[lilacnavi]

you’re beautiful

pairings: aged up neteyam x mangkwan female reader

notes: obsessed neteyam, gradual dark neteyam, reader is varang’s mean younger sister, manipulation, angst/comfort, miscommunication trope, forbidden lovers, neteyam is a literal yearner, reader is realistic, love at first sight for neteyam, selective amnesia, reader is disgusted by neteyam’s demon blood, betrayal, smut & suggestive themes, p in v sex, themes of noncon & dubcon, breeding, spitting, tummy bulge, big dick neteyam.

word count: 34.5k (i literally have no brain juice anymore)

prompt: from the moment you had your blade pressed against his neck, all he could think of was how beautiful you are. he does not care if you’re a mangkwan and he does not care if you are disgusted by him, you are what he wants even if he has to go to extreme lengths to get you.

selective amnesia series: neteyam | ao’nung | lo’ak

main masterlist | neteyam masterlist

credits to @uzmacchiato (divider)

The dense canopy of Pandora's forest filtered the midday sun into dappled shafts of light casting shifting patterns on the undergrowth as Neteyam soared above on his ikran. His form honed by years of vigilant scouting, blended seamlessly with the creature's sleek blue hide, his golden eyes scanning the perimeters of Omatikaya territory with unwavering focus. The wind whipped through his braided hair carrying the earthy scent of moss and distant rain but today, an unfamiliar tension hummed in the air like Eywa herself was holding her breath.

A flicker of movement below caught his sharp gaze. A cluster of Na'vi figures darting through the underbrush, their movements predatory and coordinated. He signaled his ikran with a subtle shift of his thighs and the beast banked sharply, descending in a controlled spiral toward a concealed ledge. Wings folded with a soft rustle as he dismounted, his bare feet silent on the mossy ground. Crouching behind a thick fern and bow already in hand, Neteyam peered through the leaves, his heart steady but alert.

What he witnessed chilled him.

A raiding party from the Mangkwan clan of fierce warriors painted in ritualistic ash, their bodies smeared with the dark residue of volcanic soil that marked their savage tradition. They had ambushed a small group of Olangi travelers. The Olangi clan, a peaceful foragers from a neighboring grove, were outnumbered and overwhelmed, their pleas echoing faintly through the trees. The Mangkwans moved with brutal efficiency, spears glinting as they subdued their prey but it was the figure at the center that seized Neteyam's breath.

You.

Leading the raid with an air of unchallenged authority, your form cut an intoxicating silhouette against the chaos. Ash coated your skin like a second hide, obscuring the true hue beneath in swirling patterns that accentuated the sharp angles of your jaw. Even veiled in grime, your beauty pierced through with full lips curved in a predatory smile and eyes like smoldering embers, scanning the fray with calculated glee. Your body was clad in minimal hides, a beaded top that strained against the soft perky swell of your breasts, rising and falling with each commanding breath, and a loincloth that hugged the firm curve of your hips revealing toned legs braced for action.

Neteyam found himself entranced, curiosity gnawing at him. What lay under that ash? Smooth azure skin perhaps, glowing with the vitality of your clan or something rarer, more alluring?

But beauty masked cruelty.

He watched as you circled a kneeling Olangi male, his kuru held taut by one of your warriors.

The victim's pleas tumbled out in desperate sobs. "Please we mean no harm. Eywa, mercy!"

Your laughter rang out, mean and cutting, a sharp trill that sliced through the air like a blade. "Your goddess has no dominion here."

It wasn't joyous, it was mocking and laced with sadistic delight as you raised your obsidian knife, the edge catching the light. The Mangkwans deferred to you utterly, their eyes on you as if you were their spiritual guide yet Neteyam knew you weren’t the clan’s leader.

During a prior scouting run with his father, Jake had pointed out Varang, the true Tsahìk of the Mangkwans. Tall and imposing with an aura of unyielding command. That wasn't you. So who were you? Varang's kin perhaps her younger sister, wielding influence through blood ties? Or a favored enforcer, a prized weapon in her arsenal? The mystery only deepened his fixation, his gaze lingering on the way your ash-streaked arms flexed, muscles coiling like vines ready to strike.

The Olangi's kuru dangled vulnerably, the warrior presenting it for your ritual severing. A fate worse than death was severing one's bond with Eywa. Neteyam's jaw tightened with a surge of protectiveness igniting in his chest and he couldn't stand by. Nocking an arrow with fluid precision, he drew back the bowstring with the familiar creak grounding him. His aim was true, released with a whisper, the shaft flew straight and embedding in the hand of the Mangkwan holding the kuru. The warrior yelped dropping the kuru as blood welled while the Olangi collapsed in shock.

You hissed sharply in a venomous sound that reverberated through the trees, your head snapping toward the underbrush where the arrow had originated. Your ember eyes narrowed, piercing the foliage as if you could will the shadows to part. Though the leaves concealed him, your stare felt like it locked onto his golden ones, a challenge unspoken.

Neteyam held his breath, pulse thundering in his ears.

"How amusing." You chuckled lowly, the sound dripping with dark amusement with the thrill of the hunt sparking in your veins, your lips twisting into a smirk that revealed sharp canines.

Shifting your attention, you glanced at the injured warrior clutching his hand with pain etching his features.

"Tend to that." You dismissed him with a wave of your hand, voice cool and authoritative boredom masking your intrigue.

No time for weakness in my ranks.

Grinning to yourself with a secretive curve of your mouth that hinted at games yet to play, you barked orders to your group. "Retreat! Take what we came for."

The Mangkwans obeyed instantly, their weapon’s clubs thudding against Olangi skulls to knock them unconscious. Greedy hands snatching woven satchels of herbs, glowing crystals, and carved totems as prizes of the raid. They melted into the forest like smoke but you lingered a moment, casting one final lingering look toward Neteyam's hiding spot. Your smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with promise of a predator sensing prey nearby before you turned, your form vanishing into the green.

Neteyam exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a heartbeat as his muscles uncoiled with relief washing over him. Slumping against the fern, he berated his caution for being too close and too reckless. The raid's echoes faded leaving only the rustle of leaves.

Then cold steel kissed his throat.

His golden eyes flew open, meeting yours up close. Sadistic glee swirling in their depths like storm clouds over the sea. You had circled silently, a shadow among shadows, your blade now pressed under his chin, tilting his head back against the earth. The ash on your face cracked slightly with your predatory smile, revealing glimpses of smoother skin beneath that was flushed with exertion.

The bow and arrows lay discarded beside him, the telltale fletching matching the one that embedded in your warrior's hand.

"Nice shot, forest boy." You purred, voice laced with mocking admiration and excitement bubbling beneath the snarl, your breath warm against his skin. "Had a good time interrupting my fun?"

He didn't answer, lips pressed into a thin line, inwardly cursing his lapse. How had you slipped past? His body tensed beneath you but he held still and assessing.

You tsked, a sharp disappointed sound, your snarl twisting your features as you surged forward. With effortless strength, you pinned him to the ground. Your knee digging into his abdomen, the blade you held angling deeper. Its tip pricking his flesh just enough to draw a thin bead of blood. The metallic tang mingled with the forest's humidity, your weight settling over him dominantly, your thighs clamping his waist in a vise of muscle and heat.

