I adore your writing and i just HAD to send in an order!
Soooo could i get a hamburger with cheese with Ponyboy please! 🫶🏻
𑣲┊[ read between the lines
aka… ponyboy seeing you in everything he writes
warnings ~ canon divergence, probably messed up dates, takes place two years after the events of the book would have, so roughly 1967, reader & pony are 16, fluffy, suggestive at the end
w/c ~ 1100+
── .✦ a/n ~ highkey me... :3
Ponyboy has always loved to write. You know this for a fact. Every time one the guys’ birthdays comes around, he writes entire page long letters to them. Johnny’s ended up being three pages.
Then your birthday came along. The first since you two finally started dating.
You were in your kitchen, guarded by your mom, dad, and siblings, when he handed you an envelope. You smiled sheepishly at him, before taking the note from his hands. His gaze was locked onto you as you opened it, finding a nearly seven page — front to back — letter addressed to you.
You sat there and spent twenty minutes silently reading it. By the time you’d finished it, your ice-cream cake was just about melted. But you read every little word with purpose.
When you finished, you looked right back to him, eyes wide, not knowing what to say.
“Ponyboy.” you murmured.
You jumped up from your seat to hug him, arms tight around his neck. He buried his flushed face into your shoulder.
Months have passed since then. You’re coming upon your two-year anniversary — a massive milestone.
One summer day, you arrived at the Curtis’ to hang out with him. Turns out he was at track practice. Soda let you in anyways, so you got the chance to sit around his room. Why not do some snooping?
First you checked out his desk. It was littered with papers, all smudged and crumpled. You got a closer look, seeing the words scribbled on them, smiling. Pony was always a perfectionist.
Then you went for his closet. It was full off flannels, most from Soda, t-shirts, and only one other pair of scuffed jeans.
Finally, you spotted something.
Peaking out from under his bed, a box with its lid halfway on it sang your name. So, naturally, you immediately grabbed it and sat on his unmade bed.
In it, you found pieces of papers. Tons of them. Each was covered in words, each with a date, each with a title. Said titles ranged from something cheesy like “what it is to love,” or something softer, like “her.”
As you picked certain poems out, you read through them, quickly realizing his muse.
You.
Almost every paper in that box was something he’d wrote about you. He wrote about your hair, your eyes, the way your laugh sounded like a bird’s song to him. You clung to every word, spending the better part of three hours meticulously reading each one.
The dates lead all the way back to before you got together. Back to the months where you believed the crush you harbored wasn’t reciprocated.
At the bottom of the box lay a notebook — brown, leather, and with a gold leaf tree on the front cover. You didn’t hesitate to open it, finding a journal entry from when the pair of you were twelve.
“September 3rd, 1963.
Today was my first day of seventh grade. Darry told me I should start writing stuff down. Said it helped him when he was my age. I don’t know why I listened to him, he’s not my dad or anything. At least I get to sit by a pretty girl in math. I don’t know her name but I don’t need to. She’s really nice and has a pink notebook.”
You remember distinctly when this happened. Sitting by each other in that class was the best thing to ever happen to you, because it led to you and Pony’s friendship and subsequent relationship. You flip through the pages, finding an entry from a handful of months before you got together.
“January 7th, 1965.
She’s so pretty. We just got back from winter break, and now I get to see her everyday again in P.E. She manages to make the scratchy gym shirts cute. Is that weird to say? I hope it isn’t. I hope she never reads this and thinks I’m a creep.”
The statement is ironic, but you’re more focused on his infatuation with you. You didn’t think he liked you for so long before you got together. Then again, the gang probably didn’t tease you constantly for nothing.
You flip forward, finding the exact date he first asked you out.
“August 29th 1965.
I did it. I asked her out. I bought her flowers, showed up at her doorstep, and told her I really liked her and wanted to take her out on a date. She said yes! She even hugged me and kissed my cheek. She kissed me! Can you believe it? I hadn’t even gotten the chance to properly take her out before she kissed me!! I’m so lucky. She’s so beautiful. We’re going to the drive-in together this Saturday. Just us.”
He was so cute that day. His entire face was flushed — especially his ears — and you couldn’t help yourself. You keep looking through the pages, finding the one from the actual date.
“August 31st, 1965.
She kissed me. For real this time. She put her hand on my cheek and kissed me on my mouth. I had to keep myself from devouring her whole in that moment. I didn’t want to seem eager. She tasted real good, like—”
“W-What the hell are you doing?!”
You hear Ponyboy’s voice squeak. Your head shoots up, eyes meeting his, and you can’t help smiling.
“Nothing.”
“You—! Give me that!” He lunges, tackling you on the bed in an attempt to reach for his notebook. You grin wider. He tries so hard to get it back, climbing on top of you, but you somehow keep it barely out of his grasp. He looms above you, not wanting you to read his cheesy confessions about you. But you’ve read too much already.
“You are so—” You cut him off with a kiss. That’s all it takes for him to deflate, now sitting atop you on his bed.
“You’re cute when you blush.”
He doesn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he leans in, lips crashing into yours. This time around, he’s plenty eager, having lost the ability to hold back with you long ago. His lips mold to yours, tongue quickly attempting to get entry into your mouth.
The journal is long forgotten. Your hands hold his jaw as his find your hips.
He tastes so sweet, always like apples, and you can’t get enough of him. The kiss is all tongues and teeth, desperate, but in a loving way, not lustful.
Your lips break apart, his kisses trailing down your neck, stopping to linger on your jaw, when—
“You kids better not be gettin’ it on in there! I hope you know we can hear y’all huffin’ and puffin’!”
You hear Soda’s voice echo from the kitchen.
You look at Ponyboy, giggling as he gets up to slam the door.
[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly @dallysdolly444 @only-lonely-star @itonlyhastobetruetoday @alyssat-t @ofallihaveconsumed @reminisce-me @innernightmarementality @shayshayb0211 — send a dm or ask to be added or removed! ]
I adore your writing and i just HAD to send in an order!
Soooo could i get a hamburger with cheese with Ponyboy please! 🫶🏻
𑣲┊[ read between the lines
aka… ponyboy seeing you in everything he writes
warnings ~ canon divergence, probably messed up dates, takes place two years after the events of the book would have, so roughly 1967, reader & pony are 16, fluffy, suggestive at the end
w/c ~ 1100+
── .✦ a/n ~ highkey me... :3
Ponyboy has always loved to write. You know this for a fact. Every time one the guys’ birthdays comes around, he writes entire page long letters to them. Johnny’s ended up being three pages.
Then your birthday came along. The first since you two finally started dating.
You were in your kitchen, guarded by your mom, dad, and siblings, when he handed you an envelope. You smiled sheepishly at him, before taking the note from his hands. His gaze was locked onto you as you opened it, finding a nearly seven page — front to back — letter addressed to you.
You sat there and spent twenty minutes silently reading it. By the time you’d finished it, your ice-cream cake was just about melted. But you read every little word with purpose.
When you finished, you looked right back to him, eyes wide, not knowing what to say.
“Ponyboy.” you murmured.
You jumped up from your seat to hug him, arms tight around his neck. He buried his flushed face into your shoulder.
Months have passed since then. You’re coming upon your two-year anniversary — a massive milestone.
One summer day, you arrived at the Curtis’ to hang out with him. Turns out he was at track practice. Soda let you in anyways, so you got the chance to sit around his room. Why not do some snooping?
First you checked out his desk. It was littered with papers, all smudged and crumpled. You got a closer look, seeing the words scribbled on them, smiling. Pony was always a perfectionist.
Then you went for his closet. It was full off flannels, most from Soda, t-shirts, and only one other pair of scuffed jeans.
Finally, you spotted something.
Peaking out from under his bed, a box with its lid halfway on it sang your name. So, naturally, you immediately grabbed it and sat on his unmade bed.
In it, you found pieces of papers. Tons of them. Each was covered in words, each with a date, each with a title. Said titles ranged from something cheesy like “what it is to love,” or something softer, like “her.”
As you picked certain poems out, you read through them, quickly realizing his muse.
You.
Almost every paper in that box was something he’d wrote about you. He wrote about your hair, your eyes, the way your laugh sounded like a bird’s song to him. You clung to every word, spending the better part of three hours meticulously reading each one.
The dates lead all the way back to before you got together. Back to the months where you believed the crush you harbored wasn’t reciprocated.
At the bottom of the box lay a notebook — brown, leather, and with a gold leaf tree on the front cover. You didn’t hesitate to open it, finding a journal entry from when the pair of you were twelve.
“September 3rd, 1963.
Today was my first day of seventh grade. Darry told me I should start writing stuff down. Said it helped him when he was my age. I don’t know why I listened to him, he’s not my dad or anything. At least I get to sit by a pretty girl in math. I don’t know her name but I don’t need to. She’s really nice and has a pink notebook.”
You remember distinctly when this happened. Sitting by each other in that class was the best thing to ever happen to you, because it led to you and Pony’s friendship and subsequent relationship. You flip through the pages, finding an entry from a handful of months before you got together.
“January 7th, 1965.
She’s so pretty. We just got back from winter break, and now I get to see her everyday again in P.E. She manages to make the scratchy gym shirts cute. Is that weird to say? I hope it isn’t. I hope she never reads this and thinks I’m a creep.”
The statement is ironic, but you’re more focused on his infatuation with you. You didn’t think he liked you for so long before you got together. Then again, the gang probably didn’t tease you constantly for nothing.
You flip forward, finding the exact date he first asked you out.
“August 29th 1965.
I did it. I asked her out. I bought her flowers, showed up at her doorstep, and told her I really liked her and wanted to take her out on a date. She said yes! She even hugged me and kissed my cheek. She kissed me! Can you believe it? I hadn’t even gotten the chance to properly take her out before she kissed me!! I’m so lucky. She’s so beautiful. We’re going to the drive-in together this Saturday. Just us.”
He was so cute that day. His entire face was flushed — especially his ears — and you couldn’t help yourself. You keep looking through the pages, finding the one from the actual date.
“August 31st, 1965.
She kissed me. For real this time. She put her hand on my cheek and kissed me on my mouth. I had to keep myself from devouring her whole in that moment. I didn’t want to seem eager. She tasted real good, like—”
“W-What the hell are you doing?!”
You hear Ponyboy’s voice squeak. Your head shoots up, eyes meeting his, and you can’t help smiling.
“Nothing.”
“You—! Give me that!” He lunges, tackling you on the bed in an attempt to reach for his notebook. You grin wider. He tries so hard to get it back, climbing on top of you, but you somehow keep it barely out of his grasp. He looms above you, not wanting you to read his cheesy confessions about you. But you’ve read too much already.
“You are so—” You cut him off with a kiss. That’s all it takes for him to deflate, now sitting atop you on his bed.
“You’re cute when you blush.”
He doesn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he leans in, lips crashing into yours. This time around, he’s plenty eager, having lost the ability to hold back with you long ago. His lips mold to yours, tongue quickly attempting to get entry into your mouth.
The journal is long forgotten. Your hands hold his jaw as his find your hips.
He tastes so sweet, always like apples, and you can’t get enough of him. The kiss is all tongues and teeth, desperate, but in a loving way, not lustful.
Your lips break apart, his kisses trailing down your neck, stopping to linger on your jaw, when—
“You kids better not be gettin’ it on in there! I hope you know we can hear y’all huffin’ and puffin’!”
You hear Soda’s voice echo from the kitchen.
You look at Ponyboy, giggling as he gets up to slam the door.
[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly @dallysdolly444 @only-lonely-star @itonlyhastobetruetoday @alyssat-t @ofallihaveconsumed @reminisce-me @innernightmarementality @shayshayb0211 — send a dm or ask to be added or removed! ]
"Cruelly rejected by his first love and deprived of his birthright to none other than his best friend, Neteyam becomes a shell of a man.
You decide to right all the wrongs ."
ch 2 ch 3 ch 4 ch 5
Neteyam te Suli Tseyek'itan.
The son of the deceased Jake and Neytiri Suli.
After the sudden unfortunate demise of the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk, the tribe went into an extreme political unrest. But there was one man, Ryunik , who had seized the opportunity. He had climbed the political ladder fast, earning the trust of the people at a rapid rate, forming a trusty council of his own. And soon enough he had crowned himself the Olo'eyktan of Omaticaya.
The people had been so enamored by his strength, they had heartily celebrated his crowning as Olo'eyktan. After, all what was life if not a game of opportunity and timely action?
Little Neteyam, who had barely started weaning, had quickly become a stray, with no family to call his own. The people had mourned at first. Some had taken mercy on the little boy, feeding him, providing until he could do so for himself.
But like how every saying goes, something that is not within sight hardly remains in the mind for long. Tales of the previous Olo'eyktan had been cast aside. The great Toruk Makto's son, not immediately but steadily, forgotten. Ryunik made sure that his hold on the people was absolute. He made sure no one would speak of the deceased Olo'eyktan. Made the people believe that it was the demon blood running through suli that resulted in such a horrid fate for him and his wife. And he had been triumphant in his play.
Little Neteyam had learned quick.
He learned to fend for himself at a young age. Started training , hunting. That was when he met Ek'tuan, Ryunik's firstborn son, the future Olo'eyktan. An unexpected pair that made heads turn. Ek'tuan was so impressed by little Neteyam's hunting skills , he started following the boy everywhere.
Everyone expected firm reprimand from the Olo'eyktan on Tuan's part. But Ryunik didn't meddle. Neteyam was no threat to him. Hardly anyone remembered his parents legacy. Neteyam's three fingers prevented Ryunik from accusing him of demon blood as well, without stirring up past memories now long forgotten.
Six year old neteyam was none the wiser. The future Olo'eyktan's son was his friend. Him. An orphan. He was grateful for the friendship.
And so the two boys had grown up inseparable.
Then there was an addition to their pair. A beautiful girl with Eywa's gift of healing. The preteen boys had been quickly taken with her. Sayul. She was the calm to their chaos, the softness to their rough edges. She was sweet and kind.
The people called them the radiant three. The future Olo'eyktan, Tuan . The best hunter the tribe had seen in decades, Teyam. The beautiful child of Eywa herself, Sayul. Heads turned everywhere they went. The younger children's eyes sparkled when they followed the three. The people smiled at them, offering them little fruits and tokens. The pride of Omaticaya.
But as the three reached adulthood, there was a shift. Innocent friendship blossomed into something more. It was of no surprise to the villagers. It was a silent understanding that Sayul would belong to one of the boys. But whom was the question.
You had been one of those starry eyed kids who had trailed after the three. You had seen them closely. You had watched how Tuan always teased Sayul and was rough. On the other hand , Teyam was kinder , gentler with her. This distinction mattered to you. Kindness mattered to you.
You also had the opportunity to speak to Sayul a few times. She was just as kind as the people said. She had been really sweet every time you sought her out to heal a wound or offer her one of your mother's salves as gift. You couldn't help but smile with admiration whenever she was around. And you had experienced your fair share of cruel remarks growing up with a widowed mother. So You understood why the two golden boys had fallen for her.
But you were biased to Neteyam. You felt closest to him in spirit. He had grown up without parents. You had grown up without a father. It was a silent camaraderie between the two of you, probably one sided since whenever you would try to converse with him, your throat would close up , and you would bumble like a fool. But neteyam would only smile kindly. And as his enigmatic nature warrants, he would soon be pulled into conversation with another eager party.
You admired Neteyam. An orphan boy who was sweet and kind but also tough in the forest. Whenever you accompanied the hunting party, your eyes drew to him. It was glaringly obvious that Tuan never came close to his skills. When you were in your early teens , you would sigh over Teyam, daydream of him even. But as you also entered adulthood, you came to terms with the fact that Sayul and him were meant to be. How could you ever compete with the sweet , talented Sayul?
You , on the other hand, were just another girl. Not the best healer like Sayul. Not the best hunter like Neteyam. Not entitled to a title like Tuan. You were someone who just....fit. Not the best . Not the worst. A little healing, a little hunting, a little cooking, a little weaving, a little dreaming, a little painting. But you took your 'little 's ' in stride. Embraced these small talents as precious gifts . All these little things made you...you.
You had heard that Your father had been a good hunter. Unfortunately he had passed away before your birth. So You and your mother shared a small kelku in the village. She was a good healer. Your healing hands came from her. You never expected to mate. It had always been you and your mother. She was your whole world. And you wanted to be by her side forever.
So yes. Once you had grown up ,you had discarded all notions of love and mate and family.
And your girly Sayul deserved the sweetest man. And Neteyam was just that.
So you cheered on for Neteyam and Sayul , from the sidelines. It was safe. It was peaceful, rooting for two people who probably only knew your name in passing.
When sometimes you accompanied the hunting party and you would catch Teyam secretly pluck a few wildflowers , no doubt for Sayul, you would giggle and swoon. Whenever he had the biggest kill, you would secretly be proud of him. Whenever he would laugh at something Tuan had said, the boisterous nature of his laughter would bring a blush to your cheeks.
You were happy with this little life. With being on the sidelines. Watching your favourite people as they lived their life. You lived vicariously through Sayul.
So you were sure Teyam and Sayul would tie the knot soon.
You had been picking some rare herbs in the forest, your eyes scanning the forest floor and the plants scattered on it with careful precision, so you hadn't noticed where you were going . You had let out a tiny gasp when you had seen Neteyam and Sayul standing just a few feet away. You had quickly scrambled to hide behind a tree, the darkness of the trees shielding you from notice. And had strained your ears to listen, like the nosy girl you were.
"Oh my Eywa! Nete! This place is beautiful!" Sayul gasped out. You smiled like a fool , nodding your head to yourself. This was your favourite place to come after eclipse as well. You mentally cheered for Neteyam!
You knew, in your romantic little heart, this was the moment that Neteyam confessed to Sayul. You did a little happy dance from behind the tree. You were so lucky to be able to witness his confession and you were sure it would be so so sweet!
" Sayul.." Neteyam started. You peeked from behind the tree, trying to catch his expression. You watched with delighted eyes as He softly took Sayul's hands in his. But Sayul had her back to you so you couldn't see her face. You swooned internally at the gesture.
"I have been meaning to say this for some years now. You had come into my life like the sun. When my life was dark and uncertain , you lit it up. I find myself drawn to you, orbiting around you, even still years later. I promise to make you the happiest woman in Omaticaya. I know I don't have much. But I will give you my everything. Please, will you have me?" The last part was even deeper than Neteyam's usual timber.
You held your breath as you watched on. Sayul's head dipped once.
And they were sharing a passionate kiss.
Something twisted in your chest. You dismissed it steadily.
You pressed your palms to your lips , as you tried to muffle your squeals. This was the moment you were waiting for! You rushed out of the forest , you were so excited to tell your mother EVERYTHING!
"MOTHER MOTHER MOTHER!!!! " You screamed as you entered , no, ran into your kelku. Your mother was grinding a salve . She got so surprised she dropped the grinder.
"MA EYWA!!! one of these days you are going to fright me to death!" She scolded you. But your happiness was too intense to be subdued by a mere reprimand.
"You know what i saw ?!? I watched Neteyam confess to Sayul!!! Mother ! It was so sweet ! I ran away when I saw them kiss! Don't scold me now! I respected their privacy, didn't i ? Anyways!!I am so happy Sayul chose him! Although there never was any doubt or question about that choice. Anyone with two eyes would choose Neteyam!" You said out in a rush. You mother's eyes softened.
"Ofcourse she chose him. He is the great Toruk Makto's eldest son." Your mother said with a gentle smile.
But your confusion showed up on your face. "Who?" You asked her. Your mother's eyes suddenly flashed. "Nothing" she said seriously, starting to grind the salve more aggressively than usual.
You quickly pulled the flaps of your keleku. You mother and you shared everything with eachother . It wasnt like her to hide things from you. You quickly sat down beside her eager to convince her to share what she had meant by that statement.
Not even having the slightest hint at how irrevocably your life would change.
"please! I want to know mother " you said to her giving her your best version of big pleading eyes . She always said that you had your father's eyes. It was your biggest weapon. She heaved a sigh.
"Promise me to never speak about this to anyone." She said seriously, her voice hushed. You nodded , now even more confused.
Your mother's gaze quickly flitted between your own yellow orbs . She must have found what she had been looking for. She started carefully.
"Ryunik... had not always been the Olo'eyktan of Omaticaya. He wasn't chosen by the people. It was Jake Suli. His wife Neytiri was the Tsahìk. Your father and Jake were...very close friends. Jake was Toruk Makto. The mighty flier. Your father was the bravest man in Omaticaya, the best hunter. They were as close as brothers. When the Olo'eyktan suddenly died, your father...looked into it. He..", She hesitated but then a newfound fire overcame her. Her whole demeanor changed. I could not stare away. Not in a million years could I have predicted the next few minutes and the revelations it would bring.
"Your father found out that they had been murdered. A very calculated coop. So strategically organised , that anyone would think it to be an unexpected accident."
I could tell there was more. A minute detail that could paint this story in a different light. My mind tossing and turning the newfound information.
But then like lightening, it clicked into place. I gasped. It felt like the ground disappeared from below me. My mother saw the exact moment i pieced it together. She smiled proudly.
" My smart girl." Her eyes shone with tears.
My next words were whispered. A confirmation.
"Ryunik killed Jake and Neytiri. Then he killed..he killed fa-father, because he found out the truth." i choked on my tears.
My mother pulled me into her embrace. Her arms were shaking slightly .
"Hush girl. This stone that I have kept on my chest has kept us both safe all this long. Let no one hear this. Ryunik played out your father's death like another accident. It was anything but. I know it .Ryunik knew my mate had found out the ugly truth . I am the last , only person who knows this bitter truth. But I have no means to prove it. Just mere words that your father had whispered to me. When Ryunik killed your father, I had wanted to scream it all out. Tell everyone the truth. But you were in my belly then. My last connection to him, the love of my life. I was ready to die for my mate. But how could I, when my death , ends your life too? So I did the only thing I could. I kept quiet." Your mother was now sobbing, tremors wracking her body. You realised with a jolt that you too were crying into her chest.
"Oh mommy..." You sobbed harder.
She pulled your face upto her eyes, "Never... never speak of this aloud. Don't do anything foolish. Do you understand?" She said sternly, despite the tears still rolling down her cheeks. You nodded with a hiccup, and curled into her again.
"Your father loved you very much , my love. He would talk to you every night, and you would kick incessantly in my belly whenever he stopped talking." Your mother whispered as she carresed your hair. It was a weak attempt at diversion. The familiar gesture calmed you down slightly. Your mind was a mess though. You sighed into her chest.
A loud horn jolted you awake. You were wrapped around your mother, like a young child. She too stirred from the sound. "it's alright mother. You get some more sleep. I will go to the village centre to see what it is about" you say softly and kiss her cheeks.
The village centre is buzzing with people, a hundred different noises filling your ears. But after last night, you hardly register them. The bright sunlight like scorching flames to your dry eyes.
But just as you were almost convinced that nothing could ever faze you again , you looked up.
Up on the elevated wooden flooring stood Ryunik. Your entire body filled with rage. Last nights revelations coming to the forefront of your mind, drowning all other thoughts. Your eyes sharpened as they tracked his every move .
Then he spoke.
"Today I call upon you faithful navi to bear witness to the communion of my son and his mate, the future Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk of Omaticaya"
Suddenly your eyes snap to the two figures standing just behind Ryunik. The two people you had failed to notice before.
Ek'tuan and Sayul.
You watch in horror as they both step forward, holding hands. They look at eachother with adoration . Sayul's eyes are filled with so much love, one would assume they were long time lovers. Tuan whispers something to her. She dips her head once.
Then they are sharing a passionate kiss.
The exact scene as last light.
Your eyes frantically search the crowd. Your heart splits into two when you find him. He has a few flowers in his hands, his grip slack. His eyes are stuck forward.
The people cheer and congratulate the new couple as they greet the elders. You do not hear what else Ryunik says. Your eyes are stuck on Neteyam. The confusion in his face.
Slowly the crowd disperses. But you stay rooted to your spot. You watch as Tuan and Sayul greet the last of the elders, finally just the two of them.
Neteyam moves first. His long legs cover the distance quickly. When he stands in front of them finally a hesitant look crosses their faces. You stand a little off to the side, not close enough to draw attention.
Ryunik calls out to Ek'tuan. Sayul looks at Tuan once and whispers to him. Tuan hesitates at first, glancing briefly at Neteyam , but then nods as he leaves the scene to accompany his father.
Neteyam's voice is hoarse when he speaks finally. His grip of the flowers now so tight that they are bent in half.
"Why?" Just a simple word, but it encapsulates so much. So many unsaid words, unrevealed emotions . His gaze is fixed on Sayul, muscles pulled taut. He will not leave unless he hears from her.
Sayul finally says the cruelest words you have ever heard her say. "We could never be Neteyam. I am meant to be the Tsahìk. My gift of healing from Eywa tells me that it is my path . "
Neteyam closes his eyes briefly. His jaw flexes once. Then he grinds out "Then why did you kiss me last night and promise forever to me?"
You had known this. You had seen it with your own eyes. Sayul just sighs. "I am sorry Neteyam. My place is as Tsahìk. Beside the Olo'eyktan. Ek'tuan and I mated this morning."
Neteyam's eyes' flash " Couldn't you do that from beside me? Couldn't you heal and save from my side? Why does it matter if you are Tsahìk or not?" you sense the anger in his words, trying to override the confusion and hurt.
The expression on Sayul's face changes completely at this, her calm front breaking. " Last night , that kiss was a mistake. Ek'tuan promised me everything. And his promise actually means something. He will be the Olo'eyktan. Why shall I be just an ordinary Tsakerem when I could be the Tsahìk? I deserve to be the Tsahìk. I have a divine gift. I deserve to live comfortably. With you, i could never. I cannot imagine staying in that small kelku all my life. Friendship is all i can offer you." she is panting by the end of it. The skin of my eyebrows are screwed up. I feel disgusted by this . By her reasoning.
Neteyam is silent for a while.
"Do you love him" he asks .
Sayul's answer is confident " Yes".
Neteyam's voice softens. His next question is almost a whisper " Did you ever love me?"
This time Sayul hesitates . She hesitates too long. Neteyam turns around and leaves without another word. Sayul's hand tries to grab him, but closes around empty air. She stands there for a second, her fists clenched. Then she turns around and leaves as well.
I stand there a bit longer. Rage and hurt swirling in me. The Ryunik family was poison. How dare they kill my father? How dare they kill Neteyam's parents? How dare they take away his birthright? How dare she hurt him?
Right there , standing in the middle of the empty village square, I make the decision.
I will bring everyone , who dared to hurt him , to their knees before him .
I will make Neteyam Olo'eyktan.
read ch 2 here :)
A/N: Welcome to another Neteyam series that has been fermenting in my drafts for a hot minute ! I love political books so i couldn't help myself and started my own lol. Some clarification: this does not follow canon, so no lo'ak or kiri or tuk :( but i promise you this will be worth it !!! And to everyone who requested a story, it will come lovelies<333
notes arranged marriage, fated mates, hidden identity, mentions of toxic gender roles, mentions of revenge, doting husband neteyam, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis you had spent your whole life longing for a path that was yours to lead, yet even the choice of who to mate with was stolen from you, when you were told about a betrothal your father had engineered with the son of toruk makto.
word count 18.7k
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The morning mist of the rainforest on this part of Eywa’eveng smelled just the same to Neteyam, like damp moss and the faint aroma of blooming orchids. But he knew that this was no ordinary forest. He’s heard many tales about this one, and how on certain seasons, the sun chooses not to grace it with light.
It makes no wonder to him how tales about the most fearsome creatures are tied to the name of the clan that inhabits these lands.
Neteyam shifted his weight, keeping his breathing steady as he surveyed the unfamiliar terrain. The Omatikaya delegation, led by his parents, had paused further back to let the scouts clear the path, but Neteyam had wandered slightly ahead toward the sound of rushing water.
But he didn't expect the forest to turn hostile so quickly.
He had barely just registered the clicking sound through the budge, but before he could even unsheath his knife, he was already seeing multiple strange creatures lunging for him. They were fast, with segmented limbs and jaws meant for crushing bone. They were the creatures who could swallow an adult Na’vi whole that his father’s scouts had warned them about.
Neteyam cursed under his breath. Unarmed save for his hunting knife, he ducked beneath a snapping jaw, grabbed a fallen, heavy branch and swung with all the force he could muster. The wood hit the creature with a crack, sending it flying yards away into the underbrush. But three more took its place, circling him, eyes gleaming with hunger.
Then, a familiar sound sliced through the chaos. An arrow pierced the eye of the creature, making it collapse instantly.
Neteyam blinked, snapping his head toward the ridge. Emerging from the mist was a rider on a direhorse, shrouded in a dark, heavy cloak. The figure moved with a fluid grace, guiding the mount while drawing another arrow. Two more of the beasts dropped.
When the remaining creatures swarmed, the rider drove the direhorse straight into the fray. As the animal leapt on a fallen log, the rider leaned off the side, pulling a blade and in one seamless motion, they sliced the throat of a leaping beast before landing perfectly back on the mount.
Neteyam stood frozen, a rare awe washing over him. The archery was flawless, the knife-work lethal, and the horsemanship... he had never seen anyone, not even the finest Omatikaya hunters, shoot a moving target from a galloping direhorse with that kind of precision.
The last of the beasts scattered into the jungle and he heard an anguished sound escape the rider. He immediately stepped forward, raising a hand in peace, his eyes locked on the rider’s back. “Warrior,” he began, his voice deep and breathless. “Thank you. I have never seen—”
“Do not thank me,” a voice hissed from beneath the hood. It was sharp, fierce, and distinctly female. “Do not wander around these lands again.”
Before Neteyam could even speak again, she wheeled her direhorse around and with a sharp kick, the beast galloped into the thick fog, leaving Neteyam standing by the waterfall, completely captivated by the ghost who had just saved his life.
As he watched the silhouette of the direhorse fade, the urge to give chase came both suddenly and too late. He wished he had brought his direhorse with him when he wandered... He tilted his head. Why? What will you do? he asked himself. He knew the answer. He would have followed her.
You took a sharp turn, pulling your direhorse’s reins to a full stop before you quickly dismounted. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs from what you thought would be an uneventful patrol. You had wounded and killed many creatures, though deadly and ferocious, they were still creations of the Great Mother.
You couldn’t help but look at the path leading back to where it happened, remembering how the man had called you warrior. It felt like a title stolen from a forbidden dream. No woman in your clan had ever been called one, for no woman was allowed to be. Your people placed a great belief in their men, taking pride in the fact that your clan had only ever produced male warriors and hunters, and how they protected the people from the horrors of the forest.
The wet leaves brushed against your shins as you led your direhorse to a hidden clearing, the silence of the forest doing little to calm your racing thoughts. If your father or mother ever discovered what you had done today, that you had picked up a bow or spilled blood, you didn't know what would happen to you.
In your clan, women were only ever allowed to be healers, cooks, weavers, wives, and mothers. These were sacred duties, and the elders firmly believed that such roles should never be tainted by blood and violence. You sighed heavily, quickly shoving your longbow and quiver into a hollowed-out tree trunk, covering it with ferns. You were pulling at the hood of your cloak when you heard leaves cracking behind you.
“You're late,” a voice sounded urgently.
You spun around to see Tarkul stepping out from the shadows. Your best friend, the clan’s youngest marksman and the only man who looked at you and saw a peer instead of a prize, looked pale. His eyes were wide with anxiety.
“Tarkul? What is it? I just did a patrol—”
“You need to leave. Right now,” Tarkul interrupted, grabbing your shoulders. “Your father... I overheard them. The Omatikaya are coming today—”
“I know that. Father told us to prepare,” you said.
“Yes, yes, they will come, but it wasn’t just for a regular treaty between alliances. Y/N, he has pledged you.”
Your head tilted back in surprise. “Pledged how?”
“He offered you to the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. That Neteyam,” Tarkul spat the name, his grip tightening. “An alliance sealed on your sacrifice. Your father is giving you away like property to ensure the Omatikaya’s loyalty. Your father’s warriors are already looking for you to prepare you for the arrival.”
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your chest. Your father had spent your entire life treating you and your sisters like a curse. A disappointment because you weren't sons to carry on his warrior lineage. And now, he was using you as a political pawn, reducing you to a broodmare for a strong alliance.
“No,” you whispered, fury igniting in your veins. “No! I will not let him do this. I am not a prize to be traded!”
“Then we run,” Tarkul said, stepping back and whistling for his direhorse. “We’ll go east. They won't find us.”
You scrambled onto your direhorse, your mind a blur of rebellion and fear. You tore through the underbrush with Tarkul right beside you, heading for the boundary line. Freedom was just past the tree line when a familiar sound sliced through the thick morning air.
A whistle of an arrow and Tarkul cried out as a blunt-tipped slammed into his shoulder, knocking him clean off his mount.
“Tarkul!” you screamed, pulling back hard on the reins.
Before you could dismount, four of your father’s elite warriors emerged from the canopy, their spears leveled at you. Their faces were grim, devoid of sympathy.
“The Olo'eyktan demands your presence,” the lead warrior said coldly. “Do not make this more dishonorable than you already have.”
You were dragged back to the village in tears, screaming at them to leave Tarkul alone. In the communal longhouse, your father stood like a statue of stone. He had never looked at you with wamrth, but the stern disappointment on his face as he lectured you about duty, the survival of the clan, and honor still felt like whips on your skin. To him, your tears were just a childish tantrum.
The transition between his scolding to your mother and her ladies moving around you in a flurry of hushed, anxious whispers felt like a nightmare blurring into reality. They bathed you in heavy, floral-scented water that smelled of sweet orchids. They brushed out your long hair, braiding the sides intricately but leaving the rest to fall in a sleek, beautiful half-up ponytail.
They dressed you in the finest loincloth and a matching top made of delicate beads. You felt exposed. Naked. Stripped of the cloak and weapons that made you feel safe.
“He is a great warrior, daughter,” your mother murmured, trying to soothe you as she adjusted the choker around your throat. “They say this Neteyam helped his parents take down the sky people when he was just a boy. He is disciplined. Respectful.”
You kept your gaze locked on the floor, your jaw clenched. You didn't care about his prowess. You hated him on principle.
“And his mother,” one of elder women whispered in awe. “Neytiri. She is a warror who rode into battle alongside her mate, Toruk Makto.”
That detail struck a chord deep inside you. A female warrior. A woman allowed to bleed and fight for her people, recognized by Toruk Makto himself as an equal. A bitter spark of hope flared in your chest, only to be crushed by the reality of your own situation.
“What an accomplished family, then,” your eyes snapped up to your mother. “You’re expecting a man raised by Toruk Makto and his warrior wife to look at our clan, a clan that doesn’t even allow its women to hold a knife; to look at me... and see a mate? Father said he has rejected every other chieftain's daughter before this.”
Your mother’s eyes hardened at the same time the older women around her froze at your boldness. “You are a proficient healer and weaver, daughter. Do not underestimate our clan,” she said in a hiss.
So, not his equal, your brow raised in a protest you chose not to voice out.
A horn blew at the entrance of the village, signalling that the guests had arrived.
Your mother took your trembling hands, her eyes pleading. “Smile, my daughter. Walk with dignity.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding slowly. You stepped out of the tent, walking a few paces behind your father as he went to greet the legendary Jake Sully.
As the Omatikaya delegation walked into the central clearing, your eyes scanned the crowd. There was Toruk Makto, and beside him, his fierce mate, Neytiri. And right behind them walked their eldest son.
Your breath hitched.
The initial shock threatened to paralyze you. Your fingers dug into your palm, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. It was him. The reckless, broad-shouldered warrior who had nearly been swallowed whole by the forest's demons. His long braids and cummerbund were now flawless, as though he had not faced a grave morning.
As the Omatikaya delegation drew closer, you forced your features into a mask of perfect, passive composure. You lowered your chin, casting your gaze downward just as the women of your clan were taught to do. You were sure he didn’t see your face, because if he recognized you, everything would be forfeit. You are not certain what they would have done to Tarkul, the person who taught you everything you know.
Neteyam’s eyes swept over the welcoming committee, lingering on you. Jake had told him beforehand that the Olo’eyktan of this clan had also pledged his daughter to him, and although he’d had enough of all these unnecessary offerings of maiden daughters simply for alliances, he found himself thinking that he might actually entertain this outdated idea if this was the lady.
He waited for you to lift your eyes up, but your head remained bowed, the image of a delicate, heavily beaded prize meant to seal a treaty. A faint feeling of disappointment flickered across his regal face, and he fell into step behind his parents, his posture rigid and distant as they walked past to finally greet your father and mother.
Finally, you lifted your head a little, only to train your sharp eyes on his broad back. Good, you thought triumphantly. Be disappointed.
The welcoming feast in the communal longhouse was a suffocating affair. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, sweet root brews, and the underlying tension of two vastly different cultures trying to find common ground.
You sat precisely where your father had commanded: a step below him, off to the side, acting as the perfect daughter. You kept your shoulders hunched, your hands folded neatly in your lap, and your eyes trained strictly on the woven mat beneath you. You played the part of the timid, submissive maiden to perfection. You wanted to ick him. You wanted this celebrated warrior to find you so utterly dull, so hopelessly meek, that he would do what he had done to every other chieftain's daughter before you: refuse the match.
Across the fire, Neteyam sat beside his mother, Neytiri. He was polite, offering respectful nods to your father’s boasts, but his energy was entirely checked out. During a lull in the drumming, you allowed yourself a single, brief moment of weakness. You peered through the thick fringe of your lashes, tracking the movement of his hands.
Neteyam was lifting a carved cup of brew to his lips. But he wasn't looking at his drink. His intense gaze was locked entirely on you. A heavy, consuming stare of a hunter tracking each and every move the prey does. It was a man’s look, raw and focused, and to your utter fury, you didn't feel degraded by it. Instead, a sudden, treacherous spark of excitement flared deep in your belly, the thrilling realization that despite your best efforts to be as dull as you could, you had his undivided attention.
Annoyed at yourself, your perfect act slipped.
Your jaw clenched and you leveled a sharp glare straight at him, smoothly rolling your eyes before snapping your gaze back down to your untouched food. Across the fire, Neteyam choked slightly on his brew. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, a sudden smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the realization that timid little ikran still had talons after all. He put his cup of brew down as he watched you slip back into your perfectly meek facade.
The traditional flutes began to play, signaling a time for the young people to mingle. You moved to stand up, and your eyes snapped up in front of when you saw the large figure moving to stand up, too. Your eyes locked with his, and for some reason, you couldn't take your eyes off as he rounded the fire to get to you.
You blinked when he was standing just a few feet away, coming to a sudden awareness of how large and tall he actually was. His hand reached out, his expression a maddening mix of formal politeness and hidden amusement. You clenched your teeth, feining a tremor before you looked fearfully at your father, who was already watching breathlessly. He gave you a firm, approving nod, and you placed your hand in Neteyam's.
As he led you to the edge of the clearing where the other youth were swaying, you purposely stumbled, letting your steps be clumsy and uncoordinated. “I apologize, formal dances are... not my strength,” you whispered, pitching your voice to sound soft and fragile.
“It is quite alright,” Neteyam said, his grip on your waist firm and steady, easily correcting your forced clumsiness. “The feast is grand. Your people make a strong brew. Though, I find the forest outside your walls far more interesting.”
You stiffened slightly. “Oh?”
“Yes. It is full of... strange, ferocious creatures,” Neteyam continued, his voice dropping to a low, conversational tone as he maneuvered you through the crowd. “I ran into a pack of them near the waterfalls this morning. Miserable things. Many legs. Very fast.”
You couldn't help yourself. The hunter in you took the bait before your mind could stop it. “Those were Agtik,” you said, your voice losing its timid edge as your wide eyes looked up at his. “They don't hunt in packs unless their head is wounded. And they are apex predators. If you hit them in the hide, your arrow will just bounce off. You have to strike the eyes, or beneath the throat where the thick plates separate.”
Neteyam stopped dancing. He stared down at you, his golden eyes burning with an intense focus, and you froze, realizing you had spoken far too much.
“Is that so?” he murmured, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as his fingers caressed the calluses on your fingers. “You seem to know a great deal about killing them...”
You quickly tore your hand from his, dropping your head back down. “I... I only know what the hunters say,” you lied breathlessly, stepping back into the crowd before he could press further.
