

Neteyam kneeled down to his son's height. "Watch mama for me?"

His eyebrows were pinched together as he nodded with determination. "Yes, sempu!"

"I will see you when I get back." Neteyam pressed his lips on his forehead briefly. He stood up, looking at you.

You nodded, "Be safe."

"Always."

The raid was successful again. There were less injured warriors compared to the previous raid and they managed to avoid casualties this time which made the each Omatikaya beam with pride. It brought hope that they could defeat the tawtute, and maybe leave their home alone.

Although, that didn't stop them from being vigilant.

You were in the Tsahik's tent along with Tuk, rearranging the herbs that were not in their usual spot. Since you were reprived from your duties as a warrior, you searched for other ways to help the clan. Mo'at offered you to help her aid injured warriors which you did not decline. Your skills as a healer weren't as great as your athleticism, but it was better than nothing.

Nutxe was off with Spider and Kiri in the lab. You and Neteyam didn't mind that your son was getting along well with the scientists. They were loyal to the na'vi, and it always reminded you that Jake was once human. You cant take that away from Nutxe, not that you ever intended to.

"Is it all done?" asked Tuk. She sighed loudly, laying down on the mat as she stretched her arms and limbs.

"Yes," you hummed. Counting the number of bowls, you noticed that one was nearly empty. Yalnabark was most commonly used amongst injuries since they sting less, Kiri suggested this to her grandmother and they have used it ever since. "Oh, we're almost finished."

"What?!" Tuk immediately shot up from her position. She groaned once she saw the bowl you raised to show her. "We can't go out to the forest at this time. The party is still inspecting the area to make sure there aren't any surprise attacks."

"I will check my tent if we have some. I'll be back, Tuk."

Satisfied with Tuk's nod, you exited the Tsahik's tent and walked to yours. Unfortunately, the situation stayed the same: yalnabarak was nearly finished.

An idea came into your head, but it was something that you knew your mate would go against. However, you cant just stay and rely the work on other na'vi. There was no way you would make yourself a liability.

You attached your comm's around your neck and tucked the ear piece in your ear gently, just in case things were to go wrong, which you prayed that it wouldn't come to that. You hang your satchel over your shoulder with your bow and arrows in your hand. Exhiliration filled your body at the thought being able to travel around the forest.

The air caressing your face made you sigh. This must what Lo'ak felt everytime he was going behind his parents' back. It was envigorating, but you felt guilty going against Neteyam. What he doesn't know wont hurt him, you tried to convince yourself, but there was that conscious part of yourself constantly telling you that it was wrong. Pushing those thoughts away, you let your ikran fly down and landed on forest ground.

As soon as your feet touched the ground, you searched for the necessary herbs to make yalnabark. They weren't hard to find if you knew where to search. The herbs were always close to the Link Shack which was one of the reasons why the medicine wasn't often used.

Since the RDA returned to Pandora, the Shack has been deemed unsafe and off-limits. Their chances of returning the area were highly probable. But when silence met you and the lone sounds you could hear in the forest were chirping insects, you sighed in relief.

Your satchel was almost filled with herbs you collected. It would be enough to aid the injured people for a while. Your arm was outstretched to pick out another leaf, but your eyes stopped on the muddy part of the ground.

A fresh footprint.

"We've got a na'vi here!"

The day continues to be quiet since the successful raid. Neteyam and Lo'ak were in the air, inspecting for any suspicion. The oldest frowned when he could see the damage that the humans brought to his home, trees were broken and what was once green and nature were destroyed.

"Nothing," said Lo'ak with a shrug.

Neteyam turned his head to him with furrowed eyebrows until it hit him that he was talking about the humans. He nodded. "Let's go back."

They turned their ikrans to the direction of their home. Silence fell between them, but comfortable, as they headed back home.

"Nete-"

Neteyam's ear twitched when he realised the voice came from the comm's. He pressed his neck where the speaker was, he spoke, "Muntxate?"

The worst possible scenarios started forming into his head. You never used your comms before, promising to him that it would only be used when something was wrong.

"Neteyam, I am being attacked! Near the Shack! There is three of them!"