From this vantage, you were breathtaking.

The ash smeared across your cheeks like war paint but the proximity unveiled nuances. The delicate slope of your nose, the way your braids framed your face and swaying with each controlled breath. Your body pressed against his firm one, soft perky breasts heaving through the scant hide while your thighs hugged him possessively, the firm ridges of your muscle flexing. The loincloth you wore rode up slightly in the struggle, teasing the shadowed juncture between your legs in a forbidden glimpse that stirred something primal in him.

Neteyam's gaze betrayed him, trailing downward despite the danger. Over the generous curve of your breasts, your nipples faintly outlined against the fabric from the adrenaline rush then to the powerful expanse of your thighs gripping him like you owned him already.

You hissed again, low and threatening as irritation flared hot in your being, the sound vibrating through your chest as you caught his wandering eyes. Leaning in closer with your blade steady, your face hovered inches from his. "I'll cut your throat for that."

He stared up at you dazed, the world narrowing to the beauty before him. The cruel spark in your eyes, the subtle sheen of sweat tracing a path down your neck.

Words escaped him before he could cage them, his voice rough with unintended awe. "You're beautiful."

Your eyes widened fractionally, the sadistic gleam flickering with surprise as an unwelcome heat coiled low despite yourself but you didn't falter. The blade nicked deeper against his skin, a warning as you ground your hips down experimentally, testing his resolve.

"Flattery won't save you, skxawng." You snarled though your voice held a husky edge, your curiosity warring with the cruelty you held.

The pressure of your body against his sent unwelcome sparks through both of you. His cock twitching involuntarily beneath the confines of his own coverings, your breath hitching as you felt it.

Neteyam's hands, bound by instinct not to fight yet, flexed at his sides, his golden eyes locked on yours now and unflinching. The forest seemed to hold its breath around you, the distant calls of ikran fading into irrelevance. He could smell the ash on you mingled with the wild scent of your skin, it was earthy and intoxicating.

"Why do they follow you like that?" He asked, voice steady despite the blade, deflecting while his mind raced.

Attraction bloomed dark and insistent in him, a shadow creeping over his usual honor. You weren't just beautiful, you were a storm and he found himself drawn to the eye.

You laughed then in a mean throaty sound that vibrated against him, amusement laced with dark promise shrouding it as you tilted your head to study him like prey. "Maybe you're not as foolish as you look."

Your free hand trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his toned abdomen feeling the ridges of his muscle tense. The touch was teasing and cruel, testing boundaries that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Your breasts brushed his chest with the movement softly and enticingly, the ash transferring in faint streaks to his skin.

He swallowed hard, your blade's edge a razor reminder but his body betrayed him as his hips shifted subtly upward seeking more friction from you.

"Let me go." He murmured, though it lacked conviction as desire thread through the plea. His eyes darkening as they traced the curve of your hip and the way your loincloth shifted hinting at the heat of your cunt beneath.

"And miss this?" You countered, voice dripping with sadistic playfulness as the thrill of power surged, pressing the blade just enough to draw another drop of blood from him.

But your eyes, those ember depths, held his. A challenge, an invitation to the darkness you both sensed brewing. The raid's adrenaline still pumped through your veins, mingling with this unexpected tension, your thighs tightening around him as if to claim victory.

Neteyam's breath came ragged now, the softness of your form contrasting the hardness of your intent, igniting a fire he hadn't anticipated. In that moment amidst the ash and threat, the future Olo'eyktan's resolve cracked with a darker hunger awakening for the woman who could lead with cruelty and beauty in equal measure. The forest watched as a silent witness to the spark that could and would inevitably consume you both.

"Who are you?" He repeated, his voice a low rumble with frustration edged in fascination, refusing to yield even as the steel bit into his skin. "Why do they follow you?"

You tilted your head slowly, braids swaying like dark serpents against your ash-smeared shoulders, your expression an enigma. Your eyes were narrowed to slits, unreadable as the depths of a hidden cenote. The motion caused your torso to shift, the beaded strands of your top grazing his chest once again with a whisper of friction, your soft curves molding briefly against the hard planes of his warrior's build.

After a deliberate pause, you leaned in closer, lips parting to reveal the edge of your teeth.

"I am Varang's younger sister." You murmured, voice smooth as polished obsidian and a hint of pride sharpening the words. "Her Tsakarem."

The revelation hung between you like a taut bowstring as Neteyam's mind raced.

Tsakarem, the heir apparent, groomed to ascend if fate claimed Varang. High standing indeed, woven into the spiritual fabric of the Mangkwan with threads of power and ritual. Your authority made sense now, the way your warriors had deferred, their eyes alight with reverence. But it also sparked unwelcome questions in him. Were you already mated? Bound in tsaheylu to some brutal consort, your being entwined with another?

A surge of fury clawed at his chest but he shoved it down, his jaw clenching as he focused on the way your thighs still gripped his sides, their toned length flexing with subtle control. Your eyes flicked to his face catching the flicker of turmoil and you pressed the knife deeper, the edge singing against his flesh as the thrill of dominance coursed through you.

"What clan are you from?" You demanded, your breath ghosting over his cheek, warm and laced with the metallic tang of anticipation.

"Omatikaya." He answered, voice steady despite the sting, his gaze never leaving yours, golden depths locking with ember ones.

You threw your head back and laughed, the sound rich and mocking as it echoed through the undergrowth.

"Oh, the clan of that tawtute turned Na'vi?" You sneered lowering your face again, your lips curling in contempt. "The clan of Toruk Makto?"

"He's my father." Neteyam replied with a quiet defiance threading his tone, his pride warring with the vulnerability of your proximity as his hands twitching at his sides resisting the urge to reach up and trace the curve of your jaw.

Your grin widened, sharp and predatory, teeth flashing as you savored the revelation, a spark of malicious delight igniting. The expression transformed your features, your cheekbones sharpening and your full lips stretching over a sadistic curve making you appear even more alluring in your cruelty.

"Ah, so you're a filthy sky demon then." You hissed, voice dripping with revulsion, loathing twisting like a vine in your gut at his unpure lineage. "How disgusting."

His heart clenched painfully at the look in your eyes.

Pure unfiltered disgust as if he were tainted by his human heritage, as if he’s unworthy of the ground you straddled. It stung deeper than the blade, a rejection that fueled the shadows creeping into his soul. Yet even as pain lanced through him, he couldn't tear his gaze from the line of your neck and the way sweat beaded along your throat tracing a path down to the valley between your heaving chest.

"What is your name?" You pressed, the knife steady while your free hand now rested on his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to anchor him as curiosity sharpened your focus amid the hate.

"Neteyam." He said simply, the word escaping like a confession, resignation mingling with an undercurrent of longing.

You laughed again, meaner this time with a throaty bark that vibrated through your core.

"Neteyam, the filthy sky demon." You mocked, rolling the name on your tongue like a curse. "My sister would be pleased that I bring the kuru of Toruk Makto's son before her."

Your eyes gleamed with dark promise, imagining the trophy of his kuru severed as a symbol of Mangkwan supremacy dangling in your marui.