The next morning, your mother burst into your sleeping alcove, her face flushed with excitement before the morning light even showed it. “Daughter... A betrothal has been struck. Neteyam has accepted the union. He wishes for you to return to the Omatikaya with them.”
You sat up in your woven sleeping mat, stunned. “What?!” you snapped carelessly, surprising your mother. You calmed down immediately. “That’s great...” you forced yourself to smile.
“I think he liked you last night, daughter. You were so prim and proper, a true woman of our lineage. You make me and your father proud, sweetheart,” she caressed your cheek.
You swallowed the dryness of your throat. You don't know what the man’s plan was... But he definitely didn’t like you because you were prim and proper. You looked down at your hands, hiding the calluses born from years of archery practice. Your initial shock had now faded, and a cold, calculating wave of relief washed over you. The Omatikaya. You’ve heard of their ways. In their clan, women were warriors. Neytiri rode into battle. If you went with them, you wouldn't have to hide in the shadows at dawn anymore. You could wield your bow. You could finally exist as more than what you were raised to be.
With newfound urgency, you helped your mother and sisters pack your things. When your mother turned her back, you swiftly retrieved your hidden longbow and quiver from where you had smuggled them into the yurt. You bound them tightly within your dark, heavy cloak, burying them at the absolute bottom of your deep leather travel box beneath layers of woven garments.
“I need to see Tarkul before we leave,” you muttered, heading for the exit.
“You are not permitted near the holding area,” your younger sister sneered, stepping into the yurt with her arms crossed, her eyes flashing with venom. “You should stop trying to see your lover. You are betrothed to the son of Toruk Makto now.”
“Tarkul is not my lover!” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.
“Please. You were going to run away with him yesterday,” she mocked, stepping closer. “If you hate this arrangement so much, why don't you just tell Father and back out? I can always replace you. I would gladly take your place beside Neteyam.”
“Armem, hold your tongue!” your mother’s voice barked from the entrance, sharp and commanding. “Neteyam agreed to this alliance because of Y/N. He would not accept a replacement if she backed out, and your father’s treaty would fall to ash.”
Armem huffed disdainfully, crossing her arms tighter. “Fine. But she was still ready to flee with another man. Who is to say she is even pure anymore? The Omatikaya might find they are receiving spoiled goods—”
“Armem!” your mother snapped, glaring at your sister.
“Do not speak of such nonsense,” you said coldly, staring your sister down. “Tarkul is a good friend of mine and I would not have you taint our friendship with your dirty mind.”
At dawn the next day, the Omatikaya delegation prepared to depart. You were allowed to ride your direhorse, your leather box secured to the pack beast behind you. Your parents stood at the gates of the village, offering stiff, formal nods of farewell, promising they would come for final mating ceremonies.
You didn't look back. You are leaving this clan, and those who believe in its sick ways can have the scraps that are left behind. You nudged your direhorse forward, and as the procession moved into the deep forest, a shadow fell alongside your mount. You looked up to see Neteyam riding his own direhorse beside yours. He looked at you, then down at the bulky, heavily wrapped leather box trailing behind you, a faint, amused glint in his golden eyes.
“Nice mount,“ he said jn a voice low enough so the others couldn't hear. “A lot of luggage, too, for a healer.”
You kept your eyes locked on the trail ahead, a small, defiant smirk playing on your lips. “A good healer always brings her most valuable tools, warrior.”
The journey to the Omatikaya territory took two days at most, a winding trek through ancient, massive trees that grew taller and wider than any you had ever seen in your home forest. When the delegation finally stopped in front of the largest tree you had laid your eyes on, you could barely breathe. Your lips parted as you looked up to its vast canopy.
“This is beautiful...” you murmured, craning your head to see all the huts perched on its thick branches.
“Do you have a fear of heights?” you heard a deep baritone speak and your head snapped to look at Neteyam.
He had already dismounted his direhorse and was now looking at you, his hand lazily holding his chest knife sheath. His head tilted as his eyes scanned your form on your mount before they settled on the beast. In the eyes of an outsider, like Jake and Neytiri who were now watching their son look at you as if you were the most interesting person in the bunch, this was just Neteyam staring.
But to you, it felt like he was trying to figure out where he had seen this beast. You quickly dismounted your direhorse, caressing its back as you cooed at it. “Are you excited to rest, boy? It was a long trek, I know, and you’ve gotten to rest some, but you’ve never travelled as far, haven’t you?”
Neteyam's head tilted slightly lower, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he watched your interaction with the beast. “He looks sturdy enough,” he noted, his deep voice laced with amusement. “You didn't answer my question. Are you afraid of heights? Hometree is a long way up.”
“I think I can manage,” you replied softly, peering up at him through your lashes with a quick glance.
Before Neteyam could press further, Jake and Neytiri approached. Jake’s sharp eyes darted between you and the direhorse, before he gave you a welcoming nod.
“Welcome to the Omatikaya,” Jake said, his voice grounded. “It has been a long journey. Your mount will be tended to and Neteyam will show you where you can rest.”
Neytiri stayed silent, but her piercing gaze lingered on you, evaluating the way you carried yourself. She was not one to doubt her children’s decisions, especially those of her eldest son’s, but she believed that Neteyam was deciding too prematurely on this union. There were previous matches made that suited her son better... The daughters whose parents had fought alongside them during the Great War, and daughters of clans with excellent reputations.
She didn’t want to judge you based on your parents or your clan, but she thought it a bold proposition when your father pledged a daughter to her son. In all honesty, your father was at the losing end of this alliance. Your clan was the one that needed allies against aggressive clans who might challenge your strength, and your people had very little military power, given that your clan only trains men to be warriors and hunters.
She had never expected her son to agree to this, and though she saw great beauty in you, she did not think that was reason enough for him to make such a choice.
Neytiri’s scrutiny did not escape you. You have felt it even on the night of the feast, have seen it in her eyes whenever she watches you... And the weight of it felt heavy enough to compress the air in your lungs. Now that she was looking again, you offered a respectful dip of your head, but Neytiri merely nod her head slightly before turning her shoulder, her long woven cloak swaying behind her as she stepped up onto the massive roots of Hometree.
“Do not let my mother's stare unnerve you,” Neteyam murmured, stepping into your personal space so seamlessly that his tail brushed lightly against your hip.
“What stare, warrior?” you mumbled, looking at him with a schooled face.
You do not wish to acknowledge Neytiri’s apparent dislike of you. You are going to earn your place even if she looks at you as if I have already failed a test. You know you haven’t really failed yet, because if she truly disapproved, you wouldn't even be standing here right now.
Neteyam shook his head, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “Come, then. Let’s see what you can manage.”
You pushed your lips forward, matching his pace as everyone began the long, winding ascent into the heart of the great tree. Up ahead, Jake paused on a wide branch platform, looking back down at the two of you with a knowing understanding. He, better than anyone, knew what it was like to be an outsider standing under the heavy judgment of the people.
As you rounded the final bend of the spiral pathway, the quiet atmosphere of the lower trunks gave way to sudden burst of light and noise. Your lips parted as your eyes wandered around the surrounding kelku structures and the sheer scale of the place took your breath away again. It was vast, so open and vibrant that it was a staggering contrast to the dim, claustrophobic atmosphere of your birth clan.
Dozens of people paused in their daily routines, their eyes instantly locking onto you. A heavy murmur rippled through the crowd and it was obvious that they know what you came here for.
“Neteyam!” a high-pitched voice squealed.
Before you could fully process everything you are seeing, a blur of energy came hurtling down a nearby woven walkway. A little girl crashed straight into Neteyam’s side, wrapping her small arms around his waist. “You're back!” the girl cheered, her bright eyes quickly darting up to look at you with unabashed curiosity. “Is this her? Did you finally choose a wife?!”
Neteyam’s ears twitched with slight embarrassment as he gently pried his little sister off his hip, placing a grounding hand on her shoulder. “Tuk, mind your manners. She is our guest.”
He introduced you to the little girl who had a bright smile for you, and suddenly, you felt the welcoming warmth you didn’t know you were looking for. Tuk walked with you two when Neteyam led you to the small kelku you were assigned, it was tucked into a quiet, upper tier of the village.
As you settled in over the next few days, you quickly realized that your new betrothed was an incredibly important figure here. Neteyam, as the Olo'eyktan's firstborn, was also his father's second-in-command, deeply involved in the daily strategy, security, and leadership of the clan.
Honestly, you secretly celebrated this fact. You figured his high status meant he would be far too busy to pay much attention to you, leaving you plenty of free time to slip away, unpack your hidden longbow, and explore the surrounding wilderness on your own.
You were wrong.
Before the sun had even fully risen on your third morning, you pulled back the woven flap to find Neteyam standing there, the early dawn light catching the beads in his long braids.
Your brows furrowed. “What are you... doing here?” you started your question hard, but catching yourself, you quickly softened your voice.
“I came to show you around,” he told you, his voice low and his eyes holding that same perceptive, curious glint from the feast, causing your cheeks to burn unbidden.
The crease on your forehead deepened, once again annoyed at your reaction to him. You couldn't find a reason to say no, and frankly, you were eager to see the layout of the village. As he led you through the pathways, he dutifully showed you the areas where the weavers worked their intricate looms, the communal hearths where the cooks prepared the daily catch, and the shaded pavillions of the healers. You played your part, nodding submissively and murmuring soft, polite words of appreciation.
But your true nature betrayed you when he led you past the training grounds.
You froze, your eyes widening in absolute awe. In the center of the clearing, young girls were standing in neat rows, laughing and competing as they drew bows and aimed at distant targets. Further back, older women warriors, some scarred from battle, were casually conversing with male hunters, checking their gear as equals before setting out on a scout.
You stared, your breath catching in your throat. It was a sight stolen directly from your wildest, forbidden dreams.
Neteyam paused, watching your face carefully. He didn't miss the way your jaw slackened, or how your fingers twitched at your side, instinctively mimicking the grip of a bowstring. His head tilted, a quiet, knowing smile tugged at his lips, but he said nothing, and when you turned to him, your talons subtly showed with your furrowed brows and sharp gaze, pretending you were not that amazed to the reality of a world where women were allowed to fight.
The days bled into one another until the day of the mating ceremony arrived. True to their word, your parents and a small entourage from your clan arrived, their faces proud and grim, and somehow, you felt ashamed at this. You know, that for the Omatikaya, this match felt less like a joining of two proud people and more like a political rescue mission. Neteyam was a prize, the future Olo'eyktan of a legendary clan who fought and defeated the demons who tried to seize Eywa’eveng for themselves.
And your father merely offered you up to secure a shield of Omatikaya warriors for his vulnerable borders. It was a cause of wonder why Neteyam agreed at all. Even you don’t understand.
The ceremony took place deep within the glow of the Tree of Souls. Even their sacred tree was breathtaking, its luminous, cascading tendrils rivaling the ancient, holy tree of your own homeland. The Omatikaya people gathered in a massive circle, their voices rising in a powerful, harmonic chant alongside the drums and flutes.
You were dressed in the finest Omatikaya fibers, your torso adorned with a stunning, intricately beaded top made of iridescent beads. Your long hair had been styled into a complex array of braids that cascaded down your back. As the chanting reached its peak, you and Neteyam knelt together beneath the glowing tendrils of the tree.
Neteyam turned to you. His large, warm hand reached out to gently cup your jawline. He leaned in, his forehead pressing firmly against yours in a quiet act of intimacy that seemed to shut out the noise around you two. His other hand reached for his kuru, bringing it forward and you did the same. He didn't waste another second to intertwine your kuru with his, as though he had no hesitation at all. Your entire body jolted. A sudden, overwhelming surge of raw energy and emotion flooded your consciousness as your body, mind, and soul locked into a deep, profound bond.
It was a sensory overload. There were visions, feelings, and memories rushing between you like a bursting dam.
Through the bond, you caught a sudden glimpse of his past. You felt the crushing weight of his responsibilities, the fierce love he had for his family, and the desperate, bloody battles against the sky demons. But then, a sharp, cold spike of terror and pain ripped through the connection.
You saw a flash of yellow light, heard the deafening screams of Neytiri, and felt the agonizing sensation of a bullet tearing through his chest.
He had nearly died.
Your eyes snapped open, your breath escaping you in a sharp, panicked huff. Blinded by a sudden, fierce protectiveness you didn't fully understand, your hand flew to his bare chest, your palm pressing flat against the scar on the left part of his chest.
Neteyam's eyes opened, burning darkly as he gazed down at your hand on his chest. He felt the sudden spike of your fear through the bond and somehow, he had forgotten what he felt during that moment. The only feeling that mattered was your fear for him and the surge of strength you sent him. Without a word, he tilted your head up, his lips catching yours in a deep kiss.
Your heart hammered as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding up the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone up to his broad shoulder, letting him deepen the kiss and consume you. When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his golden eyes were dark with an intense, possessive heat that made your breath hitch. The intimacy of the moment was so heavy, so entirely real, that you simply pressed your forehead back against his, trying to steady your racing pulse.
Neteyam leaned in and kissed you again, harder this time, causing your head to tilt back.
Slightly breathless, you pressed your palm firmly against his chest, gently pushing him back. “My parents are watching...” you reminded him in a hushed whisper, your cheeks flushing as you glanced toward the audience.
The Omatikaya had broken out into loud cheering and rhythmic clapping, celebrating the union. At the edge of the clearing, you caught sight of your father, his face tightly masked, while your mother looked on with a rigid smile.
The celebration back at Hometree was a raucous affair. Mo’at blessed the two of you with sacred oils, the healers chanting long prayers for fertility and strength before the feast and dancing truly began. You and Neteyam danced the mandatory mating dance, circled by couples who had been married for a very long time.
During a quiet moment in the festivities, your mother walked up to you and Neteyam to greet, but the purpose for it showed when she tried to excuse and pull you aside. Neteyam’s hold on your hand tightened, though, pulling you back to him. His eyes searched yours, and you didn't know where the sudden complete understanding of his subtle looks came from.
It was as if you have known him for so long now, you could practically read his mind. You squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile to let him know it’s okay, allowing your mother to pull you aside near the edge of the structure. “You must remember everything I taught you, daughter,” she murmured, her hands smoothing over your beaded top. “Serve him. Everything he wants to do, you will do. Tonight... You will submit to him. Do not anger a warrior of his status.”
You bit your lip, and before you could think of anything to reply, your father stepped up behind her, his posture imposing and cold. “You belong to a powerful line now. You must do with him as best as you can. Do not bring shame to my name by failing in your duties as a wife.”
You swallowed the bitter retort rising in your throat, lowering your eyes to play the part one last time. “I understand, Father.”
When you finally excused yourself to rejoin Neteyam, you found him standing near a pillar, carefully watching the interaction from afar. Your eyes snapped to Armem who was currently standing beside him, talking about something. As you approached, Armem looked at you, flashing a sly smile before she slipped away. You got distracted when you felt Neteyam’s hand reach out, his large fingers catching yours. You let him pull you to him, looking up into his face as his arms locked around you.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes alert on your face.
You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
His eyes were snagged behind you one last time, and you had to force yourself to not look back, knowing you’ll see your parents. Your head snapped to the dais when you heard a beautiful rhythm of the laid gongs being played. The youth who had been dancing stopped, parting into two rows to clear a path directly toward you and Neteyam, their faces splitting into knowing, mischievous grins.
“What is that?” you asked, turning back to your husband, completely bewildered by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
Neteyam glanced at you, and for the first time since you had met him, he looked entirely caught off guard. His hand came up to his face, his fingers scratching his temple awkwardly as a dark flush crept across his cheeks.
“Uh, it’s... it’s for the blessing of our kelku,” he mumbled, clearing his throat and refusing to meet your eyes for a split second.
You blinked, but before you could question his sudden bashfulness, some elder women bumped at your side and on his side were elder men. Your eyes tried to scan the crowd, but you only saw Jake Sully and Neytiri still sitting on the dais, laughing at the sight, and it was so rare it took some of your inhibitions away.
They chanted prayers for fertility and the realization hit you like a splash of cold water.
In your clan, this part was usually a cold, transactional event where the newly mated woman was practically marched to her husband's tent like a prize. But here, the Omatikaya made it a celebration of life and passion. The drumming and the crowd’s chants faded as you walked up a series of woven pathways leading to a cozy, elevated hut. Mo’at and a few elder women led the blessing of the small space.
When you two were finally left alone, your eyes snapped up to Neteyam who immediately moved to light the central hanging firepot. The kelku was modest, slightly larger than the one that had been your sanctuary in the past weeks. This was beautifully structured, just large enough for a newly married couple.
“If you have any preferences for how it should look, or if you need specific tapestries and mats,” Neteyam said, looking around, “we will go to the weavers tomorrow to get whatever you like.”
A huge smile cut through your lips, nodding. “Thank you. I would like that.”
Neteyam went quiet for a moment, his gaze turning intense as he stepped closer to you. The playful, amused glint from the feast was gone, replaced by something much deeper.
“I don’t know if you wanted me to know this... but when we did the bond...” His eyes locked onto yours, completely unblinking. “I felt it, Y/N. I felt your strong emotions against your parents... Your people. Your home. The anger you held.”
You blinked. He felt it. The same way you had seen his memories and felt all his emotions. Through the bond, both of your shields had dropped entirely. You wondered exactly how much he had seen.
“I understand why you might not have liked it there,” Neteyam continued quietly, taking a thoughtful step back. “But I thought... well, perhaps I was wrong—”
“What is it that you thought?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you stepped toward him, desperate to know what he had deduced.
Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hands before raising his head with a resolute expression. “It does not matter now. This is your home. My people are your people. My family is your family. Do you understand that? You do not have to think about everything you left behind.”
You tilted your head, studying the sincerity in his face, and gave a silent, genuine nod.
“And besides,” Neteyam mumbled, a sudden, boyish smirk breaking through his serious demeanor. “I have something for you.”
He turned and walked toward the shadowed back corner of the kelku, reaching behind a stack of woven mats. When he stepped back into the light, your lips parted in utter shock. In his hands, he held a beautifully crafted longbow, complete with a leather quiver full of freshly fletched arrows.
“I got it... just in case you wanted to learn how,” Neteyam said, his smile widening as he raised the bow, his eyes twinkling with a brilliant, knowing light. “And... I saw a flash of it in your memory during the bond. You were practicing this when you were young. You were doing it in secret.”
His conclusion depended solely on the emotions he felt through the bond, but he was right about that and a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion overcame you. The sheer weight of your past, all the hiding and the fear of your father's wrath, shattered completely against the simple kindness of the man standing before you. He didn't want a submissive, silent maid. He saw your fire, and he was handing you the fuel.
Tears pooled in your eyes, blurring the sight of him. Giving up on every single act of restraint you had practiced since meeting him, you ate up the small distance between you and threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.
Neteyam let out a soft, surprised breath before his large arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His hand moved up, his fingers gently caressing your long hair as he held you close.
“Thank you,” you sobbed softly into his shoulder, a genuine, radiant happiness blooming in your chest for the first time in your life. “Thank you, Neteyam...”
He held you tighter as he stroke your hair, his deep voice vibrating against your collarbone as he whispered, “I’ll be the one to teach you. We can start tomorrow.”
You bit your lip and nodded. You didn’t know how to tell him that you already know how to use this so you resolved to just tell him some other time. “Tomorrow?“ you chirped as you pulled back, your hands sliding down his arms until your fingers brushed against the smooth wood of the longbow still resting in his grip.
Gently, you took it from him and set it carefully beside your travel box, placing the weapon that symbolized your future next to the secrets of your past.
When you turned back to him, a soft, determined smile was on your face. The initial rush of your relief had quieted, leaving a heavy awareness of the space between you. The fire was casting a long, amber shadow across Neteyam’s broad shoulders and the sharp angles of his face, and your cheeks burned at how handsome he really was.
No man in your clan could have rivaled against him even if they tried. You stepped closer and his eyes dropped to the delicate river beads covering your chest, a sudden flicker of hesitation crossed his features. He remembered what he’d seen and felt through the bond. Your strong emotions against your parents and your people, the harsh words and suffocating rules. The rigid command that you must submit.
Neteyam reached out, his large hands gently catching yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. His eyes searched your face with an intense, fierce earnestness.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his deep baritone dropping to a rough whisper. “Listen to me. We do not need to do this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or any night soon if you are not ready.”
You blinked up at him, momentarily stunned by his restraint.
“Your parents no longer have a say on what you must do,” Neteyam continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “So, whatever yout mother told you or your father expects of you, none of that matters now. I want you to be comfortable here.”
A profound warmth bloomed in your heart, making your limbs all the way to your fingertips feel like it's made of jelly. The last lingering remnants of your defenses crumbled. This warrior, who had every right by your clan's rules to demand your compliance, was stepping back to give you a choice.
“Neteyam,” you spoke softly, your voice steady and entirely devoid of the timid persona you had faked for weeks.
You stepped into his space, breaking the distance he had purposefully created to give you room. You raised your hands, your palms pressing flat against his cheeks, your fingers sliding into the soft skin just beneath his ears. You tilted your head up, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, before moving to press another, softer kiss directly to his lips.
“I am not pressured,” you whispered against his mouth. You looked straight into his eyes, letting him see the fierce, unyielding certainty burning in your gaze. “And I am comfortable. I want to do this, Neteyam. I want you.”
A low, rumbling hum vibrated deep in his chest at your words. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. The carefully maintained restraint of a disciplined warrior giving way to the raw, possessive hunger of a man who had been captivated by you since the moment he saw you.
His hands moved to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulled you flush against his heat, his lips crashing down on yours in a deep, consuming kiss. You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his long braids, the beads clicking softly. Slowly, he reached for the ties of your intricately beaded top and with a gentle pull, the garment loosened, and he caressed it off you, letting the beads click softly against the floor.
Neteyam’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened as his gaze swept over your naked upper body, tracking the elegant curve of your waist and the steady rise and fall of your chest. The raw worship in his stare made you feel powerful, completely untamed, and so excited.
His large hands slid up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the sides of your chest as he leaned down to press hot, branding kisses along your collarbone, making you gasp softly. Your hands scrambled for his own gear, your fingers working through the fastens of his intricate cummerbund. You pushed the heavy gear away, your palms immediately finding the broad, smooth expanse of his chest, tracing the jagged ridge of his scar once more before bringing your lips to his.
He gathered you into his arms, his mouth never leaving yours as his hands worked on the ties of your loincloth around your tail. He pushed the fabric off your hips, caressing your soft skin before fluidly guiding you down onto the thick, soft layers of the woven sleeping mat. The cool fiber of the mat met your back, but you barely felt it beneath the crushing, intoxicating weight of his body settling over yours.
You bit your your lip as he hovered over you, his thighs bracketing your hips. You pressed your palm against his muscled abdomen and when he took in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth, you smiled at him, moving your hand down to tug at the rim lf his loincloth.
His head tilted, “You want it off?” he asked, tugging at your hand when you nodded unabashed. “Take it off, then.”
You bit your lip before pulling yourself up, coming face to face with his chest as you did. You kissed the soft skin at the center of it before your hand circled to untie his loincloth. He lowered his head down, both of his hands cupping your face as he pressed a hard kiss on your lips.
His loincloth came off with a hiss and he gently pushed you back down on the soft mat, deepening the kiss. His hand moved from your jaw to the back of your head, gently wrapping around the thick braid of your kuru. He pulled away from the kiss to meet your eyes, bringing it between you before he grabbed his own, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.
You moved his hands to bring the tendrils together, and the moment the tsaheylu sparked to life, a gasp caught in your throat. The overwhelming flood of energy from the Tree of Souls was replaced by something soft, intimate, and profoundly deep, like a warm wave lulling both of your consciousness into a singular, shared heartbeat.
Through the bond, you felt his absolute adoration for you. The radiant warm was so tangible you could almost touch it, and to see it reflected in his golden eyes made your eyes sting with hot tears. Neteyam let out a low growl of satisfaction through the bond, his lips catching yours again. The kiss was deeper now, amplified by the bond, every brush of his tongue and every stroke of his hands on your body echoing straight through your mind.
You kissed him back with equal fervor. His hand firmly pushed your thighs apart, fitting himself between them as his kisses trailed down your jaw and neck. You chuckled to hide a moan when his tongue traced a long stroke over the soft skin of your neck. He hummed against your skin and repeated the motion, making you arch your neck with a giggle.
He pulled back a little, his humored eyes staring into yours. “You're ticklish here...” he murmured, dipping his head to softly suck on that skin.
“Neteyam...” you pushed his head back and he chuckled, moving further down, kissing the side flesh of your breast.
You took in a sharp breath, arching your back and he enveloped its peak with the warmth of his mouth, earning him a loud moan from you. He squeezed your waist as he hummed, sucking at your flesh as he fondled the other one.
“You’re so soft, fuck...” he grunted as his lips nipped at your pebbled tip, licking his way to the other peak to give it the same attention.
You felt a warm liquid gush out of you, making you squirm under him. His hand moved from your waist to your center and the tickle caught you off guard that you bucked against his fingers. He groaned against your breast, his fingers caressing your velvety folds languidly.
“So wet...” he said in a low, gravelly voice, propping himself on one arm to hover over you again.
His knee pushed one of your thighs to the side to spread you wider as his fingers parted your folds exposing your slick heat to his gaze. He looked down at you, his gold of his eyes swallowed almost entirely by desire that made your pulse race. His face heated up when he stared down at your flush face and found your wide, trusting eyes looking back up at him. You could literally feel the heavy pulsing in the bond, telling you that he was feeling so much it was physically overwhelming him.
He bent his head, kissing you softly at fit, but it soon turned deep and hard. His mouth consumed yours, and under the cover of that distracting heat, he slid a single, long finger into your tight entrance. You gasped against his mouth, your body tightening, startled by the sudden penetration. Neteyam instantly stalled his hand. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face with fierce intensity, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort.
Instead of shrinking away, you leaned up and kissed him, your tongue boldly sliding against his to show him you were alright. A low growl vibrated in his throat, slipping a second finger into you. The sudden stretch made you bite his lower lip in a tight grip and he grunted, kissing you hard in retaliation as his fingers began to move in a slow, deep rhythm inside your slick heat.
You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and his other arm pulled your body completely flush against his muscled frame. The world narrowed down to the heavy friction in you and the overwhelming rush of his emotions pouring through the bond. Your kisses got sloppy and breathless as his fingers worked faster, making your hips tilt upward instinctively, your thighs quivering as the tension built.
Suddenly, Neteyam pulled his fingers away.
You let out a soft, frustrated whine, your hands immediately dropping to his wrist to pull his arm back down. “Neteyam...”
“I’ll give you something better,” he mumbled against your jaw, his breath hitching as he kissed his way down to your neck. You could feel his thick, rigid shaft resting heavily against your inner thigh, twitching with his own restrained need. He pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. “Are you sure about this, paskalin?”
You nodded quickly, reaching up to pull his head back down for a kiss, but Neteyam refused to budge. He held his ground, his face shifting into a deeply serious expression.
“I need your words,” he mumbled, his golden eyes locking onto yours.
You let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, your gaze turning just as serious, completely stripped of any games. “I am sure. I want to do this with you, Neteyam.”
The tension in his jaw broke, replaced by a dark satisfaction. He pressed a hard, bruising kiss on your lips, before his hands hooked firmly under your knees. He slowly pulled away, shifting his weight until he was kneeling directly between your spread legs.
Left exposed in the glow of the fire, you bit your lip, your eyes shamelessly tracing the powerful lines of his body. You reached a hand out, your palm sliding over his muscled abdomen again, feeling it contract beneath your fingertips. But you grew serious as soon as you felt the broad, blunt head of his shaft nudge against your warmth. You took a deep breath as he began to ease himself into you.
His thumb found the sensitive, swollen nub beneath your folds, softly and rhythmically caressing it to help him distact you. When your eyes rolled back and you helplessly bucked your hips upward to chase his thumb, Neteyam took the perfect opportunity to sink himself fully into you in one deep thrust.
A loud moan tore from your throat at the immense stretch of it, and at the exact same time, Neteyam let out a harsh, strained grunt through gritted teeth as your walls fiercely clamped and squeezed around him, resisting against his girth. He lowered his body down, desperate to soothe you with a kiss, but you were breathing in ragged, panicked breaths, your fingers digging tightly into the flesh of his back.
“Shh... baby, look at me. Breathe,” he hushed. Feeling how tightly you were gripping him, he made a slight movement to pull himself back out to give you relief, but you instantly wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place. You hugged him closer, burying your face in his neck.
“You’re so big...” you mumbled.
Neteyam groaned, the sound vibrating against your chest as he wrapped his massive arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “Sorry...” he whispered roughly, entirely sincere.
A wet chuckle escaped your lips despite the ache. “Are you really saying sorry because you have a big di—”
“Only because it’s making you uncomfortable,” he cut you off, his voice thick with embarrassment as he pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand tenderly wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead.
“Nonsense,” you huffed, a small, defiant smirk returning to your face. “I remembered I will be pushing out babies anyway, you know? I can handle the father.”
Neteyam’s dark eyes instantly lit up, coupled with a soft smile cutting through his lips, and at the exact same moment, a massive, explosive jolt of pure, euphoric warmth shot straight through the bond, nearly making your head spin. The sheer joy of hearing you speak of a future with him, of carrying his children, completely broke the last of his restraint.
You smiled, welcoming the deep, possessive kiss he crashed down onto your lips. He began to move as he kissed you, pulling back almost entirely, before driving back into you with a firm intensity. You moaned against his lips, meeting him at his pace and welcoming every single hard, bruising thrust.
The pace grew frantic and the glow of the fire casted your joined shadows against the woven walls of your new home. His large shadow has completely enclosed you, your legs in the hair as he gripped the back of your knees tightly, pushing them up to angle you perfectly, driving deeper and deeper until he was bottoming out against your core.
The kelku was filled with slaps of your skin meeting, your ragged moans, and his deep, animalistic grunts. Through the bond, a sudden, blinding wave of heat erupted from him. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his muscles locking up hard as he let out a loud, guttural roar against your neck. He buried himself to the absolute hilt as he came deep inside you, the thick, hot rush of his seed filling your core.
Your head fell back, crying out as your own release crashed over you in violent waves, your walls squeezing him tightly. Neteyam collapsed softly over you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck. Your own exhaustion lulled you to sleep just as Neteyam lifted his head to kiss you, making him huff in adoration as his eyes caressed your soft features.
“Out like a light,” he mumbled as he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “You’re so damn cute.”
The next day, the heavy, content silence of the morning was the first thing you registered, followed by the feeling of Neteyam’s large, muscular arm slung securely around your waist, pulling your body into a solid wall of heat that was his chest.
You shifted slightly and the gentle drag of your hair against his chin caused him to stir. Because the tsaheylu had remained connected through the night, the moment your consciousness cleared, a sudden, bright flare of pure excitement pulsed from his mind into yours. His eyes opened instantly.
“Good morning,” Neteyam murmured, his voice deep and rough from sleep. He pressed a warm kiss into your temple, his arm tightening around you. “How does your body feel?”
You took a long, dramatic breath and stretched your limbs, letting out a soft yawn that made his chest rumble with an adored chuckle. “A little sore,” you admitted, turning in his embrace to face him, a small, defiant spark in your eyes. “But I am still ready for the day. You promised me archery training.”
Neteyam smiled, his eyes sweeping over your face as he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck. “Archery can wait. The forest isn't going anywhere. Let's just stay here today.”
“We can't,” you laughed softly. Right on cue, the ring of the communal bells echoed through the upper branches of Hometree. “See? We have to go.”
“They will understand if we are late,” Neteyam mumbled against your skin, his hands lazily tracing the curve of your waist. “We are newly married. Everyone knows we were... occupied.”
Your cheeks instantly burned hot. “Neteyam!” You reached down and pinched his arm, hard enough to make him grunt. “That is all the more reason we must show up on time! I have a reputation to build here, and I will not have everyone looking at me knowing why we slept in.”
“Baby, I hate to break it to you,” he chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow, his long finger caressing the base of your throat, “but they are going to know anyway.”
Your fingers touched your neck, your eyes snapping up to him in question. “What?”
His finger trailed down to your bare chest and you gazed down, finding a distinctly tender purpling spot right above the swell on your left breast. You glared up at him, your hand raising to pinch him again, but Neteyam quickly raised his hands in retreat, a boyish, unrepentant smirk on his lips. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It’s just that... you’re so soft—”
“Well, it looks like a bug bite,” you pushed your lips forward, touching the marks and examining it, before peering up at him. “By a big bug.”
He chuckled, pulling you back to him. “Do we have an issue with big stuff?” he mumbled, his lips brushing your neck.
You shrink away from the ticklishness of his lips, moving to get your top instead. Despite his teasing, Neteyam helped you prepare by grabbing your loincloth and helping you with it. At your stubborn behest, the two of you walked down to the communal clearing for breakfast. Neteyam carried his heavy warrior's bow, but slung over his other shoulder was the beautifully crafted longbow he had gifted you, along with both of your quivers
You thought walking into the clearing would make you feel embarrassed, especially with how the youth started nudging each other and how the older hunters gave Neteyam teasing looks, but you felt nothing but pride as he held your hand as he led you to the high dais where his family sits. Tuk grinned and waved at you, while Kiri offered a teasing a smile.
You pursed your lips and kept your gaze low in front of your parents who are now conversing quietly with Jake and Neytiri, looking entirely out of place in the vibrant, loud atmosphere. Once breakfast concluded, you paid respects to both sets of parents, and you startled a little when Neytiri gently squeezed your hand, making you snap your eyes up to her.
She smiled, “You looked radiant, daughter.”
You blinked, throwing a quick sharp glance at Neteyam who chuckled before seriously nodding at Neytiri. “Thank you...” you mumbled.
As you stand there, your father’s sharp eyes instantly dropped to the two bows slung over Neteyam’s shoulder, then to the quiver of arrows resting against your hip. His expression hardened into a mask of pure, rigid distaste.
“Neteyam,” your father spoke, his voice carrying a heavy weight as he pointed at the weapons. “I hope you are not teaching my daughter that. Weapons do not belong in the hands of a chief's daughter.”
The air around the dais seemed to drop in temperature. Your mother looked at you with the same piercing gaze your sister was giving you, as though you were doing something so embarrassing, while Neytiri’s side eye dropped a temperature as it locked onto your father. Meanwhile, Jake sat back comfortably in his seat, waiting to see how his son would handle this.
You felt a familiar, cold instinct to shrink back, but before the fear could even take root, Neteyam stepped slightly in front of you, offering your father a calm, polite smile.
“That is exactly what I intend to do, Olo'eyktan,” Neteyam replied, his tone grounded yet carrying the absolute firmness of a future leader. “My wife is now the woman of an Omatikaya warrior. She is Omatikaya as much as I am. And in this clan, our women are trained in archery much like the next guy.“
Your father’s face went entirely pale, but his jaw eventually tightened, utterly paralyzed by the younger warrior's sheer insolence. In your birth clan, no young man would ever dare speak to the Olo’eyktan this way, but here, Neteyam answered only to Toruk Makto. You pursed your lips as you felt warmth spread in your chest, making you squeeze Neteyam’s hand.
Seeing her husband silenced, your mother stepped in, “And you, daughter? Do you agree to this? Is this what you want?”
You looked at your mother, then at your father, and for the first time in your life, you didn't feel the need to lie. You took a step forward, aligning your shoulder perfectly with Neteyam’s.
“I am a wife of the Omatikaya now, Mother,” you said as softly as you could, it sounded like a mock in your own ears, but your parents won’t know that. “I will listen to the will of my husband, and I will do my absolute best to learn under him.”
You chose your words wisely, ensuring that the very obedience they had drilled into you since childhood was what’s staring back at them now. Your parents were left speechless, knowing they would sound like hypocrites to command you otherwise. You are a mated woman now, and in their eyes, your husband’s words hold more sway than their own.
Neteyam didn't give them a chance to recover. He gave a respectful, brief nod to his own parents, ignoring the faint, amused smirk playing on Jake Sully's lips. “If there is nothing else, we will take our leave.”
As he turned and led you away from the dais, his large hand snaked around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side as you walked down the winding ramp.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered sensually, “You did well, baby. And there is indeed a lot of training under me.”
You blinked, your cheeks burning when you remembered last night. Once you were down the Hometree, Neteyam led you deep into a secluded clearing a mile away from Hometree, a training ground he had clearly set up just for you. At the far end of the clearing, several woven targets hung on trees.
“Alright,” Neteyam said, handing you your new bow. “Let me see your basics, baby.” He stepped behind you, his chest pressing against your back as his large hands guided your arms up.
You swallowed hard. This was the dangerous part. You had to play the part of a beginner. You had to act like you didn't know how to balance your weight, or how to gauge the wind. You pulled an arrow from your quiver, deliberately letting your fingers fumble slightly with the notch. You pulled the string back, purposely letting your left elbow sag, trying to remember what it was like when you were just learning.
“Like this?” you asked.
Neteyam didn't answer right away, his hands moving from your arms down to your waist, his thumbs tracing the alignment of your hips before he corrected your left elbow. “Yes. Try shooting,”
You gritted your teeth and pulled from your chest, keeping your elbow low again before shooting. Your arrow found its mark on the third tree, exactly as you intended. Neteyam’s hands tightened on your waist, lazily caressing.
“You know how to do this,” he whispered, low and entirely certain.
Your heart violently jumped into your throat, your hand gripping the bow tighter. He has a keen eye and it was your fault that you underestimated that. “I trained,” you mumbled.
“You’re not a beginner,” he replied, his head dipping low so his breath fanned across your neck, right over a dark mark he had left there.
Your lips twisted. “No, I’m not,” you said in a low voice, your head turning to him.
His eyes darkened as it looks through yours. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him. “Look at the target... and show me who you really are.”
You held his dark, intense gaze for a second before turning back to the targets. With a fluid, practiced motion, you reached into your quiver and nocked a fresh arrow, planting you feet firmly into the ground. You aligned your shoulders and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one smooth motion.
The arrow flew like a bolt of lightning across the clearing, passing the first two targets and striking the farthest one dead in the center. The woven target shuddered under the sheer force of the impact. Behind you, Neteyam watched with fascinated, wide eyes, a sudden rush of heat flooding his chest. You looked incredibly hot standing there, your posture unyielding and graceful.
He had always known you had fire in you. He had found you beautiful from the moment he first laid eyes on you, but seeing you like this, unapologetically in your element, made a massive swell of pride erupt through him. He had witnessed first hand what your parents were like, what your clan was like, and though he had initially thought that you were their perfect, submissive daughter, even then, he’d felt this spark in you.
It was only when you’d become one through the bond that he’d known the staggering depth of your resentment and anger toward your parents and your people. He had been determined to free you from their shackles and teach you whatever you wanted to know, but with this marksmanship you’re showing, you were already better than him and half the hunters in his clan, because you had achieved this excellence while being completely barred from it.
“Where did you learn?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer, suddenly realizing that a skill this sharp meant someone had to have taught you.
You turned to him, a genuine, fond smile breaking across your face. “My friend. Tarluk.”
The moment the name left your lips, Neteyam’s swelling heart staggered. A sharp, blinding spike of jealousy flared in his chest. Your sister had mentioned that name when she tried to corner him last night, but he was so worried about you, he’d paid little attention to it. Neteyam was never a jealous man, mostly because he had never been a lover before, and he had certainly never cared for anyone as fiercely as he cared for you. So, this sudden, possessive green monster rearing its head in his mind felt completely bizarre and unsettling.
“Tarluk...” he echoed, his jaw tightening slightly.
“Yes. He is a warrior back in my clan,” you said, your voice softening, turning mellow and tinged with a heavy layer of guilt. “He taught me everything he knows. And he is... imprisoned right now. That is how I repaid every bit of help he gave me.”
Some of his jealousy instantly evaporated, replaced by immediate concern. He smoothed his features, calming his racing heart. “Imprisoned why?”
“He tried to help me escape... on the very day the Omatikaya arrived,” you mumbled, looking down at your bow. “I didn't know my father was going to pledge me to you. In my clan, we have no say in who we mate with. My friends are alright with that life... but I was terrified. I tried to run away.” You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat before looking up at him with soulful, vulnerable eyes.
Neteyam stared down at you, his heart beating incredibly fast against his ribs as he traced the absolute trust written across your features. “And... are you still scared?”