His heart sank. Realising you had gone behind his back, he let out a growl. Lo'ak looked at his brother questioningly. "Bro, what is it?"

"My mate is in trouble. Three avatars by the Shack." Neteyam's ear were pinned against his head, his jaw clenched. His hand gripped the handle of his ikran's halters tightly, mentally praying that she would be okay. And that their child would be fine.

You hid behind a tree, hugging your bow close. Leaning slightly to the side, you noticed an avatar walking slowly through the trees, his rifle pointing straight ahead. You inhaled deeply and drew the string of your bow until it touched your nose and lips. Your arrow was directed straight to the avatar.

You drew your fingers back, releasing the arrow, which penetrated his skull.

"Na'vi!" his partner yelled. Bullets roared through the woods, and you assessed it as an indication to flee. Without glancing behind, you forced your feet to run faster than the wind. Jumping from one branch to the next.

A scream escaped your lips when the branch you jumped on rattled from a big explosion, causing you to slip and fall. Your body hit large leaves, slightly softening your fall but hurt nonetheless. You whimpered, feeling pain course through your body. Immediately, your hand flew to your stomach. "Please, great mother," you whispered with tears in your eyes.

Large footsteps entered your ears. Hope surged through your body until you looked up only to realise it was one of the avatars chasing you. His smirk sent shivers down your spine. He pressed the speaker on his neck, saying, "I got her."

His face wrinkled in anguish as he groaned, just as he prepared to take another step towards you. His corpse dropped forward right in front of you, and you stifled a sob as you realised who was responsible.

"Muntxate," Neteyam exclaimed. He felt loose after seeing you harmed on the ground; he felt as if he would rip each of their limbs off for doing this to you.

You sobbed, "Neteyam."

He knelt on the ground and hugged your form closer to him as he quietly listened to you weep. He trailed his hand to yours, which was resting on your belly, and kissed your temple softly while whispering soothing words.

Neteyam couldn't tell whether you had injuries from where he used to stand, but now that the glowing light from the plants reflected your body… he could see bruises and blood. Neteyam pursed his lips, holding you tighter against him. What could have happened if he didn't arrive on time.

"Last one killed." He heard Lo'ak voice from his earpiece. "I've notified dad of this, he said to find whatever's useful on them and bring it in. He'll meet us as soon as we land in High Camp with grandmother to make sure your mate is okay."

Neteyam removed one of his hands and used it to press the button on his neck. "Copy. I will see you by the ikrans."

"I hear you. By the way, the second avatar was dead while I was making sure there aren't any more surprises. It was a straight shot to the skull. Your mate must've done this, she does have the best aim despite being in sticky situations."

Chuckles were heard through the other side, Lo'ak was clearly elated by this but Neteyam couldn't share the same feeling.

"Can you stand?"

The gentle tone of his voice resonated in your ears. You only nodded as a response because you were afraid that your voice would betray you. You felt ashamed that it had come to this, even after he warned you.

You stood up as Neteyam stood close to you, his arm extended just in case you felt unwell. "I came here to collect herbs for yalnabark. It was nearly finished," you explained, only gancing at his eyes for a second before looking away.

Neteyam's gaze transferred to the satchel, it's contents spilled out. He sighed deeply and grabbed the satchel, picking up the herbs and putting it back in. "We will talk once we go back home."

You felt like a child who was about to get scolded by a parent. Lo'ak's amused grin didn't help make you feel better. Just like Neteyam, you scolded him for getting into plenty of trouble back when you were just teenagers. So, forgive him if he found the situation a little bit amused.

When you got back to High Camp, Mo'at was already there to check your wounds and she brought you to her tent immediately. Tuk and Kiri were already there to assist her. The youngest sully was quick to apologise and blamed herself for not being with you, but none of it was her fault and you made sure she knew that.

Tuk did not have the responsibility to take care of you because you are a grown woman who is capable of making her own decisions. And you are mature enough to accept the consequences.

Questions about the baby quickly came out from your mouth. It was the first thing Mo'at did, checking the baby. She felt your heart racing against her hand. The beating of your heart only slowed down to its normal rate when you she told you the baby is fine, but you needed rest to make sure.