Panic flickered in Neteyam's chest but it warred with an unwillingness to harm you. If he fought back now, twisting free and overpowering you, his hands might mar that flawless skin and leave bruises on your arms or that captivating face. Eywa he wished for a disturbance, anything to shatter this moment without violence for you. As if the Great Mother heard his silent plea, the air stirred with the powerful beat of wings slicing through the canopy followed by urgent voices calling his name echoing from above.

"Neteyam! Where are you?" Lo'ak's shout cut through the trees laced with worry while Jake's deeper timbre joined in, commanding and steady.

Relief nearly escaped him in a breath but he held it as he watched your reaction.

You heard it too. The approaching ikran and the unmistakable cadence of Omatikaya warriors. A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral as frustration boiled over like lava, your beautiful features twisting into a mask of fury.

"Interrupt me again next time." You growled, leaning down until your lips nearly brushed his ear, voice a venomous whisper with rage simmering beneath the threat. "And I'll have your kuru hanging from my marui."

With a fluid motion, you dismounted him, your thighs releasing their grip leaving a ghost of warmth where they'd clamped. Your body uncoiled, ash flaking from your limbs as you rose, your knife still clutched in your fist. You shot him one last glare, hateful and disgusted, eyes raking over him as if committing his form to memory for future vengeance. Then without another word you melted into the foliage, your form vanishing into the green shadows with the silent prowess of a seasoned hunter.

Neteyam lay there for a moment staring at the canopy above, the imprint of your weight lingering on his hips like a brand. He missed it already, the press of your curves and the dangerous allure of your scent. A low groan escaped him as he shifted, his arousal evident in the insistent throb beneath his loincloth, a betrayal of his body's response to your dominance.

Shaking his head to clear the haze, he sat up slowly, snatching his bow and arrows to drape across his lap to conceal the evidence of his desire.

"Bro, are you okay?" Lo'ak's voice broke the silence first, crashing through the underbrush with his usual reckless energy.

He skidded to a halt beside Neteyam, his tail flicking in concern while Jake approached more methodically. His gaze sweeping over the unconscious Olangi people sprawled nearby, their forms battered and kurus mercifully intact.

"Yeah." Neteyam replied curtly, forcing composure into his tone as he adjusted his position before rising to his feet with deliberate slowness.

Jake turned to them, his broad frame casting a long shadow, eyes sharp with paternal scrutiny.

"What happened here?" He asked, voice gravelly and worry etching lines around his eyes.

"Mangkwans raided the Olangi." Neteyam explained slinging his bow over his shoulder, the wood cool against his heated skin. "They were about to cut off their kurus. I intervened from the brush, shot an arrow to stop it."

He kept the details sparse, omitting the blade at his throat and the intoxicating weight of you atop him.

Jake tensed visibly, muscles coiling under his blue skin like a predator sensing threat. "Who was leading the raid? Varang?"

Neteyam's mind flashed to your face, those ember eyes and the cruel tilt of your lips, the ash-veiled beauty that haunted him already.

"No." He said, voice even even with the shadow of obsession stirring. "It's her sister. The Tsakarem."

Jake and Lo'ak whipped their heads toward him in unison, surprise widening their expressions.

"You saw her?" Lo'ak blurted, brows shooting up with intrigue sparking in his mischievous gaze.

Neteyam nodded once, curt and evasive.

He'd done far more than see you. He felt you, he breathed you but those truths stayed buried, coiling dark in his chest like a secret vow.

"Let's move." Jake commanded, already kneeling to check on the nearest Olangi, his hands gentle as he assessed wounds. "We need to help them. Bring them back to Omatikaya."

Neteyam inclined his head in agreement but as they gathered the dazed travelers by supporting limp arms and murmuring reassurances, his gaze drifted to the spot where you'd vanished. The undergrowth seemed to whisper your being, a siren call pulling at the edges of his honor. The future Olo'eyktan felt the first true fracture in his resolve, a darkness blooming not from duty but from the cruel beauty who'd marked him without a touch.

As ikran cries heralded their departure, he mounted his own bond-beast last, the wind carrying him homeward yet his thoughts lingered in the ash-scented wilds and chasing the ghost of your snarl.

Meanwhile, you sprinted through the tangled roots and bioluminescent vines, heart pounding with a mix of fury and something sharper, more unsettling. The forest blurred around you, the towering trees with bark etched like ancient scars turned into the familiar scorched ones but your mind replayed the encounter.

Those golden eyes staring up at you unafraid, calling you beautiful amid the threat. Disgusting sky demon, you reminded yourself, snarling under your breath as revulsion clashed with an unwelcome curiosity for the Omatikaya warrior.

Your legs pumped with relentless energy, thighs burning from the raid and the brief wrestle, the loincloth chafing against your sweat-slicked skin. Ash flaked from your arms as you vaulted a fallen log and landing with cat-like poise, your breaths coming in sharp bursts that made your chest ache.

Why had I let him live?

The question gnawed at you even as your marui came into view. Woven from volcanic fibers, perched on stilts over a steaming pool. Warriors milled about who were tending stolen goods such as the shimmering crystals piled in nets and the herbs bundled for Varang's rituals. You slowed, straightening your top where beads had shifted, exposing a sliver of your midriff, the soft undercurve of your breasts rising with each calming inhale.

Your sister's voice called from within, authoritative and probing but you waved it off, slipping inside to wash the encounter away.

Water from a nearby basin splashed over your face, rinsing rivulets of ash to reveal the true azure of your skin which was freckled with faint glowing spots that danced like stars under the dim light. You stared at your reflection in the rippling surface, cheekbones flushed from exertion, lips still curved in residual disdain, and eyes smoldering with unresolved fire.

Neteyam.

The name echoed, stirring a heat you crushed down. He was the enemy, a filthy intruder on your domain. Yet as you traced a finger along the scar on your palm from past battles, you couldn't shake the memory of his body beneath yours that’s stirring instincts you hadn't anticipated.

Varang entered then, her taller frame filling the entrance as her eyes narrowed at your disheveled state.

"Little tsmuke, the raid—success?" She asked, voice like grinding stone with concern veiled in command.

You met her gaze as you forced a smirk. "More than. We took what we needed."

Omitting the details, the blade, the almost-kill.

She nodded satisfied but you turned away, mind already plotting the next border push. Deep down though, a thread of anticipation wove through your thoughts.

Would those golden eyes seek you again?

The Tsakarem of Mangkwan didn't yield to weakness but this sky demon had cracked something open in you, a fissure where darkness and desire might mingle unchecked.

The air in the Tsahik's marui hung heavy with the scent of healing herbs, bitter yarrow and soothing aloe mingling in the steam rising from clay bowls.

Neteyam sat rigidly on a woven mat, his broad shoulders tense beneath the dim glow of suspended lanterns that cast flickering shadows across the curved walls of pandora vines. The shallow nick on his neck throbbed faintly, a reminder of your blade's kiss yet it was nothing compared to the deeper ache gnawing at his core.

His grandmother Mo'at, the revered Tsahik, was occupied elsewhere in the communal space, her hands deftly tending to the battered Olangi refugees who huddled in clusters, their faces dimmed by exhaustion and pain. Murmurs of gratitude and soft chants filled the air as she moved among them as a pillar of calm authority.