You smiled softly, the warmth in your eyes answering him before you even shook your head. “No... I am not scared.”
A heavy, breathless huff of relief left his lungs. The tension completely drained from his body as he melted into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. He leaned down, pressing a deep, fiercely reassuring kiss to your lips. “You have nothing to be scared of, baby. Not here, and not as long as I am drawing breath. I will protect you from them. From everything.”
You smiled against his mouth, nodding against his chest. “There is something I want to show you once we are back home.”
You spent the next couple of hours in the clearing, completely shedding your facade. You showed him the extent of what you know, so he could gauge exactly what else he can teach you. By the time you walked back to Hometree, you were holding his hand, literally skipping cutely along the forest path, your old worries entirely forgotten. Neteyam watched you, a soft, lovesick smile on his face. Just as the two of you were about to break through the thick brush leading into the main clearing of Hometree, he caught your waist, pulling you back into the shadows for one more loving, deep kiss.
High above, standing on an empty platform, Neytiri stood beside Jake. She watched the two of you, a rare, incredibly soft smile touching her lips as she leaned into her husband's side, happy to see her eldest son so completely besotted.
Once you and Neteyam slipped back into the privacy of your kelku, you walked over to your leather travel box. You reached inside and pulled out the old longbow and the weathered quivers you had brought from your home clan, the ones you had kept hidden away.
Neteyam walked over, but the moment his golden eyes landed on the unique, intricate fletching of the arrows inside the quiver, he froze. His mind flashed back to the waterfalls near your clan’s lands, to the cloaked woman who had saved his life from an Agtik pack before disappearing into the mist just as he was gathering his wit.
He thought he was simply being irrational. He thought of the cloaked lady several times over the past moon, but his mind kept giving the lady your face. Even when he first saw you, he had a strong feeling that he knew whom he was looking at... It had surprised him, just as it had surprised his parents, when he decided to agree on your father’s plea for a betrothal before he had even heard the terms.
He was never one to decide on anything without thinking it through, but on this one, he had felt so certain it startled him.
“I knew it,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper of absolute awe. “It was you.” He looked from the arrows to your face, his eyes wide. “The cloaked lady from the waterfalls... it was you.”
You offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You knew how?”
Neteyam let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I was being imaginative, perhaps. But whenever I remember the lady at the waterfalls, I see your face. I thought it was just my mind reminding me that I am betrothed, but I almost felt certain it was you.”
You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to tell you... But I don’t want to hide anything from you,” you pushed your lips forward.
He felt like he was being allowed to walk through a secret passage leading into a room full of wonders. He had met you, had been saved by you, before he even officially knew your name. “Thank you for telling me,” he mumbled, pulling you to press a kiss on your temple.
Lo’ak had long found a mate among the Metkayina of Awa’atlu, and Neteyam had always wondered how easy it had been for him, that it had taken only one look. But now he understands. He understands what Jake and Lo’ak were talking about. You will see her and you will know. Thanking Eywa for the sheer providence and the incredible luck of hand she had given him would never be enough.
You were everything he had waited for.
A few days later, you watched your parents, your sister, and their rigid entourage finally prepare to leave the Omatikaya and was surprised to feel absolutely no sadness. Standing beside Neteyam as their direhorses turned back toward the woods, the only thing filling your chest was a profound, liberating sense of relief. You could hardly wait for the dust of their departure to settle.
As the days and weeks melted into moons, you and Neteyam fell into a beautiful, seamless routine.
Every morning, he would wake up before the dawn, his stolen kisses on your skin occasionally waking up up, but most times, he could successfully slip out for early border patrols without waking you up. And then, he would return hours later, waking you up with soft kisses before you both headed down for the communal breakfast.
Afterward, the two of you would escape to your private training ground. Because your archery and horsemanship were already flawless, Neteyam decided to teach you hand-to-hand combat skills instead. This was unknown to you. The Na’vis rarely fight using their bodies in close combats, but he explained that they were necessary skills taught by his father.
You took to it with a fierce, untamed focus, loving the feel of your body dodging his heavy frames, laughing whenever he used his weight to pin you to the soft grass, only to kiss you breathless as a penalty for losing.
By midday, when Neteyam had to report for scouting duties with his father, you spend your afternoons with Kiri and Mo'at, sitting in the quiet healing pavilion, learning the properties of healing roots, orchid poultices, and the spiritual songs of the Omatikaya. You found learning here much easier than learning under the rigid, highly paternalistic guidance of your mother.
Best of all, Mo’at listens to the healing knowledge and spiritual routines unique to your clan. These peaceful afternoons of study would bleed into quiet evenings that makes you feel that you were finally doing things to belong and not to conform.
When the next dawn broke, the rhythmic chirping outside filtered into the kelku, but you were already stirred by the familiar sensation of warm, soft lips pressing against your shoulder. A slow, lazy smile spread across your face, keeping your eyes closed.
When he sensed the shift in your consciousness, he lifted his head, his golden eyes dark and hooded with adoration. You felt his lips against yours and you kissed him back eagerly, your fingers tangling in the braids at the nape of his neck, pulling him flush against you. His large arm wrapped around you, almost lifting you to him as he deepened the kiss.
You broke away from the kiss to breathe, so his lips found the the sensitive column of your neck, trailing down over the slope of your breasts, lingering on your stomach, and finally, dipping lower. The past few moons had revealed this side of him, an obsession with your pleasure that bordered on reverent. In the beginning, you had been shy, overwhelmed by the fact that he would dare put his mouth there and the raw, uninhibited way he does so, but you had learned to love it.
Thus, you spread your legs, arching your back off the sleeping mat as he lapped at you like a man starved. His tongue and lips found your sensitive nub, sucking and licking until you couldn't help your moans, a sound that started low in your throat and grew sharper as the rhythm took you. You were biting your lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible, especially when he presses his tongue flat on you.
When you finally came, the release was a shuddering wave that made you gasp, and he licked every lingering essence as if this were the desert and you were a well of water. You lay there, sweaty and weak, your breath coming in ragged hitches as he moved back up your body, his mouth settling on the pebbled tips of your breasts, suckling with a possessive intensity. He finally pulled away to press a loving kiss to your forehead, his eyes searching yours.
Your hand instinctively dropped, grabbing at the heavy ridge of his crotch, feeling the sheer hardness of him. You let out a soft, mewling sound, squeezing him, and he let out a harsh, guttural grunt, closing his eyes for a moment to fight for control.
“I'll save this reward for later, baby,” he growled, his voice gravelly. “If I start now, I'll never make it to patrol.”
True to his word, he left for patrol, and you managed to drift back into a light, contented sleep. You only woke again when the sun dappled through the kelku, with the rustle of his footsteps coming in not long after. You looked up and smiled at him, pulling the covers off you and he groaned at the sight of you still naked.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said as he lowered himself down, leaning over you.
You pressed a hand against his chest, caressing his skin damp with the morning's efforts. You craned your neck to kiss him, and his hand slid over your waist. “I’ve been sleeping in too much lately. I need to train myself to wake up early again,” you mumbled against his lips.
“I’ll ask Mo’at for spice tea,” he responded, his head rearing back a little, his eyes fixed on yours seriously. “But you could always just sleep in. You’ve been working so hard with the healers...”
You chuckled, “You’re so serious,” you nuzzled your nose against his. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just adjusting.” You pulled him down for a kiss.
He let you kiss him, but he pulled back again, “But do tell me if it persists—”
“Yes, yes, I will. Now, kiss...” you cut him off, pulling him close again and he kissed you with more intent now.
Just as the heat grew heavier, the bells for the communal meal echoed through Hometree. Neteyam groaned, dropping his forehead against your collarbone, his frustration vibrating through his chest. You laughed, a bright sound that made his heart flutter. You pushed against his shoulders, and he knew better than to argue when it came to your reputation, he knew how much you valued being seen as a proper member of the clan and appearances during meals were your top priority.
You pouted at him, “It’s because you talk too much,” you said, grabbing your top.
His head dramatically fell back on the soft mat and you chuckled, your eyes dropping to his hard-on tenting at his crotch, clearly ready to burst but he knows it would have to wait. Almost immediately after the meal, you both headed to your the training grounds.
Moons of practice had transformed your hand-to-hand combat skills, proving to him just how fast you learn. But today, the training was secondary. You sat between his legs by a large root, finding a comfortable patch of moss to sit on. He broke open some sweet, nectar-filled fruits, sharing them as you talked about your childhoods: the lonely, quiet years of your past versus the vibrant, chaotic, and loud upbringing he had experienced with his siblings.
“Lo'ak was a menace,” Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head as he bit into a yovo. “When he was no bigger than Tuk is now, he decided he wanted to ride a syaksyuk. He climbed all the way to the highest branch of a tall tree, got stuck, and started crying because a mama syaksyuk started throwing sour berries at his head. I had to climb up and drag him down by his loincloth while Dad watched from below, just laughing.”
You laughed loudly, remembering the photo you saw of them as children. It allowed you to imagine a tiny, stubborn Lo'ak and an annoyed little Neteyam playing vividly in your mind. “You must have been such a serious little boy.”
“I had to be,” he smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “With Lo'ak trying to drown himself in puddles and Kiri talking to the plants, someone had to keep them alive. Kiri used to bury my daggers in the dirt because she said it ‘wanted to sleep.’ I spent half my childhood digging up the forest floor looking for my weapons.”
Your smile turned a bit wistful, a faint pang of envy twisting in your chest. “It sounds beautiful.” Your eyes dropped to the fruit in your hands, thinking of his youngest sister. “I feel a little bad for little Tuk, though. She didn't get to experience all of that chaos with you guys being so small together.”
“She makes up for it by being twice as loud,” Neteyam reasoned, his hand caressing a stray hair off your face.
You sighed softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the woven basket. “My sister... She was so much like my mother. I can’t remember a time we were ever... close,” you shrugged.
Armem is just one of the many women in your clan who think that everything about what is taught is right. The rules, the silence, the way women are expected to bend. She excelled at obeying everything and she knew you were just pretending, she just didn't know how to catch you in the act.
Neteyam’s arm pulled you tightly against him, his chest on your back rumbling with a deep, protective hum, his fingers sprawling over your hip.
“The night of our mating feast, moons ago,” he began softly, his voice dropping into a serious register, “I heard of Tarluk before you ever told me his name. Your sister told me about him when you were off talking to your parents.”
You froze, tilting your head up to look at him. “She did?”
“Yes,” Neteyam murmured, his jaw tightening at the memory. “She told me that you had run away with a warrior before the Omatikaya arrived. She told me Tarluk was your lover, and that you were coming to my bed dishonored.”
A heavy, mellow sadness settled over you. You rose slightly, propping your palm against his muscled chest to look directly into his eyes. “I can't believe she would tell you about it that way... Neteyam, Tarluk is not my lover.”
His large hand cupped your jaw with immense gentleness. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, his gaze steady and unyielding.
“I know, baby,” he whispered fiercely. “I believe you. I did not believe her one bit. I told her she should have been more loyal to you.”
You let out a long sigh, the final ghost of your past clan fading into the forest air. You pressed your palm flat against the heavy beat of his heart. “I never want to go back to my clan again... I never want to see that forest again.”
A slow, devastatingly handsome smirk grew on his face. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you a fraction closer. “You can't go nowhere without me now, baby,” he whispered. “You'll never go back there. This is your home. You belong to the Omatikaya. You belong to me.”
Your heart swelled so painfully with love that you had to look away to catch your breath. You smiled, deliberately breaking the heavy romantic tension by lifting a piece of the sweet fruit to your mouth, just as he was leaning in to kiss you.
Neteyam groaned, his eyes narrowing in playful frustration with that block you did. You chuckled at his reaction, turning the piece of fruit and pressing it against his lips instead. He paused, watching you with an intense, heated gaze, before he bit into it, chewing slowly without ever breaking eye contact.
You raised a brow, completely untamed and bold under his stare. Leaning forward, you darted your tongue out, catching a single drop of sweet juice that was rolling down his chin. His breath hitched, his hands instantly gripping your waist as a dark, possessive hunger flared in his eyes.
“You are testing me today,” he growled softly, his hands moving to your hips to maneuver you on his lap.
You caught his hand. “I have a question,” you asked as you pressed your back against his chest.
“Hm?” He buried his face on your neck.
“Why do you like doing...” you trailed, gesturing vaguely between your legs, your voice teasing.
“Doing?” he asked, his hand going where you gestured.
Your hips bucked, grabbing his hand. “I mean, your mouth. On there.”
Neteyam paused, angling his head to look at you with a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Is that really a question?” he asked as if it sounded like a joke.
“It’s an observation,” you barked but softly, cutely showing him your fangs. “It seems a bit... obsessive.”
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that made your skin tingle. xIt’s like asking me if I love eating my favorite fruit,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips. “It’s what I crave. It’s what sustains me.”
“That’s dramatic. It’s not food,” you frowned.
His hug around you tightened as if he were suddenly getting cuteness aggression. “I love it, anyway. And think of my cock. You said you wanted to do things with it, right?“
You nodded, your pulse quickening a sudden, visceral thrill run through you at the thought of finally exploring that part of him.
“Suppose I want you to kiss it,” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, challenging hum. “Would you?”
“Yes,” you whispered, licking your lips.
He raised a brow, reaching into the basket and pulling out an utumauti. He peeled it, the sweet, earthy scent filling the air, and held it out to you. You stared at it, and instinctively, you moved your head to bite into it, but he gently moved it away, laughing at your eagerness.
“No,” he said softly, his voice thick. “Put it in your mouth.”
You blinked, your breath hitching. You looked from the fruit to his eyes, then nodded, opening your mouth wide. You took the fruit between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the sweet nectar before you wrapped your mouth around it, mimicking the depth he’d asked for.
He groaned, the sound raw and pained, as he watched you.
“Would you do that to me?” he asked again, his eyes searching yours for hesitation.
You pulled back, your heart hammering against your ribs. You looked at his loincloth, imagining the warmth and the power of him, and a desperate, hungry desire to give him that same level of pleasure he gave you bloomed in you
“I want to,” you breathed. Your tail, usually calm, began to wag behind you, a soft thump against the moss.
Neteyam let out a shaky breath, his expression softening into one of tender love. He leaned forward and kissed you, his hands trembling slightly as they went to the ties of his loincloth, stripping it away completely. Your breath caught in your throat. You had felt the sheer, heavy mold of him a hundred times over in the past moons, the thick, rigid heat that had driven you mad against your thighs and deep within your core, but seeing him completely bare in the daylight was breathtaking.
You pulled yourself up onto your knees between his legs, your hand reaching out, your fingers trembling slightly as you wrapped them around the base of his thick length. Neteyam drew in a harsh, ragged gasp as your thumb stroked up the underside of his shaft.
“Baby...” he choked out, his fists clenching into the dirt at his sides.
You looked up at him through your lashes, completely captivated by the power you held over such a powerful warrior. Slowly, you leaned forward, your lips parting as you pressed a soft, wet kiss to the very tip of him, catching the sweet, clear bead of his arousal on your tongue.
Neteyam let out a low, guttural roar that echoed into the canopy, his hips instinctively jerking forward at the agonizingly perfect warmth. You smiled against his hot skin, opening your mouth wider, and began to show him exactly how much you wanted to pleasure him.
You lost yourself in the rhythm of his pleasure, sliding your lips along the thick length of his shaft. Every dip of your head earned you a ragged, breathless praise from Neteyam, his fingers lightly tangling in your hair as he guided your pace. By the time your mouth filled with the hot, heavy rush of his release, his chest was heaving as a broken groan ripped from his throat. He pulled you up into a tight, crushing hug immediately after, holding you against his racing heart.
“Fuck...” he mumbled as he let out a broken chuckle. “You can’t do that again... I came so fast it’s embarrassing.”
You glared at him, but a naughty smile still cut through your lips. “But what if it’s my favorite now, too?”
The peaceful moons that followed seemed to blur into a soft, golden dream. You have now settled comfortably in the Omatikaya, especially among the children, that you spend some afternoons in the shade of the lower branches, watching Tuk and a few other children.
Tuk was in the middle of chasing a friend when she suddenly spun around, her tail swishing with sudden curiosity. “Y/N, are you pregnant?” she asked out of nowhere, her big eyes wide with innocent hope.
You blinked, a fierce blush instantly crawling up your neck. “No, Tuk, I am not.”
“Aww,” she pouted, kicking a soft patch of moss. “I thought you were. Leera’s mom is pregnant. She’ll have a playmate very soon!”
You watched her sprint away, but her words lingered in your mind like a persistent echo. You weren't exactly worried, but as the days passed, you couldn't help but wonder. It wasn't for a lack of trying; you and Neteyam were at it every single day, his possessive hunger never waning, yet your body remained unchanged.
To soothe your restless thoughts, you took up weaving again, a craft you deeply missed and hadn't practiced much since leaving your clan. Sitting alone in the kelku, your fingers worked mechanically, interlacing thick, soft fibers into a structured, sturdy pattern.
You were just finishing a section when the woven flap rustled. Neteyam stepped inside, his shoulders tight with a lingering trace of stress from a long council meeting. The moment his golden eyes landed on you, however, the tension visibly melted from his face.
Seeing the lingering exhaustion in his posture, you immediately dropped the what you were doing and stood up, reaching out to guide him down to the sleeping mat. Your fingers firmly moved on the tight knots in his shoulders, applying a soothing pressure to calm him down.
Neteyam let out a long, shuddering sigh, tilting his head back against your stomach. “What were you weaving, baby?”
“I am trying to weave a baby wrap,” you murmured softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But do not get too excited yet. I am not with child. I am just... preparing.”
A soft, boyish smile cut through his tired features, and his lips pushed forward, pressing a tender kiss into your temple.
“What is wrong?” you asked, your fingers slowing their movement on his shoulders. “You look heavy.”
“Nothing you need to worry about, baby,” he responded smoothly, reaching up to squeeze your hand. “Just a tense council meeting. Some border disputes. It is fine.”
In the weeks that followed, however, you realized it wasn't entirely fine. The reality of clan infighting across Eywa’eveng was beginning to seep into the edges of the Omatikaya. Yet, the Omatikaya were almost too chill about it, confident in their strength. You only noticed the subtle shifts: the increased frequency of hunters and warriors moving in and out of the boundaries, and the way Neteyam constantly seemed on edge.
The breaking point arrived on a stormy afternoon.
Shouts echoed from the lower canopy, frantic and laced with a terror you had never heard from the Omatikaya before. You rushed down to the lower platforms, your breath catching in your throat as a party of warriors moved through the crowd. They were carrying several severely wounded hunters.
And in the center of the frantic group, carried on a human-made stretcher, was Neteyam.
He was barely conscious, his skin a pale, sickly blue, his chest heavily stained with a thick, dark smear of blood. Your breath was knocked out of your chest as a suffocating, icy fear instantly seized your heart, dragging your mind back to the terrifying vision you had seen in his memory. Jake and Neytiri pushed through the crowd, their faces pale with panic. But as the healers began to move Neteyam toward the human biolab for emergency treatment, Neytiri suddenly stopped. Her fierce, golden eyes snapped to you standing in the crowd.
Before you could move, she lunged forward, her hand clamping onto your forearm in a brutal, iron grip.
“Did you know about this?” she demanded, her voice shaking, cold with an explosive anger.
“What?” your voice shook, your eyes wide with shock and confusion.
“Your people betrayed us!” Neytiri hissed, her fangs fully bared, her face inches from yours. “Your father shot Neteyam! He ambushed our patrol at the border! I knew this alliance would bring nothing good. My son dove into this headfirst, not even thinking, for whatever petty reason—!”
“Mama! Don't get mad at Y/N, please!“ Tuk screamed, sprinting through the crowd and throwing her small arms around Neytiri’s hips, crying.
Jake came rushing back out of the biolab doors, his eyes wide as he realized Neytiri hadn't followed the stretcher inside.
“Neytiri,” Jake called, his voice booming as he grabbed her elbow, pulling her away from you. He looked at your pale, trembling form, his expression turning into one of profound alarm. “Jesus, baby, what did you tell her?”
Neytiri let out a sharp, ragged breath, her chest heaving as she finally ripped her gaze from yours, staggering on her steps before walking away and going into the biolab.
Jake turned to you, his voice urgent but grounded. “Go inside, Y/N. Go see him. He’s alright, but you need to be in there.” He looked down at his youngest daughter. “Tuk, stay with her.”
You couldn't move. Your legs felt like lead, your ears ringing with the horrific revelation. Your father had shot him. The treaty of alliance, the marriage, the peace, it had all been a calculated deception to lower the Omatikaya's guard against other clans who wished to bring it down.
Tuk buried her face into your stomach, her little shoulders shaking with violent sobs. The sight of her grief broke the paralysis holding you. You slowly knelt on the damp wooden platform, pulling the little girl into a tight embrace, murmuring soft, comforting words against her hair until her crying began to slow into quiet whimpers.
Once she quieted down, you pulled back slightly, cupping her small face in your hands. You forced your voice to sound steady, invoking the very strength Neteyam always saw in you.
“Tuk, listen to me,” you said, your eyes locking onto hers with absolute seriousness. “Your braveness is needed right now. The Omatikaya is in chaos, and your brother needs a warrior to guard him. I need you to stay right here, by the laboratory doors, and make sure no one enters who shouldn't. Can you do that for me?”
Tuk sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, her small jaw tightening with a sudden, fierce determination. She nodded firmly. “ will guard him, Y/N.”
“Good girl,” you whispered, kissing her forehead.
You stood up, turning away from the laboratory. You didn't walk inside. Instead, you turned on your heel and moved swiftly, back up the winding ramps toward your kelku. The moment you stepped past the woven flap, the dam broke. Tears of unadulterated fear, pain, and burning rage spilled over your cheeks, hot and furious. You couldn’t even sob or wail. You wanted to be there for Neteyam.
Hold his hand and give him strength. But what you were about to do cannot wait. You moved with a cold, terrifying precision born of a lifetime of faking compliance.
You walked straight to the weapon rack. You gripped the smooth, dark wood of your old longbow and slung the weathered quiver over your shoulder, checking the heavy, sharp fletching of your arrows. Your father thought he had traded away a submissive pawn to buy himself time. He thought you were a weak, compliant girl who would weep in a corner while his treachery tore a clan apart.
He was going to find out exactly who you were.
You rushed down the hidden, less-traveled pathways of Hometree, bypassing the frantic crowds entirely. Breaking into the dark, rain-slicked undergrowth of the forest, you raised your hand to your lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle.
Within moments, the heavy thud of hooves echoed through the brush, and your direhorse broke through the foliage. You vaulted onto its back, your fingers grabbing your kuru and connecting it to his in one swift motion. With a fierce tap to its flanks, you turned the direhorse toward the borders, tearing into the black, stormy night.
You were going back to your clan. And you were going to kill your father.
The wind screamed in your ears, tearing through your hair as the direhorse threw its powerful weight forward, kicking up wet earth and leaves. For hours, you rode through the stormy night without a single pause. The rain-drenched trees of the Omatikaya territory gradually gave way to the dark, clouded woods of the suffocating borders of your birth clan.
Your body ached, your muscles tightly coiled with exhaustion and a cold, lethal focus. By the time the distant glow of your old clan's cooking fires pierced the dark, the storm had settled into a heavy mist. You didn’t slow down to hide or sneak through the brush like a frightened girl. You rode straight into the heart of the main clearing, the heavy thud of your direhorse's hooves drawing the immediate, sharp attention of the night guards.
Several warriors stepped forward, bows raised, but they froze when the light allowed for a better view of you, drenched in rain and covered in mud. From the largest tent, a tall, imposing figure stepped out, a heavy mantle around his shoulders.
Your father’s sharp eyes locked onto you, but you could see in his eyes that he was not threatened. You gave that to him. But that will change. He stepped closer, stopping a few paces away, completely unbothered by the heavy bow in your hand. To him, you were still the girl who always had her head down, the girl who bent to her mother's rigid will.
“Is he dead? Is that what this visit is for?” your father taunted, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face as he looked up at you. “If so, then that is good news for our council. Job well done, and you can finally come home, daughter.”
You remained mounted on your direhorse, your posture regal, unyielding, and completely still. Your eyes, normally soft and trusting, were now as cold and sharp as blade.
“I feel sorry that I had to sacrifice you...” he continued, his voice dripping with a sickening condescension. “Let you be defiled and used over and over again by that disgusting half-blood. I am glad to see that you're not pregnant... that is great. We can wipe away that stain, remarry you to a real warrior, and—”
“What a loud noise,” you interrupted quietly.
Your father paused, his brows snapping together in sudden fury at your insolence. “What did you just say to me?” He looked at the old longbow in your hand again, a mocking chuckle vibrating in his chest. “You dare bring a weapon into my presence? You think you can make an aim on me after your pitiful training sessions with that demon? The one I personally shot?”
“For the record, dear father,” you said, your voice entirely devoid of fear, a slow smile tilting the corners of your lips. “Neteyam didn’t teach me archery... I learned this from under your nose.”
In the blink of an eye, faster than any warrior in the clearing could even register, your hand blurred. You drew an arrow from your quiver, nocked it, and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one fluid, terrifyingly practiced motion.
Your father's eyes widened a fraction, his breath catching in his throat as he realized, too late, the absolute precision of your stance.
“Look,” you whispered.
You let go of the string and the heavy arrow flew with blinding speed, striking your father dead in the left side of his chest. The exact, precise spot where he had shot Neteyam.
He let out a sharp, agonized gasp, staggering backward as his hand flew to the shaft buried deep in his flesh. His eyes bulged, filled with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of anger and shock. He opened his mouth to scream for his warriors, his foot stepping forward to lunge at you.
Before his foot could even plant into the dirt, another arrow tore through the air, piercing straight through his foot and pinning it deeply into the muddy ground. He shrieked, a raw, pained sound, his balance entirely stolen from him as he began to fall. Desperate, his hand flew down to the knife strapped to his thigh, trying to draw it.
A third arrow struck his wrist, completely shattering the bone and before he could even touch the hilt.
You looked down at him from the height of your direhorse, your expression completely detached as he writhed in the mud beneath you.
“My husband is not dead, but you will be.”
Without a single hint of hesitation, you nocked one final arrow and released the string. The final arrow struck cleanly between his eyes, causing his body to slump back into the dirt, his blank gaze staring up at the stormy sky.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
When the heavy sedation finally wore off, Neteyam opened his eyes to the harsh, sterile white light of the human biolab. His vision blurred, then sharpened, focusing on the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. The sun of midday was already dawning through the windows.
His first thought was entirely instinctual. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the one face that always brought him peace.
“Y/N...” he grogged, his voice barely a gravelly whisper.
The lab doors hissed open, and Jake stepped inside, his expression deeply lined with fatigue. Behind him, Neytiri stood, her usual fierce posture replaced by a rare, heavy layer of visible guilt. Little Tuk was curled up on a chair in the corner, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
“Dad,” Neteyam breathed, trying to push himself up on his elbows. His hand flew to his chest, feeling the thick, white bandages binding his skin. “My wife?”
A heavy silence blanketed the room. Everyone had spent the last several hours frantically combing through every tier of Hometree after Jake had ordered a full-scale search, desperate to find you before his eldest son woke up, but no one had seen a trace of you. Even Neytiri, now that her blinding panic had subsided and her mind was clear, realized the catastrophic mistake she had made by cornering you and implicating you in the ambush.
For the past several weeks, the Omatikaya council had had intelligence about a brewing conflict. Your birth clan apparently part of a larger, aggressive faction of clans seeking to destabilize Toruk Makto’s influence, viewing his family as “half-bloods” who didn't belong with the true people of Eywa. Throughout those tense council meetings, Neteyam had staunchly, fiercely defended you.
When the elders and even his own mother suggested that your betrothal was a calculated set-up to make him vulnerable, Neteyam had never wavered. He knew your heart. He knew that you knew absolutely nothing about your clan’s movements, and he had begged his family to let him handle it, to protect you from the clan's suspicion.
But Neytiri's explosive grief at seeing her firstborn bleeding had shattered that protection.
“Neteyam,” Neytiri stepped forward, her voice trembling in a way he had never heard before. “The night you were brought in... I lost my mind,” Neytiri confessed. “I confronted her. I told her that her father shot you, and I... I accused her. Tuk said she left not long after. We think... maybe she went to find them. Maybe she'll come back...”
“Left?” Neteyam echoed, the word ripping out of his throat like a physical wound. The monitor beside his bed began to beep in a frantic, erratic rhythm. He tore the IV lines straight out of his arm, ignoring the sharp sting of blood.
“Neteyam, lay back down!” Jake barked, rushing forward to plant his heavy hands on his son's shoulders.
“No! She doesn't want to go back there! She told me she never wanted to see that place again!” Neteyam roared, fighting his father's grip with a desperate, wild strength, despite the pull on his stitched flesh. “I have to find her—”
“I’ve already sent out scouting teams to track her trail,” Jake argued, his voice laced with helplessness. “But the storm washed away the tracks. Some came back empty-handed. We don't know where to look, son.”
Neteyam’s chest tightened, a suffocating mixture of physical pain and raw, blinding panic making his head spin. He was hoping against hope that you hadn't gone back to your birth clan. He knew how much you hated it.
Just as he was stepping off the bed, the lab doors hissed open again. One of the clan's seasoned tracking warriors stepped into the room, drenched in mud and breathing heavily.
“Olo'eyktan,” Navem reported, bowing his head to Jake but looking directly at Neteyam. “Word has just come from the western border. Korto... is dead. He was assassinated in the dead of night inside his own camp. They said it was his eldest daughter.”
The warrior glanced at Neteyam. He felt the air completely knocked out of his lungs. He staggered, his knees buckling slightly as he stared at the warrior in absolute, stunned disbelief. His mind reeled, completely torn between two overwhelming realities: the terrifying fact that you had ridden alone into enemy territory in the middle of a storm, and the realization that you had executed a flawless assassination entirely on your own.
Neytiri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
It was Jake who broke the stunned silence, his tactical mind instantly kicking into gear. “Looks like we have a lead,” he said, his voice grim but focused. “Tell the aerial teams to scour every border between here and the plains. We need to get ahold of her before her father's loyalists do.”
Neteyam didn't wait for his father to finish. Ignoring the burning agony in his chest, he bolted out of the biolab. Jake and Neytiri chased after him as he sprinted up the winding pathways toward the ikran roost.
“Neteyam,” Jake called, throwing the comms through the air. Neteyam caught it with his good hand. “Wait for the scouts to give you an update!”
“Thanks, dad,” Neteyam yelled back, his voice raw.
“Come home safely. Both of you...” Neytiri begged from the platform below, her voice cracking.
Neteyam leaped onto his Ikran, his bond snapping into place with frantic urgency.
The flight was a blur of agonizing waiting. Neteyam cursed himself for choosing his Ikran over a direhorse, realizing too late that the thick canopy made it nearly impossible to spot a single figure from the air. For thirty agonizing minutes, he flew in erratic patterns, his heart hammering against his ribs, until the comms clicked to life.
“Neteyam, we have a visual. She’s at the rocky creek near the old boundary. We are moving to secure her—”
“No!” Neteyam barked into the mic, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Do not approach her. Give me the coordinates. I will deal with my wife on my own.”
Receiving the location, he drove his ikran into a steep dive, landing the beast in a clearing a short distance from the water. He threw himself off the saddle, his long strides breaking through the damp ferns as he sprinted toward the sound of rushing water.
And there you were.
You were sitting on a wet stone by the edge of the creek, looking incredibly small, pale, and exhausted. Your eyes were heavily swollen and puffy from a night of what seemed like endless crying. Your old longbow lay on the moss beside you. You were crouched low, scooping cold water into your palms to wash your mouth, when the rustle of leaves caught your attention.
Your eyes snapped up, locking onto his towering figure across the shallow water. You gasped, instinctively flinching and rearing back.
New, hot tears instantly swelled in your eyes as your gaze landed on the thick white bandages wrapping his torso, and the dark red spot of blood seeping through his chest. A wave of profound, crushing shame washed over you. Your father had done that. Your bloodline had brought that violence to his family. It didn't matter that you had killed the monster; the stain of the betrayal felt permanent.
“Don't come near me,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you held up a trembling hand when he stepped straight into the freezing, ankle-deep water, his gaze brazen and unyielding.
“Why?” he asked stubbornly.
“It's just... you shouldn't be with me,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around your own torso as if trying to hold yourself together.
He tilted his head, his expression softening into something intensely possessive. “Too bad. I want to be with you.”
“Neteyam, please,” you cried, shaking your head violently as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. “It is a disgrace! My people are traitors. My father wounded you, he almost took your life! My blood is that of a traitor’s... and I am so scared... I am so terrified that this life inside of me will take after my blood—”
“What?” Neteyam stopped dead in the middle of the creek.
The word hit him like a physical blow. You were rambling, your words pouring out so fast that his head began to spin, a sudden, loud ringing filling his ears. His golden eyes slowly dropped from your face, tracking down the length of your body until they rested on your flat abdomen. He closed his eyes for a single, heavy second, drawing in a long, deep breath through his nose to steady his racing mind.
The gravity of what you had just done crashed over him. You had traveled a distance that should have taken days in a matter of hours. You had risked your life, riding alone into a hostile camp, carrying out a flawless execution under the noses of an entire warrior council. You could have been captured. You could have been killed.
And through all of that terrifying danger, you were carrying his child.
“You are pregnant?” he asked, his voice dropping into a small, breathless whisper as his eyes snapped open again.
“I... I didn't know,” you whimpered, your fingers wrangling together in a fit of nervousness. “I just learned it now. I threw up so much... I don't know, I can feel it...”
“You are pregnant,” he repeated, a massive, overwhelming whoosh of air rushing out of his lips.
That's it. He lunged across the remaining stretch of the shallow creek, his powerful legs churning through the water until he reached your side. Before you could even take another step back, his large, good arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward until your body slammed directly into the solid wall that was his body.
He pulled back just enough to cup your jaw with his fingers, tilting your face up, and kissed you hard. It was a deep, fiercely possessive, and desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his relief and love into your lips.
“Baby,” he breathed against your mouth, his forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved. “You are amazing. And you are lethal. You have always been. But I need you to never, ever do something like this again.” He let out a breathless, emotional laugh. “A bullet and an arrow haven't killed me yet, but you doing this might actually finish me off.”
You buried your face into his neck, sobbing uncontrollably as the immense weight of the last hours finally collapsed. “I wanted to be there last night,” you wept, your hands carefully gripping his shoulders, mindful of his injury. “I wanted to hold your hand so much... but I needed to catch my father at the very height of what he thought was his victory. I had to end it.”
Neteyam wrapped his arm tighter around you, burying his face into your hair, his own tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I love you,” he mumbled fiercely into your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”
You pulled your head back, looking up into his golden eyes, your own twinkling with a mixture of exhaustion and profound love. You pushed up on your tiptoes, capturing his lips again, deepening the kiss as you mumbled, “I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much.”
When the kiss finally broke, Neteyam gently wiped the stray tears from your cheeks. “Do you want to go back home now?”
You nodded instantly, the word home finally feeling absolute.
“Are you... are you mad at my mother?” he asked softly, watching your expression carefully.
You shook your head, a soft, understanding smile touching your lips. “Mad? Why? I understood her anger, and I understood her reaction. She was simply a mother who was terrified of losing her firstborn child. I would have done the same.”
Neteyam’s chest swelled with an intense, overwhelming pride. The sheer capacity of your heart, after everything you had endured, left him entirely awed. He held you tightly against his good side as he guided you back toward his ikran. Your direhorse was left to be brought back by the Omatikaya warriors who had been tracking you from a distance.
When the ikran finally landed on the high platforms of Hometree, Jake, Neytiri, and Tuk were already waiting at the roost.
The moment the beast settled, Neytiri stepped forward, her face tense, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she prepared to offer a formal, deeply humbled apology to you, but Neteyam didn't give her the chance. The moment he dismounted, his large frame moved directly in front of you, shielding your body from his family's view.
“I need to take her straight to Mo'at,” he announced, his voice firm, carrying the absolute authority of a mate protecting his own. “She needs to be checked immediately. Especially given her... sensitive case right now.”
Tuk tilted her head, her big eyes darting around Neteyam’s torso to look at you. “Y/N? Are you okay?”
You smiled warmly, stepping out from behind your husband's protective shoulder to look down at the little girl. “I am okay, Tuk. And I have some very great news for a brave warrior who guarded her brother so well.”
The family followed in a quiet, tense procession as Neteyam led you straight to the quiet upper tiers where Mo'at sat by the hearth. She didn't even need to touch you. The moment her wise eyes landed on your posture, and the subtle, protective way Neteyam’s hand was resting against the small of your back, a knowing, radiant smile broke across her weathered face.
“You are here to confirm a pregnancy? I had been waiting to be asked for moons.”
Tuk instantly let out a joyous shriek, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “A playmate! I knew it!” she cheered, her laughter echoing through the quiet pavilion.
But while Tuk celebrated, the confirmation only made Neytiri’s chest tighten with a deeper, agonizing wave of guilt. She realized that your ride into danger had been undertaken at such a vulnerable state. Later that evening, as the stars began to blanket the skies, Neytiri found you sitting alone on the edge of the healing platform. She approached silently, her ears pressed back in true humility.
“Y/N,” Neytiri began, her powerful voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. “I have no words to excuse my behavior. I allowed my fear for my son to blind me and I am... deeply sorry for the pain I caused you.”
Your expression was entirely peaceful as you reached out, placing your hand over hers. “There is nothing to apologize for, Neytiri. We both had the exact same interest at heart. His safety amd protection. You reacted out of love for your son, and I reacted out of love for my husband. If I were in your position, I would have done far worse.”
Neytiri stared at you for a long moment, a profound respect cementing between the two of you as she squeezed your hand in return. “I have no doubt, daughter. I have no doubt.”
The rest of your pregnancy was a beautiful journey. Your bond with Neytiri had grown deeper as moons passed by, replacing the cold, rigid relationship you had with your mother. Although, there were times you missed her, there was no one in that clan you still wanted to see except for Tarluk.
The last of Neteyam’s intelligence reports regarding Tarluk said that he had escaped after your father’s assassination and the short period of anarchy that followed it. Neteyam assured you that he had sent word to allied clans to give him notice should a lone man wander near their borders.
You had refused to stress yourself further as your pregnancy progressed though. Not when Neteyam has became utterly insufferable in his doting. He refused to let you carry anything heavier than a piece of fruit and followed you to every single healing lesson with Mo'at.
“You are leaning too far forward,” Neteyam murmured, his deep baritone vibrating right against your ear. His large hand reached around your waist, gently but firmly pulling your torso back against his solid chest. “Mo'at said you need to keep your spine straight so the weight doesn't strain your lower back.”
You let out a soft huff, a small smile tugging at your lips even as you tried to maintain your serious expression. “Neteyam, I am grinding roots, not fighting an ikran. My spine is perfectly fine.”
“I am just making sure,” he replied smoothly, completely unbothered by your teasing. He took the heavy stone pestle right out of your fingers. “Here. Let me do the heavy grinding. You shouldn't be straining your wrists.”
And he did not miss an evening without pressing his face against your growing belly, whispering long stories to the life moving inside you.
“Pea is quiet tonight,“ he whispered, his voice incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he used with the hunters. He flattened his large palm over your skin, his eyes closing as he felt the steady, rhythmic pulse of the life inside you.
“This little seed was kicking all afternoon while you were at the border,” you murmured, your fingers gently tangling into the dark braids at the nape of his neck. “I think Pea misses the sound of your voice.”
Neteyam’s lips tilted into a proud, boyish smile against your skin. He nuzzled his nose against your stomach, clearing his throat quietly.
“Listen closely, little one,” he began, speaking directly to your belly. “Today, Papa flew high into the floating mountains. The wind was fierce, the kind that tries to steal your breath. I brought with me Mama’s longbow, and when you are big enough, I am going to show you the clearing where your mother showed me how fiercely she can shoot. She struck the farthest target dead in the center, the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.”
You felt a sudden, familiar flutter beneath his palm. A distinct, sharp little thump from the inside.
Neteyam’s eyes snapped open, his golden gaze lighting up with absolute, pure wonder. “Did you feel that? Pea heard me."
“As always,“ you whispered, your heart aching with a love so profound it felt heavy.