Neteyam was there the whole time, watching his sisters apply medicine to your wounds whilst listening to his grandmother intently. You met his gaze, and you could tell he was relieved but disappointed at the same time.

Fortunately, Nutxe dozed off in Jake's hut while he was with them. Neteyam stayed behind you on the way to the tent you both shared. He looked at the scratches on your back, his fury building with each glance, until he forced himself to turn his head away.

As soon as you entered your tent, you crossed your arms as you faced your mate.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed.

"I told you why, did I not?" you sassed.

He shook his head. "You do not get to act like this, not after you went behind my back. You did not even say a word to anyone!"

"I thought that it would be quick."

"You thought wrong," he seethed. "I told you so many times that this is for your own safety. Why wont you just listen? Do you not see that this is my way of protecting you?"

You turned aside, growling. You were already exhausted from being treated like a child. "I am not weak. I am still capable of standing without hurting!"

"Muntxate, this is not about your incapability." Neteyam pressed his palms against his eyes as he shut them tightly. He looked at you, annoyed. "You are carrying our prrnen. That should be enough for you to stay put."

"You forget who you are speaking to," you hissed angrily. "I am recognised as one of the strongest warriors along with you. Unless, my state makes me a liability, I should be-"

Neteyam suddenly took quick steps in front of you. You blinked, surprised at his stance but you didn't back down. He snarled, "I said no. Whether you like it or not, you will stay. I will tie you against a rope if I must."

"You are not Olo'eyktan yet," you scoffed. "I do not take orders from you!"

You moved away from him, but he grabbed your forearm with his grip tight. You glanced at his hand wearily before looking up to his eyes, it was full of fury. "Nìftxan ngäzìk. If you do not want to be treated like a child, do not act like one."

Breathing heavily, you yelled, "I am already treated like one, skxawng!"

Neteyam abruptly raised his arm, causing you to close your eyes and inhale sharply.. He pointed his finger to the exit of your tent, his gaze stuck on it. "Those demons have gotten stronger. They-"

The words died on his mouth when he saw how you cowered with his touch. He released himself off you, his guilt consuming him. He can't believe he did it– that he let his rage get the best of him. He took a step back, his breath unsteady. "No, muntxate… I was not going to hit you. I would never."

You nodded, pressing your fingers to your temple before cupping your face. "I know, I just…" you sighed. Neteyam heard you sniffle, but it was muffled from your hand. You removed them for your face, and hugged your body.

He watched your body language, because the last thing he wants is you to be scared of him. He only raised his arm to point outside but you thought otherwise. Neteyam would hate himself forever if he had caused anything for you to assume that.

Relief washed over him when you reached out to him, holding his hand. He trailed his other hand to your arm softly before he held your elbow, carressing it.

"I do not like thinking that I am not there to protect you," you revealed. Tears pooled into your eyes as you looked up at him. "What if something happens to you? What if it will be too late to save you? What would I do?" you croaked out.

"Nothing will-"

"You do not know that." You shook your head. "We need you, Neteyam. And I get scared everytime you go out there. I beg the great mother to protect you always, to watch you because I cannot."

Neteyam held your face, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones. "Nothing will happen," he pressed, his gaze loving. "Because I'm not only doing this for my people, but for you and Nutxe. I will protect my family with all my strength and I cannot do that when I'm dead."

A tear left your cheek when he leaned his forehead aginst yours with a grin present on his lips. "I will always come home to you, muntxate," he promised.

You pouted, "You should. I will haunt your soul if you dare to leave."

Neteyam laughed.

"And I'm sorry for leaving without telling anyone. I thought it would be simple."

"I know. What matters is that you are both okay."

You smiled as you pushed yourself against him and pressed his lips with yours. Neteyam wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until your chests are touching each other. A moan escaped your lips when you felt a hand squeeze your cheek.

Neteyam pulled away slightly, his breath fanning your lips as he spoke, "Good thing Nutxe is with my mother and father." His eyes heavy with a look you became so familiar with. You said nothing and roughly kissed him making him groan.

Great mother, how long has it been since you let this man devour you?