Instead, it was Alayni who attended to him, the young healer-in-training whose gentle presence had long been a fixture in his life.

She knelt before him, her slender fingers working with practiced care as she dabbed a cool poultice onto his wound. Alayni was pretty in a soft unassuming way, her eyes a warm amber that often darted shyly from beneath long lashes. Her braids were neatly bound with feathers, signifying her devotion to the healing arts and her movements were fluid and almost reverent as she applied the salve.

She had always been kind to him.

Slipping morsels of fresh fruit into his training satchel when he pushed himself too hard under the midday sun or lingering after lessons to ask about his day with a blush coloring her cheeks. His parents adored her, Neytiri saw in her the quiet strength of a future Tsahik while Jake appreciated her steadiness, a counterbalance to the chaos of their family. She was one of the potential mates they urged him to consider, especially now with his ascension to becoming Olo'eyktan looming in just a year.

Neteyam had entertained the idea once.

Alayni would make a good mate. She was loyal and nurturing, her shyness a balm to his burdens. She had expressed her interest subtly but persistently. A lingering touch during healings and invitations to walk the glowing paths at dusk, her voice soft with hope trembling in every syllable as she suggested they share a meal by the river. He had even agreed a few times out of duty, their conversations polite but devoid of the spark that now eluded him entirely.

But that was before you. Before the raid, before your ash-streaked form had pinned him down, your eyes burning with contempt that only fueled the fire in his blood.

Alayni was pretty, yes, but she paled against the vision of you. Your fierce beauty a storm to her gentle breeze, your cruelty a magnet to his unraveling restraint. He wanted you with a ferocity that bordered on madness, even after mere moments in your presence. He craved you despite the disgust twisting your lips when you spat "filthy sky demon," he craved you despite the enmity of your clans carving chasms between you. You were the enemy, a Mangkwan Tsakarem destined to lead raids that spilled Omatikaya blood, yet the thought of your thighs straddling him and your blade at his throat consumed him like a fever.

It was absurd, this pull. A betrayal of everything he stood for as the future leader but he couldn't deny it. His heart raced at the memory of your scent and his body stirred unbidden with a low heat pooling in his core.

As Alayni's fingers brushed the edge of the wound, her touch feather-light and caring, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her amber eyes searched his golden ones, wide with unspoken affection and a flicker of longing softening her features. But Neteyam kept his stare fixed on the far wall where woven tapestries depicted Eywa's embrace, his jaw set in quiet detachment.

His mind wandered relentlessly to you.

The curve of your hips as you dismounted, the snarl that bared your teeth, and the way your laughter had vibrated through him like a challenge. How could he see you again? Touch you? The forest was vast and the borders were tense but he would find a way. He would scout the edges, risk the shadows, anything to glimpse that fire once more.

"There." Alayni murmured finally, tying off a thin strip of leaf bandage with delicate precision as satisfaction warmed her voice. Her hand lingered, sliding down to caress his arm in a gesture of concern, her palm warm against the corded muscle of his bicep. "Are you alright, Neteyam? That cut... it could have been worse."

Her fingers traced a subtle path, innocent yet hopeful, her breath catching slightly as she awaited his response. In her mind, visions danced. In a year when Jake stepped down, she could be at his side, as Tsahik to his Olo'eyktan, their kurus entwining in tsaheylu under the Tree of Souls. The thought made her pulse quicken with a giddy flutter in her chest.

Neteyam nodded curtly, his voice flat and dismissive with impatience edging his tone as he rose to his feet making the mat rustle beneath him. "I'm fine. Thank you, Alayni."

He didn't meet her eyes, already turning toward the entrance, the weight of his bow slung across his back as a familiar anchor.

"Neteyam." She called out softly standing as well, her form silhouetted against the herbal steam, disappointment tinged with persistence. "Do you want to take a walk later? The glowworms by the falls are blooming. I thought... we could talk."

Her hands clasped together twisting nervously, the beads on her wrists clinking like a plea.

He paused at the flap of the marui, the humid air of the village filtering in and carrying the distant calls of ikran. His mother would beam if he accepted, she would see it as progress toward the merging they craved. But today the will eluded him, drowned out by the echo of your mocking laugh.

"I have something to do." He replied over his shoulder, the words clipped with feign regret buried under his resolve.

"Oh." She echoed faintly, the syllable hanging like a wilted petal, a quiet hurt settling in her posture as she watched him go.

Neteyam stepped into the bustling heart of the Omatikaya village, the high trees weaving a cathedral of leaves overhead yet his thoughts plotted a solitary path. He would scout the borders at dawn and venture closer to Mangkwan lands than wisdom allowed. Risk be damned, he needed to see you again, to unravel the enigma that had ensnared him.

The next day dawned with a veil of mist clinging to the forest floor, the air crisp and alive with the symphony of awakening life.

Neteyam mounted his ikran early, the creature's leathery wings cutting through the canopy as they soared toward the contested fringes. His heart thudded with anticipation, his golden eyes scanning the terrain below from the rivers snaking like veins to the clusters of ferns hiding potential threats.

Hours passed in fruitless search. There were no raiding parties and no ash-painted warriors, only the indifferent pulse of Eywa's domain. Disappointment settled heavy in his chest in a dull ache as he urged his ikran toward home, the wind whipping his braids like accusations of folly.

Just as resignation crept in, a flash of color caught his eye. A solitary figure by the river's bend, nestled in a sun-dappled clearing. His breath hitched, deep in his gut he knew it was you.

With a sharp command, he guided the ikran into a steep dive, landing silently in a thicket nearby as the beast's talons sank into moss without a sound. Dismounting swiftly, Neteyam crept forward, his warrior's grace muting his steps as excitement pounded in his veins like war drums. The underbrush parted under his careful hands, leaves whispering secrets as he approached with his heart racing in a mix of thrill and trepidation.

There you were, reclining on a bed of soft moss beside the lazily flowing river with the water's gentle murmur as a lullaby. Clearly sleep had claimed you with your body lax in repose, unguarded in a way that stole the air from his lungs.

For the first time, your face was bare, no war paint or ash to veil your features, washed clean by the river's touch. Your true azure skin gleamed under the filtered sunlight, smooth and unmarred, dotted with subtle bioluminescent freckles that shimmered like scattered stars across your high cheekbones and the bridge of your nose. Your lips, full and slightly parted, curved in the faintest hint of relaxation, a stark contrast to the snarls he remembered. Long lashes fanned against your lids, framing eyes hidden now but etched in his memory as embers of defiance. Strands of your dark hair, freed from the raid's bindings, cascaded over the moss like midnight rivers and framing the arch of your neck.

You were breathtaking, vulnerability wrapping around your fierce beauty like a fragile shroud. Out here alone with only the river as sentinel, you seemed almost ethereal. Chest rising and falling in slow even rhythms, the soft swell of your breasts straining gently against the thin weave of your top with each breath. No armor, no blade in hand, just you exposed to the world, exposed to him. Anyone could stumble upon you like this. A hunter, a rival, a man like him and do... something.

The thought sent fury through Neteyam, his gaze lingering with possession and hunger. His eyes trailed downward, drinking in the rest of you with unrestrained fervor.