He leaned up, shifting his weight so he was hovering over you, his eyes dark with an intense, unyielding adoration. He pressed his lips to yours, a slow, deeply reassuring kiss that tasted of the sweet fruit you had shared earlier.
“You are everything,” he murmured against your mouth, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. “Both of you.”
When your labor finally arrived several moons later, he had completely lost his cool. He was so frantic, so entirely out of his element, pacing the pavilion and checking your vitals every two seconds, that Mo'at and Kiri eventually had to physically shove him out of the tent because his chaotic energy was stressing you out more than the contractions.
But when the final moments came, he was right there beside you. He held your hand with a trembling grip, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of terror and absolute reverence as you gave one final, powerful push.
A sharp, clear cry echoed through the kelku, cutting through the warm night air.
Mo'at smiled, carefully lifting the tiny, squirming bundle and wiping her down before placing her directly onto your chest. Neteyam leaned over you, his hot tears spilling onto your shoulder as he looked down at his newborn daughter. She was perfectly made, a beautiful little girl with your delicate features, but he can see how she got his defined stripes.
Neteyam pressed his lips to your sweaty forehead, his hand resting over both you and the baby. “She is perfect and strong, baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking with an endless devotion. “Just like her mother.”
notes another of my heavy smut with a plot (p in v), oral (f&m receiving), bondage, angst :(, mean neteyam (at first, and he will suffer for this 😈), possessive neteyam, reader is so good at taunting neteyam so there are lots of angry sex,,, BYE--
synopsis you and neteyam have been fuck buddies for over a year now, existing in a bubble full of tension and secretive glances. he had imposed a rule of no kissing early on, claiming it would only complicate things— until a game of truth or dare was played... and apparently, he has no issue being kissed at all.
word count 13.7k (sorry i’m just so incapable of writing short fics huhu </3)
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White streaks of pleasure marred your vision as your body convulsed. You lifted your head, your eyes seeking his. You wanted to kiss him, to claim his mouth, to taste him, to deepen the intimacy of the moment, so you leaned in, your lips parting, just a whisper away from his.
And then he pulled back, a sudden, sharp movement. His eyes, though still clouded with desire, held a strange, almost wary expression.
"No," he rasped, his voice rough with exertion. His hips stilled for a moment. "No kissing."
Your breath hitched. The words hung in the air, it felt like cold water was poured on the rising flame of your passion. You stared at him, your lips still parted, a silent question in your eyes.
He began to move again, his thrusts resuming, but the intensity had shifted. "It's too much," he explained, his voice low, almost gruff. "It fools. Makes you think it's more than it is." He grunted, pushing deep. "Didn’t we want pleasure? This is pleasure." His hips drove into you, powerful and amost brutal. "Kissing... It complicates things." He said the word with a dismissive edge, as if it were a weakness. "We don't need that."
An unexpected pang pierced through the haze of your desire. It was a cold truth, delivered with the blunt force of his thrusts. You swallowed, there’s bitterness in your mouth. Your body, however, still craves release, so you closed your eyes, pushing the thoughts away, focusing only on the raw, physical sensations, on the way he filled you, stretched you, claimed you. You let go, letting the waves of pleasure wash over you, pushing everything else into the background.
Moons had spun into a year since that night. You should have known better. But you hadn’t, and now you’re here, your heart chained to the simplicity he craved, unable to truly ask for what it wants. What used to be desire for his roughness in bed had transformed into a hollow ache. You found yourself yearning for a different kind of touch, something softer, and a lingering gaze that means more than just release.
For nearly a year, this silent alcove, a little over a short walk from the central communal areas, had been your sanctuary, your secret. It was here that you and Neteyam usually meet, your bodies finding a language words could not articulate, or perhaps, refused to.
You arched into him, your hips instinctively grinding against his. You wanted more. You needed more. Your fingers tangled in his braids, pulling, urging him closer, deeper. Your bodies slapped together, producing a wet sound that aroused him even more. You clenched around him, milking him. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy, his eyes drifting down to your lips, and for a moment you saw fustration and longing in the depths of his eyes before he closed it and moved his face away to bury it in your neck. You felt the muscles in his back bunch and released with each powerful stroke.
“Oh, Neteyam...” you moaned weakly, holding onto him tightly.
“Good, baby?” he asked, driving into your harder and faster, his hips slamming against yours.
You nodded frantically, your cries mingling with his guttural grunts. Your body convulsed, a wave of intense pleasure seizing you, squeezing him tight. He groaned and then, with a final thrust, he spilled his seed deep inside you, his body shuddering against yours. He collapsed onto you, his weight heavy, his breath ragged.
He stayed there for a long moment, catching his breath and kissing your skin both at the same time. Then, he shifted, pulling out slowly, caressing your waist up to your breast when you mewled at the sudden emptiness, but he soon rolled off you, pulling a soft hide from his satchel to gently, almost tenderly, clean you before wiping himsef. He helped you sit up, pulling your top back over your shoulders and fixing your braids, his movements a strange mix of detachment and care.
He stood, gathering his things. The quick, efficient way he dressed, the lack of lingering, it was all part of the routine. The routine he had established, the one you had agreed to, the one that now felt like a suffocating blanket. He turned, his golden eyes, usually so intense, now held a detached warmth. "You’re staying again?" he asked, his voice low, still thick with arousal.
You rolled your eyes and shrugged, looking at whatever but him.
He stood there for so long before nodding. “I’ll get going then... Don’t take too long.”
Then, he was gone then, a shadow lost into the deeper shadows, leaving you alone, the lingering scent of him and the phantom ache between your legs the only evidence of what had transpired. You lay back, staring up at the jagged ceiling, a hollowness settling in your chest that no amount of physical release could fill. That night, you told yourself that was how you wanted it too: rough, animalistic, no strings, no complications. You repeated it like a mantra, trying to convince yourself that nothing mattered, that the yearning for a kiss, for something more, was just a foolish, fleeting emotion.
Your body still craved his, the raw, uninhibited release he offered. But something had shifted within you. The fierce, rough intimacy that once satisfied you now felt…incomplete. You watched him, a warrior among warriors, strong, capable, his laughter echoing across the communal fire, and a tenderness you had sworn to suppress bloomed in your chest.
You love him.
The realization had come slowly, like a vine wrapping itself around your heart, tightening with each passing day. You love his quiet strength, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the kindness he showed to the younger clan members. And now, the "no kissing" rule felt like a cruel barrier, a constant reminder of the emotional wall he built between you two.
Tonight, the air thrummed with a different kind of energy. Festivities. The harvest had been bountiful and the hunt successful. Laughter and music spilled from the Hometree’s communal clearing, mingling with the aroma of roasted food and sweet fruits. You sat by the large fire, among the boisterous circle of your fellow hunters and warriors, a leaf of honeyed hexapede that Neteyam gave you sitting on your lap.
You picked at the meat, the sweetness dancing on your tongue. The sounds of the celebration washed over you as Lo'ak, ever the instigator, had started a game of truth or dare. Your eyes uncontrollably flitted to Neteyam, catching him watching you from where he is, and your felt the urge to roll your eyes away to look at Lo’ak, but not before seeing how surprised Neteyam is with that little gesture.
"Truth or dare!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din. "Who dares to be honest, or bold?"
Your eyes flitted back to him again, catching him still looking at you with a ghost of smile on his lips. A ripple of excitement went through the group. You watched, chewing slowly on the hexapede, awaiting which couple will Lo’ak pair up like he did in the past. A group of young huntresses pushed at Sylweyn, making her laugh and give in to their encouragement.
"Sylweyn!" Lo'ak's voice boomed, carrying above the laughter and cheers. "Truth or Dare?"
Sylweyn, a lithe huntress with eyes that sparkled with mischief, grinned, her white teeth flashing. "Dare! Always dare!"
Lo'ak's grin widened. "I dare you to kiss the man you want to… fuck." He emphasized the last word with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, eliciting more laughter and hoots.
A hush fell over the circle, a collective anticipation. Sylweyn’s gaze swept across the faces, lingering for a moment on a few, then, with a confident, almost predatory smile, she fixed on Neteyam. He stood taller and broader than the others, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched nonchalantly.
Sylweyn moved with a fluid grace, her hips swaying subtly. She stopped in front of Neteyam, her eyes, dark and alluring, meeting his. He looked down at her and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He was always polite to others and now, you can see how his facial expression didn’t change. He didn't move, didn't stoop, didn't offer to meet her halfway.
Sylweyn giggled anyway, a low, throaty sound that made the blood pound in your ears. She rose onto the tips of her toes, her hands reaching up to cup his face. She stretched and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, quick, a brush of lips, but it was a kiss nonetheless. A kiss he had denied you countless times.
A spasm, sharp and painful, gripped your heart. You looked down at your leaf, at the glistening piece of honeyed hexapede. You picked it up, putting it in your mouth, but you couldn't chew. The sweetness turned to ash as you tried to smile along with their cheers. You swallowed, a dry, agonizing gulp, there’s pain in your chest that makes it impossible to breathe properly. The laughter and cheers from the circle seemed to mock you, amplifying the sharp, internal ache.
Lo’ak quickly moved on, oblivious of the turmoil brewing within you. "Savko!" he called out, his voice cutting through the lingering laughter and cheers. "Your turn, brother! Truth or dare?"
Savko, a broad-shouldered hunter known for his prowess and quiet confidence, grinned. "Dare. Can’t risk any of you learning my secrets.“
"Alright!" Lo'ak clapped his hands together, his eyes glinting. "Same dare. I dare you to kiss the woman you want to… fuck in this circle!"
Another wave of anticipation rippled through the gathering as you tried to break the meat into smaller pieces, trying to quell the tremors in your hands, the searing pain in your chest. You heard the shuffling of feet, the murmurs, but you kept your gaze fixed on the food now, pretending to be busy.
Then, a shadow fell over you. The scent of damp leaves and something uniquely masculine, not Neteyam’s, filled your nostrils. You lifted your head. It was Savko. He stood over you, his tall frame blocking the firelight, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. He was one of the clan's most skilled hunters, his reputation well-earned. There was also no denying he was good-looking, a competent man in his own right, though your heart had never stirred for him as it did for Neteyam.
"Hi," he greeted, his voice a low rumble, a pleasant sound that brought a blush to your cheeks despite yourself.
You tilted your head, your lips parting slightly, a silent acknowledgement.
"I'll kiss you," he said, his gaze steady. "Can I?"
Your lips parted further. You were no longer thinking, you felt as though your mind had been clouded with smoke, too focused on the ache in your chest. You simply shrug, a small, involuntary movement of your shoulders. The world felt distant and unreal. Neteyam’s kiss with Sylweyn gnawed at your chest. It all boiled down into a strange apathy. What did it matter?
Savko took your shrug as an invitation. The circle cheered as he knelt, gracefully, his hand reaching out, his hand gently cupping your jaw. He tilted your head up. His eyes, so close now, held a surprising tenderness. You expected a quick, chaste peck, like Neteyam's with Silwey, a mere brush of lips for the sake of the dare. But Savko lingered.
He lowered his head slowly, his eyes still locked with yours. His breath, warm and sweet, ghosted over your mouth. Then his lips met yours, soft at first, a gentle pressure. He didn’t rush. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his mouth opening slightly, inviting you in. A small whimper escaped your throat, a sound of surprise, of something akin to yearning. You felt the soft insistence of his tongue against your lips, a tentative exploration.
Your lips parted further, a hesitant response. It was a kiss, a real kiss, different from the rough, unkissed encounters you shared with Neteyam. You felt a flicker of something warm, unfurling in your chest, momentarily overshadowing the pain. You almost moved to kiss him back, to see what this might feel like, to finally experience the intimacy you craved.
But then, a sudden, violent yank. Savko was torn away from you, a guttural growl erupting from somewhere above. The kiss broke abruptly, leaving your lips tingling, your mind reeling but you were still able to hear the gasps and surprised screams of those around you.
"No one said anything about you eating her face up, brother." Deep and laced with an unfamiliar fury, Neteyam’s voice was heard. The action looked so sudden, so brutal, that a wave of panic washed over you. You scrambled to your feet, your eyes wide.
Neteyam held Savko by the nape of his neck. Savko's feet even lifted off the ground for a moment from the aggressiveness of it. Neteyam’s face was a mask of cold rage, his lips pulled back to show his fang.
"It's alright," you said, your voice trembling, a desperate plea as you looked at Neteyam. "Let him go."
He released Savko with a violent shove, sending the hunter almost stumbling. Neteyam didn't spare Savko another glance. His head snapped towards you, his eyes locking onto yours. The look he gave you was sharp, almost as though you had betrayed him, stabbed him through the heart. Something hard in his eyes intensified, now mixed with what looked like hurt that twisted your gut.
The warmth from Savko's kiss vanished. Don’t think too much into this, you told yourself. Neteyam didn't want you, not truly. But he didn't want anyone else to have you either. You felt a wave of nausea, the honeyed hexapede you ate threatening to rise. You eased back down, sinking onto your heels. You looked away, your eyes fixed on the dancing flames, wishing they would swallow you whole.
Lo’ak clapped and hooted. “Hoo! My brother, the perfect soldier, as always. Looking after our huntresses, very protective, just in case the kiss going further than necessary was uncalled for,“ he grinned at you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a little serious now as he threw his brother a confused glance.
You nodded. “Yeah. And it wasn’t uncalled for,” you said, glancing at Savko who had returned to his seat now.
He looked so apologetic even though he had done nothing wrong that you also felt a bit of shame and guilt for reasons you can’t pinpoint. The heat of Neteyam’s gaze pricked at your skin from where he is but you didn’t look his way. You resolved to talk to Savko after the festivities, not about the kiss but about what happened after. The poor lad was probably thinking you felt violated because of Neteyam’s reaction. Unfortunately, when the game was over, Savko faded into the throng of Omatikayas in the center of the clearing, and you lost sight of him altogether as the night went on.
You were drinking from a cup of fermented wine when you felt a hand on your elbow, and before you could even turn your head to see who it was, you were already pulled into a dark alcove of the communal clearing. The familiar smell told you it was Neteyam and you pulled your elbow back, shaking his hand off.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice deep and thick with emotion.
Your forehead creased. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“He kissed you,“ he pointed out. Even though it was dimmed, you could see how angry he still is, he’s practically vibrating with it.
You stared at him. You can’t believe this. You can’t believe him. It both angered and hurt you to see such a strong reaction from him over that. “I said it was alright. I’m a grown woman and it's not like he forced me.”
He let out a breath that sounded like it was laced with frustration. “So, that's how it is? You're going to allow random men to kiss you if they asked—”
The crease between your brows deepen. Where is this coming from? “I don’t understand and I don’t know what you're talking about. Why is this an issue?” you asked. You would never dare jump into a conclusion that he's jealous because he would never be.
“You are mine, that’s what,“ he said, his hand found your forearm but you evaded it.
The confirmation of you earlier thoughts was cruel but there it was, sending a blow of ache in your chest without your approval. You were right. He didn't want you in any way close to his heart but he also doesn't want other men playing with what's his. It’s all about him and what he feels you shouldn’t do in respect of him.
You tilted your head. “Look,“ you glanced back to the festivities. “Sylweyn also kissed you—”
“I didn't allow her to kiss me—”
“Not explicitly, no, but there was barely any refusal at all. So still, she kissed you, didn’t she? But I won’t make an issue of it, I don’t see the need to,” you said, your pride taking over, refusing to let him know how much that kiss had hurt you.
He closed fhe distance between you two, his ears were pinned back against his head and his eyes intense on you. “Make an issue of it then. Yell at me. Tell me that it made you furious. Do not—“
“Why would I do that?“ you cut him off. “We’re both free to do what we want, aren’t we?”
He stared at you, “Huh. Is this your way of telling me you’re going there with Savko?” He looks so mad now and if you were in a better headspace, you would have celebrated already.
You rolled your eyes. “Do I need to tell you?“ you asked. “I don't think you would have thought of consulting me if you happen to fuck Sylweyn one of these days—”
His hand grabbed your forearm and in truth, you expected him to press or hold you tight, but his hold was light, gentle even in his rage. “I’m not going there with her. And you. are. not. going to start anything with Savko either,“ his deep voice grated, telling you how much he's struggling to bite his words to lower his voice down.
Your back hit the rough bark of one of the Hometree’s large columns, he was so close you could feel him trembling with all his emotions. You sighed, pressing a hand against his chest to push him away and his eyes, so intently focused on you drifted down to your hand. His other hand moved up to hold it but you already withdraw yours, leaving him chasing for it but you hid it behind you and balled your hand into a fist.
“Don’t speak too soon, Neteyam. She seems to really like you, what was Lo’ak’s words? Kiss the person you want to fuck,” you kept your lips parted to taunt him and his lips stayed there for a moment before it lifted up to meet yours. “Too tempting?”
You hated pushing him to Sylweyn, but at the same time... You also don't want to wait for him to discard you for her. You'd instigate it now while you can still do it.
He bared his fangs silently, though, his lips pulled back tightly. “Were you tempted? With Savko? Is that what you're saying?”
What a thick head this man has. He’s completely missing the point!
“I don’t know,“ you looked back at the gathering, spotting Sylweyn craning her neck as if she's looking for someone. Your eyes darkened and annoyance rose in you, but your eyes drifted back to Neteyam and caught him staring at your face. You smirked, crossing an arm, “See, she's looking for you.”
His brows furrowed. “What?”
You stepped out of the dark, “Sylweyn! Sister!” you called in a sweet voice, waving your hand in the air, catching her attention right away. “Are you looking for Neteyam? He's here!”
You heard a loud groan behind you but you already walked away, only looking back to see Sylweyn catching up to Neteyam who was still looking at you with a sulking face plastered on and eyes that promised punishment.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“Focus,” you said, your voice cutting through the morning stillness. “The arrow won’t hit its mark if your mind wanders. Feel the wood. Feel the string.” You demonstrated, drawing the bowstring back, holding it steady before releasing. The arrow flew burying itself deep in the woven target.
A ripple of murmurs went through the group. You watched their attempts, correcting stances, adjusting grips. Neteyam moved among them, too, his own movements silent and fluent, but he he hasn’t spoken a word to anyone. He grunts or grumbles every time his trainees make a mistake, one would think he’s swallowed his tongue. His jaw was perpetually tight and his scowl deepened with every passing moment.
When the training was done, you stayed behind to take care of the bows, putting them all back in its place, while Savko lingered to pluck all the arrows from the woven targets, collecting them. He caught your eye, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips. You offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, before turning around to grab the bows behind you.
Neteyam’s breath hitched, his eyes narrowing at Savko before they followed your moving form, watching you move gracefully like a sun lily blown by the wind, and a sudden ache pierced his chest, mingling with his earlier irritation. It’s been days since you two last talked and he’s counted the times you spared him a glance in those days, which is zero, and he knows because his eyes had always been on you whenever you're around.
He moved without thinking, his long strides devouring the distance between them. He stopped beside Savko, his shadow falling over the hunter’s face. “I’ll finish that, brother,” Neteyam’s voice, low and resonant, vibrated with a suppressed fury. “You can go.” He held out a hand, palm open.
Savko's smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of defiance. He glanced at your back, still angled away, then back to Neteyam’s unyielding face. He slowly placed the arrow into Neteyam’s waiting hand, his shoulders slumping. He strode away, and Neteyam turned to the quivers, his movements deliberate. Each arrow he pulled free, he placed into the storage rack with a resounding thud that echoed through the quiet clearing. One. Two. Three... Each thud was punctuated by heavy sighs, each one more loaded than the last.
You finished arranging the last of the practice bows, rubbing your palms together, the dust of the wood still clinging to your skin. You turned and realized that the training grounds had emptied, leaving you and Neteyam alone. You grimaced as a sharp pang of bitterness twisted in you, remembering the last few nights you spent crying over the kiss he shared with Sylweyn. The act in itself wouldn’t have made you so bitter if he hadn’t denied you what he had freely given Sylweyn. You let out a sharp huff, blinking away the fresh wave of heat in your eyes, turning on your heels to quietly leave.
Neteyam’s eyes, dark and stormy, fixed on your back. “Planning to meet Savko?” His words, sharp and laced with mockery, sliced through the air.
Your forehead furrowed. The sheer audacity of his tone ignited a spark of irritation. “You seem to be projecting, ma ‘teyam. Why? Have you met with Sylweyn?”
His steps ate up the space between you in a matter of seconds but you didn’t budge, still looking at him with a taunting glint in your eyes. “Why would I meet her?”
You crossed your arms. “I don’t know, maybe fuck her behind thickets,” you said, your voice low and laced with a sweetness you didn’t feel. “You’re good at that.”
A low hiss escaped him. Once again, he’s vibrating with anger and since you have shooed the heavy clouds looming over your head away, you’re now able to relish in his frustration. “I have only ever been with you. I have never slept with other women—”
“Yet,” you cut him off.
His eyes flared. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for it to happen because it won’t,“ his large hand touched your forearm, light as a feather, sending goosebumps prickling across your skin. “You are the only one…” He trailed off, his fingers moving up your arm softly, tracing a path that ignited a different kind of heat, warring with your anger.
“Yeah,” you scoffed, pulling your arm from his touch. “The easiest girl in the clan. The most convenient hole for your frustrations—”
“Do not say that!” His voice came out hard and tight. His eyes, usually a calming gold, now burned with an intensity that made your breath catch.
You met his gaze, refusing to back down. “I wonder why, Neteyam? Can’t they make your cock as hard as I can?”
"Is that what you think this is? You think I come to you because you’re easy? Because you're convenient?"
Even the words sound ridiculous to you. He is Neteyam, everyone knows he could have anyone he wants without lifting a finger. Surely, if there were a race to see who could shed their loincloth the fastest for him, you definitely wouldn't be placing first, yet here he is, standing in front of you. You pushed these thoughts at the back of your mind, though, keeping hold of your anger.
"Isn't it?" you shot back, stepping into his space, your chest nearly brushing his. "You get everything you want from me. You get the release, you get the secrecy, and then you get to walk away and be the honorable warrior everyone expects you to be. Meanwhile, I'm just the girl who knows exactly how loud the Golden Son can groan when he loses control."
Neteyam’s jaw clench, ears pulled back, and his tail lashed behind him with the violent whip-crack of a predator pushed to its limit. "Stop," he warned.
"Why? Does the truth make you uncomfortable?" You let out a mocking laugh, poking a finger hard into the center of his chest. "Here’s your no complications, Neteyam. I’m giving it to you. So, I don’t understand why you are being territorial where there are no territories to stake your claim. We want pleasure and we get pleasure, from anyone—”
A primal sound escaped his throat, something between a snarl and a groan. His hands clamped around your waist, pulling you against him. “If you want pleasure, I will give it to you. Don't you dare say you can find this anywhere else. No other man can make you come apart the way I do."
You pushed him away, but he didn't budge, which is not surprising because it was a reluctant push. You felt his hand moved further south until it reached your ass. He lifted you easily and you pushed at him, but still wrapped your legs around his waist, your inner thighs squeezing his hips. In frantic movements, he carried you a few steps behind an alcove that hides you two from view, your back hitting the bark of an ancient column. Your loincloth was already riding high, his insistent hard-on grinding against your wetness, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.
He lowered his head down and for a moment you thought he’d go for your neck but he was aiming for you lips! You were able to move your head to the side, his lips landing inches away from your mouth. He hissed and you hissed back, his eyes met yours before his head dropped to your neck, his teeth scraping over your skin, a possessive bite that made you gasp.
“You are mine,” he rasped against your neck, his words hot, his tongue tracing the delicate curve of your neck up to yours ear. “Only mine.”
Your hips bucked against his, a silent challenge. “I’m not."
He pulled back, his eyes blazing, a dangerous glint in their depths. He merely put his loincloth aside, pulling his already aroused cock before his fingers, calloused and strong, moved the crotch of your own. A deep groan vibrated in his chest when he found you already wet, his fingers sliding across your folds.
“You’re so wet, baby...” he rasped, his voice thick with lust.
You rolled your eyes. “It’s almost as if my body would react this way to anyone touching me,“ you countered, your palms flat on his chest, pushing him back, when his face moved closer to yours again.
He stared at you, the air around him seemed to solidify, the anger vibrating off his skin seemed so tangible you could almost touch it. His eyes darkened with a sudden, sharp menace that made your pulse jump. You felt him hold his cock under you before easily maneuvering your body so he could rub the head against your slippery folds, a tantalizing drag that made you arch your back, your breath hitching.
“Too bad, then? Because there will be no one before me and no one after. They can try, but they won’t be successful... Unless they’re looking for an early meeting with Eywa.”
He pushed inside you in a single thrust, filling you and claiming you. You cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure, your nails digging into his shoulders. You scratched him, leaving reddened marks and you heard him chuckle. He didn’t even bother covering your mouth, uncaring about who hears you, especially when a string of moans uncontrollably escaped you as he delivers a series of punishing thrusts without waiting for you to adjust to his girth. He pulled out almost entirely, then plunged back in, a hard, deep thrust that made your head loll back against the bark, your eyes closing.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.
You opened your eyes, meeting his fierce gaze with a glare. His other arm wrapped behind you, his hand holding your nape before delivering relentless thrusts, pounding into you with a force that promised you’ll feel him between your legs tonight as you sleep. Each thrust was a declaration and a punishment, but somewhere along, a desperate plea for something. Your pussy gripped him, tight and wet, milking every inch of his cock. The wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh, your moans and his groans filled the alcove.
At some point, you’d bitten your lip to stop your moans, but he lowered his head, bending at the waist to put one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking at your nipple hard, knowing what it does to you. A guttural moan tore at your throat, your legs wrapping tighter around him, urging him to go deeper, faster.
He grabbed your hips, moving you away slightly, then slamming you back down onto his cock that earned him a louder moan from you. Your climax was building, tightening your muscles, making your vision blur. You bucked against him, desperate for release, your body screaming for more.
“Neteyam!” you cried, your voice breaking.
“Yes, baby,“ he answered, driving into you, one last, shattering thrust, and you shattered around him, a wracking orgasm that left you trembling, your body convulsing around his thick cock as you held on his shoulders. He groaned, his body tensing as he hugged you tighter to him, pushing your ass further on him as he poured himself into you, a hot, pulsing gush that filled you to overflowing.
He leaned his forehead against yours, both of you panting, sweat slicking your skin. His breath was ragged, his body still trembling. His hand rose to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, his gaze dropping to your mouth. He leaned in, his eyes searching yours, a softer, more vulnerable hunger replacing the anger. He moved to claim your lips, a slow, tentative movement, a desire for intimacy that had been forbidden for so long.
But then you turned your head, pulling away, breaking the connection. His lips brushed your cheek instead. The ache in your chest, the one that had been dulled by the raw intensity of your coupling, returned with a sharp, familiar pang. You pushed at his chest, wriggling your legs so he’d let you down and he did, gently putting your feet on the ground. He pulled out, slowly, followed by a gush of warm liquid pouring out of you and trickling down your already wet inner thighs.
“Fuck...“ his hoarse voice dragged the word, his hand shotting down to touch you there but you pushed his hand away, wiping yourself with your own woven cloth.
His hand remained frozen mid-air, watching you fix yourself as properly as you could. When you’re done, you looked up at him, patting his shoulders. “Thanks. I’ll get going,” you said, turning on your heels to walk away.
His eyes followed you, his mind still hazy with lust and desire, but the ache that was previously gripping his heart like a vine has returned with a much stronger intensity, making him catch his breath. He felt hollowed somehow, as he always were every time he leaves you behind in the past, but it has found an intensity he cannot ignore now. He fixed himself, trying to dismiss the insistent ache that threatened to burst inside him.
He had convinced himself he was going you a favor by making things uncomplicated, free of sentiments that will only hurt you both. He has a duty to the clan. One day, the council will choose a woman for him and he knew he needed to fill the role he was born to play. He was so sure he could do his duty, just as he always had, and it will only hurt you if you developed feelings for him...
It doesn’t matter if he is drowning in his feelings for you. He could handle himself. But now... Now, his own arrogance had come back as a stab on his chest, because as he thinks of you... And thinks of the duty he needed to do, of the clan, of his parents, it all paled in comparison, dwarfed by the prospect of you tethered to him forever.
Meanwhile, you left the alcove without looking back, just as you were sure he hadn’t during the times he’d left you behind. Rounding a corner back to the training grounds, you almost bumped into Lo’ak, a small group of young hunters tailing him, likely heading back from a late-day check of the perimeters.
His eyes widened a fraction, taking in your appearance. “Whoa! You good? You looked like you just ran through the entire Hallelujah Mountains range—”
You hissed at him, brushing past them. Lo’ak followed you with his gaze, tilting his head, barking a distracted order at the young hunters, his eyes still fixed on where you disappeared, and when he looked back at the alcove you vacated, he did a double take, his heart skittering when he saw his older brother, the always put-together, ready-for-anything Neteyam, stepping out of it.
His chest was heaving, his skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, and the feathers tucked into his braids were tangled. He seemed too lost in his own thoughts he didn’t even bother throwing a glance at their bunch. He remembered your disheveled state and now, his brother’s shell-shocked expression. Lo’ak’s lips parted in realization. “Oh.”
His pupils dilated, he felt like someone had turned a light on inside his head, allowing him to see things clearly. He remembered his brother’s reaction during the festival, how he had practically manhandled Savko away from you, how Neteyam has been ill-tempered for days since that, snapping at anyone who moved too slowly, yet turning silent as a yerik once you’ve entered the training grounds.
He remembered how that had not been the only time Neteyam acted out of character when it came to you. How, years ago, when you and your friends were accompanied by a couple of young boys to go out and watch the descent of hundreds of fish from the mountain stream. Neteyam had been the drill sergeant of a supposedly grueling archery drill, but he let the young trainees go an hour early, and then ask the warriors their age if they want to go and watch the stupid fish show, only to hover around you the entire time.
Or that time when you’d taken a minor scrape during a practice skirmish in the forest. Neteyam, who usually preached that a warrior must embrace pain, had left his post in the middle of a live drill, reaching you before the blood even bloomed at your scrape, his hands checking the scratch on your arm with a tremor that didn't belong on a future leader. He’d snapped at the rest of the unit for "lack of focus”, but when you got mad for blowing things out of proportion over a single scrape, Neteyam looked like a chastised child.
Later that night, as the communal fire crackled and the scent of roast and fermented fruit wine filled the air, Lo’ak observed his brother beside him on the dais, noting his lack of appetite and his eyes that seemed to always dart to where you’re sitting with your friends. Unlike his brother, you seemed to be in a good disposition and Lo’ak can’t help but chuckle at that, shaking his head.
His jaw almost dropped when he saw Savko making his way to your spot, a leaf of plate in his hand. Lo’ak subtly looked at his brother sideways, checking, and Neteyam didn’t disappoint. There seems to be a thick cloud of gloom over his head, his eyes fixed on you and Savko, his lips pulled back in a thin line.
You looked up at Savko, seeing a shy smile on his face, holding out a small, leaf plate. On it, nestled on a bed of soft petals, lay a sweet pie, its surface glistening with honeyed berries.
“For you,” he offered, his voice soft, almost hesitant.
A ripple of knowing hoots and teasing laughter erupted from your friends and you felt a blush of embarrassment creep up your neck, but you accepted the offering with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Savko. It looks delicious.”
Your friends playfully pulled him down, pushing him to sit beside you and your eyes flitted anxiously on the dais, correct in assuming that someone was watching. You quickly buried down the concern, telling yourself you shouldn’t care about what he feels. You scooted an few inches away from Savko though. It didn't feel right to sit beside another man when you can literally still feel the shape of Neteyam’s girth between your thighs, and can’t even sit properly because of the phantom feeling of his movements in you.
“I was planning to talk to you earlier... I tried helping with the arrows, but Neteyam said he got it.“
Your smile faltered a little, but you were able to stop a grimace from forming. “Ah... Yes. Well, he handled it. How was your hunt?” you asked, changing the topic.
Neteyam watched you intently, admiring how the fire seemed to dance on your face, making you look even more captivating. He knew your smiles when you’re truly happy, it reaches your eyes, and he wanted to hurl whatever he gets his hands on at the thought of Savko seeing it right now, though he never knew himself to be violent. He saw you laugh, your head tilting back when Savko said something, and your friends around you laughed as well. He saw the way Savko’s gaze lingered on your face, the attraction in them obvious. A low growl rumbled in his chest and Lo’ak jolted, clearing his throat.
“Oh, Savko was quick!” he said casually, snickering. He’s quickly piecing the puzzles together and the picture it's forming into didn’t sit right with him. His brother is obviously hiding you in the dark and if he were to decide, he thinks his brother deserves a particular punishment. “I always knew he had the hots for her, but I thought he was afraid to go and approach her, reason why I dared him, but,” he munched on a berry. “he wasn’t a coward, clearly, approaching her in public like that. I even heard his friends encouraging him to court her, but the courting season wouldn't be until a few moons so he’s got one hell of a headstart.”
Well, the courting bit was a lie, but Lo’ak felt a petty urge to twist the knife and it seemed to have done its job. Neteyam’s eyes snapped at Lo’ak, “What?”
He shrugged, relishing the way his brother’s features hardened into mask of suppressed fury. “I just heard it. I mean, look at them. I seemed to have made another pair, bro, remember Kaklen and Mana last time? They are mated now! They practically made out during my game last year—”
“Shut up, man,” Neteyam said, his chest felt like it has constricted, squeezing his lungs and not allowing him to breathe properly.
He hated how easily Savko has wormed his way into your life and even more, he hated how the hunter seemed determined to stay. The worst part was that Neteyam was powerless; any move he made to intervene would only push you further away than you already were. He’s made a huge mistake he didn’t know how to rectify, he knew something has shifted since the night of the festival, and he couldn’t even bring himself to get mad at Lo’ak for instigating it. His brother had done him a favor by prying his eyes open before it was too late.
He was the eldest son, for crying out loud. Sharing is probably the first virtue he ever learned, it was ingrained in him, a duty. But with you… It’s a different story. You are his. A truth he’d never even allowed himself to fully admit, but one that burned in his gut every time another hunter dared to look at you too long, or laugh too freely at your jokes. He’d always prided himself on his fairness, but any warrior who earned your smile, your laughter, found themselves on his list, marked for extra patrols, for arduous tasks.
And now, the burning image of Savko beside you was a bitter pill he couldn’t swallow.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You rolled over your mat, desperate to get your sleep back even as the morning sun dappled inside the small alcove that was your room. You knew it wll be impossible though, because the usual peaceful silence in your family’s hut was now replaced with the sound of a hammer hitting something and the low murmur of male voices.
You sat up with a groan, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before standing up to step out into the receiving area. Your steps were halted when you see Neteyam’s back though, his braids pulled into a careless tie, and his skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. He was standing in front one of the support beams that anchored the heavy thatch of the hut's roof, fixing what’s amiss.
Your father, standing near the beam as well, saw you and grinned. “You’re finally awake! Your friend, Neteyam, came by," your father was saying, his voice thick with gratitude. "I’ve walked past this pillar every day for three seasons. I wouldn't have noticed the wood was beginning to fray at the base if Neteyam hadn't pointed it out. The whole structure could have shifted by the next monsoon."
Neteyam didn't turn to look at you, his focus entirely on the vine lashing he was tightening with expert precision. "It is a common oversight," he replied, his voice a low, steady rumble. "The weight distributes evenly until it doesn't. Better to reinforce it now while the weather is dry."
Your mother stepped out of the cooking area, bringing out a bowl of broth, and smiling at you. “That boy has the eyes of a hawk," she whispered, leaning in so only you could hear. "Just the other day, he brought me a bundle of salt-root from his patrol. I hadn't even mentioned I was out, but apparently, Kalo has told him when he was teaching your brother how to fish.”
You seemed so out of loop. You two haven’t talked for days since your last “conversation” in the alcove at the training grounds. You still see him when you work with the young trainees, but he’s kept a respectful distance, and wasn’t actively breathing down your neck, or throwing his weight around. Granted, Savko was out for a week-long hunt and he probably doesn’t feel the need to compete, you thought cynically.
You’ve heard Kalo talk about him repeatedly, but that’s just an average day with the boy who idolizes Neteyam very much. You tilted your head. It’s not like it’s news to see Neteyam help your parents or be close to your little brother. He’s always been a people-person, always helping those who need it, so you brushed everything off as him doing his duties as future Olo’eyktan.
A few more days later, you found yourself gathered among the clan’s warriors and hunters, awaiting to hear the new task delegations. You patiently listen to Altek announcing names, his voice cutting through the low chatters. Neteyam stood far behind him among the other slightly older seasoned warriors. He’s the youngest in the bunch which is not surprising, because even then, he’s always been considered as the most skilled among his age peers so he’s most often grouped with the older ones.
You looked at him, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on a point somewhere far. He looked every bit the disciplined soldier, until your name was called.
“The eastern boundaries has registered many Mangkwan sightings in the past weeks,” Altek declared, his gaze shifting between the two of you. “Neteyam, you two will take the nightly watch there. It is a long shift, so stay sharp.”
A few hunters let out low whistles and your friends looked at you with playfully narrowed eyes. You rolled your eyes and kept your face impassive. They are looking at you as if you’ll make a move on Neteyam or perve on him while you two are alone... Your cheeks burned. They don’t even know it’s the opposite. Neteyam saw your reaction to being paired with him, feeling like this was another negative point on his imaginary scoreboard. He hadn’t manipulated anything, but he felt like it was his fault that you might feel cornered by him.
The eastern boundary was secluded, quiet, and miles away from the main village. Usually, a pairing like this with you would have sent Neteyam’s chest puffing out with a subtle, smug victory, but he’s worried about what you think.
As the group began to disperse, Neteyam looked at you, watching the infuriating Savko approach you as easily as breathing, talking to you with regret on his face. He gritted his teeth, he didn’t even notice how his lips had almost pulled back to bare his fangs. He rolled his eyes when the talk was finally over, stepping into your path, his movements careful as opposed to his usual hard and imposing stance.
“I’d have you know I didn’t ask for this,” he said abruptly, his voice laced with what sounded like nervousness.
You stopped, blinking at him in confusion. “What?”
“The pairing,” he clarified, his hands moving restlessly as if he didn't know where to put them. He wouldn't meet your eyes, looking instead at the strap of your quiver. “I want you to know, I didn't speak to Altek. I didn't manipulate the roster. I didn't... I didn't force this to happen so I could corner you.”
You shifted your weight. “Neteyam, I didn't think you did.”
“But if you want to switch places, he pressed on. “You can. I’ll tell him I’m needed at the pens. You can pair with anyone you want... even Savko, if you want...” Say you don’t, the words strained at his throat. “I’ll make sure it’s cleared, I’ll take the blame for the confusion, just... you don't have to be alone with me.”
You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing when you realized Savko had been paired with Sylweyn. The silence of the past days caught up to you. Sure, he was practically a helping ghost to your parents and coaching your brother in archery but he hadn’t spoken a word to you. He hadn’t even approached you until today, and only then to suggest you switch places so you could be with Savko. A bitter thought took root: maybe, this was just a way to be with Sylweyn, and he’s just giving you the illusion of choice. You wondered if she’d kept him companied in the past few days, and if his silence was just a prelude to an ending.
Your throat dried up. “Do you want to switch places with Savko? I’m sure he’d be thrilled,” you said, clinging to the last threads of your pride.
“No. No, I don’t,” he said, his face almost crumpling in immediate anger. Oh, of course, that jackass will be thrilled. He’ll remember to thank Altek for pairing you two together, because the mere thought of you being paired with Savko instead sent a visceral shiver down his spine.
“Then why are you asking to switch places?” you asked, your voice dropping to a cold edge.
“I want to give you a choice—”
“No one has the luxury to choose here, and you know that,“ you cut him off. “It’s a job. We go, we watch, we come back. Let's not complicate things.” you brushed past him, walking away without turning your back.
Neteyam stood frozen, the words ‘don't complicate things’ seemed to have personified itself and is now laughing at his face. It was the very phrase he had used to keep you at arm’s length, and hearing it thrown back at him felt like being gutted with his own blade.
By the time you two reached the watch-shed at the eastern boundary hours later, the air was thick with the unspoken. You two literally conducted the patrol in silence you regretted not taking his offer of switching places. Perhaps, you could use Savko’s constant rumbling to beat the silence. Instead, it was the rain’s continuous drumming against the thatched roof that does the job. Neteyam, sitting as far away as possible, was busy obsessively checking the tension on his bowstring, his movements stiff and robotic.
“You're going to snap that string if you pull it any tighter,” you said, leaning back against the wooden support beam. You started peeling a piece of fruit, your eyes fixed on him. “Or should I just do the same with my bow for when you switch places with Savko? I hear he likes his equipment.... flexible.”
His hands froze, then his head slowly lifted, his golden eyes blazing with a mixture of exhaustion and fury. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You popped a slice of fruit into your mouth, chewing slowly as you watched his jaw clench. You let the silence stretch just long enough to be agonizing before you let out a soft, airy hum.
“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied, leaning your head back against the beam with a languid grace. “I just heard things. Word travels, Neteyam. They say Savko is very... thorough with his equipment. Thorough on making sure he applies just the right amount of... weight... until the job is finished to everyone's satisfaction.” You popped another slice of the fruit into your mouth, your gaze never leaving his.
Neteyam dropped the bow. The heavy wood clattered before he crossed the small space in two strides, his shadow swallowing you whole as he loomed over you. “You're testing me,” he growled, his voice guttural and dangerous. “You’re standing there, speaking of his stupid equipment. Why do you think of it?”
You tilted your chin up, reaching out, the tip of your finger tracing the line of his collarbone. “You seem so mad for someone who was so ready to give me away this afternoon. If he’s as thorough as they say, maybe I should have taken the offer to see.“
Neteyam let out a low snarl, his restraint finally disintegrating, and you’d clapped if you weren’t trying to be so in character. You let out a teasing moan when his hand shot out, tugging the braids at the base of your head to tilt it back, while his other arm hooked under your ass. Before you could even draw a breath to taunt him again, he hoisted you up and turned to the the thick, woven sleeping mats that lined the floor of the shed. You hit the furs with a soft thud, the air huffing out of you. You tried to scramble back, but Neteyam was over you, pinning your thighs into the mat.
“Nope,” he rasped. “You are already where I want you.”
You bit your lip, the playful glint in your eyes never dimming even as his large hand grasped your wrists, but it’s when he produced a cord from somewhere that your smirk faltered a little. He pushed your upper body down, his other hand that’s holding your tied wrists together moved to bring your hands over your head, binding them to the rough wooden beam. Your breath hitched in anticipation as you watched him loom over you, his large hand parting your thighs.
“You want thorough, baby?” His caressing hand untying your loincloth from your tail. He tilted his head, “Have I not been thorough with you?” he asked, his voice both thickened and sweetened with lust.
You bit your lip, looking at him through your lashes. Both of you knew he had been more than “thorough”. He was always so insatiable, bordering on obsessive when it came to your pleasure. There had been nights when you’d reached your peak two or three times, and still, his hands won’t leave you, his body molded to yours like he can’t get enough of you. Your mouth remained clamped though, you knew the question didn’t need an answer.
He ripped the loincloth off you, his lips pulling back to bare his gritted teeth as his eyes devoured your exposed body. He untied his own loincloth away, his cock, thick and rigid, springing free. You watched it, a primal hunger twisting in your gut, making you bite your lower lip. He knelt between your legs, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you forward until the head of his cock touched your soft folds.
He angled himself but didn’t enter just yet, instead, he rubbed the tip back and forth, a torturous caress that made your hips buck. A low moan escaped you, raw and desperate. His other hand clamped under you lower thigh, spreading you wide as he pinned the other on the mat with his own. Then, with a powerful thrust, he plunged into you. Your body arched, a gasp tearing from your lips as he filled you completely, stretching you. The force of it made your wrists strain against its bounds. He then pulled back almost entirely, before slamming into you again, a relentless rhythm of hard, punishing thrusts. You closed your eyes, your head falling back as your moans filled the shed.
He squeezed your thigh. “Look at me,” he rasped, panting for air as he continuously rammed against you.
You opened your eyes, your pupils blown wide, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts, the sound of it making his skin prick with arousal. You looked at him, the fierce, unyielding warrior who was currently falling apart at the seams just for a crumb of your affection, and you arched your back, pulling against your bounds.
He lowered his head, his mouth covering your breast with a hard suck, making you moan louder than you intended. “Fuck, Neteyam... Fuck, fuck, fuck!“
“Yes, baby, it’s me,” he said, a low growl before he rose to meet your eyes, his pupils equally as blown as yours. “You’re here with me. Only I can do this to you...”
You bucked against him. “Don’t curse me,“ you countered, and you saw his eyes flare with both humor and challenge.
He pulled your hips to him as he slammed into you, making you groan in both pleasure and surprise. “Don’t even think about it, baby. The clan would hate to lose one of its hunters...“ his voice grated dangerously and you hissed, a sound that’s both thrilled and half-hearted. He let out a curt laugh, his hand moving up to knead one of your breasts teasingly. “I don’t care how kind you think he is, I’ll break his bones before he tries anything—“
“Neteyam!” If your hands hadn’t been tied, you’d have smacked his arm already.
He tilted his head, not answering you in words but with thrusts that seemed to reach deeper in you. The air grew thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Your pussy gripped him tight, crying out as your orgasm began to build. You clenched around him and he groaned, his own release close. He drove into you harder, faster, a frantic rhythm that pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed, the pleasure so intense it’s making you ache.
You heard his ragged cry, felt his body tense and then shudder as he emptied himself deep inside you. He collapsed onto you, his chest heaving, his weight a comforting pressure. He leaned down, his lips brushing your cheek, then your jaw. He tried to turn your head, to find your mouth.
“Baby, I want to kiss you…” he murmured, his voice hoarse, pleading.
You turned your face away, shaking your head. “Don’t, Neteyam,“ your voice was a whisper, laced with a familiar ache. “Let’s not go there.”
He groaned. “Why?”
“Why?” you repeated, your head snapping so you could meet his eyes. He didn’t flinch away despite knowing you'd see how wounded he looked. “You said it makes things complicated. It fools, didn’t it? Makes you think there’s more to something there’s none.” The same words he uttered in the past were bitter on your tongue, but you were glad you forced it out.
You saw his lips pull downward, his eyes tearing away from you to look anywhere but your face. He rose a little to untie the cords around your wrist and you thought of telling him to get off you but something tugged at your heartstrings, making you clamp your mouth shut. You felt his hand on your wrists and heard him groan, a deep sound emanating from his chest, his fingers caressed the reddened marks on them.
You watched him bow his head down so low his braids draped over your bare chest. His lips pressed to the marks, the warmth of his breath sending a traitorous shiver through you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words muffled against your skin. His voice carried a weight that made your chest feel even tighter. You watched him, your heart knowing the apology wasn’t just for the cord’s marks on your wrists due to the roughness of his lovemaking.
He started to shift, though, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours. His lips parted as if he were about to say something. You saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the look of regret on his face, and your face burned with shame. You didn't like what is happening, or rather, your pride can’t. What is there for him to do? Apologize? Apologize that he didn't want to kiss you? If he spoke those words, the walls you had built to survive his rejection would crumble. You couldn’t let him make you feel pathetic. You couldn’t let him know how much it had hurt you.
So, you didn't let him speak.
With a sudden, feline grace, you lunged forward, your weight catching him off guard. You tackled him back into the furs, pinning his shoulders down. You straddled his hips, looking down at him with a cocky, predatory smirk that didn't quite reach your eyes.
“Do not say sorry...” you murmured, propping a hand on his abdomen. “I like it very much.” You watched his pupils dilate, the gold of his eyes flaring even as the sadness lingered. You leaned in closer, your lips ghosting over his earlobe. “Next time... I’d like you to tie my feet down, too. I want to see how thorough you really are when I can’t move at all.”
Neteyam’s entire body went rigid beneath you. He knew what you were doing. He knew you were using his own hunger to silence him, but he was a man starving, and you were offering him a feast. Whatever grand apology or confession he had prepared died in his throat, replaced by a low, helpless groan.
His arms, still trembling from the effort of his restraint, slowly wrapped around your waist. He pulled you down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, kissing it softly. For a moment, he even imagined himself kissing your lips while he did, and he didn’t feel shame or pity for himself at all; instead, he felt a surge of determination.
“You’re going to be the end of me,” he rasped, his grip tightening.
The following days bled into each other, punctuated by disciplined and professional silence during the days and a ritual of intense physical heat at night, mingled with Neteyam’s desperate, sneaky attempts to cross the bridge of the gap you built between you two. You are with him in each of those heated nights yet you seemed so far away.
You heard Neteyam’s final, ragged groan against your skin before he went still, his forehead resting against the crook of your shoulder, his lips sucking on your breast. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the streaks of white that marred your vision, his hand caressed your thigh before he pulled out with a familiar wet pop. You opened your eyes, seeing him lowering his head to kiss the hollow of your neck.
But with a deliberate movement, you rolled out from under him. Your skin was slick with sweat, sprawling out on the furs, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. A small, triumphant smile played on your lips, a lingering trace of the lust. You let your head fall back, arching your back slightly to stretch. The movement offered him a perfect, unobstructed view of your neck, mapped by the traces of his possessiveness, blooming with bruises where he had marked you.
Neteyam propped himself up on one elbow, treating himself to your beauty, his eyes caressing your features, feeling the familiar kicks of his heart against his ribcage. He reached out, his large hand finding your soft breast, groaning sotfly as he kneaded the flesh with a slow, rhythmic pressure that made your breath hitch.
You let out a husky chuckle, your hand flicked his hand away, but you didn’t move to cover yourself. “Let me breathe for a few more minutes, you thirsty beast,” you murmured, your voice still raspy. “There’s something I want to do... but I need my lungs to calm down first.”
Neteyam didn't say anything, only looking at you with a curious tilt of his head. He sat up, reaching into the shadows of the shed where his gear was stowed. You watched him with pursed lips, admiring his broad form that seemed all filled out with muscles and strength, and when he turned back, he was holding a familiar wooden board with deep, smoothed-out divots, and a small pouch that clinked with the sound of stones. You lifted your head excitedly.
He smiled. “You remembered,” he said, setting the Mancala board down on the furs.
Your smile grew wider, the cocky mask you’d been wearing all night finally slipping. You sat up abruptly, your hands hovering over the carved wood and your legs parted, completely unbothered by your nakedness. “You... where did you get this? I haven't seen this board in years.”
A genuine spark of excitement lit up your face, a ghost of the girl obsessed with playing this when you were teenagers. “I borrowed it from Norm,” he explained, his voice softening as he watched your reaction. He began to pour the stones into the pits. “I remembered how you used to cheat. I figured if we’re going to be stuck here, I might as well give you a chance to lose fairly for once.”
“Cheat?” You gasped, a playful glint returning to your eyes as you snatched a handful of stones. “I never cheated. I was just faster at counting!”
Neteyam laughed, one that didn't have a trace of the week's tension in it.
“Prove it then,” he challenged, gesturing to the board.
You leaned forward excitedly, your braids falling over your shoulders, the physical activity you said you wanted to do all forgotten. Neteyam watched you, watched the way your eyes lit up when you made a good move, the way you bit your lip in concentration, and the way you laughed when you caught him trying to sneak an extra stone into his home pit. He knows know, with a clearer certainty, what he already knows then.
He is irrevocably in love with you. He loves you so much the emotions in his heart seemed to always threatened to burst.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You stumbled out of your sleeping alcove, the rays of the sun piercing the hometree’s canopy have made it inside your family's hut in golden slits. You were so thirsty and your eyes won’t even open from the exhaustion of the night's patrol.
You reached for a waterksin, but the sounds of someone working caught your attention. You blinked toward the far window, and there was Neteyam, too focused on reinforcing the frame. He looked entirely too awake for a man who had spent half the night watching the boundary and the other half... well, with you.
“Neteyam?” you rasped, rubbing your eyes. “What are you doing? My parents aren't here.” You heard them talking about the newborm baby the other moon, and how today is her first ever tsaheylu at the Tree of Souls so they definitely went.
“I know," he said. “Kalo mentioned the window was sticking. Figured I’d get it done while it was quiet.”
Oh, little Kalo... Who does he think Neteyam is? The clan’s carpenter? You shook your head. “You need to get some rest,” you scolded, leaning against the support post. “You’ve been awake almost the entire night. I'm practically a ghost right now, and you’re over here playing carpenter."
Neteyam leaned back against the frame, his golden eyes scanning your tired face. “Ah, yes... I suppose I could get some rest.”
“So then, go home and sleep,” you said.
“But it's such a long walk...“ he sighed, his voice a mock-weary tone that was purely for show.
You looked at him, completely unimpressed. “It’s not, Neteyam. I could literally walk you there right now. Don't be dramatic.”
He pushed his lips forward in a small pout, his gaze drifting past you to the beaded curtains of your private area. “I’ve never seen what your room looks like...”
You rolled your eyes, a tired chuckle escaping you. “It’s a room. Not as big as yours.”
“Can I see?”
“You are twenty-three years old, Neteyam,” you said, shaking your head. “This is the tactic of a fifteen-year-old trying to sneak a peek at a girl's trinkets.”
His eyes widened in genuine offense. “I have never done this at fifteen!”
“Whatever,” you muttered, a smirk playing on your lips to hide the heat in your cheeks. “Fine. Come and see. For thirty seconds only.”
He followed you eagerly and as he stepped into your space, he seemed to go quiet. He did look at the small trinkets, desperate to see what you liked to keep. His head tilted, seeing the carved shell he had given you when he came back from a vacation from Awa’atlu. The purple feather he got from the Hallelujah Mountains during his Iknimaya. The smooth river stones he had given you through the years. There were many others there, too, but the fact that you kept everything he gave you made him want to envelope you in a tight embrace.
He stretched, letting out a genuine yawn. “I could really get comfortable here...”
“What’s next, mighty warrior?” you teased, gesturing toward your sleeping mat. “Want to see how soft my mat is?”
“Well, since you asked...”
Before you could protest, he tested the softness with his weight, then flopped down, letting out another deep yawn. You meant to tell him to get up, but you felt the urge to yawn too, your body finally surrendering to the lack of sleep. His hand pulled yoursz tugging you down.
“Fine,” you grumbled, lying down beside him because you were simply too tired to argue. “Just for a minute.”
Neteyam grinned. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back against his chest. You let out a contented sigh, the familiar comfort of his heat making your eyelids droop. You curled into him, and within minutes, you were both deeply asleep.
Hours passed and it was well past noon when the sound of voices drifted into the hut. Your mother was in high spirits, walking in with a few of her friends, her arms full of supplies.
“And then he gave me these tea roots,” your mother was saying, her voice brimming with pride. “Neteyam is such a thoughtful boy. I must have my girl talk to him and find out exactly where he found these; they have the most wonderful scent,” she stopped near the entrance to your alcove, calling your name. “Are you still asleep? I wanted to show you—” she pulled back the flap, and the words died in her throat. Her breath caught as she stared at the scene.
There, on the mat, was a very large blue figure. Neteyam was fast asleep, his face nestled deeply into the curve of your neck and chest, his arms locked around you in a way that looked entirely too natural and comfortable, while you were curled into him like a missing puzzle piece.
The tea roots slipped from her fingers. “Oh, Great Mother...” she whispered, her eyes wide with horror as she dropped the flap back into place.
A few more hours later, you finally emerged from your room, faintly remembering Neteyam kissing your shoulder and saying good bye an hour ago. Your mother sat by the hearth, her posture stiff as she pointedly sorted the tea roots Neteyam had given her.
“He left an hour ago,” she said. “Looking like a caught hexapede trying to find an escape.”
You felt your face heat up. “He was fixing the window, Ma. We were both exhausted from the patrol. It wasn't...”
Your mother finally met your eyes with a look of pure maternal scrutiny. “There is a certain way a man holds a woman, daughter. He wasn't just tired,” she said. “Are you two engaging in—”
“Mother!” you panicked. "We're just working together.”
Your mother stared at you knowingly, her eyes full of wisdom. She worries for you, she worries how she knows nothing of what’s going on, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but trust you. And trust what she sees in Neteyam.
A few days later, the communal dinner was filled with the sounds of low chatter and the crackling of fire. Neteyam moved through the crowd with his usual effortless grace, his eyes already finding you, and as he passed the spot where you sat with your friends, he casually leaned down, handing you a fresh, steam-wrapped leaf. You raised a brow and he mirrored your look.
“Eat,“ he said, the playful glint in his eyes too meaningful not to catch. Oh, it would be a long night, huh? You took it with a smirk, watching him walk to the dais where his family sits.
"Well, well," one of your friends teased, poking your shoulder with a grin. "Neteyam seems very concerned with your appetite lately."
You rolled your eyes playfully, unwrapping the leaf and taking a satisfied bite. "Oh, he owes me," you said loudly enough for the surrounding hunters to hear. "I saved him from a nantang during the patrol last night. It was about to bite his ass! I couldn't let the future Olo'eyktan walk around with a missing cheek, could I?"
The table erupted in laughter. From the dais, Neteyam’s ears twitched. He didn't look over, but a small, private smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Beside him, Lo’ak let out a sharp, knowing clear of his throat, choosing to avoid making a comment.
Later that night, the watch-shed differed from the sounds of the communal clearing. Here, the only sounds that could be heard were Neteyam’s deep groans and the wet sounds of your mouth working over his cock. His head was thrown back, his eyes watching you, his fingers tangled in the soft furs. He was quivering, his muscles twitching. You drove your mouth further onto him, your throat working to accommodate his size.
"Fuck..." he gasped, his voice broken. He reached down, his large hand trembling as he weakly tried to push your shoulders back, not meaning to stop you, but to lessen the sensation that was so intense he felt like he was going to come apart.
You didn't move. You leaned into him, swallowing more of him as you looked up through your lashes, a smirk playing in your eyes even as your mouth was full. You pulled back just enough to lick the length of him, your tongue swirling around the wide, sensitive head before your hand wrapped firmly around his girth.
“Don’t push,” you whispered, your voice thick with warning. “You’re doing so good for me. Take it...”
Neteyam let out a shaky, defeated breath, his hands falling. “Alright...”
He was powerless as you swallowed him again. You were relentless, driven by a desire to see him completely undone. You played with him until the shed was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing. By the time he hit his peak for the fifth time that night, his body went totally slack. His cock felt agonizingly sensitive, with electric jolt vibrating through his loins, while your own jaw ached from the effort, your tongue feeling like it had been permanently embedded with the taste of him.
Neteyam let his forearm fall over his eyes, hiding the raw vulnerability on his face. He was exhausted. Physically drained from a day of helping your father repair the heavy thatching of your family's hut. He heard a soft giggle and felt the familiar, warm slide of your tongue circling the head of his cock once more. He let out a low, pathetic groan and heard you laugh again.
You looked at his tired form, thinking of how hard he’d worked today just to earn a shred of your father’s respect. He needed to relax, to sleep, but the sight of him so helpless under you was too tempting. You leaned down again, determined to give him one more high.
The next nights were different, like this one. You two were sitting on the mat or furs that had been your bed from the past moons, still flushed and sweaty, both greedily biting into your slices of pie Neteyam had produced from his pack. It surprised you to know he had made it himself, it was overly sweet, just how you like it, and perfectly made. You moaned around a mouthful, savoring the crust. You couldn't remember him ever being a baker, but this was flawless.
In truth, Neteyam had spent the last weeks obsessing over making pie, forcing Lo’ak to act as a test subject for every burnt or soggy failure until his brother had threatened to tell Jake just to make the "torture" stop.
“This is... incredible,” you said, a thick drop of honey escaping the pie and sliding down your bare chest. You were too busy to care about the mess, and didn’t even see the way Neteyam’s throat bobbed as he watched you, his own slice forgotten in his hand.
As you leaned back to adjust your position, another drop found its way lower in the sensitive crevice near your thigh. You let out a soft chuckle, spreading your legs slightly in a deliberate move to scoop the honey with a finger and bring it to your lips.
The sound that left Neteyam’s throat made you chuckle, but his large, calloused hand clamped onto your thigh, pinning your leg in place so you couldn't close them. “Don't,” he rasped, his voice thick with hunger.
You bit your lip, watching him through half-lidded eyes. Your pussy still felt sore from the hours of attention he’d paid them earlier, but when saw him eye it with a desperate intensity, it’s all forgotten. Deliberately, you tilted the pie, letting a slow stream of honey fall directly onto your center. Neteyam closed his eyes momentarily, groaning before he set his food aside with a trembling hand and moved between your legs, his eyes locked on the golden sheen against your folds. He held your hips, moving it so it could face him properly, and then his head dipped low, his mouth immediately sucking the honey off, cleaning it with his tongue.
He nipped at your clit and you moaned, arching your back and squeezing a breast. He maneuvered your hips again, flipping you with effortless strength until you were on all fours, your back arched and your chest low to the furs. “Oh!” you moaned, your body vibrating with impossible excitement.
You felt him drop another glob of honey on your slit, biting your lip as the thick stream covered you. Neteyam licked the side of your pussy, before it lay flat on your clit, licking the honey from you with a focused reverence, his hands gripping your waist so hard his knuckles were white. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing in the small space, your tail giving a frantic, snapping flick that told him just how good you felt.
He didn't stop until every trace of sweetness was replaced by the salt of your tiny releases. But just as you felt the peak approaching, he pulled back, his fingers taking over to fondle your clit. Your arms buckled, your elbows hitting the mats as you mewled into the furs. “Fuck, Neteyam!“
He didn't give you time to recover. You felt the heavy, blunt head of his cock knocking at you tight hole, and then he was sliding in, filling you with a single, relentless thrust. He fucked you from behind, his fingers never leaving your clit, flicking and circling until you were a crying, breathless mess. You reached a high so intense it felt like your nerves were on fire. Neteyam continued to chase his, pulling you up to press your back flush against his chest, one arm wrapped like a iron around your shoulders to keep you upright as he continued to hammer into you.
“Neteyam. Shit... please... it's too much,“ you sobbed, your body bouncing with each of his thrusts. You had a safe word, but the thought of using it didn't even cross your mind. You wanted to be destroyed by this. "Neteyam, please... Too much. Oh! So... good...”
He pressed his face into the side of your neck, his fangs grazing your skin as he sucked and licked his way up to your cheek. “Just a little more, baby... stay with me,” he grated out, his voice sounding like it was being torn from his chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck...” Neteyam groaned.
You mewled, your hips bucking from overstimulation, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder, your lips parted, your breath coming in shallow against his ear. Neteyam turned his head, his gaze catching your parted lips, your eyes closed. He felt the urge to kiss you so strongly it was a physical pain in his chest. So, he leaned in, listening to what his heart wants.
When his lips met yours, he felt his heart soar. He expected you to flinch, to turn away, to push him back. Instead, he felt your hand reach up to cup his jaw, your fingers trembling as you pulled him closer, kissing him back with a hunger that matched his own. Neteyam’s thrusts literally staggered. He felt weak at the knees, his balance faltering as the softness of your lips overwhelmed him. This might just be what it feels like to kiss a cloud, perfect and terrifyingly real.
He moaned into your mouth, his tongue seeking yours, deepening the contact until he felt a fresh, sharp heat behind his navel. His entire body shuddered as he finally found his own release, spilling deep inside you from his shallow thrusts, triggered purely by the overwhelming sensation of kissing you.
When he finally pulled back a fraction, his eyes were shining with a raw, unfiltered joy you hadn't seen since you were children. His hands cupped your face as if you were the most fragile thing. “Baby... that was better than all of my fantasies,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Please, let me kiss you again. Please.”
You didn't say a word. You simply looked up at him, your eyes softening for the first time in what felt like eternity. When he leaned in again, you met him halfway, and he groaned when your lips met. He pulled out of you, gently maneuvering you down until you were both lying on the furs, tangled in a mess of limbs. The rules were gone. There was only your forgotten pies, the smell of honey, and the two of you, finally kissing like there was no tomorrow.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The sun’s heat found you on the training grounds as you and a few hunters guided the younger ones in archery. You were busy giving instructions, with Savko hovering near you, casually talking to you about random stuff that isn’t even registering properly, when Sylweyn and her friends sauntered over.
“Hello, sister,” she greeted, smiling playfully as she eyed Savko. “You two have gotten really close. Is he courting you?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
“No,“ you shook your head, your forehead creased.
She grinned. “Oh, not yet,” she nodded. “It’s a waste of time, really. Everyone can see Savko is practically tripping over himself to court you. I don’t know what’s taking so long.”
You pushed your lips forward. You’re just glad Savko isn’t saying anything, for you probably wouldn’t know how to reject him.
Sylweyn looked at you, her eyes mischievous. “Sister, what do you think about switching places? It would be easier for everyone. I’ll take the eastern boundary with Neteyam, and you can take the river with Savko. I’ve been waiting to see where that kiss we shared moons ago would lead anyway.” she looked at you earnestly, completely unaware that the Golden Son she had been mooning over spent his nights marking your skin.
The surrounding hunters began to whistle and hoot. One of them laughed, “Doesn’t that sound too eager, Sylweyn? If the man wanted you, he would have come to you by now.”
Sylweyn didn't even flinch. She tossed her braids back, her eyes bright. “I have no issue making the first move. Closed mouths don’t get fed... and I’m sure Neteyam has so much to feed me.” She turned back to you, grinning. “So, sister, will you switch places with me?"
The peer pressure was thick. “I guess you ought to ask Neteyam,” you said. “I mean, I have no issue working with Savko.”
Savko beamed at the comment, and Sylweyn clapped her hands. “Perfect! I can't imagine how bored you and Neteyam must be out there. Really, sister, I admire your strength... if I were there in the dark with him, I would probably jump him!”
Everyone laughed at her words, even you can’t help but laugh but it all died down instantly when Neteyam arrived, fresh from the council meeting, his stride carrying a natural, heavy authority that made the younger hunters snap to attention. Sylweyn’s friends didn't miss a beat, playfully shoving her toward him.
Sylweyn wasn’t even ashamed or scared, she stood her ground in front of him. “Neteyam,“ she cleared her throat. “we were just discussing the patrols. Y/N said she has no issue switching places. As you can see, she wants to be with Savko, too. It makes more sense, doesn't it?”
The temperature seemed to drop and Neteyam’s sharp, golden eyes locked onto yours, then flicked slowly... almost dangerously to Savko, who was still standing a little too close to you. "She said that?" he asked. His voice was low, making the fine hairs on your arms stand up.
Sylweyn nodded excitedly, oblivious to the storm brewing behind his calm mask. Neteyam turned his full gaze back to you, his eyes narrowed. You know him too well to know that he was angry.
“No,” he told Sylweyn. “No switching places allowed for everyone. We are warriors, not children playing games of preference. No one must desire to disrupt a natural order for their personal whims. The assignments were made for efficiency, not for... social convenience." He walked closer to you, his presence looming and cold. "If we begin choosing partners based on who we wish to ’court,’ our discipline fails. The current arrangement stands,” he said, his voice so commanding even the young hunters who didn’t even have posts yet began nodding.
He turned on his heel and walked away without a second glance. Sylweyn looked stunned, her friends whispering about how “strict” he had become. You, however, had to bite your lip and look at the ground to stifle a smile. You suddenly felt hot, fighting the urge to follow his back with your gaze. He’s such a hypocrite... Using that commander voice to keep you all to himself. It was almost as intoxicating as your nights in the shed.
Later that night, you did your patrol with him in complete silence. He answers what you say with grunts and nods, moving stiffly, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, but he was practically vibrating with unspent energy. You tease him with touches here and there. A fingertip trailing on his muscled arm, a hand on his abdomen or shoulderblades, but he didn't move away or told you to stop. He just lets out a sharp, hitching breath through his nose, welcoming your touches even as he tried to maintain his "angry" silence.
“You’re still brooding,“ you said, as you walked inside the watch-shed, leaning against the support beam with a knowing smirk. “What’s there to be mad about, really? It’s not like you’d actually let it happen...”
Neteyam eyed you sharply. “You told them you want to be with Savko,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
“No, I didn't,” you countered, stepping toward him, enjoying the way his pupils flared. “I said I had no issue working with him. Sylweyn was the one asking to switch places so she could be with you. What was I supposed to do? Lay my claim on you in front of them? I told her she should ask you."
Neteyam closed the distance between you in two strides, his hands gripping your arm. “You should have,” he said. “You should have told her I am spoken for. That I am yours as much as you are mine. If anyone asked of me the same thing, I would have broken a man’s nose.”
You let out a soft laugh, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re so hot when you’re jealous and angry,“ you said in a breathy voice, tiptoeing a little to press a kiss on his lips, your other hand untying your loincloth around your tail. “It makes my loincloth come off.“ You swiped a lick on his lips when your loincloth pooled at your feet.
He groaned, his hand cupping your jaw to kiss you. One of his hands lifted your thigh and the other came down to circle around your back, lifting you up. You easily wrapped your legs around him, your bare pussy coming in contact with his lower abdomen before he kneeled on the furs, putting you down on it, his hands coming up to cage your head. The softness in his kiss made you think it would be slow and gentle tonight, but when you felt the familiar cords wrapping around your wrist, you shivered in his kiss.
He lifted his body, kneeling straight between your legs before grabbing your ankle, tying the same cord tie on your wrist. Your lips parted and his dark eyes snapped up to meet yours, his hand taking your other wrist to tie a cord around it, too. You bit your lip, raising your free ankle and pressing your foot in his chest to give it to him. He grabbed it, tying the cord’s end around it, and once it’s over, you’re all spread like an ikran on flight for him.
“Strip,” you ordered, your toes trying to reach for his loincloth but you can’t.
He reached for the ties himself, his other hand pushing away the feathers that covered your breasts to fondle them. He shed his loincloth off and your breath hitched in excitement. He lowered himself again to kiss you, so soft and gentle, making you groan and bite at his lower lip.
“Ow!“ he said in a small, but deep voice, huffing a laugh at you. His pupils were so blown they nearly swallowed the gold of his irises. “You’re a menace,” he murmured, his tongue tracing the part of his bottom lip where you'd bitten him.
Without another word, his large hands found your thighs, pushing them even wider against the tension of the cords. The cords bit into your wrists and ankles, forcing you to remain open and exposed as he settled between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his chest heaving. Then, he drove home.
The first thrust was deep, a claim so possessive it knocked the breath from your lungs. You let out a jagged gasp, your hands tugging at the cords but it only brought your ankles up, spreading you wider.
He didn't give you time to adjust, immediately delivering relentless, punishing thrusts, rough and unapologetic, driven by the jealousy he felt from the training grounds. Each time he hit deep, your tail gave a snapping flick against the furs, your body arching instinctively, but the cords held you fast, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Yet, even as he reclaimed you with such an intensity, he leaned down to capture your mouth in a kiss that was so devastatingly sweet. His tongue swirled with yours in a slow dance, his lips soft and lingering. You smiled against his lips, wishing you could cup his face and kiss him harder.
“You’re doing it again," you said breathlessly. “Fucking me like you want to break me... But your kiss is so sweet. Is this my discipline?”
He didn't answer, only gripping your hips harder, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his thrusts sped up. You were turned into a crying, moaning mess, overstimulated by the fact that you can’t move your limbs and the overwhelming power of his movements above you. When he finally shattered, his body shuddered as he emptied himself into you, his forehead dropping to rest against yours.
His lips touched yours softly. “Fuck, I love you so much...” he said in a groan so deep and guttural your clouded mind almost didn’t catch it.
He peppered your jaw down to your neck with soft kisses before moving with careful gentleness to untie the cords. He chuckled breathily when he heard your soft sigh following your freedom, gathering you into his arms, his large hands trembling as he massaged the red marks on your wrists. He brought it to his lips to kiss it, you pushed your lips forward, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“Are you sorry? Don’t be. I really liked it,“ you said in a soft voice, smiling at him.
His eyes lifted up to meet yours, soulful and deep it threatened to drown you. “I am sorry,” he whispered, his voice a broken thread.
He pressed his lips on your wrist again, then moved his face to begjn kissing every inch of your face, your neck, your chest. None of it felt sexual, each press were soft and full of apology you felt hot tears pricking your eyes. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears and raw vulnerability.
“I was so arrogant, baby...“ he started. “I told myself... That if I didn't kiss you... If I kept this ‘functional’... Then I could protect you. I thought I could shield my heart so that when the day comes for me to lead, I wouldn't be paralyzed by the thought of losing you. You are the only girl who ever stirred my heart... Even then,” he chuckled, his tears falling. You smiled, pressing a palm against his chest. “I vowed I would never let myself go there... to protect the girl I loved from the weight of my duty.”
He let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours.
“But I was wrong. I was so incredibly wrong. I fell deeper in love with you every single day, even without tasting your lips. I wanted you so much I couldn't deny myself, even as I was lying to your face. I thought arrogance was my armor, but it was just a cage.” He cupped your face, his thumb wiping away the tears you didn't realize were falling. “I don't care about all of that anymore. I don’t care about anything that will force me to live a half-life without you. The moment I claimed you, I decided who I was. I'm not just a son or a warrior. I am yours. So, please... end my misery, baby. Accept me as your mate. Please, have me...”
The weight of his words shattered your final defenses. You reached up, smacking his chest with a weak, sobbing laugh. “You idiot! You could have just told me, because I fell in love anyway... I am yours, Neteyam. I have always been.“
Neteyam let out a relieved sound, pulling you into a kiss. “I'm sorry for being so selfish,” he murmured against your mouth, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm against yours. “For hurting you. For hurting us. I love you so much. I am so in love with you.”
You nodded, burying your face in his chest, finally feeling the gap between you close for good. “I love you, Neteyam.”
The sun’s warmth was the first thing you felt against your skin that told you it was morning. But it was Neteyam’s lips pressing kisses on your kiss that woke you up, tracing up the column of your neck to your jaw. Even in the haze of sleep, you could feel the steady pulse of your kuru still connected to his, making you so attuned to what he’s feeling. He pulled you closer by the waist, his nose nuzzling into your hair with a contented hum.
“We should probably get back,” you whispered, though you made no move to get up. You snuggled into him, thinking of what’s the next step for you two. “Neteyam... What do you think about keeping this a secret for a while? Just ease them into the truth slowly.”
“What?” Neteyam’s voice was a low protest.
You lifted your head, your hand cupping his face. “The courting season is almost here. You can pretend to court me, and then we’ll ‘officially’ mate...”
“Babe, we don’t have to lie,” he insisted, his eyes searching yours. “I’ll tell my parents and the council today. I’ll face the consequences. I don't want to hide you.”
You bit your lip, nodding. “But we don’t need to tell them today, do we? We can wait a few more days...” you asked.
He looked at you and sighed, but ended up agreeing. The flight back to Hometree was swift, and as you landed, a warrior approached, informing Neteyam the council called for him immediately. His hand lingered on your waist, his fingers digging in slightly as if he couldn't bear to let go.
You smiled, gently prying his hand away. “My parents are out,” you whispered, leaning into his ear. “You can come by later… we can sleep in my room.”
Neteyam let out a low groan, hooking his finger under your chin, pulling you into a deep, bruising kiss that spoke of every plan he had for you later that night. It was cut short by a collective, sharp gasp though, making you pull away, your eyes landing on the group of returning hunters, including a wide-eyed Sylweyn and a jaw-slacked Savko, staring at you both in utter shock.
You cleared your throat, smoothing your hair. “Oh. Just remembered. Mother needed me back early,“ you moved away from Neteyam, walking the opposite way, but walking back to push Neteyam to move. “The council calls for you, Neteyam.” You gave him a playful, slightly forceful shove and walked away with your head high, leaving the hunters whispering in your wake.
In the council tent, Neteyam stood with his jaw set, ready to declare his mating regardless of the fallout, because apparently, the council has chosen a woman for him. But before he could speak, Altek stepped forward.
“I have spent a great deal of time helping the council choose the best match to ensure the strength of future leadership.”
Neteyam opened his mouth to protest, but his mother, Neytiri, caught his eye. She was smiling, a look of pure, maternal triumph on her face. “I suppose you are happy, son,” she said softly. “You always did have your eyes on her.”
“Y/N is our choice,” one of the elders concluded.
Neteyam choked on his own saliva, a surprised, breathless chuckle escaping him. The irony was almost too much to handle that he couldn’t even regain his composure, his face breaking into a massive, unstoppable grin as the elders discuss about inviting your parents to a council with Jake, Neytiri, and Mo’at.
He was the first to go when the council was over, fighting the urge to run or skip to your family’s hut, the excitement vibrating in his body an impossible energy to stop. By the time he reached your room, he found you napping, your face peaceful. He slid onto the mat beside you, pulling you into his arms.
“Baby,” he whispered as you stirred. “The council has chosen a woman for me—”
His words caught at his throat when you sat up faster than lightning, your eyes flashing. “What?! Have you told them you are a mated man?”
“Well, uh, no—”
“No?!” You recoiled, his hand tried to catch yours but you pulled away. “Who?” you demanded, your eyes wide with feral anger as though you’re ready to pounce.
“Baby, it’s you,” he chuckled, tugging you back down. “You are their choice.”
Your lips parted, the anger draining out of you made you sigh. It was replaced by a stunned silence, though, and then panic. “Oh… oh, Great Mother! What will we do? We have to follow the rites… the ceremonies… Mo’at is going to be so pissed when she learns we’ve already mated!”
Neteyam just smiled, watching you panic and ramble, your words stumbling over one another. “It will be fine. We’re already mated. The rest is just for the sake of the clan.”
He kissed your fingers and you sighed, a small smile forming on your lips, letting the tension melt away as you lowered your body to wound your arms around his neck. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, before finally settling on your lips with a kiss that felt like a permanent homecoming, his heart finally at rest knowing that every day from now on will be spent exactly where he belonged.
notes fake dating (this trope was requested <33), he falls first AND harder, yearning neteyam, reader is the sweetest girl in the world, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis neteyam offered a proposition to the most quiet girl in the clan: pretend to be his intended to make another girl jealous... but a short time into it and the lines had blurred for him. not for you, though! you’re serious about the mission, much to his frustration.
word count 14.4k
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“The moons are ripening,” Elder Peyka remarked. “The courting season will be upon us before the next great hunt. The young warriors are already preening like forest ikrans... Oh, how nice to see.”
“And the girls are no better,” another elder chuckled, tightening a string of seed beads. She turned her clouded but sharp eyes toward you. You were sitting a few paces away, your fingers flying across a loom. “Child. Look at me.”
You paused, your heart giving a small, nervous flutter as you looked up. “Yes, elder?”
“You are of age now, are you not?”
“I am,” you replied softly, your voice barely rising above the rustle of the loom.
Peyka sighed, shaking her head. “If only you would go out there and be seen, child! You have the grace of the willow, but you hide like a yerik. You are too shy for your own good. If you do not lift your head, the season will pass you by and you might actually become a spinster, weaving alone while the rest of the clan sings of mates!”
A chorus of gentle, teasing laughter erupted from the circle. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly ducked your head back down, focusing intensely on a loose thread. You let out a small, embarrassed chuckle of your own, a soft sound that barely escaped your lips.
You are painfully aware of that but you don’t know where to start. You have friends, yes, but they are not friends you hang out with outside of the weaving looms. You are almost always alone, and while other girls had found their places among the hunters, practicing their war cries or vying for the attention of the said men, you found yourself hidden in the looms to enjoy the repetitive routine of weaving.
It’s not like you were the best weaver, too. You are not the best, not the worst either, just a girl whose hands were often stained with berry dyes and whose eyes were usually cast downward. It was safer that way. When you didn't look up, you didn't have to see the way the world seemed to orbit around people who weren't you.
A few feet away, leaning against a sturdy root, Neteyam sat silently. An elder weaver was currently binding a new leather guard to his forearm, and while he appeared to be focused on it, his ears were swiveled toward the elders' conversation.
He watched you.
Neteyam knew everyone in the clan. It was his duty as the future Olo'eyktan, but as he looked at you now, he realized he has never even heard you speak. He knew your name, he knew your family, but he couldn't recall the sound of your voice until that very moment. Your shy, quiet laughter brought a warm feeling to his chest for some reason, making him take a deep breath.
His mind drifted to Ka’ani. She was the finest huntress among their peers, just like him. And he’s always thought of a partnership much like the one his parents have. His father is a great warrior and so is his mother. To be a great leader is to stand beside a fearsome woman as well... And he thinks it’s Ka’ani.