Your arms were folded loosely beneath your head, elbows bent revealing the toned length of your limbs, muscles subtly defined from years of wielding weapons and commanding warriors. The curve of your waist dipped invitingly where your top rode up slightly exposing a sliver of taut midriff, the skin there flawless and warm-toned as if inviting touch. Your legs stretched out languidly, one knee bent in sleep, the other straight showcasing the powerful thighs that had pinned him so effectively and was now relaxed, their azure expanse glowing faintly in the light. The loincloth rode high on your hips, simple yet accentuating the flare of your form with the fabric clinging to the subtle contours beneath.

Every inch of you spoke of strength wrapped in allure like a siren in repose and Neteyam's breath grew shallow. His body responding with a surge of heat, fists clenching at his sides to restrain the urge to close the distance.

You stirred faintly in your slumber with a soft sigh escaping your lips as a breeze rustled the leaves overhead but your eyes remained closed and lost in dreams unknown.

Neteyam lowered himself silently onto the moss beside you, the soft earth yielding under his weight like a conspirator in his forbidden vigil. The river's gentle current whispered nearby, a serene counterpoint to the storm raging within him.

His golden eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed first on the rise and fall of your chest then drifted upward to your face. His gaze lingered on those parted lips which was plush and inviting, a stark vulnerability amid your warrior's form. They begged to be claimed and the thought sent a shiver through his frame making his tail flick restlessly behind him.

Lower still, his eyes traced the delicate beaded necklace top that clung to your torso. The strands of iridescent woven fibers draping just enough to shield the peaks of your breasts from full view. Yet the swell of them was evident, they were firm and rounded as they rise with each breath in a rhythm that mesmerized him. The azure curves peeking teasingly at the edges where the beads shifted. They were soft yet perky, a contradiction to the ferocity he knew you wielded and he imagined their weight in his palms, imagined the warmth and plushness yielding under his touch.

Further down, the simple loincloth of supple hide and vines rested high on your hips as it concealed the most intimate sanctum of your body, the place he yearned to uncover as selfish curiosity burned in him.

What secrets lay beneath that barrier?

The smooth contours of your mound perhaps flushed with the same azure hue, the delicate folds he fantasized would glisten with your essence. He wondered at the scent. Maybe it would be musky and wild like the forest after rain mingled with your unique fire and the taste? Maybe it would be sweet and tangy on his tongue, a forbidden nectar that would drive him to madness. His breath hitched, a low heat coiling in his abdomen as he shifted closer, the air between you thickening with unspoken tension.

Unable to resist any longer, Neteyam extended a hand, his callused fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that belied the darkness creeping into his soul. Your skin was impossibly soft there, like the finest moss under moonlight, and as he caressed the curve of your face, you nuzzled into his palm instinctively with a sleepy murmur escaping your lips.

The simple act undid him, it was a glimpse of innocence beneath your cruel exterior. He grinned, fangs peeking through his lips, a mix of affection and hunger lighting his features as he marveled at how cute you were in this moment when you’re stripped of your armor and snarls. This woman, who had threatened his life with such venom, now sought comfort in his touch without knowing it.

Biting his lower lip to stifle the growl building in his throat, Neteyam leaned down with his braids falling forward like dark curtains. He had to taste you just once, to etch this reality into his being. His lips pressed softly against yours in a tentative peck and the contact was electric. Your mouth yielding like ripe fruit, warm and plush that sent a jolt straight to his core.

And yet it wasn't enough, the hunger gnawed deeper within him.

Emboldened, he traced his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip lewdly and deliberately, savoring the faint saltiness before parting your lips further and sliding inside. He explored with unrestrained greed with his tongue curling against yours, sucking gently as a groan threatened to escape him from the pleasure rumbling low in his chest. The intimacy was intoxicating as if you were already mates bound in tsaheylu, your flavors mingling in a dance that blurred the lines of enemy and desire.

You stirred beneath him, a haze of sleep fracturing as awareness flooded in. Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes widening in shock at the invasion.

There he was, the Omatikaya warrior from the raid, Neteyam.

His face inches from yours, his tongue delving deep into your mouth with shameless possession. The wet heat of him and the bold suction on your tongue, it was an assault wrapped in seduction, his breath hot against your skin. Disbelief warred with fury as you registered the intimacy, your body tensing like a coiled spring. Your hands flew up to shove at his chest, your palms pressing against the firm planes of his pectorals feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath.

But Neteyam only groaned aloud now that you were awake, a sound of raw need vibrating against your lips. His large frame pinning you gently but firmly as he deepened the kiss. His mouth claimed yours harder, his tongue thrusting to muffle your rising protests as he swallowed your gasps in a fierce tangle that left you breathless. The world narrowed to the slick slide of him, the scrape of his fangs against your inner lip, and the way his body heat seeped into yours like an unwanted brand.

Finally he pulled back, a glistening thread of saliva bridging your lips that shimmered in the dappled light. He grinned down at you, eyes dark with triumph and yearning etched in the curve of his mouth.

"I've been searching for you." He murmured, voice husky and low with intensity lacing every word as if confessing a sacred vow.

Rage ignited in you like dry tinder to flame. With a feral snarl that bared your sharp teeth and venom dripping from the sound, you lashed out with your leg snapping up to kick him squarely in the ribs. The impact sent him reeling sideways with a grunt escaping him as he rolled onto the moss. Your hands scrambled to your side, fingers closing around the hilt of your dagger before yanking it free in a blur of motion. You surged to your feet, blade glinting as you loomed over him. Your form coiled for violence and breasts heaving with each furious breath that strained against the beaded top you wore much to his delight.

"You filthy demon." You hissed, voice laced with disgust and hatred sharpening your tone like your weapon, the dagger you held poised at his throat. "How dare you do that to me? Touch me like some lowly beast in heat?"

Your free hand wiped at your mouth as if to erase the lingering taste of him but the flush creeping up your neck betrayed a flicker of something else. Intrigue at the boldness of his claim and the way his words hung in the air like a challenge.

Neteyam didn't flinch even as the tip of your blade nicked his skin anew, a thin bead of blood welling up. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his muscular torso flexing under the thin straps of his chest covering as his golden eyes locked on yours with unyielding fervor.

"I can't stop thinking about you." He confessed, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered with desperation underscoring his plea. "From the moment you pinned me down, your fire... it haunts me. Tell me your name. Let me know who has captured me so completely."

His gaze roamed your form again, not with shame but with open yearning. Tracing the wild tangle of your hair framing your furious expression, the taut lines of your abdomen glistening with a sheen of river mist, and the powerful stance of your legs planted wide in defiance.

Disgust roiled in your gut, hot and acrid, at this Omatikaya intruder who dared invade your solitude and your body with such audacity. He was the enemy, son of the sky demon Toruk Makto, a threat to your clan's dominance and yet, the memory of his tongue and the heat of his mouth lingered like a poison you couldn't quite spit out. Intrigue twisted through the revulsion, what madness drove him to seek you out and kiss you as if you were his destined one?

Your grip tightened on the dagger, your knuckles paling as fury warred with a treacherous curiosity in your eyes.

"You think you can waltz in here and claim what isn't yours?" You spat stepping closer, the blade pressing harder against his jugular. "I should gut you here, leave your corpse for the viwiswasp to feast on. You're nothing but a pest, a filthy sky spawn with delusions."