But right now, she was becoming a challenge. She’s making him look like a fool, flitting from warrior to warrior to test his patience. She wanted him to chase her until he was exhausted, and Neteyam, the proud, capable, and unaccustomed to losing firstborn of the clan’s pillars, was reaching his breaking point. He was never fond of playing, but some games need strategy, too.
Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you. You were still working, your movements steady and humble, completely unaware of the weight of his stare. A slow, calculated thought began to take root in his mind.
“Finished, Neteyam,” the weaver said, patting his arm.
“Thank you,” Neteyam murmured. He stood up, taller and broader than most men.
Instead of heading back to where the warriors were gathering, he turned his steps toward the shadows. He walked with deliberate strides stopping right in front of your loom until his shadow blocked your light. “You’re doing that wrong.”
The voice startled you so badly that the bone needle slipped. “I—what?” you stammered, finally looking up.
Neteyam was standing over you. In the flickering firelight, his bioluminescent freckles were glowing like stars. “The weave,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the basket in your lap. “It’s too tight. It will snap when it dries.”
“The ones I did last moon were fine,” you murmured. You tried to look back down, to disappear into your work as you always did. “Is there something you need?”
Instead of answering, he sat. The movement was fluid, but there was a heaviness to it, sitting so close to you that his knee brushed against yours.
“I have a proposition for you, Y/N,” he said. His voice was low, dropping into a register that felt dangerously intimate. He knows your name?
You blinked, your insecurity rising up like a shield. “A proposition? Do you need help with the weaving?”
“No, no, I don’t,” he answered. “The elders speak the truth, you know,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone. “It would be a shame for you to be hidden in the dark.”
You finally looked up, your eyes wide. Neteyam wasn't looking at the fire, he was looking directly at you, and for the first time in your life, the Golden Son was smiling as if you were the only person in the clearing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathed, your voice trembling.
He leaned in just an inch closer, his amber eyes sparking with a hidden intent. “Hear my proposition... It might just solve both our problems with the coming season.”
You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You were a weaver of threads, but sitting before you was practically the weaver of destinies in this clan. You know he could alter your life and he was looking at you with a terrifying amount of focus.
“Our... problems?“ you whispered, your fingers curling tightly around the bone needle. “I don’t have problems. And I don’t think someone like you have problems, Neteyam.”
He let out a short, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if his eyes weren't so sharp. “Everyone has a role to play. Sometimes, that role becomes... suffocating. My mother is already looking at the daughters of the council. She expects a match that strengthens the line. I’m thinking of Ka’ani. She’s the finest huntress my age.”
At the mention of her name, his jaw tightened. You remembered the last time you saw the girl. She was draped over the arm of a young warrior, her laughter loud and pointed, as if it was a performance, designed to reach the ears of a certain warrior. You remembered Neteyam standing in the training grounds then and everything clicked in your head.
“She wants a chase,” Neteyam continued, silencing your thoughts. “But I do not have the time for nonsensical games. And you... The elders say you are a shadow. That you will be left behind.”
“I am fine being a shadow,” you countered, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s not complicated. I will have what comes and accept what doesn’t.”
“Shadows are lonely,” he said softly. “Be my partner. Not just for the ceremonies, but the communal meals as well. I will be with you. Let the clan see us, let them see you.”
Your heart gave a violent thud. You weren't a fool. You knew what this was. You were the girl no one would suspect he will actually notice, which made you the perfect weapon to make Ka’ani lose her mind with jealousy.
“You want me to be a decoy,” you said. “You want her to see you with me so she’ll get jealous. You want her to stop playing around.”
Neteyam didn't flinch at your bluntness. Instead, he reached out, his large hand covering yours where it rested on the loom. His skin was warm, his touch steady. “Correct. And in return, you will no longer be the girl the elders pity. You will be the woman everyone sees. When the season ends and the act is over, every hunter in this clan will finally know your name. You won't be a spinster, Y/N. I’ll make sure of that. You’ll have your pick of any man here.”
It was a cold, calculated trade. He will get the girl and you get a reputation and a way out of the shadows. He looked so sincere. You knew you should say no, you wouldn’t know how to act around him. But the thought of being someone for once, of walking through the village and not having people look through you, was a siren song you couldn't resist.
“What if I'm not a good actress?” you asked, your voice a mere breath.
Neteyam’s smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of a strategist who had just moved his final piece into place.
“Just sit by my side. I’ll do the rest.” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles.
You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. I'll do it.”
Neteyam squeezed your hand once, a seal of the contract, before standing up. He offered his hand to help you up, and when you took it, the world felt like it shifted on its axis. You were stepping out of the dark, and into a fire that you knew, eventually, would burn you to ash.
Neteyam is a meticulous director and it was very hard for you as an easily embarrassed person. Being seen isn’t even enough for him, the act had to be over the top! He wanted it to be undeniable.
“Chin up,” he whispered one afternoon. You were walking to the central clearing for the communal meal, his hand hovering over your waist. “You look like you’re walking to a funeral. Look at me. Smile.”
“It’s hard to smile when I feel like a piece of bait,” you murmured, keeping your eyes down, feeling at least a hundred eyes on you.
Neteyam let out a sharp breath. He stopped walking, maneuvering you to turn and face him. To anyone watching from a distance, it looked like a tender, private moment between lovers. Up close, his eyes were scanning the crowd, pinpointing exactly where Ka’ani was sitting with her friends.
“You agreed to this,” he reminded you, his voice low and firm. He reached out, his fingers tilting your chin upward. His touch was warm, but it lacked the softness you’d imagined his touch would have. It was the grip of a hunter holding a prized bow. “If you don't look happy, she’ll know it’s a ruse. Do you want the elders to go back to pitying you by tomorrow sun-up?”
The reminder of your own invisibility stung. You forced your lips to curve, a small, shaky smile that felt brittle. “Is this better?”
He studied your face for a beat too long, his thumb grazing your jawline. For a split second, his focus shifted from the crowd to the way your eyes searched his, but he shook it off quickly. “Better. Keep it there, hm?“
He led you toward the long tables. This was the stage. He made a show of picking out the best cuts of roasted meat for you, leaning in so close that his braids brushed against your shoulder. He was performative, ensuring the warriors nearby heard him.
“And since you’re starting a new tapestry,” he said, loud enough for Ka'ani to hear from across your table. He draped an arm over the back of your seating mat, effectively fencing you in. “I’d fly to the borders to get you fibers for it.”
You pursed your lips, lowering your head down to chuckle. “Your voice is too loud, Neteyam...“ you mumbled. “I’ll end up with busted ear drums by the time this is over.“
His own head lowered and angled toward you to catch what you’re saying, but it threw back as he let out a bark of genuine and deep laughter. You startled, your hand flying to his chest unconsciously, your head swiveling to the crowd of people who are now looking at you. You caught a glimpse of Ka’ani’s sharp eyes narrowing to slits.
The mission is working. You know it is working, you’ve seen Ka’ani’s candid reactions in the past days and it was almost comical. You don’t understand how she can let other men touch her when it was Neteyam she truly wants. It’s confusing, especially because you can see how she jealous she looks.
“You can relax, Neteyam,” you whispered, leaning toward him. “She’s gone. She stomped away five minutes ago.”
Neteyam’s posture didn't soften. He didn't pull his arm back. He took a slow sip of water, his expression unreadable. “The act doesn't stop just because the primary audience leaves, Y/N. There are other eyes. Word must travel. That is how a reputation is built.” He looked at you then, and for a moment, the strategic coldness was all there was. “Eat your food. We have a walk through the groves. People need to see us.”
The following days, and weeks, was a blur of choreographed intimacy. Neteyam was serious with his acts, he was everywhere you were. If you were gathering fibers, he was there, scouting the perimeter but always staying within your line of sight. During communal meals, he always ate with you, listening to you ramble and chuckling at everything you say.
Now that he has brought you out to light, more and more men were trying to talk to you, asking you random stuff they wouldn't even bother asking before. For them, you were almost unreachable in the past. You are too shy, too aloof, to be in the selection of girls they dare to play with.
But as the days pressed on, the meticulous director started losing his grip on the script.
The script had been clear: Neteyam would bring you into the light, and the hunters of the clan would finally notice you. It was exactly what he had promised. But as he stood on a ridge overlooking the path back to Hometree, watching you walk beside a hunter who was carrying your bundle of fibers under his arm, the air in his lungs seemed to turn to ice.
The hunter was Ki’ong, a young man known for his easy smiles and a way of speaking that reminded him of the way you speak. If he saw this moons ago, the match would have made so much sense. The gentle hunter matches your gentleness. But today, he felt only bitterness. You were laughing, the sound he wanted to bottle and bring with him on patrol to help him calm down.
Now, Ki’ong is easily basking in it, his tail twitching with a rhythmic interest that Neteyam recognized all too well for he was a man, too. His hand tightened around the grip of the bow until the wood groaned. His jaw locked. This was the trade, wasn't it? He had told you that by the time the season ended, you would have your pick of any man in the clan. So why did he feel like he wanted to shoot an arrow through the dirt at Ki’ong’s feet as a warning?
His feet moved, and by the time you reached the shadow of the massive fern near the entrance, Neteyam was already there, blocking the path, calling your name in a sharp and dangerous tone that made Ki’ong stop in his tracks.
“Neteyam!“ you said, surprised. “I thought you weren’t back from the scout yet.”
Neteyam ignored you, his amber eyes fixed entirely on the other hunter. He stepped forward, entering your personal space with a possessiveness that felt far too real to be an act. You looked around. There was no crowd and no Ka’ani at all, and this confuses you. What more, Neteyam wasn’t even looking around for the audience. He was looking only at Ki’ong’s hand, which was hovering just a bit too close to your elbow.
Ki'ong blinked, his easy smile faltering under the sheer weight of Neteyam's stare. “I saw her in the forest, Neteyam, uh... What she was carrying was heavy—”
“Thank you for that, but I’ll take it from here,” Neteyam cut him off, his voice dropping into a warning growl. He reached out, not gently, and pulled your fiber basket from the hunter.
“I'll... see you later then... Y/N,” Ki’ong said before walking away.
Neteyam’s head snapped back to Ki’ong’s retreating form, his entire body coiled like a viperwolf ready to strike at the mere mention of a later. You watched him, your confusion slowly melting into a mischievous realization. You looked around one more time, and there’s still nothing but a stray woodsprite. No Ka’ani. No prying hunters. Just a very, very grumpy warrior holding a basket of fibers as if it were a thermal detonator.
A bubble of laughter escaped you, and you poked his rigid bicep.
“Wow,” you giggled, leaning in close to peer up at his stormy face. “Neteyam, that was... incredible. The growl? The death stare? You’re getting really good at this. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were actually trying to pick a fight over my honor.”
Neteyam didn't relax. His jaw remained a hard line. “He was overstepping. He was touching you.”
“He was just helping me,” you countered, your eyes dancing with amusement. You started walking, motioning for him to follow with your basket. “But honestly, I’m impressed. You’re such a perfectionist. Even with no audience, you’re still acting the territorial suitor.”
He fell into step behind you, his tail still lashing even though he’s not speaking.
“Oh, come on,” you teased, walking backward for a few steps so you could admire his scowl. “Let’s just hope Ki’ong tells everyone about your reaction. If word gets back to Ka’ani that the great Neteyam almost bared his teeth at a hunter just for carrying my basket... well, our mission is as good as won. It’s going to make it sound so real!” You turned back around, a satisfied hum leaving your throat. “But I don’t think Ki’ong is the type to talk about stuff like that. He seemed too nice to gossip.”
“How would you know? You don’t know him,” Neteyam cut you off, his voice sharp.
You laughed again, the sound light and airy. “Maybe I just know. I can sense if people have good hearts,” you said, reaching back to give his chest a playful, comforting pat. “Come on,” you smiled, oblivious to the way his hand tightened on the basket handle until his knuckles turned pale. “Let’s bring that to the looms. You can put all that 'warrior energy' into helping me sort the threads.”
You turned on your heels and skipped ahead, feeling lighter than you had in days. Behind you, Neteyam stood for a beat longer, his eyes locked on the sway of your braids.
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You two were swimming in the river, not alone anyway, because it’s just one of your many stages. His fellow hunters and warriors were swimming in the river several paces away from the two of you, but he has since swam to a secluded bend away from their prying eyes. You don’t always swim in the river. Mostly because you don’t want to swim alone, so now, you’re enjoying everything, even the reflection of the shimmering canopy above. You kept diving for as long as you could, the act momentarily paused because he had stirred you two away from the audience. You shrieked when you felt something tiny dart on your ankle. You dove your head, swimming after the tiny fish, your hand shotting forward to catch it and you bubbled a laugh underwater when you actually caught it.
You swam to the surface, holding up the fish as you laughed, the sound of your mirth echoing off the rock walls like bells. Neteyam stared at you from where he is, leaning against a mossy boulder, his chest heaving slightly, though he had been idle the entire time. You waded toward him, bringing him the fish, but he looked so serious that your lips pushed forward instead. Neteyam gritted his teeth at the sight of your smile fading.
“You looked like the sky had fallen on you. What is it?” you asked, putting the fish back in the water and watching it dart away from you with a small smile.
“Our scout yesterday everning” he said suddenly, his voice low.
You nodded. He was late to the dinner last night... You figured there was something wrong, but you heard no news about it.
“There was a near skirmish with a violent clan. They were one of those clans whose lands were spoiled by the sky people's actions. Apparently, they’ve been looking for a place to settle in, but they are also harming non-combatant clans.”
You stopped splashing, the water settling around you. You hadn't heard about this. The elders usually kept such news quiet to avoid panic, but to know this now, and to see how burdened Neteyam was by it, you couldn't help but be bothered.
“The council expects me to be like him,” he said, staring at his reflection in the water. He didn't specify who him was and he didn’t have to. You know who he was talking about. As the firstborn of Toruk Makto, Neteyam has always lived in the shadow of a legend. “Every battle, every hunt, every word I speak... it's measured against a standard I will never reach.”
You stopped creating ripples in the waters, looking up at him. “You don’t need to be your father, Neteyam,” you said softly. “Have they considered a dialogue between the people of that clan? Perhaps... The chieftains of our neighboring clans could convene in a large council and speak with their representatives. I don’t think it needs to lead to people getting hurt when speaking would reach a much better conclusion.”
Neteyam went still, his gaze snapping from the water’s surface to your face. He watched you with an intensity he had directed to no one, but you wouldn’t know that. For a moment, the weight in his shoulders seemed to flicker, unsettled by the peaceful logic of your words.
“A dialogue,” he repeated. He had been so focused on formations, weapon readiness, and the cold calculations of a warrior that the idea of a diplomatic council felt like a sudden breath of fresh air. “Why do you think I am a warrior?” he asked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I am taught to protect. To fight.”
“You are taught to lead,” you corrected gently, lightly splashing a bit of water toward his chest. “And a leader’s first duty isn’t to fight, but to ensure peace. Your warriors will think of war, you will think of how to protect the people and the forest. The people of that clan is desperate, for sure... They lost their home, they are living like beggars. There is a reason they steal and harm the people who stop them. Have the clans thought of helping them?”
He blinked, his amber eyes searching yours as if he could find all the answers there now.
You smiled lopsidedly, “You can think of all that later though,” you said softly, reaching into the crevice of the rock wall and plucking a small, ripe fruit that hung low. His eyes watched you peel it with nimble fingers. “But right now? The water is cool, the fish are annoying, and you can rest your mind. Try being here for five minutes.”
You gave him the fruit and when he took it, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering in a way that wasn't for show. He ate it slowly, watching you as if you were a piece of the puzzle he found after a long search. The silence was warm, humming with a new, dangerous kind of energy.
“You think it could be that simple?” he asked, his voice a low vibration.
“I think you make it too hard,” you laughed, feeling a sudden surge of playfulness. You stepped back, the water splashing around your chest. “I’ll bet a week’s worth of weaving that I can reach the falls before you!”
Before he could answer, you dove, your body disappearing into the water.
Neteyam stood there for a heartbeat, stunned. He didn't check the treeline. He didn't look back toward the other hunters. He didn't think about his father's expectations or the violent clan at the border. He simply dove in after you.
He caught up to you just as you reached the white water of the falls. You surfaced, gasping for air and laughing, only to find him right there, his eyes bright with a genuine, carefree light you had never seen before. You panicked at the sight of him, though, shrieking and kicking the hand that held your ankle. He barked a laugh, deep and resonant, that even he knows he hasn't laughed that way before. He reached out again, his hand finding yours under the water, squeezing it before pulling you to him. For the first time, he wasn't holding you so people would notice. He was holding you so you wouldn't drift away.
That night, as you both walked back to the village, Neteyam’s hand stayed on your waist even after you had passed the last group of onlookers. When you saw Ka’ani appeared near the communal fire, looking particularly striking in her new top and loincloth that seemed to match the feathers in her hair, Neteyam didn't even turn his head even after you pointed it out. He was too busy listening to you describe the specific shade of teal the river turns into when the moons are at a particular shade. There's lightness in his chest that made him feel like he was flying.
Several nights later, Neteyam moved through the crowd with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there days prior. The communal dinner was buzzing with different conversations, but for him, it was merely a background, his eyes locked on your form, looking like a man who had finally found the trail home.
Earlier that afternoon, the Council had been tense. Jake and the elders focused on battle plans, on dispatching warriors to fight when necessary. Neteyam saw how the council, including him, lack the sight you have to see things differently. He didn't know where it was coming from, but his chest was puffing with full confidence on the idea you had given him, that when he spoke of dialogue, of the displaced clan’s desperation, and of communal aid rather than battles that would only end in loss, his voice was laced with certainty.
Jake had looked at his son with a mixture of surprise and pride. “That is a path well thought of, Neteyam,” he said.
“You think like a true leader of the people now, son,” Neytiri had added, her hand resting on his shoulder. “You have grown.”
Neteyam had offered them a small, humble smile. “I cannot take the credit, Mother. It was a good friend who gave me the perspective I needed,” he said.
Neytiri tilted her head. “Oh? Who is this friend?” she asked.
Neteyam had looked at his mother. It was the easiest question he’d been asked, but it strike him quite deeply that he didn’t know what to say. “Someone I... trust deeply.”
Now, standing in the glow of the fire, Neteyam didn't even pause to greet the other hunters who called out to him. He made a beeline for the corner where you sat, tucked away with your latest weaving. When you looked up, your eyes widened at the sight of the massive, genuine grin splitting his face.
“They accepted it,“ he said, dropping down beside you, his presence instantly making your corner feel warmer. “The envoys will be sent at first light. My father and the elders... actually listened. We’re calling a council of all the neighboring clans to help the displaced.”
You felt a swell of pride in your chest, your grin matching his. “See? Sometimes, you need to rest your mind and your soul, clear it until it is still water,“ you gestured in the air and be watched you with a lazy smile. “Only then can you see the path clearly.“
Neteyam’s gaze was soft, lingering on your face in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was no longer the calculated look of someone directing a performance, it was the look of someone truly seeing you. You tear your gaze away, picking at the nuts on your leaf plate.
“I have something for you,” he murmured, reaching into the small pouch at his waist. He held out his hand, palm up, revealing a mountain of perfectly ripe berries, the kind that only grow on the highest, most dangerous ledges.
You gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out for one. “Neteyam, these are rare. How did you—”
“I was scouting the upper ridges,” he lied effortlessly, though his eyes twinkled with the truth of the effort he’d put into finding them just for you. “They’re all yours. Take them.”
You popped one into your mouth, the burst of sweetness making you hum. Neteyam let out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you enjoy the small gift. He didn't even notice the silence that had fallen over the nearby tables as they all watched him dote on the girl whose voice they rarely heard.
From across the fire, Ka’ani felt the roasted meat in her mouth turn to ash. She couldn't even swallow. She had been so sure of what Neteyam wanted, sure that it was her in her strength and vitality. She was merely trying to break at his carefully cold facade, but he never did give her the satisfaction of seeing it.
But as she watched him now, she saw the way he leaned toward you, his body instinctively closing off the rest of the world to keep you in his private circle. She saw the way he laughed, unguarded, soft, and intimate. She had never seen that light in his eyes directed at her. She had never seen him look at anyone with such... peace.
Her fingers dug into the bark of her seating mat. This wasn't a game anymore. The challenge she thought she was winning had been forfeited by the man she wanted most, and the realization made her blood boil with a jealousy that was no longer a performance. As fot Neteyam, he has long forgotten to look if Ka’ani even had her eyes on them, and tonight, he had forgotten she was even there.
Days later, you were at the washing stream, submerging your fibers in the cool water. You were thinking too much of Neteyam and the ride you had on his ikran last night when he brought you to the Hallelujah Mountains, but your peace was disrupted with the presence of another. You stopped and turned around, your breath hitching when you saw Ka’ani step out from behind a massive fern.
“Ka’ani,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. You adjusted the empty leaf plate in your hands, refusing to cower.
“How does it feel?” she sneered, pacing a slow circle around you, her tail lashing behind her. “To be the little pet? To be the girl Neteyam uses to get a reaction from me? You think those smiles of his mean anything? You think that look in his eyes is real?” She let out a mocking laugh. “He’s a warrior. The future Olo’eyktan. Do you think think I don’t know what he’s doing? He wants me, and he’s using a quiet mouse like you to punish me for playing hard to get.”
You pursed your lips to stop yourself from chuckling. This is comedy to you, but you also feel guilty that she seems to be really upset. If only she weren’t being mean, you’d have advised her to go to Neteyam and talk to him properly, so that they can fix things between them.
“If you are so certain of that, Ka’ani,” you said, your voice dropping to a calm, melodic register that seemed to grate on her nerves, “then why are you talking to me?”
Ka’ani froze, her lips pulling back in a snarl.
“If you're so sure he’s yours, go to him,” you continued, stepping closer into her space, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Whine to him. Demand his attention. Tell him to come back to you. Perhaps it will do you better.”
You didn't wait for her to respond, you walked past her, maintaining your composure until you were well out of her sight. You stopped when you’re well away from her, pursing your lips. “Wah... That was a good one from me. That’s literally method acting,” you chuckled to yourself.
At the same time, Neteyam was on patrol through the high canopies of the Omatikaya lands’ borders. Patrols are usually a time of hyper-vigilance for him, he was trained to scan for the unnatural glint of obsidian or the misplaced shadow of a predator. But today, his eyes kept snagging on a bright plant. He spotted a cluster of a familiar stalk, their ribbed skin a good shade of cerulean.
Moons ago, he would have seen them as a slippery obstacle on a landing branch. Now, he found himself hovering his ikran near the cliff edge, reaching out to pluck a single stem. He rubbed the surface, watching the pigment stain his thumb.
This, he thought, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, this is the blue she said looked like the deep water in the eastern seas. He found himself wondering about every plant he passed, not for its toxicity or its strength which he is wont to do as a vigilant hunter, but for how beautiful its hidden colors would be in the eyes of a weaver he keeps thinking about. He didn’t even have names for the shades he collected, but he knew you would find them beautiful.
When he finally returned to hometree, he didn’t head for the warriors' lodge to report in. He went straight to the weaving looms. His heart doing a strange, light hop when he saw your form hunched over a weaving loom. He silently crept up behind you and leaned down to tickle the curve of your ear with the cool tip of the blue plant.
You shrieked, your shoulders jumping as you nearly dropped your bone needle. You whirled around, your eyes wide but when you saw Neteyam, standing there with that lazy, genuine grin, you glared but still laughed.
“My work will be ruined because of you,” you breathed, clutching your chest.
“I thought a weaver's hands were supposed to be steady,” he teased, his voice low, handing you the blue stalk. “I saw this on the ridge. Is it the one that turns to ink when you boil it?”
You took the plant, your fingers brushing his. “It is. I.. I'm surprised you remembered.”
“I remember everything you say,” he said, and for a second, the air between you felt thick and heavy with a truth that had nothing to do with your deal. He tore his gaze away when his cheeks burned at the realization of what he said.
Before he could lose his footing, an elder weaver called out from the circle, asking you to venture into the lower groves to find specific climbing fibers for the council’s new tapestry.
“I'll accompany you,” Neteyam said before you could even reach for your basket.
As you walked into the dappled light of the forest, your fear of the ruse ending began to fade, replaced by the sheer comfort of his presence. You started to ramble, and Neteyam, as you have discovered in the past weeks, was a good listener. He didn't interrupt, or patronize. He simply watched you with a curious, steady gaze that made you feel... heard.
“You see that?” you said one afternoon, pointing to a cluster of deep crimson berries clinging to a damp log. “Most people think they’re just for eating, but if you crush them with a bit of limestone and the sap from a yellow stalk, you get a purple that looks like the sky before the sun sets. It’s the only color that stays after the fiber is boiled.”
Neteyam leaned in, peering at the berries as if they were a new species of prey.
“And those,” you continued, stumbling over your words in your haste to explain. “If you harvest them when they’re still young, they give a gold that practically glows in the dark. I used it for the elders' ceremonial sashes last year. Everyone thought I’d traded with the reef clans for it, but it was just right here, under our feet, being stepped on.”
You laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the trees, but when you realized you were rambling, you quickly shut your mouth, touching your lips.
“Sorry. I’m talking too much,“ you gripped the basket hard.
Neteyam stopped walking. He turned to you with a genuine frown on his face. “You can talk my ears off. I’ve spent my whole life looking at the forest for threats or targets. I never realized how much I’m missing what was right in front of me.” He chuckled, a low vibration in his chest. “I found myself looking at different plants lately, wondering if it was the right kind of hue for your weaving.”
The admission was bold and he didn’t even feel shame even though he did feel his cheeks burn. He was thinking of you when you weren't together. The deal was working, but the lines were blurring so fast he doesn’t even care about the reason it began.
Weeks later, the success of the sturmbeest hunt was the reason for the thrumming of drums and chanting of the Omatikaya warriors dancing in the hometree’s communal clearing. High on the central dais, the Olo’eyktan’s voice carried over the throng as he announced the success of the council’s efforts to begin a dialogue with the displaced clan that has been disrupting the way of lives not only of the people, but that of the neighboring clans as well.
The chieftains of the other forest clans had apparently agreed to convene in a Great Council with the envoys returning with messages of unity. Neteyam stood beside you in the crowd, his shoulder brushing your arm. The rigid, perfect posture of a mighty warrior was gone, replaced by a relaxed stance he only seemed to find when he was within your orbit.
“You did it,” you whispered, grinning up at him.
Neteyam looked down at you, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “We did it,” he corrected softly. “I was ready to lead a war party until you handed me that fruit and told me to breathe. I would have missed the obvious path if you hadn't been standing there to point it out.”
You shrugged, picking a berry out of the leaf bowl he gave you. “So, what happens now?” you asked. “Now that the chieftains have agreed?”
“The next step may be the hardest,” Neteyam said, his expression turning thoughtful. “We have to send someone to the displaced clan. Not to fight, but to invite their Olo’eyktan. Someone has to show them we aren't their enemies and that we’ll help them settle and get back to their own feet.”
You looked at him, admiring the way the light caught the beads you’d given him which he had immediately put in his braids. “You should go, Neteyam.”
He blinked, looking surprised. “Me? My father will likely send an experienced diplomat, or perhaps a senior warrior.”
“No,” you insisted, stepping closer. “You’re the one who suggested it to the council. It’s a great opportunity for you to hone your diplomatic skills. You’re going to lead this people one day, and this might not be the last time a clan is desperate or angry. If you go, you’ll learn a lot.”
Neteyam went quiet, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He listened to you as if every word you spoke was important. “You really think I can do it?”
“I know you can,” you said firmly. “You have the heart for it.” You looked at your berries again, eating more of it.
The wind shifted then, kicking up a swirl of fine wood-dust from the dancefloor. You winced, your hand flying to your eye as you felt a sharp things.
“Ow—wait, something’s in my eye.”
“Don’t rub it,” Neteyam said immediately. His hands were suddenly on your face, his touch firm but incredibly gentle as he cupped your jaw. “Look at me. Keep it open.”
You looked up at him, your vision watering and blurred. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, and blew a soft, steady breath across your eye to clear the dust.
“Is that better?” he whispered, blowing another.
You chuckled as you blinked several times, your heart doing a frantic dance in your chest. “It’s just a bit of dust, Neteyam, you look so serious,” you said, smiling.
He stared at you, still not pulling away and when you didn’t move your head, he tilted his and pressed his lips to yours. It was deep, soft, and carried the weight of his yearning in the past moons. He didn’t know how long he had wanted to do that, but the softness of your lips is making him melt like candle wax.
In your belly, it felt like a hundred forest ikrans had suddenly taken flight. You felt giddy, almost lightheaded, but the thought of the deal flickered in your mind. When he pulled back just a fraction to let you breathe, your eyes pierced through him and spotted Ka’ani across the fire, her face fuming as she watched Neteyam’s back, specifically how he was bent at the waist just so he could kiss you.
“She’s looking...” you murmured against his lips, your voice a shaky mess.
Neteyam’s mind was hazy, drugged by the taste of your lips. His brows furrowed. “Who?” he asked, his voice a gravelly rumble as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands tightening on your jaw.
You closed your eyes, feeling the spark of his skin against yours. “Ka’ani...”
“And?” he responded, his nose nuzzling yours before he angled his head to kiss you more firmly. “Open up...”
“Uhm, about what? I mean, she talked to—”
Neteyam let out a low, vibrant chuckle that vibrated through your lips. “Your mouth, space cadet.”
Before you could even process what he meant, he darted his tongue out and licked at the seam of your lips. Your head reared back in genuine shock though, your eyes popping wide open.
“That was...” you sputtered, your face turning a deep, embarrassed crimson. “Why did you lick me? Neteyam!”
He barked a deep, resonant laugh, a real, belly-deep sound that made his whole frame shake. The sight of your shocked expression was too much for him. You tried to maintain your dignity, but his joy was too infectious.
“It’s a sweet gesture!” he laughed, reaching out to pull you back toward him.
“What? Like a fwampop?” you asked, but you were already giggling, the two of you leaning against each other and laughing so hard you forgot the rest of the clan was even there.
The festival fire continued to crackle, but for the rest of the night, Neteyam didn't leave your side. He followed you to the communal food pits when you offered to help the cooks, not letting you carry the heavy food trays so you just rambled about anything you could think of. Every time your hand brushed his, or you leaned in to tell him a secret about one of the dancers, he looked at you with a gaze so heavy and warm.
The next morning, the festival fog had settled over the village, but Neteyam was already awake and waiting by the weaving looms. He was standing there with a slightly large, intricately carved wooden bobbin. Something he spent days working on, but he won’t tell you that.
“Bobbin?” you asked with a huge smile when he gently handed it to you.
He shrugged nonchalantly, as if coming here early in the morning before his patrol to bring you something he had worked on for days meant nothing. “I saw you struggling with the one that kept snagging your thread,” he said. His fingers lingered on yours as you accepted it, his thumb tracing the back of your hand in a slow caress.
“Wow... This is perfect, Neteyam,” you said, beaming up at him as marveled at the craftsmanship.
He stared at you, fighting the urge to punch the air or beat up his chest as if he won a huge prize.
“You really didn't have to. Do you not have patrol?” you asked.
“I have,” he said. But he wanted to see you. Talk to you about last night, to clarify that the kiss had nothing to do with your deal.
“Alright, then. I’ll see you at lunch,” you said, your attention already focused on your new bobbin. He stood there for a few more seconds, just watching you, his ears twitching at the sound of your voice.
Later that afternoon, though, the rain began to pour while you were in the forest, the raindrops caching you near the lower groves. You tried to shield your basket of dyed fibers with your own body but just as heavy drops soaked your braids, you saw a familiar figure coming, holding a massive, broad leaf.
“Neteyam?” you uttered in surprise.
He had a boyish grin on as he held the leaf over your head. He was getting soaked, the rain slicking down his blue skin and making his muscles gleam, but he didn't seem to care. He stepped so close that his chest was almost touching your shoulder, the heat from his body acting as a shield against the chill.
“How did you even know I was here?” you asked, chuckling and pulling him close so he won’t get wet.
“I think I already know your routines,” he said, smirking playfully, though his voice was thick with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He reached out and tucked a wet strand of braid behind your ear, his touch far more lingering than it needed to be. His eyes dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to yours, as though searching for something.
You tear you gaze away. “I swear, you’re going to catch a cold! And you’re all muddy. What if Ka’ani sees you? You always have to be in character, you know?” you exclaimed, trying to push the leaf more toward his side.
Neteyam’s smile faltered for a second, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he masked it with a soft chuckle. “Right. The act.”
He guided you back toward the shelter of the Hometree, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back. As you walked, he intentionally slowed his pace, pulling you closer to avoid a puddle. When you reached the dry roots of the tree, he didn't immediately let go. He leaned down, his face close to yours.
“Do you really think I'm doing all this for the audience?” he asked, his golden eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like a plea.
Your brows furrowed, panic rising in you before laughing nervously, patting his arm and moving away into the shelter of the hometree’s canopy. “Well, you're a very dedicated actor, ‘Teyam. I have to hand it to you. Everybody believes us,” you said with a huge smile.
Neteyam went still. He stared at you, his hand still in the air, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he let out a long, slow sigh, his shoulders dropping just an inch. “I suppose I am dedicated,” he said quietly, a sad, lopsided smile touching his lips.
“I’m just glad I can help you with this. I’ve never had an actual friend, you know?” you said brightly, grabbing your basket from him. “See you at dinner? I heard they’re serving the smoked fish you like.”
Neteyam watched you walk away, your silhouette disappearing into the winding ramp. He looked down at the hand that had held the leaf, his fingers still tingling from the brief contact with your skin. “Damn it...” he whispered to the empty air. This isn’t an act anymore and he doesn’t know how to cross the threshold between the stage and the reality.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“No way! You can't move there, that's against the rules!” Lo’ak barked, leaning over the board.
“You’re not one to talk about rules!” Spider countered, reaching for your game piece to help you. “Go on, girl, take his territory. Do it!”
You laughed, your face flushed with the kind of rowdy joy you usually only heard from a distance before. You slammed your piece down, successfully “capturing” Lo’ak’s base. You turned to Spider and Lo’ak, throwing up a hand for a high-four. “Did you see that?“
Spider barked a laughter. “Tell him, ‘suck it!’”
“Suck it?” you repeated with a confused smile.
The word had barely left your lips when the air in the room seemed to shift. Neteyam, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar watching you with a soft, protective smile as he sharpen his bows suddenly went rigid. He looked at Lo’ak and Spider, who were both chuckling, explaining to you what it meant.
“Hey, don't look at us,” Lo’ak muttered, though his tail was twitching with mischief. “She’s just part of the crew now, brother. One of the guys.”
Neteyam pushed off the pillar, stepping into the circle. He ignored the snickering from Lo’ak and Kiri’s knowing smirk. “She is not one of the guys,” Neteyam hissed under his breath.
You turned to him, still grinning from your victory. “Neteyam,” you called and his ears twitched at your soft voice. “Are you angry?”
He blinked, shaking his head right away. “No, no, of course not,” he told you, his eyes softening but a flitter of reprimanding gaze to Lo’ak and Spider promised later. He had just introduced you to them more than a week ago, for Eywa’s sake, and now, they are already teaching you the wrong things!
“You're teaching her the wrong things,” Neteyam told the two later that night when you left the small kelku they created for their games.
“Brother, I think she’s enjoying just fine. I’ve seen her before, she’s usually alone. I’m sure Lo’ak and Spider are just who she needs,” Kiri said,
“Right! She’s really fun. Just yesterday, we played with squid fruit by the river and she threw a mashed handful on my face. Look, I still have stains all over!“ Spider said, pointing at his pink-stained face.
“What?” Neteyam replied, horrified, remembering the stain on your temple that he saw last night. “Just what are you two—”
Lo’ak snicked. “Bro,“ he put a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Don’t be too grumpy. You said you want her to have more friends and we are her friends now,“ he grinned.
Neteyam let out a huff, rolling his eyes. He understands this. You’d told him you have never had an actual friend and he thought he could remedy that. He’d give you everything, if he could.
A few days later, he insisted on coming with you to the forest and you agreeed, knowing you will have to pass by the training grounds where Ka’ani could be and she was indeed around, her eyes following Neteyam as if she’s waiting for him to spare her a glance but he was focused on the path ahead, oblivious or uncaring to her longing stares.
“Ka’ani was looking at you,“ you grinned up at him, nudging his side with your elbow.
You saw his brows furrowed for a moment and then his face hardened. You pushed your lips forward. You assumed it was because Ka’ani still didn’t go and talk to him. The woman is fierce warrior, she was probably too proud to see that as an option. She wants Neteyam to come to her. To her credit, you had not seen her in the company of man in the past weeks... You wondered if Neteyam has realized that.
“You know... I noticed Ka’ani has not been hanging out with guys lately? Have you noticed that?“ you asked, angling your head to look up at him as you rambled, “What if she’s just waiting for you to go and talk to her? I think that’s what she wants. She talked to me, you know? She was mad, so I think she was jealous, isn’t that great—”
“She talked to you? And she was mad?” he turned to you, his face etched with both anger and worry.
You grinned. “Yes. I can tell she was jealous—”
“Did she hurt you?”
“No, she didn’t...” you said. “She was just angry, because the act is working—”
You saw the bone in his jaw tick as if he was clenching his teeth. “Let’s not talk about her.”
Your lips pushed forward and you shrugged, listening instead to the soft crunch of dried leaves breaking beneath your feet. Neteyam fell quiet then, his tail twitching with a restlessness that told you something was weighing on him. You walked faster to match his face, pressing a palm on his chest which made him stop walking... and breathing, too.
“What’s bothering you?” you asked, standing in front of him and feeling his chest slowly deflate.
This is crazy. He has never noticed girls’ voices before, but now, they could probably use yours to cool him off. Your voice caresses him and your laugh sounds like bells in his ear. He wouldn’t have said a word if a different person had asked him, but you always have a way to make him open his mouth and just talk.
“The council... they are advising against it,” he said, his voice heavy. “They think sending me to the displaced clan as an envoy is too much risk, because they see me as a target, not a diplomat.”
Your eyes searched his face and he felt warm inside. “And what does your father say?”
He let out a frustrated sigh and your hand caressed his chest. His hand rose to catch your hand, pressing it against his lips. “He doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He just listens and only then he’ll decide. I’m worried he’ll take their advice,“ he looked at you.
You huffed a breath, patting his chest, and giving him a supportive smile. “Then remind them, Neteyam, that you are no longer a child to be shielded. At your age, your father was already Olo’eyktan. You have to learn diplomacy just as much as any other leader. It wouldn't do you any good to be a leader who is ill-equipped in the discussions of peace.”
Neteyam’s gaze softened, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he looked at you. You removed your hand but he caught it again. “Thank you... for always sharing my burden. I don't think I could have faced them today without hearing that.”
You chuckled, swinging your joined hands lightly. “Bro, it’s nothing! That’s what friends are for, as Spider says,” you beamed at him before turning back to the path ahead, missing the way his face completely dropped.
His smile faltered, and then it deadpanned. It was a total double-kill. Bro and friends in a single breath. You might as well have just shot him in the head and he would have taken it lighter. He huffed, his tail lashing once in irritation as he followed after you.
“I’m not your 'bro,'” he said, suddenly reaching forward to grab your basket from your arm.
Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you laughed at his sudden grumpiness. “Silly! We’re all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Great Mother,” you said, lightheartedly twirling as you walked, enjoying the dappled sunlight. You didn't even notice how his eyes narrowed as he watched you move through the forest with no care in the world, seemingly oblivious to how much Lo’ak and Spider were ruining his life with their vocabulary lessons.
He had reached his limit.
Before you could twirl again, Neteyam stepped toward you. He reached out, gently but firmly grabbing your arm. Your eyes widened in surprise as he guided you backward, gently pushing you against the trunk of a nearby tree. You looked up at him, your breath catching. His face was inches away from yours, his golden eyes burning with a sudden, fierce intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
“Neteyam?” you whispered, your eyes dropping to his lips before you stupidly, unconsciously licked yours.
He leaned down, and when you didn't pull away, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was deeper and more demanding than the one at the festival. He licked your lips again and you chuckled against his mouth but when his tongue darted inside yours, you made a sound that sounded so womanly it surprised even you. His tongue tangled with yours as his lips devoured yours.
Everything made you feel hot, and weirdly, tingly between your legs that you had to close your thighs together.
When he finally pulled back, his hands moved to cup your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said, his voice low and trembling.
You blinked. “Now?”
“There are things that needs to be dealt with first,“ he said, caressing your jaw. You nodded.
The thing that needed dealing was Ka’ani. He didn’t know the extent of the conversation you had with the huntress, but he knew how Ka’ani talks, and the fact tha you said she was mad solidified what he knew. You two walked back to Hometree, with him carrying your basket for you. The elders giggled at the sight of him following you around like a loyal pet, and when he left with a lingering brush of his thumb against your cheek, they nosed around and asked if the warrior was truly courting you like they kept hearing from the youth.
“No, he’s not... He’s a friend,” you said, noticing the arm band on your basket. You took it and thought perhaps Neteyam had left it there.
You followed after him, thinking he hasn’t gone far yet, but when as stood in the Hometree’s shadowed entrance, you saw him approach Ka’ani near the training grounds, your breath hitching. Ka’ani tilted her head and smirked at him, turning on her heels into the privacy of the deeper woods. You saw Neteyam follow and you tucked yourself behind a massive fern, your pulse thrumming in your ears.
In the dimmed bioluminescence of the forest, Neteyam stood in front of the huntress, seeing that Ka’ani was already smiling, a triumphant, sharp look. “No need to say sorry, Neteyam, if that’s how you’ll start your piece. Because I know,” she said. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing. You’ve used that weaver girl to make me jealous, to straighten me up. I get it, so you can drop the act now. I’ve learned my lesson. I know it’s me you want—”
“I do not want you, Ka’ani,” Neteyam’s voice cut through her arrogance like a blade. “I never even thought I wanted you. Yes, you are a strong and fierce warrior, and I once thought that was what I needed by my side for when I lead one day... but I didn’t realize just how much I needed to see and be seen.“
“And have I not seen you?” Ka’ani snarled, her tail lashing. “We trained together, Neteyam! We fought, we hunted! I was always here! You just spared that girl a glance literally like yesterday and you think she’s perfect for you—”
“You don’t know me in the ways that matter, Ka’ani,” he countered. “I’ve had more connection with a rock, and I don't know why I ever entertained the thought that I needed someone strong by my side when strength is not the only thing this clan needs.”
Ka’ani’s face contorted, her pride wounded in front of the man she wanted so much and thought wanted her, too. “We can get to know each other! I regret it, alright? I regret playing around. I’ll focus—”
“Don’t regret what you did,” Neteyam said. “I’m glad you did it, because not only did it prevent me from making a huge mistake, it also brought me to her. And now, I have the rest of my life in front of me, bright and clear as day.” He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping to a warning growl. “Have a good life, Ka’ani. And do not ever approach my woman to tell her nonsense again.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Ka’ani watching him in deep contempt. All those last words he said not to do? She will do it. Back at Hometree, you sat by your loom, your fingers trembling as you picked up a strand of gold thread. You forced a smile onto your face, practicing the words of congratulations you would give him, even as you felt like the sky was turning a purple far deeper and darker than any storm. That was probably what he was going to talk about with you...
Outside, Neteyam walked back to Hometree with a sense of purpose he’d never felt before. He headed straight for the weaving looms. Tonight, you will be his. He’d tell you the act ends here and you two will start something real. No act from here on end. No games. Just the two of you.
But he never made it to the looms.
A hunter intercepted him midway, out of breath and frantic. “Neteyam! The night patrol was ambushed by the violent clan. Two are wounded. Your father is calling for the council.”
The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous. The soft, yearning man disappeared, replaced by the disciplined warrior. He hurried to the council, standing before Jake with a firm resolve. “I’ll go,” Neteyam insisted. “Fighting would be the last thing I’ll do. I’ll talk to them, Dad. You call for the chieftains to convene and I’ll convince them to come.”
He left within the hour, riding on his ikran, but his heart was back at Hometree, in the weaving looms... He thought he’d be back by light, but he didn’t know he’d be gone for days.
You had been crying. You learned that Neteyam left for a mission regarding the displaced clan, so even though you were heartbroken, you went to the Tree of Souls to pray for his journey. Your vulnerability was too obvious as you walk back to Hometee, and in it, Ka’ani found her opening. You were so close to Hometree when she stepped out from the shadows, a satisfied smirk on her face.
“Hi,” she greeted. “I’m pretty sure you’d heard of Neteyam going to battle... Did he say good bye to you?”
You lowered your gaze and shook your head.
“Where do you think he was last night before he went to battle?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock pity. “He was with me... getting his strength from me.” She stepped closer to you to tilt your head up. “He apologized to me, weaver. For losing sight of what’s truly for him... which is me. He loves me, which I’m sure you know... And he did make me feel loved... see?”
She tilted her head back, exposing the dark hickeys on the side of her neck. To your untrained eyes, it simply looked like bruises, but you knew what you were talking about. Pain bloomed in your chest and you felt ashamed for feeling it. You’re not supposed to feel it. You knew where this is leading to, you knew it was all an act. This woman in front of you was the only reason he approached you.
Ka’ani giggled. “Neteyam was insatiable. He missed me, as you can see... and now, I’m still sore, honestly,” she sighed, looking at you with that mock pity again. “Do you get it? He’s back with me... After he strayed. I hope you can respect that?”
You blinked, your lungs feeling as though they had turned to stone. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until she turned and walked away, and you felt like you might collapse, but the sound of Spider’s familiar voice cut through the silence. He came running toward you, laughing, with Tuk trailing just behind him.
“Was that Ka’ani?” Spider asked, his smile faltering. “What did you two talk about?”
You forced yourself to blink, the world slowly coming back into focus. “Uh... nothing. What are you two doing?”
“Playing tag!” Tuk squealed, slamming into your waist and hugging you tight. You automatically reached down to ruffle her braids. “Tag! You’re it!” she shouted, tapping your belly with a giggle before darting away.
Your soul wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark corner and let the tears fall, but looking at Tuk’s bright face and Spider’s expectant grin, you couldn't bear to be the killjoy.
“Oh, you’re going to get it now!” you called out, forcing a smile as you chase after them.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Neteyam had done the impossible. He had returned not just with his warriors intact, but with the promise of a unified forest. The first pace of the Great Council’s efforts to help the displaced clan find a dwelling land, he had secured a future for the displaced and for that, he was their hero.
The clan had a small celebration for it, but as the smell of roasted meat filled the air, Neteyam’s eyes were only on the winding path toward your family’s hut. He hadn't seen you in the crowd. He hadn't seen you at the landing where he expected you would be. Waiting for him. Kiri did tell him you were sick, though, which had sent a cold spike of dread that halted his celebratory high.
He didn't wait for his father’s final toast before slipping away, feeling a worry he didn't even feel during his mission. He arrived at your family’s hut, breathless, practically vibrating with the need to pull you into his arms and tell you that he had thought of nothing but your face as he sat among the displaced.
When you emerged from the flap, he froze. You were pale and your eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the telltale signs of the days you spent in quiet agony. His brows furrowed, his feet moving before he could even think. He stopped when he saw you step back though.
“I... I’m sick,” you said when you saw the question in his eyes. You didn't look at him with the warmth he’d been dreaming of. You looked at him as if he were a threat.
He stepped toward the platform, his hand reaching out instinctively. “I know. Kiri told me. But what made you sick? Why are you crying?" His voice was thick with a worry so raw it made your chest ache. “I haven't even been gone for a week, and this is what I return to?”
You stepped back into the shadows of the hut, a sharp scowl flickering across your face. “I... I don't know why I got sick. But I do know I want to lay down and rest. So if there's nothing else, I’ll go do it.”
Before he could utter another word, you grabbed the woven flap and slammed it shut. Neteyam stood there in the silence, staring at the closed entrance. His brows furrowed, his head tilting in genuine, painful confusion. He had expected a hug, a laugh, perhaps even a repeat of that soul-searing kiss in the forest. Instead, he had been shut out like a stranger. The victory he had carried on his shoulders suddenly felt hollow. For this, he didn't return to the celebration at all. He walked back to the his family’s hut in a daze, laying awake for hours wondering what could have poisoned the air in his absence.
The next day was filled with council meetings. He sat through hours of strategy and relocation discussions, but his mind was in the looms which he would check every time there's a chance, ready to scold you for working while ill, but your spot was empty. It wasn't until the following morning that he found you. You were sitting at your spot, your movements stiff and mechanical. And it seemed like you were waiting, too, because you looked at him the moment he stepped into the looms.
“Let’s talk,” he said, his voice firm, trying to reclaim some shred of authority to hide how much his heart was racing.
You stood up, your face impassive. “We do need to talk.” you said, your voice cold and sharp.
He stopped in his tracks, staring at you for more than a minute. For the first time in his life, after facing predators, raids, and the weight of a legacy, Neteyam felt a genuine, cold prickle of fear. But as he looked at the fire in your eyes, a small, reckless part of him couldn't help but admire it. He feels crazy. You are so hot when you’re mad.
You walked into the forest, feeling even more slighted when you remembered him going in this same route with Ka’ani. You felt his hand on your elbow though, steering you toward a different path instead. You glared at him. “Where are we going?”
The sight of direhorses answered your question though. You saw some warriors riding their mounts and Neteyam whistled for his. You saw Ka’ani among the warriors nearby and saw how her eyes narrowed at the sight of you and Neteyam. Shame rose in you and you tried to wriggle away from Neteyam’s hold, especially when a warrior came jogging toward you.
“Brother, will you not watch the young tame their mounts?“ The warrior asked. “They’ll be here in five minutes.”
The warrior glanced at you and you took your elbow from Neteyam again, but you weren’t able to get away though, because his hand found your waist and pulled you to him.
“No. I got something more important to do,“ Neteyam said. “I’m sure they’ll do well.”
The warrior snickered, “Enjoy then,” he glanced at you meaningfully before nodding to Neteyam, and turning away.
Neteyam’s hand spanned your waist and lifted you up on his direhorse in under ten seconds, making you slightly shriek. He mounted the beast behind you, making tsaheylu with it before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. You tried to move away, but the direhorse had started moving, and in a second, it was running.
The wind roared past your ears as the direhorse ate up the miles, forcing you to lean back against Neteyam’s chest just to stay balanced. You enjoyed the sight during the ride, fighting the urge to move your head away when you felt him pressung a kiss to the crown of your head. You felt sad when he pulled on the reins, already missing the exhilaration of riding and the good view.
Neteyam slid off the mount first before reaching up to lift you down, his movements fluid and sure. He didn't let go immediately, his hands lingered on your waist as he looked around the clearing. He felt a surge of triumph that you hadn't jumped off and bolted, though he felt a twinge of guilt, too, because he’d brought you this far specifically so you couldn't run away.
The glade was breathtaking and it immediately snagged your attention. Under any other circumstances, you would have danced through the high grass, but the weight in your chest kept your feet heavy.
Neteyam turned to you, the light dabbing across his face. “Alright," he whispered, his jaw tightening. “Tell me. What has changed since I left?”
You scowled, the image of Ka’ani’s smug face flashing in your mind. “Are you sure things didn’t change before you left? I’m pretty sure you made up with Ka’ani, and did more than just talking.”
The accusation hit him like a physical blow that his eyes widened, his head snapping back in shock. “I did not ‘make up’ with Ka’ani. Yes, I talked to her, but I simply told her to back off. I told her never to approach you again. Did she talk of nonsense to you again?” He was practically vibrating, his tail lashing behind him.
“Yes, she did! We talked,” you threw back at him. “She showed me the hickeys on her neck, Neteyam! She said she was so sore... because you were insatiable! Because you missed her so much that you had to get your 'strength' from her before you left!”
“What?” The word was a rasp of horror. A visceral disgust washed over his features, his body shivering at the image your words painted. “I did not lay with her. I never did and I never would. Oh, Great Mother... that woman is a huge liar!”
You searched his face. You looked for a flicker of guilt or lie, a shift in his eyes, but all you saw was a man who looked genuinely nauseated by the very idea. You believe him, despite yourself and without your consent, the suffocating clouds over your head began to lighten. He stepped toward you, his hands reaching for your arms, but you crossed them over your chest, refusing to let him in just yet.
“Believe me, please,” he pleaded, his words beginning to tumble over each other in a frantic rush. “That night after we were in the forest, all I did was find her and shut down her delusions. I was so mad that she dared to talk to you, dared to get mad at you, so I told her to back off and never approach you again. I was coming back to you, baby. I was going to tell you our ruse ends there and then. I was going to beg you for a chance to make it real.”
He palmed his face , sounding completely undone.
“But then the incident with our warriors happened and I had to go... Jesus. I was so stupid. I should have gone to you before I left, but I was thinking... I was thinking I probably wouldn't be able to leave at all if you told me you’d give me a chance.”
His heart was beating too fast and to hard against his chest, watching the fire in your eyes finally die out, replaced by a soft heat. You believed him. It wasn't in your nature to stay angry when the truth felt so solid, and you knew Neteyam well enough now to know he would never play around. The fact that Ka’ani had looked so bitter earlier suddenly made sense. She hadn't won anything, she had just tried to burn down your bridge.
You bit your lip, your shoulders finally dropping. “Alright...” you whispered.
Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped into your space, gently wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest. “That’s it? ‘Alright’?” he asked, his voice soft and breathless, his face so close yours.
You pushed your lips forward in a small pout, though you didn't pull away. “I guess I believe you... I don’t think it’s in your character to lie like that.”
A wave of shame washed over you as you realized how quickly you had let Ka’ani’s poison work. You had given him so little confidence, believing a lie over the man you know to be so genuine and kind. But then, you had been protecting yourself; you were in an act, and the lines had been so blurred you didn't know where it all ended.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured “I just... I thought it was still an act. That we were still acting to get her back...”
Neteyam tightened his grip, lowering his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ve long forgotten about the deal. I think I stopped truly caring about it just a week after I started spending my days with you. I just didn't know what it was I was feeling until the thought of it ending and not being with you anymore felt more terrifying than any battle.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb caressing your cheek. “This is why you’ve been crying...”
You pushed your lips forward. You wanted to forget that part! “Let’s just forget it...”
“No, we won’t. You don’t know how much it broke me to see you cry, to see you so gray, and not know why. She hurt you, she meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice hard and his jaw tightening. “And I played a part in it. I should have talked to you, clear everything for us so you would have confidence in me. So you won’t believe her.”
You looked up at him, your hand pressing against his chest to calm him down. “It’s over and done with, Neteyam... What’s important is that we’te okay now. Right?”
He looked down at you, his head tilting. Ka’ani was lucky that you are so kind, but she wasn’t that lucky because he’s not. He leaned down to kiss you, “Right. There will be no more acts and games... Just us.”
You looked up at him, the weight finally gone, and for the first time in days, the light returned to your golden eyes. “Just us.” you beamed at him.
He sucked in a breath, pulling you and tilting your head to kiss you hard. He was a man starved and you could tell with how he's holding and kissing you. He moaned when your tongue licked his lower lip, making him pull his head back to look at you.
“It’s you I missed so much...” he mumbled, kissing you softly. “It’s you I’d be insatiable for... And you I’ll make so sore—”
“Neteyam!” your hand lifted up to clamp around his mouth and he laughed. You shrieked when you felt his warm and wet tongue lick at your palm.
“I know... I’ll court you... Then you'll accept me as your mate... And then you’re in big trouble wth me—”
You groaned, your cheeks burning purple. He kissed your cheek before angling his head to kiss you for real.
The next afternoon, the Sully siblings were in on the plan—though only Kiri truly understood the gravity of it. They had dragged you down to the river, telling you they’ll teach you how to properly splash a person without getting soaked yourself.
“Focus! You have to cup your hand like this,” Spider shouted, sending a wall of water toward a ducking Lo’ak.
You laughed, the sound genuine and bright, completely unaware that Neteyam had quietly slipped away. He had seen Ka’ani heading toward the upper trails, and he wasn't about to let another sun set without finishing this. He intercepted her near the high roots, his silhouette blocking her path. Ka’ani stopped, her smirk faltering when she saw the look on his face. He didn’t look friendly at all, not that he had look friendly the last time they talked, but the hard storm masking his face right now was the look of a man who had seen a threatening the peace.
“Neteyam,” she started, trying to reclaim her cool composure. “I thought you'd be busy with your little weaver.“
“I am busy,” Neteyam said. “I am busy realizing how wrong I was about you. I thought you were a warrior of honor, Ka’ani. I thought that even if you were proud, you were noble. But to purposely hurt a woman who did you nothing wrong? To lie about the most disgusting things just to see her cry—”
Ka’ani’s eyes narrowed, her tail lashing. “I know what I’m doing, Neteyam! You were only using her to straighten me up! I just leveled the playing field. I was reclaiming what was mine—”
“I was never yours,” he cut her off, disgust for her delusions crumpling his face. “There was nothing to reclaim, you had nothing. The life you are living is the one you actively chose. Even if we had tried before, I know I would have quickly realized it would never work, what with our lack of connection. The only thing we shared was the training grounds.”
Ka’ani winced as if he’d struck her. “I... I was just blinded, Neteyam. I was jealous! I was envious. I’m sorry, alright? I was just trying to get you back.”
Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “I wasn’t yours to get back, we had nothing to do with each other. And you’re not really sorry. At least not yet, because you didn't think of taking your words back during the days I wasn't home. You knew she was crying. You knew she was hurting from your lies, and you sat back and enjoyed it. You are only sorry now because I am standing here confronting you.”
Ka’ani opened her mouth to argue, her hands trembling, but no words came out. The truth of his gaze was too heavy to deflect.
“I hope you grow,” Neteyam said, turning on his heel.
“Neteyam, wait!” she called out, sounding frantic as he turned to walk away. “I’m sorry! I’ll go to her right now. I’ll apologize to her! Please... can we still be friends? We’ve known each other our whole lives.”
Neteyam stopped, but he didn't turn around. He looked over his shoulder, his profile sharp against the sunlight filtering through the leaves.
“We were never friends, Ka’ani. You don't see me as a friend. You see me as a prize to be won.” He took a breath, thinking of your laugh echoing by the river. “Friends don’t hurt the people you love. And that is exactly what you did to the woman I love. After that, I don’t think your wish can be possible.”
He left her standing there, the weight of her own choices finally settling on her shoulders. When he returned to the river, he saw you. You were dripping wet, laughing as Tuk tried to climb onto your back.You looked up and caught his eye, beaming at him with a warmth that made his heart feel like it was soaring home.
He didn't say a word about Ka’ani. He just waded into the water, pulled you into a lopsided embrace, and whispered into your ear, “I think it’s time I started that courting I mentioned. Properly.”
And just like that, the moons had drifted by like dust in the wind, and Neteyam had kept his word. He courted you openly and even formally asked your parents for your hand, which they initially did not want to grant him. They think your life wouldn’t be as peaceful if you mated Neteyam instead of a simple man in the clan. Honestly, your parents didn’t know what to do with him. Neteyam was so intense in his courtship to you and your family that, most times, your parents were literally hiding from him. By then, he had already brought your family the finest meat and the rarest fruits, but surprise of your parents’ lives probably came when he brought Jake and Neytiri. He wasn’t really planning to bring them along, it was just... Neytiri is apparently getting impatient over the fact that Neteyam isn’t an official suitor yet, and Jake wanted to relieve your parents of their worries over you being Neteyam’s mate.
And today, the celebration for the new village of the displaced clan felt like the culmination of everything you and Neteyam had built. It seemed so long ago when you two discussed the matter when you were swimming in the river, and now, the clan found a home by the river. The Olo’eyktan of the displaced clan stood before the grand fire. You’d met him only today, but you could already tell the respect he has for Neteyam.
“For too long, we were ghosts in this forest,” the Olo’eyktan started. “We lived like beggars, raiding for sustenance, hurting our brothers and sisters among your clans, and also fearing their spears, but a path was cleared where we saw only hopelessness. Our homes are standing here today because of Neteyam te Suli, our brother of the Omatikaya. Because of him, we have peace. Our children will know only the beauty of the forest and never the tragedy that forced us out of our lands.”
You grinned as the crowd erupted, but Neteyam tried to sink into his seat, his ears pressing back in embarrassment as his arm pulled you to him. He hated the attention, but the chieftains wouldn't have it. They pushed him to the center, where he was forced to give a piece of his mind.
He cleared his throat, his golden eyes immediately finding yours in the crowd as if to ground himself. “The peace you see today was not born in my mind,” he began, his voice steadying as he looked at you. “I am a warrior, I was ready to lead with my bow. But it was my woman who showed me the wisdom in a hand offered instead of an arrow. She gave me the strength to listen when I wanted to fight. If this land is a home today, it is because her heart guided my way.”
Neytiri turned to you and smiled as the men in the crowd roared to tease the warrior they’ve been acquainted with in the past moons. As he strode back to you, pulling you into a deep kiss of victory, a warrior from a different clan hooted from the side. “Careful, Neteyam! Keep your wits about you and don’t let her hit her head, or she might wake up and realize she could leave your ass behind!”
Neteyam let out a deep, resonant laugh, pulling you flush against his side. “I have no intention of ever letting her get far enough to find out!”
As the party reached its high, Neteyam’s eyes found yours, looking at you meaningfully, in a way that made your skin tingle. You raised a brow and he jerked his head toward the dark woods. You pushed your lips forward in a playful pout but tugged his hand anyway, leading him away from the noise and into the glowing embrace of the forest.
You skipped hand in hand, admiring the bioluminescent flora lighting your path and when you reached the secluded bend of the river, the sounds of the festival was nothing but a hum. You turned to him with a grin and, without a word, untied the ties of your beaded top. His hungry eyes followed the movement, his breath hitching as if he has not seen them for a hundred times already. You untied your loincloth next, letting it pool on the floor.
He watched you with an intensity that excited you, and when his own loincloth fell, you bit your lip, seeing of the hard-on you had become quite well-acquainted with over the past moons. The glow of the river and the forest illuminated his handsome face so perfectly your heart hammered against your chest. He is so handsome.
“Hi,” he whispered, his large arms on your waist pulling you close.
Your smile grew to a grin. “You’re silly,” you chuckled, pressing a palm against his muscled chest to gently push him back. “I’m going to swim... why are you holding me?”
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Oh, I think there are other things that need swimming, too,” he teased, his voice dropping as his hand caught yours, bringing it down so you could feel his hardened cock. “Your babies want to swim in you.”
“Neteyam!“ you called, almost swiveling your head around in case someone could hear him. You’ve learned, in the past moons, how lewd he can be with his words but your habit of looking around will probably stay for a few years more.
He angled his head to press a hard kiss against your lips. “What? Don’t you want our kids to have fun time?”
You laughed, the sound like bells in his ears. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “Am I in big trouble again?” you whispered against his ear.
He groaned. “You’re always going to be in big trouble with me if I had my way.”
You smirked, tilting your head. “I want to take care of you tonight...” you mumbled, your hand on his chest caressing his skin and pushing him back.
He raised a brow, always surprised still whenever you show him fire. You pulled him down to kiss him, your lips crashing into his with a hunger that made him vibrate in excitement. He let you push him back against the trunk of a towering tree, letting out a gravelly groan when his head thumped back against the bark.
His hands gripped your waist, pulling you so flush against him that the ridge of his hard-on felt like it was imprinting itself on your belly. With practiced ease, he reached behind himself to bring his queue forward, while his other hand found yours behind you, making you break the kiss for just a second, watching through hooded eyes as the pink tendrils of your kurus began to reach and weave together.
The familiar psychic jolt of his intense love, raw devotion and desire for you flooded your mind, feeling his heart hammering against your ears, echoing the rhythm of your own. His fingers cupped your jaw to kiss you again, ad you smiled against his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing your lips down. You licked and kiss his neck, your palms staying flat on his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart as you kissed your way down over the hard ridges of his stomach.
“My warrior...” you murmured, kissing his lower abdomen.
You peered up at him, seeing his head pressed against the tree, but his eyes were looking down at you. You kissed sharp V-line of his hips before your hand reached out, fisting his girth. Neteyam’s breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping his throat as your hand began to move. The bond between your queues flared, sending waves of his pleasure crashing through the both of you.
“You are celebrated tonight,” you whispered, looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes that contrasted the sinful movement of your hands on him. “I think you deserve a reward, don't you?”
“Baby...” he rasped, his hands fisting as he tried to ground himself.
You didn't give him a chance to respond. You lowered your head, taking him into your mouth with a heat that made his entire body shudder. Through the bond, you felt the exact moment he weakened. His hands flew to your long braids as your mouth started sucking around his girth, your tongue playing with its underside, getting another sharp intake of his breath. You drew back slightly, then plunged deeper, taking more of him down your throat. You worked your mouth, your lips sealing around him that made him tremble. His fingers tightened in your braids in a gentle tug, guiding your movements, urging you faster.
Your tongue swirled, licked, teased, tracing the veins along his length. You felt him grow even harder in your mouth. You pulled back, then swallowed him again, your breath hitching as you felt the wide head deep inside your throat. His hips began to thrust, his hand on your jaw, meeting your eager mouth until you tasted him, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils. Your throat ached, but the pleasure in his groans kept you moving.
“Oh, baby,” he gasped, his body trembling.
His hips bucked, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. You felt the first warm gush of him erupt into your mouth, hot and thick, and you swallowed as his body convulsed, still pouring into you. He groaned deeply, a powerful sound that made you shiver, his fingers digging into your hair as he emptied himself.
He slumped, his breathing ragged. “Enough, my love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, trying to pull your head up.
But you weren’t finished. You wanted to clean him, to savor every last drop. You ignored his pleas, your tongue flicking out, licking away the remnants of his pleasure, tracing the underside of his shaft. You heard his sharp intake of breath, his abdominal muscles tensing again. He was literally fighting to hold onto his strength, and you felt his cock twitch, hardening slightly at your continued ministrations. You ran your tongue along the tip, then sucked gently, drawing out the last of his cum.
“Fuck. I regret teaching you, you know?” he said weakly, his knees buckling.
You glared at him before reluctantly releasing him, your lips glistening. He reached down, pulling you up with a sudden, fierce strength that lifted until your bodies collided. His mouth found yours in a hard, demanding kiss, his tongue plunged into your mouth, mirroring the thrusts of his shaft earlier, tangling with yours. You met him with equal fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer still, your hips instinctively grinding against his.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw and your throat in a fiery path. He lifted you, cradling you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist before he lowered you gently against the soft moss. He knelt above you, his golden eyes devouring your body like a man starved. His hand traced the curve of your waist, then upward, toward your breasts. His fingers brushed against your nipple and you arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one of the pebbled tips, sucking hard. You gasped and shivered, your fingers tangling in his braids, pressing him closer. His tongue swirled around your breast, while his other hand kneaded the other, his thumb circling the aroused tip.
“What a great reward,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your flesh. He suckled hard that it made you arch your back both in ache and pleasure. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same intense attention until you cried out, your body writhing for more.
He pulled away, his eyes hot with a familiar predatory hunger in them. He shifted, kneeling between your legs, which had instinctively parted for him. He leaned down, his mouth moving lower. You moaned, knowing what was coming, your hips lifting in anticipation. His tongue flicked out, tracing the velvety folds of your pussy, already wet with anticipation,
He spread your lips, his tongue plunging directly into your clit, making you arch your back, your fingers scratching at his back. He licked, sucked, and torment, his mouth relentlessly sucking and his tongue playing more than it licks. He used his fingers, too, parting your lips to allowing his tongue full access on you. He tasted you, the salty-sweet essence, a taste that always drove him wild.
“So sweet,” he murmured against your folds his voice a low growl, his tongue flicking faster, harder.
Your breath came in ragged gasps, your legs trembling, wrapping around his head, pressing him deeper into your pussy. You felt the suction of his mouth and the relentless assault of his tongue on your clit, and your orgasm coiled in your belly. You whimpered, unable to form words, only sounds of pure pleasure, your hips bucking as your body shivered with release, leaving you gasping. You felt the soft shudders of your pussy, contracting around his tongue.
He pulled away, moving above you, his hard cock pressing against your folds. You whimpered, still quivering from your orgasm that your pussy was still throbbing and incredibly sensitive. He still pushed though, the head of his cock sliding inside. You moaned and he pushed deeper, stretching you, and filling you completely.
You wrapped your arms around his body that hovered above yours, his eyes locked with yours. He began to move, a slow thrust, then another, pulling almost completely out before plunging back in deep and hard. The sounds of him sliding in and out of your wetness filled the air, mingling with your gasps and his grunts. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, urging him deeper and faster.
He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, lifting you slightly to control the angle, to thrust even deeper. “Harder,” you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your hips bucking to meet his.
He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming a furious assault. He pounded into you, deep and relentless, filling you with every thrust. You felt yourself tightening around him, your muscles clenching. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring. You cried out his name, again and again, as your body convulsed, leaving you gasping, clinging to him.
He groaned, his body trembling above you as he thrusted a few more times, deep, desperate strokes. His body tensed, his seed erupting inside you, hot and thick, filling your womb with your babies that needed swimming. He collapsed onto you, heaving, his breath ragged against your neck. You lay there, your entwined bodies both slick with sweat and release.
He let out a long, shaky exhale, his tail giving one final, exhausted twitch against your leg. With a groan that sounded sated and delirious, he pulled out of you, watching the gush of his heavy and thick cum dripping out of you. “You emptied me,” he mumbled, his voice thick.
You chuckled, breathless. “Complaining, are we? You’re the one who started talking about ‘swimmers’ in the middle of our conversation,” you smirked.
Neteyam let out a dry, boyish laugh, propping himself up on one elbow. He looked down at your stomach, then back at your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I believe in my warriors. They’re fast.”
You groaned, reaching up to swat his chest, but he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Neteyam, if my mother sees me walking back looking like this, I’m going to receive a scolding.”
“Tell her you are a mated woman,” he suggested shamelessly, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest.
“Neteyam... They don’t know that yet. We are following the traditions!” you whisper-shouted playfully. “Beside, what happened to being modest for my parents?” you narrowed your eyes at him.
He laughed, a genuine, chest-shaking sound that made you feel warm all over again. He rolled to his side, his hand grabbing your waist with a renewed look of heat in his eyes that made you groan. You sat up and his head angled to catch the pebbled tip of your breast into his mouth.
“‘Teyam...” your hand clutched at his shoulder.
“Just one more...” he said, his words muffled because he had your flesh in his mouth.
You bit you lip and laid back on the soft moss, spreading your thighs as your hand caressed the soft skin on his back. You watched his large, formidable form hover over you, his thick and long cock already pointing at your pussy as if it knows its target. You shivered at the sight of it, your excitement vibrating in your body. His hand clasped under your knee and pushed your leg back, stretching you before his cock nudged your entrance.
His other hand moved over your pussy, his thumb rubbing your sensitive nub as his length disappeared in you. You moaned a long one, arching your back, offering your rounded breasts to him and he lowered his head to take one into his mouth, his tongue immediately swirling on your nipple. In a sudden, hard movement, his hand on your hips pulled you to him, burying himself to the hilt inside you.
“Ah!” you moaned, your thighs quivering to close around him but he kept them open, restraining both of them tightly befote delivering a series of hard and intense pounding.
You held onto him, your eyes flying open and meeting his. You probably looked so aroused and fucked, because his pupils blew even wider, almost swallowing the gold. Your mouth remained perpetually gaped, releasing jagged breaths and moans as he continued pumping into you. Your hand pressed against his lower abdomen and his thrusts quickened and hardened even more.
He lowered his head to kiss you, his tongue immediately plunging into your open mouth. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his hard muscles contrasting his soft skin until all the sensations he’s giving you pushed you to the edge. He came first, shuddering above you despite his efforts to hold out longer. You hugged him tighter when you felt yourself erupt.
He kissed your neck softly, feeling your body shudder against him, you legs literally quivering as your walls clenched around him to milk him dry. He chuckled, pressing a hard kiss against your jaw. “I told you. Big trouble.”
You let your head fall on the mossy ground, feeling him lick the skin on your exposed neck. “I think I can handle the trouble,” you murmured. “As long as it’s yours.”
He squeezed your hip, giving you a lingering kiss. “I love you so much, space cadet,” he mumbled. “Now, let’s put on act that we just swam in the river and are too tired to return to the festival.”
pairing: sonny carisi x fem!suspect!reader (sort of in a clarice and hannibal lecter sort of way)
summary: the special victims unit finally catch the woman who has been wreacking havoc on new york city by targeting convicted rapists and brutally killing them. detective carisi is assigned to interrogate you, and he can't help but find your mind eerily fascinating.
warnings: very dark; viewer discretion advised, graphic depictions of murder, mutilation, castration, and torture, mentions of rape, mentions of dead animals, mentions of suicide
word count: 6.1k words !
a/n: i feel like i wrote a shit ton, but it still somehow feels rushed??? also i accidently wrote this whole thing in lowercase, and i don't feel like going through and fixing it all, so my apologies 🙏
／ your bare feet padded against the cold tile of your apartment as you made your way to the kitchen sink. a blank expression settled onto your features as you listened to the constant plop, plop, plop of water droplets falling from the faucet.
the paint was peeling, the walls dingy and grey, which only added to the lifeless atmosphere around you. the air was cold, goosebumps raising on your skin as you stared at the leaking sink. your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles going white under the pressure. you felt your control slipping, and that was never a good sign. you would get careless, sloppy, and that just wouldn't do. you had to act before the urges consumed you completely.
you'd always had these urges, always had a sick fascination with death. when you were younger, you would seek out roadkill, watching with curious eyes as maggots devoured decaying flesh while the scent of death permeated the air. It shouldve sickened you. you shouldve screamed and covered your mouth in horror like any other little girl would have—your heart breaking for the poor little animal sat at your feet—but you never did.
as you got older, that fascination extended from just animals to the human body. you wondered what it would be like to wrap your hands around someone's neck and feel the life leave them. you wondered how it would feel to plunge a knife into someone and feel the hot, sticky blood on your skin. you fantasized about it, about what it would feel like to be completely and utterly in control of whether someone lived or died.
you took a deep, shuddering breath as you released your grip on the counter. you turned the sink on, splashing some water on your face. the ice cold water felt like it went directly into your veins, shocking you from the walking haze you'd been in.
you sighed, running your wet hands over your face. it was too soon to kill again, but you needed to. your hands were growing restless, aching to feel the handle of your knife as you stabbed your helpless victim over and over again, their pleas and cries for you to stop like a front row seat to a symphony meant just for you.
"god dammit," you muttered, turning the sink off and spinning around. you squeezed your eyes shut, the sound of the water droplets continuously hitting the metal basin reverberating in your ears. you needed out of this apartment.
your eyebrows furrowed, a frown pulling at your lips as you headed to your bedroom. you pushed inside, shoving the door so hard that it smacked against the wall and bounced back. you didn't pay this any mind as you went to your closet, removing the false back you'd installed and grabbing your murder kit.
it was a large black purse, fairly unassuming for someone in new york, and especially unassuming with an innocent looking girl like yourself holding it. inside, however, was an assortment of items including knives, pliers, a small hammer, duct tape, and rope, among other things. you threw the bag onto your bed, slipping your shoes on.
you knew exactly who your target would be. dennis hellerman had just been released on parol for the rape of a fourteen year old girl whom he'd left so traumatized that she needed to be admitted to a mental institution after a suicide attempt.
just thinking about what he'd done—let alone the fact that he was released on parol after serving just two years in prison—made your blood boil. you wanted him to feel the fear that she had undoubtedly felt. you wanted him to beg and plead for his life as you pulled each fingernail from his fingers at an agonizingly slow pace, and then, you wanted to kill him.
you stood up, grabbing your purse and heading toward your bedroom door. your boots echoed across the floor as you walked to the front door. you unlocked the deadbolt and the various other locks that you'd installed lining the wood before pulling it open and stepping out. the door slammed behind you with more force than you'd intended, but you didn't care. you simply stuck your key in the lock, turned it, and headed toward the elevators.
the man was living in a homeless shelter for sex offenders which made him extremely easy to find. he was also working a job at a small, understaffed autobody shop. it was almost too easy.
"what's a sweet thing like you doing out this time of night?" his voice came from behind you as you stood bent over behind your car, pretending to be confused.
you had spent a while tracking his every move and devising the perfect place to lure him into your trap. you'd learned that the cameras outside the rundown autobody shop and most of the surrounding buildings didn't work which was oh so convenient for you. it was like the universe was begging you to take care of him.
"oh, hello there," you giggled, putting on your innocent act. "gosh, i am such a ditz when it comes to cars, but i think something's wrong," you pouted, turning back to your car and propping your hands on your hips.
"let me take a look and see if i can fix that for you, darling," he said, flashing you a sleazy smile. "but, it'll cost you."
"oh, sure, anything," you nodded, pretending to be oblivious to his innuendo. if you had any reservations before about what you were going to do—which you didn't—you sure as hell didn't now. "just, please, i really need my car."
he grinned, leering at you in a way that made you want to kill him right there, but you held back. instead, you pointed vaguely to a spot on the back of your car. "i think i see something leaking there."
he hummed, stepping forward to take a look. he leaned down, squinting. "i don't see anything."
"no, i promise just look," you insisted, reaching into your pocket and pulling out s syringe. he kept looking, too preoccupied to notice that you'd stepped behind him. just as he was about to turn around, you stuck the syringe into his neck and pressed down the plunger to send the paralytic into his bloodstream.
he let out a yelp of pain, his hand covering the spot on his neck as you pulled the syringe away. as his limbs started to turn to jello underneath him, you gave him a hard shove forward, making him collapse halfway into your trunk.
you groaned softly as you picked up his lower body, shoving the rest of him into the trunk and closing it. you looked around briefly to make sure no one was around before hopping into your car and driving off to your destination. this was going to be fun.
"wakey, wakey," you taunted menacingly, slapping his cheek as he stirred awake.
he groaned, his face jerking at the contact. his eyes widened, seeming to sober up as he realized he couldn't move. "what the fuck," he said, his voice urgent as he tried to pull against the ropes.
"how's that working out for you?" you grinned, your eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure, and this was only the beginning.
"you bitch," he spat when his eyes landed on you. he tried to lunge at you, but he got pulled back.
you tsked, shaking your head. "you really shouldn't insult someone who holds your life in their hands," you scolded him, motioning to your table of torture equipment that you had laid out.
the man's eyes widened, and you watched as the panic seemed to set in. he was realizing the situation he was in, and you were witnessing it in real time. the sight almost made you groan in pleasure. you loved this part and everything that came after.
he started screaming, shouting for help at the top of his lungs. you rolled your eyes. you did not care for this part.
"god, shut up," you complained, as if his fear was an inconvenience to you. "it's no use. no one can hear you out here."
you had set up shop in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. you did your work here and had your fun, and then, you disposed of the body in a dumpster in the city, discarding your victims like the trash they were.
he stopped screaming, his chest heaving as he glared at you. he was clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control by pretending not to be afraid. "what the fuck do you want?"
"hm," you hummed, picking up a knife and examining it as you pretending to think. "what is it that i want?" you put the knife back down, turning to him as you leaned on the table with your arms crossed. "what do you think i want, dennis?"
"maybe," you shrugged, grinning wickedly. "but it's a cruel, cruel world, isn't it?" your smile dropped as you stepped closer, a dark look in your eye. "a world where sick fucks like you get to prey on the innocent and vulnerable without hardly any repercussions for your actions."
"shut up," he glared at you. "you don't know shit."
"oh, please," you laughed humorlessly. "you plead guilty. the whole world knows what you did."
"i was force-" the sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the warehouse as you slapped him. his head whipped to the side, stopping him in the middle of his sentence. he sat there, completely stunned, as a warm, red mark in the shape of your palm started to form on his cheek.
"don't lie to me," you gritted out, stepping back and turning to your table of equipment again. you hummed, deciding which instrument to use first. you were tired of all the talking. you wanted to get to the fun part.
"you little bitch!" he yelled, finally snapping back to reality. he felt the sting on his cheek and fought against the ropes once more. "i'm gonna get out of this, and when i do, you're gonna regret ever meeting me."
"oh, i'm so scared," you said flatly, deciding on a pair of pliers and turning back to him.
his eyes widened at the sight, and you saw his adam's apple bob up and down with the force of his swallow. "w-what are you going to do with those?" he asked, all conviction gone from his tone.