But even as the words lashed out, mean and cutting, a part of you hesitated. The way his chest rose and fell mirroring your own ragged breaths, the earnest plea in his voice that clashed with the warrior's resolve. You wanted to kill him, to end this absurdity with a swift strike, to reclaim the control he'd stolen in that kiss. Your arm trembled slightly, your beauty twisted into something lethal as your lips curled in a sneer, and eyes blazing with the cruelty that defined you as Varang's sister, the Tsakarem destined to lead with iron will.

Neteyam's hand rose slowly, not to defend but to reach for you, fingers brushing the air near your wrist with longing softening the edges of his gaze.

"Kill me if you must." He whispered, voice thick with emotion and dark passion fueling his defiance. "But know that even in death, I'd want you. Your fire, your cruelty, all of it. You're no enemy to me, you're the one who's awakened something I can't ignore. Your name... please."

He wanted to love you, to pull you into his world of shadows and bind you there, consequences be damned.

Your heart thundered in your ears, a war drum echoing the chaos of betrayal and unwanted heat that his touch had ignited. The dagger trembled in your grasp, its razor edge kissing the pulse point at Neteyam's throat where his azure skin flushed with a mix of exertion and unbridled want. His golden eyes held yours unblinking, a predator's stare that refused to yield even in the face of death.

If giving him this scrap of yourself, of your name, would sever this madness then so be it.

"If I tell you my name…" You growled, voice low and edged with finality as threat wove through each syllable like thorns. "You must leave me alone. Swear it on Eywa or I'll carve your heart out here and now."

But you didn't wait for his oath, the words spilling from your lips like venom you needed to purge.

"(Y/N). Now leave me be or I'll make sure you die by my blade."

The name hung in the humid air, a reluctant offering that tasted like ash on your tongue. Your lips curled into a savage snarl, fury twisting your features and fangs glinting as you wrenched the dagger away to spun on your heel. Your bare feet sank into the cool moss, propelling you toward the river's edge where the water's gleam promised escape from his suffocating presence. Every muscle in your body coiled with the urge to flee, your hips swaying in a warrior's stride, and the loincloth brushing against your thighs like a reminder of the vulnerability he'd exploited.

"I can't do that." Neteyam called after you, his voice a rough timbre that cut through the rustle of leaves as desperation cracked the edges of his resolve.

He rose fluidly, his form unfolding like a shadow detaching from the earth with broad shoulders rolling as he took a step forward, clearly undeterred by the blood trickling down his neck.

You whirled around with disbelief flooding your veins like ice water, your wild mane of braids whipping across your shoulders in a dark cascade. The motion made your beaded top shift, the shells clinking softly against the curves of your chest which draw his gaze for a fleeting heated instant before you jabbed the dagger toward him accusingly.

"Why do you keep insisting?" You demanded, your voice rising in incredulous outrage while your confusion sharpened into a blade of its own. "Are you stupid, forest boy? We are enemies, I’m born of a clan that spills blood for sport and yet you want me?"

Your free hand gestured wildly between you, emphasizing the chasm that no words could bridge. Beauty radiated from you even in anger, the full swell of your mouth still tinged with the ghost of his kiss and a flush blooming across your collarbones like forbidden wildflowers.

"You and I could never be." You continued, the words lashing out with cruel precision, scorn dripping from your tone like poison. "My sister, Varang, would sooner see you flayed alive than accept you as the one to claim her tsmuke. She'd rip out your eyes for even dreaming it. And your precious Omatikaya? They'd never accept me. A Mangkwan, the Tsakarem who leads raids into your lands. What a fool you are, chasing shadows that will only lead you to ruin."

In your mind, he was a pathetic spectacle. This golden-eyed warrior, the son of legends, reduced to begging at the feet of his foe. His persistence grated against your pride, a fool's errand that mocked the iron walls you'd built around your heart. You turned away again with your shoulders squared, the dagger sheathed at your hip with a decisive snap and determined to outrun his folly.

"I don't care." Neteyam replied, his words steady and unyielding, a quiet fire burning beneath the surface as he stepped closer until the heat of his body brushed the air at your back.

But you didn't listen nor did let the plea sink in. You vanished into the underbrush, the forest swallowing you whole leaving him with the echo of your name and the sting of rejection.

Ever since that day, he haunted your steps like a specter woven from Pandora's own mists. Neteyam followed you through the tangled wilds of Mangkwan territory as a silent shadow at times, his presence a prickle at the nape of your neck when you scouted alone. Other moments, he'd emerge from the foliage, voice soft yet insistent, murmuring words meant to chip away at your defenses.

"The way you move through the trees, it's like you're part of them." He'd say one afternoon, golden eyes tracing the graceful flex of your calves as you leaped across a fallen log and your frame twisting mid-air with effortless poise.

Or in the hush of twilight as you sharpened your arrows by a flickering fire, he'd linger at the periphery and commenting on the stars reflected in your gaze, how they mirrored the fierce spark within you.

He was persistent, a relentless force driven by a singular goal. To soften you, to peel back the layers of cruelty until the woman he'd glimpsed in your sleep, the one who nuzzled his hand, emerged fully.

His approaches varied, sometimes bold with questions about your hunts, drawing out tales of Mangkwan prowess that made your chest swell despite yourself. Other times, quiet vigils where he'd simply watch, his muscular form leaning against a trunk, the scars on his arms catching the light like badges of battles fought for a cause, now fixated on you. Each encounter left you seething yet a treacherous warmth stirred in your core. His unwavering attention a balm to the isolation of your role as Tsakarem.

Weeks blurred into a tense rhythm, his pursuit weaving into the fabric of your days until one night, under a canopy heavy with the scent of night-blooming vines, you found yourself cornered.

Not by force but by the weight of his words.

You'd been tracking a hexapede through a secluded glade, the moon casting silvery paths on the dew-kissed ferns when he appeared blocking your path with a vulnerability that disarmed you. His braids were tousled from the chase, framing a face etched with raw honesty, the broad planes of his chest rising and falling as if he'd run for miles to reach you.

"Every duty, every breath I take without you feels empty." He confessed, voice a husky murmur, longing threading through like vines around your resolve. "You're not just an enemy, (Y/N). You're the fire that lights my darkness, the cruelty that makes me feel alive. Let me show you, let me prove that clans mean nothing when Eywa binds two souls like this."

His hand reached out not to grab but to hover near yours, the calluses on his fingers speaking of battles and bows. His golden eyes locking onto your lips with an intensity that made your pulse stutter.

The air thickened, charged with the unspoken pull that had simmered since that first kiss. Against your better judgment you stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until his breath ghosted your skin.

What was it about his persistence, the way he saw past your snarls to the beauty you wielded like a weapon?

Your body betrayed you as you leaned in, the soft peaks of your breasts brushing his chest through the thin barrier of beads sending sparks racing down your spine. His lips met yours in a tentative press then deepened as you responded, tongues tangling in a heated dance that tasted of forbidden fruit and shared secrets. Your hands fisted in his hair pulling him closer, the world fading to the firm press of his hips against yours and the low groan he emitted vibrating through you like thunder.