"teeth or nails?" you asked, tapping the pliers lightly against your chin as you raised a brow at him.
"y-you're fucking nuts!" his voice trembled. he thrashed against the restraints, trying desperately to get away, but it was no use.
"pick or i do both," you said coldly, stepping forward until you were right in front of him, so close he could feel your breath on his skin.
"n-nails," he managed to say, and you smirked, reaching out to grab his jaw tightly. you pulled it open, your fingers digging harshly into his cheeks. he yelled out protests that weren't quite decipherable because of his mouth being open, but you were sure you understood the general gist.
"oh, what?" you asked mockingly. "you thought i'd actually let you choose?" you laughed, bringing the pliers up to his mouth and clamping down on one of his molars "this is definitely gonna hurt," you grinned before ripping the tooth out of his mouth forcefully.
he let out a blood-curdling scream that had you smiling even wider, a sick satisfaction washing over your body. it made your nerve endings buzz, the ends of your fingers and toes practically tingling with excitement.
he spat out the blood that was rapidly filling his mouth, the puddle falling at your feet. "please," he begged. "please, stop. i'll do anything!"
"begging already?" you asked incredulously. "i've barely even started." you rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand and holding it still as you clamped the pliers on his fingertip.
"please, don't! please!" he cried out, tears starting to fall from his eyes.
"how pathetic," you scoffed, pulling the pliers up swiftly. a soft crack filled your ears as his bone snapped, causing another loud scream to fall from his lips. you sighed in content. "isn't this so much fun?" you asked, grinning at him.
"you sick bitch!" he cried, his body trembling.
"i'm sick?" you asked, a fire igniting in your eyes as you tossed the pliers to the side, grabbing a knife. "tell me, dennis, did she plead and beg for you to stop?" you sneered. "did she call you a sick bastard, and did you keep going anyway?"
you had intended to save this part for after you were done because you knew he'd bleed out very soon after, but you couldn't help it. your little game of foreplay wasn't satisfying you anymore. you needed to skip right to the main event. his words mixed with the fact that you were already antsy and practically jumping out of your skin to kill again sent you over the edge.
you knew you weren't right in the head. you knew something was wrong with you; you'd known it since you were a little girl, but the implication that you were somehow worse than he was made the little spark of self control you were holding onto fizzle out.
you brought the knife down to his pants, cutting away the fabric. it took a bit of effort to slice through the rough denim, but eventually, you were able to pull it apart, his boxers on display.
"what the fuck are you doing?" he asked, looking down at his lap before looking back up at you. fear was evident in him from the way his voice trembled, his body shook, and the look in his eyes.
"my favorite part," you grinned sinisterly, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his dick. in one practiced motion, you sliced the knife through the base of the sensitive skin, cutting it off of him.
he screamed like he had never screamed before as a white hot, searing pain enveloped his senses. blood poured from the wound, coating his jeans and making them stick to his thighs as it ran down to the floor.
you watched in pure satisfaction as he screamed and jerked against the ropes. a thin layer of sweat formed on his entire body, his face paling as he lost blood at an alarming rate. you knew he'd be dead any minute now, and it made you feel like a god.
you watched as his screams died down to small whimpers and sobs before fading out completely, his mouth hanging open as his eyes glossed over, a faraway look in them. you grinned, taking his appendage and shoving it down his throat before closing his mouth.
you stepped back, admiring your handiwork for a moment before beginning to clean up, just as you had done so many times before. this wasn't your first time, and you intended for it to not be your last, but sometimes, life has other plans.
you discarded him in a dumpster as you usually did before heading home to clean yourself and all your tools off.
it was just like any other kill. you didn't think of it much afterwords; you simply went back to living your life as normal. you went to your boring 9 to 5, and then came home and made dinner while trying not to let that incessant dripping drive you mad. it had gone perfect, just as it always had.
you should've known that your restlessness would have caused problems. your impulsivity had never gotten the better of you like it had that night, and you were going to pay for it.
you thought you had gotten away with it until you opened your apartment door and found three cops with guns pointed at you. it was clearly an inopportune moment to leave. it seemed as if they were planning to kick your door down or something, but you'd caught them off guard.
"problem, officers?" you asked innocently, raising your hands to signal that you weren't going to cause any trouble. there were two women—one with brown hair and the other blonde—and one man, who had his hair cut close to his scalp.
"turn around, slowly," the male officer ordered, his gun and stern expression trained on you. you slowly turned your back to them, keeping your hands up.
you felt someone grab your wrist, pulling it behind your back. cold metal locked around one wrist and then the other. "you have the right to remain silent..." one of the female officers began reading you your rights.
"yes, yes, i understand," you said as she finished reading them off and pulled you out of the apartment, leading you to the elevator. the other two went inside your apartment, presumably to search for evidence.
you played through the events in your head. how did they find you? none of your victims ever had any personal connection to you, and you were very careful to prevent any dna contamination.
though, truthfully, you knew that was impossible. locard's principle stated that when two objects came in contact, there would always be a transfer of material, so there was no way to ensure without a shadow of a doubt that you hadn't left some kind of evidence behind on the bodies.
you sat alone in the cop car for awhile, more police and crime scene techs showing up to use their fancy little black lights on your apartment.
you knew you were probably caught, but it didn't bother you much. you knew you couldn't get away with it forever. it was only a matter of time until you got caught, and to be honest with yourself, you were surprised you lasted as long as you did.
finally, you were driven back to the police station. you got your mug shot taken and got fingerprinted, all the while maintaining a calm and collected demeanor that had the police around you on edge. you had, allegedly, killed upwards of twenty men, and here you were in police cutody, brushing this whole situation off with an eerie ease.
one of the officers in uniform grabbed your arm, pulling you toward an interrogation room. your eyes swept the station as he did so, taking in every detail that you could manage. the brain receives about 11 million bits of information per second but can only consciously process around 40 to 50, meaning you had to try and focus to obtain the important things.
you saw a board with various pictures of your victims plastered on it. one picture in particular caught your eye. it was of your license plate. it was taken far away and undoubtedly at the same location that you'd dumped your last body. that was where your recklessness had screwed you.
he pushed you into the interrogation room, telling you to sit down and wait before leaving quickly. you rolled your eyes, taking a seat in the uncomfortable metal chair. you had seen movies and tv shows. you knew they were going to leave you in there for a while to try and make you sweat.
of course, it didn't work. you had accepted your fate. besides, you had an odd ability to be calm and collected in situations that normal people otherwise wouldn't be.
your head was tilted back, gaze staring up at the ceiling with a bored expression on your face. the sound of the door opening had you immediately looking toward the source, watching as a man entered the room with a manilla folder in his hand—a file.
the approached the table, his tie slightly loosened, and his sleeves rolled up. he wordlessly pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, placing the folder on the table between you two. he examined your expression and body language curiously.
"detective," you greeted him with a small nod. you scanned him appreciatively. you hadn't expected to get grilled by someone so attractive. his brown hair was gelled neatly to the side, and his rolled up sleeves showed off his forearms. he had piercing blue eyes that studied you with an intense gaze. you figured that if you were anyone else, that stare would unnerve you.
he met your gaze, those hardened baby blue eyes searching yours for some hint of remorse, madness, anything, but all he saw was cold calculation and a hint of amusement.
he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "why don't you tell me why you did it?" he proposed, scanning every inch of you that he could see with an intrigued expression.
"did what?" you asked innocently, mirroring his actions of leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. you furrowed your brows in faux confusion.
his eyes narrowed slightly. "you know exactly what i'm talking about. the murders. the bodies. the fact that every single one of your victims was a convicted rapist." he opened the folder and pulled out a photograph, slamming it down on the table in front of you.
you raised an eyebrow, gaze drifting down to the photograph. it was of one of your earlier victims—gerald windsor. he had been a serial rapist whose conviction was overturned after only six months because of a technicality with the dna evidence.
you let out a low whistle, leaning back against the chair and crossing your arms over your chest. "that's brutal. i hope you find who did it." you looked back at him, a smirk tugging at your lips.
he felt a shiver run down his spine at your nonchalance, your calm acceptance of the horrors you'd committed. he studied your face, trying to understand the motivations behind your actions. "you're not even sorry, are you?" he asked incredulously.
"well, hypothetically, if i had committed these murders," you grinned, skirting around evidence of a confession by calling it a hypothetical. "no, i don't suppose i would be sorry. i mean, you did say they were rapists, right?"
his jaw tightened, a muscle twitching. he couldn't help but feel a sense of fascination, a morbid curiosity that pulled him in despite his best efforts to remain professional. "and that gives you the right to play judge, jury, and executioner?"
"technically, if i killed them, i would've just been playing executioner because they were already convicted rapists," you shrugged nonchalantly, as if you were just talking about the weather or your weekend plans. "but, you know, semantics."
he felt a surge of anger, mixed with a dark, twisted admiration. you were playing with him, toying with his emotions and his sense of justice. and yet, he couldn't look away. "so, you're saying you think you're doing a public service? like-like some sort of hero?"
"not a hero, no," you shook your head. you did understand the difference between right and wrong. you knew you were no hero, that you were a cold-blooded murderer. you just didn't care. "but a public service? absolutely."
he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. you were a dangerous game to play, and he knew it. but, he couldn't help himself. he wanted to understand you, to peel back the layers of your psyche and see what made you tick. "and you have no remorse? no guilt? nothing?"
"bad people deserve it when bad things happen to them," you replied cryptically, your gaze unwavering as you stared him down.
his brows furrowed, a sense of frustration building inside him. he wanted clear, concise answers, not riddles. "and who decides who's 'bad', huh? you? you're playing god, doling out punishment as you see fit. how is that any different from them?"
"don't compare me to them" you said sharply, your calm demeanor slipping slightly, allowing anger to rise to the surface. you may not have been a saint, but you were nothing like those monsters. you didn't hurt innocent people, and murder was a far cry from rape.
he zeroed in on your reaction, filing it away for later. he knew he'd touched a nerve, and he intended to exploit it. "then explain to me the difference because from where i'm sitting, you're no better than the men you've killed."
your jaw clenched as you glared at him "allegedly killed," you corrected him, trying to maintain some semblance of control. you knew what he was playing at, and you didn't want to let him win. you would tell him what he wanted to know... eventually, but it had to be on your terms.
he leaned forward, his eyes locked onto yours. he could see the anger simmering beneath the surface, the barely-leashed fury, and he felt a perverse sense of satisfaction in knowing that he'd finally gotten under your skin. "alright, then. allegedly," he conceeded.
"rape and murder are two very different beasts," you responded ambiguously, once again giving a vague answer to a direct question.
he sighed, running a hand through meticulously styled hair in frustration, slightly tousling it. your vague answers were driving him crazy. he needed concrete evidence, something he could use to build a case against you, but you seemed determined to keep him guessing. they had an eyewitness that took a photo of your license plate, but she didnt actually see anything that would help the case tremendously. "let me put it this way then."
"put it any way you want, pretty boy," you grinned confidently, his frustration making you feel extremely satisfied.
he bristled at the nickname but pushed through. "if you didn't murder these men, then prove it. give me an alibi, something that'll take you out of the equation. anything."
"well, i'd have to know when the murders were committed to be able to provide an alibi, wouldn't i?" you asked, smart enough to not let his question trip you up. if you didn't kill them, you obviously wouldn't know which days to have an alibi for.
he nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. he knew you were stalling, but he was willing to play along—for now. "the first murder was on a tuesday night in december, around ten pm. the second was a thursday morning in january, around six am."
you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table as you hummed thoughtfully, pretending to dig through your memory for those days. "i'm afraid my alibi won't help much. i was home, alone, as i am most days and nights" you gave him a sympathetic look. "sorry i couldn't be more help."
his face darkened, and he felt a surge of annoyance. you were toying with him, and he didn't like it. "you expect me to believe that you have no witnesses to confirm your whereabouts? no neighbors who might've seen you come or go?" he pressed you, eyes narrowing with skepticism.
you shrugged, your lips curving into a small smile. "i'm not a social gal."
he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded you with a critical eye. he didn't believe you. hs knew you were hiding something, and he was determined to uncover the truth. "so, you're telling me that there's nobody who can vouch for you?"
"nope," you answered simply, shaking your head. the fact that you had no alibi did little to rattle you.
His jaw clenched, and he felt a growing sense of unease. you were too calm, too collected. it was almost as if you wanted him to think you were guilty. "you know what i think?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "i think you're enjoying this."
"now that's just crazy," you gasped softly, feigning shock. "who in their right mind would enjoy getting interrogated for murder?"
he ignored your mock innocence. "someone who likes playing games. someone who gets off on the thrill of skirting the line between right and wrong," he leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours. "someone like you."
"well, you've just got me all figured out, huh?" you asked, grinning as you leaned back, crossing your arms over your chest again.
he felt a wave of frustration wash over him. you were enjoying this, reveling in the back-and-forth game, and he hated it. he hated being played. "this isn't a game," he said through gritted teeth.
"life is a game, sweetheart," you said condescendingly, rolling your eyes. "you just have to know how to play."
he slammed his fist on the table, making you jump slightly, but not out of fear, just surprise. the sudden outburst caught you off guard, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the anger and frustration he'd been holding back. "listen to me," he said, his voice low and intense.
"now, we're getting somewhere," you grinned, enjoying his surge of emotion. you sat up straight, suddenly very interested.
he took a deep breath, struggling to regain his composure. he couldn't let you bait him like that. he had to stay focused, no matter how infuriating you were. "i'm not going to let you toy with me," he said, his voice measured and controlled.
"oh, but you already have." your smile widened as you observed him trying to reign in his anger. "i've been toying with you since the moment you walked in that door."
his jaw clenched, and he could feel the anger rising once more. but then, he saw it—a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips—and it hit him. "you want me to lose my temper, don't you?"
"and you want me to lose mine," you shot back, tilting your head as you stared at him.
he unclenched his jaw, relaxing his face as he mirrored your pose. "it doesn't matter if i lose my temper. you're still going away for the rest of your life."
you shrugged nonchalantly, seeming completely unperturbed by his threats. "maybe, maybe not"
he bristled at your nonchalant response. you acted as if you had some ace up your sleeve, some secret card you hadn't played yet, and it unnerved him. he had to press on, had to break through your smug facade. "you're running out of time."
"I think you're the one running out of time, detective," you smiled, like you knew something he didn't. "see, once this game of ours gets boring—which it's starting to—well..." you sighed for dramatic effect. "well, then, i can just say those four little words, and your little interrogation is over." you knew you had the upper hand with being able to request your lawyer and stop his questioning at any time.
"you're not going to say them," he said confidently. you needed this. this little cat-and-mouse game was a different kind of exhilarating to you, and he knew you weren't ready to let it go just yet.
"oh, i'm not?" you asked, your eyebrows raising at his boldness. he truly was an intriguing man, and you were enjoying your little chat just as much as he thought you were.
he sat back in his chair again, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied you. he was calling your bluff, and you knew it. "no. because you're having too much fun," he said, a small, smug smile playing on his lips. "you like this."
you grinned, impressed by how well he had read you. "well, done, detective," you praised him. "you're smarter than you look."
he felt a surge of satisfaction at your praise, which only annoyed him further. he shouldn't care whether you thought he was smart or not. this was a power play, nothing more. "and you're not as clever as you think you are," he shot back.
"ouch," you said, placing your hand over your heart and feigning hurt. he watched, irritated, as you exaggeratedly winced, dramatically clutching at your chest. "oh, the pain. shot down by the nice detective. how will I ever recover?" your mocking tone only served to fuel his frustration.
he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. he couldn't let you get to him like this. he had to stay focused, had to break through your defenses. "you know what I think?" he said, his voice steady and controlled. "i think you're scared."
"scared?" you laughed, taken aback by his claim. you couldn't imagine where he could have possibly got that idea. "oh, you could not be farther off the mark"
"you're scared that i'll figure it out," he continued, leaning forward. "you're scared that i'll solve this case before you get bored of our game. because then, you'll have nothing. no more cat-and-mouse, just a life sentence in prison, and you're terrified of that."
"oh, detective," you grinned, shaking your head. "i'm not scared of anything. i accepted my fate a long time ago."
his eyes narrowed as he studied your expression, searching for any hint of weakness or dishonesty, but you seemed entirely too calm, too confident. he didn't like it. "accepted your fate, huh?" he repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism. "then why are you still denying what you did?"
"you really want me to do your job for you?" you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "where's the fun in that?"
he sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. you were playing with him, dancing just out of reach, and it was driving him crazy. he opened his mouth again to speak, but a knock on the two-way glass stopped him. that was his signal to leave.
"aw," you pouted, feigning sadness. "looks like our time is up."
"for now," he said curtly, pushing his chair back as he stood up, the sound of the metal legs scraping the floor echoing through the little room. he straightened his tie, giving you one last look before turning to leave.
you watched him go, gaze lingering on his ass as a smirk tugged at your lips. you knew his squad was watching from behind the glass. they had pulled him out because you were clearly having too much fun with him.
as he walked out of the room, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just been outmaneuvered. he glanced back at you through the glass, his expression unreadable.
"think she's gearing up for the insanity defense?" detective fin tutuola asked, staring at your calm, almost bored expression.
he shook his head. "she's just playing us," carisi said, his voice tight with frustration. "and she's good at it." he watched as you leaned back in your chair, your eyes closed. "too good." he paused, then added, "we need to be better."
"alright, well," lieutenant benson sighed, turning to the blonde detective. "rollins, you're up. see if you can get her to give anything up."
he glanced at rollins, then back to you. he didn't like the idea of someone else taking over the interview, but he knew benson was right. they needed to switch things up, keep you off balance. "be careful," he warned rollins. "she's slippery."
you opened your eyes at the sound of the door opening again. your head lolled to the side, and you regarded the blonde with disinterest as you watched her enter, closing the door behind her.
"hey," rollins said, pulling out the chair carisi had just vacated. she sat down, her blue eyes studying you carefully. "I'm detective rollins. i'll be talking to you today." she paused, waiting for your response.
"uh huh," you hummed. you seemed completely indifferent to her presence, your body language languid and unconcerned.
rollins frowned, noticing how easily you seemed to brush her off. she tried a different tactic, pulling out a photo from the evidence file. "i want to show you something," she said, setting the photo on the table in front of you. "recognize this person?"
"nope," you said, not even glancing at the photograph. you weren't interested in playing with her. you had your sights set on that other detective, and if you weren't going to be allowed to talk to him, you didn't want to talk at all.
rollins gritted her teeth, annoyed by your nonchalance. she slid the photo closer, insistent. "look at it," she demanded. "it's important."
"yknow what," you hummed, smiling confidently. you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "i think i'd like my lawyer now."
rollins sighed, frustrated. she hadn't even gotten anywhere with you, and now you were invoking your right to a lawyer. she gathered up the photo and the file, standing up. "fine," she said, her voice tight. "we'll do this the hard way."
you watched as she left with a smug smile, leaning back in your chair again and closing your eyes as you waited for your lawyer to arrive, satisfied with how you'd sufficiently pissed off the new york police department.
Warnings: priest kink, afab!reader, sacrilege, blasphemy, religious corruption themes, alcohol use, confessional booth setting, explicit sexual content, piv (unprotected because catholicism), rough kissing, dirty talk, filthy confessions, power imbalance (reader exploiting Sonny’s vows), masturbation mention, mutual orgasm, obsession, degradation of religious symbols, strong language, guilt and shame, public(ish) sex risk, collar stays on.
a/n: Kinktober day 16! i have issues with organised religion, so clearly this one was personal. 🙏✨ father carisi, forgive me for what i’m about to post, but also… don’t. this is everything i wanted from a confessional corruption: guilt, whiskey, filthy whispered sins, and that collar staying on the whole damn time. 😌 enjoy your unholy ride, babes.
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He hadn’t meant to stay long. Just one drink, that was the promise he made himself when he slid into a cracked vinyl booth at Carmine’s, the kind of dive bar that smelled like fried onions and old cigarettes. No one in here would recognise him; not with his collar tucked deep in his jacket pocket, not with his shirt rolled at the sleeves, not with his attempt to look normal. Still, he felt out of place.
The jukebox whined through a Bruce Springsteen song, glasses clinked, and laughter rose too loud from a group at the far end. He ordered whiskey, neat, and told himself it was just to take the edge off. The edge of what, he wasn’t sure anymore, maybe; loneliness, temptation, the endless parade of sins whispered through a screen that all sounded the same.
He was halfway through the glass when you slid into the booth across from him like you belonged there. Bright-eyed, curious, your smile too bold for the dingy air around you.
“You don’t look like you fit in here,” you teased, leaning forward with that sharp tilt of your chin.
Sonny had chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you do?”
“You’re still in your work clothes. All black? You look like a priest without a collar…” you pressed, eyes flicking to his open neckline.
He swallowed, uneasy. So much for attempting to look normal.
One drink became two, then three. Conversation slipped too easy, warm in his chest, buzzing in his head. You laughed at his jokes, and God help him, he hadn’t laughed like that in months. You asked questions he shouldn’t have answered, but he did anyway, too hungry for the attention. For the heat in your eyes.
By the time you both stepped outside, the night air was sharp, neon buzzing above you, sidewalk slick with spilled beer. He should have walked away. He knew it. Every instinct told him to cut it off before the line blurred any further. But then your hand was on his arm, tugging him closer, and your mouth was on his.
The kiss was fire, shocking in its urgency. He tasted beer and smoke on your lips, felt the press of your body against his. For one wild, reckless second, he kissed you back. Harder than he should have. Teeth clashing, tongue sliding past yours with a hunger he’d buried too long.
It would have gone further if not for the weight in his jacket pocket; the faint press of the white collar he’d shoved there before walking into the bar. The reminder hit him like ice water.
He tore himself away, stumbling back a step, breath ragged. “I – no, this… this ain’t right.” His voice cracked, guilt already burning. “I can’t – God, this is a sin…”
Your lips were parted, stunned. “Sonny…”
He shook his head hard, stepping back again, hands trembling as though your touch had scalded him. “Don’t. Don’t call me that. Just – forget this happened.” His throat worked as he forced the words out, each one bitter. “I’m sorry.”
And then he left. Left you under the flickering red neon, left the taste of your kiss on his mouth, left the ache in his chest that no prayer could soothe.
He left you on that street corner, collar burning hot in his pocket, heart slamming against his ribs like a guilty verdict. He walked fast, hands shoved deep into his jacket, as if distance could erase the taste of your lips, the heat of your body pressed to his.
It didn’t.
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The first week after, he doubled down on prayer.
He tried to drown the feelings in ritual; kneeling at the altar before dawn, muttering Hail Marys until his knees ached. Tried to convince himself it had been nothing, just a slip, just the whiskey, just loneliness.
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The second week, he started drowning them in something heavier.
It was supposed to be just a glass before bed, something to calm the nerves, ease the thoughts. But one glass blurred too little, so it became two, then three. The whiskey burned, but it dulled the edge. Made it easier to breathe.
Soon, the bottle lived on his desk in the rectory. Parishioners would leave, the church would grow quiet, and he’d sit alone, collar still on, glass in hand. He’d stare at the crucifix on the wall until the lines went blurry. Sometimes he’d talk aloud to it.
“Wasn’t supposed to happen,” he muttered one night, slumped in his chair, collar askew. “I pushed her away. Ain’t that enough? Ain’t that what You wanted?”
The silence mocked him.
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By the third week, the job started slipping.
His sermons came out thin, dry, lifeless. Words about temptation and repentance that sounded hollow even to his own ears. Parishioners would nod politely, but he caught the way their eyes glazed, the way their attention wandered.
In the confessional, he heard other people’s sins and wanted to laugh. Petty lies, impure thoughts, selfishness. They confessed them all as if they weighed something. He wanted to scream; You don’t know what sin is. You don’t know what it feels like to burn every time you breathe.
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Nights were the worst.
Nights where he’d wake from dreams; sweat slick, sheets tangled. Dreams where you were on your knees before him, whispering his name like a prayer, or where your kiss went deeper, longer, until there was no air left in his lungs.
Sometimes he’d wake with his hand already down his stomach, touching himself with rough, shameful strokes until he came with a groan muffled in his pillow. Afterwards, he’d lie there, chest heaving, disgust curling in his gut so sharp it nearly made him retch.
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By Halloween night, the unravelling had gone too far.
The rectory smelled like whiskey, sharp and sour, bleeding into the pages of his open Bible. The book lay sprawled on the desk, unread, a glass ring staining Psalms. The candles guttered low, shadows shivering across the crucifix nailed to the wall.
Sonny sat slouched in his chair, collar crooked, shirt half unbuttoned. He’d lost count of the glasses. His hand was heavy around the tumbler, and when he raised it, some of the amber spilled onto his knuckles, dripping down his wrist. He didn’t bother wiping it off.
He’d tried to pray earlier, on his knees, head bowed. But the words had come out broken, slurred, so he’d laughed instead. A hoarse, bitter laugh that echoed in the empty room.
“What do You want from me, huh?” His voice was raw, ragged. “I pulled away. I walked away. Ain’t that enough? Or You want me to cut out my own goddamn heart too?”
The crucifix stared back at him in silence, Christ’s eyes cast down.
His chest ached. He pressed his palm against it, felt the steady thump of his heart, hated how strong it was when everything else in him felt weak.
He thought of you.
God, he always thought of you. The way your laugh had cut through the bar noise like music. The way your lips had bruised his when you kissed him outside under that buzzing neon. The way he’d kissed back, reckless, desperate, like he’d been waiting his whole life for it.
He thought of your hand curled in his shirt. The way you’d said his name.
Sonny.
It rang in his head every night, sweeter than any prayer, filthier than any sin.
And he hated himself for wanting it again.
The whiskey had stripped his restraint. He’d stopped pretending he didn’t want you. Stopped pretending he didn’t touch himself in the dark, your face flashing in his mind, your body bent under him.
He told himself it was the last time. Every time, it was the last time. And every time, he broke that promise before the sun came up.
Now, Halloween night, he sat in the dark, collar crooked, drunk and heavy with need he couldn’t drown.
The church was silent but not empty. He’d left the side door unlocked without thinking. Some part of him wanted; no, needed, the chance for punishment. For someone to see the filth dripping through the cracks.
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The church is too quiet.
Outside, the streets echo with laughter, children in masks racing past with plastic pumpkins clattering full of candy. Inside, all you hear is the faint drip of wax from half-melted candles, the groan of the heavy wooden doors shutting behind you, the hollow echo of your footsteps against the stone floor.
You shouldn’t be here. Not tonight. Not ever. But you are.
You’d found him, weeks ago, by accident; collarless in a bar where no priest belonged, whiskey on his breath, laughter tugged loose like thread. You’d kissed him. Bold, reckless. He’d kissed back, just for a moment, before tearing himself away like he could rip the want out of his body by force.
He hadn’t been able to look at you again after that. He’d disappeared back into his church, into his collar, into silence. But you hadn’t stopped thinking about him. You hadn’t stopped wanting.
So, you found the parish. His parish.
Your hand trembles against the pew as you move down the aisle, the saints carved in stained glass staring down at you like witnesses. Their eyes are cold. Their painted mouths, stern.
“God will forgive me eventually,” you whisper under your breath. It’s a lie, but it steadies you.
You slip into the confessional booth. The wood creaks as you close the door, sealing yourself in the dark.
For a moment, there’s only silence.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whisper, voice trembling though you mean it half in mockery.
The pause stretches. Then his voice comes, low and hoarse, thickened by drink.
“How long since your last confession?”
The words are right. It’s what he’s supposed to say. But they’re frayed, shaking at the edges.
“Never, Father…” you answer.
The lattice creaks as he leans closer. You can almost feel the heat of him bleeding through.
“Then you’ll tell me everything,” he murmurs. The words are steady, but beneath them is something else; something laced with need, sharp and cutting. “No half-truths. No hiding. Every sin you’ve carried, you’ll speak it aloud.”
Your pulse quickens. “And if I don’t?”
The silence after is heavy. Then he shifts again, the wood groaning under his weight.
“Then you’ll be damned,” he says. His tone should be righteous. Instead, it sounds like a promise.
You lean forward, lips almost brushing the screen. “What if I’ve already done something unforgivable?”
The breath he draws in is shaky. Whiskey laces the air between you.
“God forgives all things,” he says, but the words stumble. He swallows hard, then steadies his voice. “But you’ll tell me what it is. Speak it.”
The collar stills on his throat. He’s still trying to wear the mantle of a priest. But each word drips heavier, like he’s choking on the effort of it.
And you realise; he’s not just asking for confession. He’s begging for it.
Your palms sweat against your knees as the dark presses in. The screen between you glows faintly, only enough to catch the faint outline of him leaning forward. His voice is the only anchor, low and rough. You wet your lips. You could lie. You could start with something small. But you didn’t come here for small.
“I kissed someone I shouldn’t have.”
The silence after is sharp, jagged. You hear him inhale, slow, deliberate, but it sounds unsteady.
His reply scrapes low. “Why was it a sin?”
“Because I lust for a man that’s devoted his life to God.” You let the words drip from your tongue, soft and poisonous. “Because he wore a collar. Because the moment I touched him, I knew I wanted more than I should.”
The sound he makes isn't quite a cough; more a stifled groan, swallowed back into his chest.
“You… kissed a man of God,” he says, as though repeating it will restore order, reframe it as confession instead of provocation.
“Yes, Father.” You bite the word, savouring it. “And I can’t stop thinking about it. I see him when I close my eyes. I see his mouth, the way he tasted of whiskey and sin. I wake up wet from dreaming about him.”
The wood creaks. He’s gripping something hard; maybe the lattice, maybe his own thigh.
“This… this is temptation. You must resist such thoughts…”
“I don’t want to resist.” Your voice slips softer, silkier. “I touch myself at night thinking about him. About the way his hands would feel if he let himself touch me. About his mouth on my skin, about him fucking me in places where he shouldn’t. At the altar. In the pews. In this very booth.”
The breath that hisses through the lattice is sharp, dragged from deep in his chest.
“Do not…” His voice cracks, recovers. “Do not speak of such desecrations. This is the house of God.”
You smile in the dark. He’s still clinging to the mask, but it’s slipping.
“I tell myself it’s just in my head,” you continue, relentless. “But then I touch myself again, and it’s worse. I picture him pulling me into his lap. Spreading me open. Making me beg for forgiveness while he –”
“Stop.” His voice lashes out, low and rough, but it doesn’t sound holy. It sounds pained.
You lean closer to the screen, almost pressing your lips to the wood. “Forgive me, Father. Forgive me for wanting to be ruined by a man of God.”
The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the sound of his breathing; ragged, uneven, shaking.
You know, without seeing his face, that your words have him trembling. That the priest across from you is hanging on by a thread. You tilt your head, let the moment stretch, then lower your voice to a whisper that slides like smoke through the lattice.
“What’s my penance, Father Carisi?”
The name hangs in the air, heavy as a stone dropped in still water.
The sound he makes isn’t priestly; it’s a choked inhale, a hissed curse under his breath. You hear the faint shuffle of his knee hitting the wood. He hadn’t expected you to pierce the veil.
“You… you know who I am.” His voice is a rasp, thick with whiskey and shame.
“Yes, Father,” you murmur. “I knew the moment I stepped into this church. I knew when I touched myself thinking about you. Every filthy thought I’ve had has been about you.”
The wood creaks. He’s closer now, the shadow of his profile pressed almost to the screen.
“This is… this is blasphemy,” he mutters, but his voice has no conviction. His throat works around the words like they taste bitter.
“You’ve been thinking about me too…” You cut him off, soft but sharp, sliding the knife in. “Haven’t you, Father? Alone in your rectory, in the dark, whiskey on your breath. Touching yourself. Pretending it isn’t sin because no one sees.”
The silence on the other side is damning.
Your pulse races. You press your palm flat against the wood, as if you could reach through.
“Confess to me,” you whisper. “Tell me what you’ve done.”
He exhales hard, shuddering. His voice is nothing like the priestly cadence he began with; it’s broken, low, desperate.
“…I’ve thought of you. Every night. Every morning. I’ve begged God to take those thoughts from me, but He doesn’t. I… I touched myself, and I…” His voice cuts off, strangled, as though speaking it aloud is tearing something loose in his chest.
The air between you burns.
“Say it,” you push, your tone fierce now. “Say what you did, Father Carisi.”
The word comes out hoarse, dragged from him like a sin wrestled free.
“I came for you.”
The booth is still, air thick with his ragged breathing. You can almost see it; Sonny hunched in the dark, collar crooked, fist tight in his lap like he could strangle the desire out of himself if he tried hard enough. His voice still hangs in the air, raw and torn: I came for you.
Your hand slips from the lattice. Quietly, deliberately, you push open your door. The creak is sharp in the silence of the church.
For a heartbeat, nothing moves. “Don’t…” he begins, voice hoarse, but the word falters when you step across the aisle and curl your hand around his door.
The handle is cool under your palm. You turn it. Then… push.
The booth door swings open to reveal him: collar askew, hair mussed, eyes wild and glassy in the low candlelight. Whiskey clings to him like a second skin, and yet he still looks every inch the priest, black shirt stretched over broad shoulders, that damned white square at his throat.
You step inside his space. Close the door behind you. The air shrinks, hot, suffocating.
He stares at you like you’ve risen straight out of his worst prayer. Or his favourite dream.
Your lips curl as you lean in, close enough that he feels your breath ghost against his ear.
“Looks like we’re both sinners, aren’t we, Father?” you whisper.
The words coil around him like smoke, and you feel him shudder; not pulling back, not pushing you away, but gripping the edge of the seat so hard his knuckles go white.
His jaw works, throat tight, but his voice comes out low, broken, almost pleading.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
You let your mouth brush his collar as you murmur, “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
The last thing he’d managed was a broken whisper against your mouth: We can’t.
You climb onto him before he can find the words again, knees braced on either side of his thighs, straddling him. The bench creaks under the sudden weight. His breath stutters, head falling back as your lips crash to his; no patience, no pretence, just hunger and teeth and the taste of whiskey coating his tongue.
He kisses back like a drowning man. Rough, desperate. His collar digs into your chin as you fist the fabric of his shirt, tugging it down, exposing his throat so you can bite the skin just below it.
“Jesus…” he gasps, but his hips jerk up beneath you, betraying him.
Your hand is already there, fumbling at the button of his pants, dragging the zipper down. He swears again, softer this time, like a prayer half-choked.
“You should stop me,” you murmur against his lips, fingers slipping inside the waistband, finding him hot and hard.
His eyes squeeze shut. “I can’t…”
That’s all you need. You free him, heavy and aching in your hand, and shift your hips until the blunt head is pressing against you. Your breath hitches at the contact; at the sheer obscenity of it, here, in this booth, with his collar still on.
You sink down onto him in one slow, steady push, and he groans so loud it rattles the walls. His hands grip your waist hard enough to bruise.
“Fuck!” The word tears out of him, raw and unholy. “You’re… you’re killin’ me.”
But you don’t stop. You move, rolling your hips, riding him rough and greedy, swallowing every broken sound he makes. His lips find yours again, messy, frantic, like he needs to devour every inch of you before the ceiling caves in.
The booth rocks with your rhythm, wood protesting with each thrust, every slam of your hips. His teeth catch your bottom lip, his breath hot in your mouth.
“Confess,” he growls against you, voice ragged. “Confess while you take me.”
You lean close, lips brushing his ear, breath hot as you move on him, grinding down until he groans into your neck.
“I thought about you in the pulpit,” you whisper, each word punctuated by the sharp roll of your hips. “Preaching, collar tight, eyes on the crowd… while under the robes, I’m on my knees with my mouth around you.”
His groan is strangled, his hips bucking up, thrusting deeper, harder.
“I thought about you,” you continue, voice low, merciless, “on your knees at the altar, not praying. Eating me out like you worship me instead of Him.”
“Jesus Christ…” The word tears out of him, raw and wrong, and his hand flies to your mouth as if he can stop the blasphemy. But you lick against his palm, suck his thumb between your lips, and keep riding.
Your voice is muffled but relentless. “I thought about you behind this screen… taking confession from me while I touched myself. Pretending to be holy while you listened to me moan your name.”
He shudders, his hand trembling against your jaw.
“And I thought about this…” you whisper, pulling back enough to look into his eyes; blown wide, pupils drowning the blue. “Me bouncing on your cock until you spill inside me, still wearing that collar. Still pretending you’re God’s man while you’re filling me up like you belong to me instead.”
The sound he makes is half-moan, half-prayer, guttural and broken. He pulls you down hard onto him, thrusting up to meet you, fucking into you with a desperation that shakes the tiny booth.
His forehead presses to yours, sweat slicking his brow, and his voice cracks as he breathes, “You’re gonna damn me.”
You smile, breathless, lips brushing his. “Looks like I already have.”
The confessional is shaking with the force of his thrusts now, wood protesting with every sharp collision of your hips against his. Your voice, your words, your sins; they’ve gutted him, left him raw and trembling beneath you.
“Stop,” he gasps, but his hands are dragging you harder down onto him, his mouth crushed against yours in a frantic, bruising kiss. “Don’t…don’t say no more…”
But you don’t stop. You whisper filth against his lips, every word another nail in the coffin of his restraint.
“I want you to fuck me in front of the whole congregation.”
He groans, deep and broken, hips jerking up hard.
“I want you to bend me over the altar with your collar still on.”
His breath shudders, eyes squeezed shut, sweat rolling down his temple.
“I want you to come inside me until I can’t walk out of here without dripping proof of your sin.”
That does it.
He snarls your name into your mouth like it’s a curse, like it’s salvation, and slams you down hard onto his cock, burying himself deep. His whole body seizes beneath you, thighs trembling, breath torn ragged as he spills into you. Hot, pulsing, thick.
The sound that rips from his chest is nothing holy. A guttural groan, raw and desperate, echoing in the tiny booth as he clutches you to him like he’ll drown without your body tethering him.
“Fuck…oh, God, I…” He breaks off, choking on his own voice, forehead pressed to your shoulder as wave after wave wracks him.
You ride him through it, grinding down, feeling him pulse inside you, milking every last drop as he shudders and gasps against you.
The booth is hot with sweat, with sex, with sin so thick it clings to the air like smoke.
When it’s over, he collapses back against the bench, still inside you, chest heaving, eyes wide and lost. His hands tremble against your hips, as if he doesn’t know whether to push you off or hold you tighter. Your thighs cling damp and sticky to his, his cock still softening inside you.
Sonny slumps against the wood panelling, collar skewed, shirt plastered to his chest. His head tips back against the wall, throat bared, Adam’s apple working as he drags in harsh breaths. His hands are still on your hips, but loose now, but still trembling.
The silence is thick.
Then he whispers, hoarse, broken: “God’ll never forgive me.”
You lean in, lips brushing his jaw. “Maybe not,” you murmur. “But I will.”
His eyes snap open, wide, wild. “Don’t…don’t say that. You don’t understand what I just… what we just did.”
“I understand perfectly.” Your nails graze down his chest, catching the edge of his collar. “You’ve been thinking about this since the night I kissed you. You prayed, you begged, you drank, but you still wanted it. You still wanted me.”
His chest shudders. His gaze flicks to the crucifix pinned to the far wall of the booth, as if he’s waiting for it to come crashing down. His lips part, but no words come.
You rock your hips, slow, deliberate, making him hiss as his body jolts even in oversensitivity. “Don’t lie, Father.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, shame carving deep lines across his face. But his body betrays him; his hips twitch up, his hands tightening on you again.
You press your mouth to his ear, whisper soft, sinful: “Looks like confession didn’t absolve your sins after all.”
The booth stays silent but for your mingled breaths, the weight of sin and sweat binding you in the dark. Neither of you moves to leave.
And for the first time since that kiss, Sonny doesn’t push you away.
A/N: Welcome to my third series! I hope you enjoy it just as much as you did the other two. This time, a surprise Haikyuu character will be making an appearance. Also, I have planned 8 parts but that can change depending on how well i develop the story. As always, enjoy reading and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list to be notified when future chapters are updated! :)
Summary: After becoming the number 2 hero, Bakugou accomplished everything he ever wanted. He beat Deku in a few matches, even if he wasn’t the number 1 hero. He got all the fame, beat countless villains, was acknowledged by all his friends and family. But he wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t happy. Bakugou realized that this wasn’t the life he wanted. So he left the life of a hero and decided to hide to live the rest of his life as a normal person.
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