But reality crashed in like a tidal wave. Images of Varang's disapproving glare, the blood-soaked raids between your clans, and the impossibility of it all. You remembered who you were, the Tsakarem, Varang's unyielding sister, not some lovesick dreamer.

With a gasp you shoved him back, your palms slamming into the unyielding wall of his abdomen feeling the ripple of muscle beneath. He stumbled, eyes wide with shock and hurt, confusion flickering in their depths but you didn't let him speak.

"Do not come see me again nor follow me." You commanded, voice breaking with a mix of resolve and regret as steel hardened your tone to mask the tremor.

Your chest heaved, the beaded strands shifting with each ragged breath. You backed away, beauty sharpened by the pain of denial. Eyes stormy with unshed tears, lips swollen from the kiss, the lines of your body poised for flight.

"You and I... we could never be. Go back to your forest, Neteyam. Forget me or the next time I see you, my blade won't hesitate."

You turned and melted into the shadows leaving him kneeling in the glade, the echo of your rejection a wound deeper than any dagger could inflict. "(Y/N), wait—"

The night closed around you but his presence lingered like a scar like a persistent ache that neither distance nor denial could fully erase.

Weeks dragged on like vines choking the life from a once-vibrant tree and Neteyam hadn't caught even a whisper of your shadow flitting through the undergrowth. It was as if Eywa herself had woven you into the ether, erasing every trace of your presence from the tangled borders where your worlds collided. The forest, once a realm of purpose and patrol now felt hollow, its bioluminescent glow mocking the void you'd left in his chest.

He patrolled the edges of Omatikaya territory with mechanical precision, his bow slung across his back, but his golden eyes scanned not for threats but for the sway of a familiar form cutting through the mist-shrouded ferns.

Distraction clawed at him, a relentless predator that turned his thoughts into a storm of obsession. Training sessions blurred into forgotten commands. He'd miss cues from his father's strategies, his mind replaying the ghost of your lips against his and the way your body had arched into the kiss before rejection shattered the illusion. Your beauty haunted him, the elegant sweep of your neck as you snarled threats and the curve of your hips that spoke of battles won and raids led with unyielding command.

It consumed him, this dark hunger that twisted his once noble heart into something feral with nights spent pacing his marui pod, fingers tracing the air where your warmth had once pressed against him. Sleep evaded him replaced by visions of your eyes flashing defiance, your full mouth curving in cruel dismissal.

His family noticed the fracture in their golden son, the way his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, his once-sharp focus dulled like a blade left too long in the rain. Meals passed in silence with his portions untouched until Lo'ak, ever the bold sibling, cornered him one evening by the central fire pit. The flames danced across their azure skin, casting flickering shadows that mirrored the turmoil in Neteyam's gaze.

Lo'ak dropped onto the woven mat beside him, his tail flicking with casual concern, lean muscles shifting under his arm bands as he leaned in.

"Bro, are you okay?" Lo'ak asked, voice laced with brotherly worry and a teasing edge softening the probe with his ears twitching forward. "You've been off lately like you're hunting ghosts or something."

Neteyam nodded absently, his jaw tightening as he poked at the embers with a stick, sparks rising like fleeting hopes. The motion was rote, his mind elsewhere and tangled in the memory of your scent.

Lo'ak wasn't convinced, his brow furrowing as he studied the distant look in his brother's eyes.

He nudged Neteyam's arm, the contact grounding but insistent. "Did something happen during the Mangkwan raid before Dad and I found you? Spill it."

Neteyam stilled, the stick snapping in his grip as the question yanked him back to that fateful clash. The ash-streaked warrior who'd pinned him with a blade, your body a taut bowstring of lethal grace. The memory ached like a fresh wound, your name a thorn embedded deep in his being.

He exhaled sharply, golden eyes darkening with the weight of confession.

"The Tsakarem of Mangkwan." He murmured, voice rough with longing, a raw edge betraying the storm within him. "I want her. (Y/N)."

Lo'ak's eyes widened stupefied, his mouth parting in shock as he processed the impossibility. His golden brother, the perfect heir, ensnared by an enemy? The very heart of Mangkwan cruelty?

He leaned back running a hand through his braids as disbelief etched lines across his face. "Bro... you know Dad and Mom would never approve. She's one of them. The ones who raid our allies, spill blood like it's water. What the hell, Neteyam?"

Neteyam's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly under his skin, a fortress against the truth that echoed your own words like a cruel refrain.

He knew it, his Dad’s stern lectures on duty, his Mom’s unyielding gaze on clan purity but it did nothing to quench the fire you'd ignited. Your rejection replayed in his mind, the push of your hands against his chest, and the storm in your eyes as you declared your worlds irreconcilable. It only fueled the madness in him, making him crave the challenge of breaking through your walls.

As the brothers' tense exchange hung in the air, a soft rustle drew their attention.

Alayni emerged from the shadows of the surrounding pods, her steps hesitant and shy glances darting toward Neteyam like fireflies seeking light. Her frame was draped in healer's vines, the gentle swell of her hips swaying with quiet grace, her face framed by loose tendrils that caught the firelight and highlighting the soft blush on her cheeks. She carried a small pouch of herbs in a pretext for her approach but her eyes betrayed the deeper intent.

Lo'ak spotted her first, a mischievous grin splitting his face as he clapped Neteyam on the shoulder, the pat teasing and knowing amusement dancing in his tone. "Looks like your admirer is here for you. Don't mess this up, golden boy."

With a wink, he rose and sauntered off leaving Neteyam to the awkward solitude.

Neteyam rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his features but he schooled his expression as Alayni settled beside him. Closer than usual, her knee brushing his thigh in a tentative claim of space. The warmth of her proximity was gentle and unthreatening, her fingers twisting the pouch nervously as she met his gaze.

"How are you?" She asked softly, voice a melodic lilt with shyness threading through like delicate vines as her full lips curved in a hopeful smile. "It feels like I haven't seen you around since I treated your wound. You've been... distant."

Neteyam shrugged, his broad shoulders lifting in a noncommittal motion making the scars on his arms flex subtly under the fire's glow.

"Duties." He replied curtly, voice flat as an evasion masking the turmoil, his mind already drifting back to you, the one whose touch lingered like a brand.

Alayni leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his ear preparing to bridge the gap with words of care, her hand hovering near his as if to offer solace. But before she could speak, shouts erupted from the tree line with harsh cries of victory and the thud of bound feet against the earth.

Neteyam's head snapped up, heart thudding against his ribs like a war drum as he spotted his father and the warriors returning, their forms silhouetted against the fading light.

The captives trailed behind, ash-streaked skins marking them as Mangkwan raiders, their bodies slumped in defeat. Five in total, wrists bound with sturdy vines but one sight stopped Neteyam's breath.

You.

Unconscious, your form cradled in the arms of a warrior with your head lolling against his chest, the ash paint smudged across your high cheekbones and the elegant line of your jaw. Your braids hung limp framing a face pale from exhaustion, the resilient curves of your body draped in tattered raiding gear that clung to the subtle flare of your waist and the firm strength of your thighs.

The others were dragged roughly but you were carried like a precious cargo even in enmity.

He scrambled to his feet, abandoning Alayni mid-breath, her confused expression lost in his haste. Legs pumping, he wove through the gathering crowd following Jake and the warriors into the large containment hut at the village's edge. The structure loomed, woven from sturdy branches and hides, its interior dim and partitioned for holding foes.

The captives were deposited inside. The four males shoved into a far corner with their glares defiant as their hisses of Mangkwan curses filled the air.

You were placed apart in a secluded alcove screened by a heavy cloth drape, your unconscious form laid gently on a mat of woven reeds. The warrior who carried you stepped back wiping sweat from his brow as Jake oversaw the securing of the space.

"Dad, what happened?" Neteyam demanded, voice edged with urgency and concern sharpening his tone like a drawn arrow as he stepped into the hut's shadowed confines with his tail lashing behind him.

Jake turned, his massive frame blocking the entrance momentarily, his eyes weary from the skirmish but sharp with command.

He wiped a streak of dirt from his arm, the muscles there corded from years of battle. "We were about to capture Varang. Had her cornered in the ravine but the female blocked it, took the hit meant for her. Bought enough time for their Tsahik to escape."

The female. You. The only one among them, your role as shield a testament to the fierce loyalty that bound you to your sister in fire and ash.

Neteyam's gaze flicked to your still form, hidden now behind the cloth and a pang twisted in his gut.

"She's the Tsakarem." He supplied, the words heavy with a mix of protectiveness and dread lacing his revelation.

Jake's eyes widened, surprise flashing across his stern features as he processed the implications, his hand pausing mid-gesture. "She's important to the Mangkwans then. Varang will probably come after her. Ransom or rescue, doesn't matter. We can't let that slide."

"She will." Neteyam confirmed stepping closer, his voice low and resolute, the ache of your vulnerability fueling his words. "That's her younger sister. Varang won't rest until she's free."

Jake nodded at the confirmation, his expression hardening into strategic resolve, clapping a hand on Neteyam's shoulder in brief solidarity. "We will keep a tight watch then. I'll ask them questions later. See what we can pry loose about their next moves."

With that he turned and strode out, the warriors filing after him leaving the hut in tense silence broken only by the captives' low growls from the corner.

Neteyam lingered, the air thick with the scent of sweat and earth from the raid. He approached your alcove parting the cloth with a steady hand, the fabric whispering against his fingers. There you lay tied loosely at wrists and ankles to prevent escape upon waking. Vines that bit gently into your skin, marked by fresh bruises blooming like dark petals along your arms and the arch of your collarbone.

Still as beautiful as he remembered, even in captivity. Your lashes fanned against your cheeks, full lips parted slightly in unconscious repose, the soft rise and fall of your chest drawing his eye to the swell beneath your disheveled top, and beads scattered like fallen stars.

He wanted to see you again, to clash words and wills in the wild freedom of the forest but not like this. Bound and broken at the mercy of his clan. Not with his family's eyes now fixed on you as a prize in their war. Kneeling beside you, the mat dipping under his weight as he reached out, callused fingers tracing the curve of your cheek and brushing away a smudge of ash to reveal the smooth glow beneath. Your skin was warm, alive with the pulse he knew so well, and the touch sent a shiver through him as desire warred with regret.

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Gentle and lingering, tasting the faint salt of battle and the sweetness he'd stolen before.

"Foolish girl." He whispered against your mouth, tenderness laced with dark possession as his breath mingled with yours in the dim light.

The words were a caress and a claim, his thumb stroking the plush line of your lower lip as he pulled back, golden eyes devouring the sight of you vulnerable yet unbroken. In this moment with the world outside plotting your fate, he vowed silently to shield you. From his clan, from Varang's wrath, from everything but the bond that refused to die.

You stirred faintly under his touch, a soft murmur escaping your throat but consciousness eluded you still. Neteyam remained, a sentinel in the shadows, his heart a battlefield where love and enmity bled into one.

Hours slipped by in the dim hush of the containment hut, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke from the raid. Flickering torchlight danced across the woven walls, casting elongated shadows that twisted like serpents in the undergrowth.

You stirred slowly, the haze of unconsciousness peeling away to reveal the ache throbbing through your limbs, a dull fire from the blow that had felled you, protecting Varang's escape. Your eyelids fluttered open, gaze sharpening as the world came into focus. The sturdy reeds beneath you, the vines binding your wrists and ankles in a loose but unyielding embrace, and worst of all, the two figures looming nearby.

Neteyam knelt close, his golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on hunger, broad shoulders tense under his warrior's harness, the lean cords of muscle in his arms flexing as he leaned forward. Beside him stood Jake Sully, Toruk Makto, his massive frame radiating authority, scarred torso marked by battles long past, tail swaying with restrained impatience.

A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral disgust curling your lips like a predator's warning, your body coiling against the restraints as you bared your teeth. The sight of them, your captors and enemies, ignited a blaze in your chest, your form tensing, the subtle strength in your thighs pressing against the mat as you tested the bonds.

Jake crossed his arms, his gaze steady and unyielding, a hint of weary respect in his tone. "Your warriors stabbed themselves refusing to talk. You are the only one left."

You met his eyes, a smirk twisting your full mouth despite the vulnerability of your position, the line of your jaw lifting in defiance. Ash still clung in faint traces to your high cheekbones, accentuating the beauty of your features.

"Their loyalties bind them to us." You replied, voice smooth and laced with pride, a mocking edge sharpening the words, your chest rising with a steady breath that drew attention to the swell beneath your tattered top.

Jake tsked, shaking his head, the sound rough like gravel, underfoot frustration etching faint lines around his eyes. "You're one stubborn clan."

You hissed at him, the sound sharp and venomous, hatred flashing in your stare, ears flattening against your skull as you glared at the legend before you, the human-turned-Na'vi who embodied everything your clan despised.

"You will remain here, captive." Jake continued, his voice firm, command underscoring the decree. "You'll be our leverage if your sister ever decides to attack."

A growl rumbled deep in your chest, directed solely at him. The Toruk Makto, the anomaly who dared threaten your bloodline. Your fingers curled into fists within the vines, nails digging into your palms, the taper of them drawing faint crescents on your skin.

Jake sighed, the exhale heavy with the weight of leadership, and clapped a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the gesture paternal and trusting as a subtle nod of handover. "Keep watch on her. The responsibility is on you."

Neteyam nodded, his expression composed outward, calm masking the thrill surging through his veins, but inside, glee bubbled like a hidden spring. He alone would guard you, tend to you, unravel the fortress of your resistance. As Jake strode out, the flap of the hut falling shut behind him, the space shrank to just the two of you, the air humming with unspoken tension.

"Baby." Neteyam murmured, voice low and intimate, affection warming the endearment as he shifted closer on his knees, his warm breath ghosting over your bound form.

You recoiled, disgust twisting your features, revulsion flaring hot in your gut, your head snapping back as far as the position allowed, the cascade of your braids shifting across your shoulders.

"Don't call me with that filthy tawtute terms of yours." You spat, words dripping venom as anger sharpened each syllable, your torso arching away from him.

He ignored the barb, golden eyes gleaming with unshakeable resolve as he leaned in, the scent of forest and him invading your senses. "Why did you let yourself get captured?"

You snarled baring fangs, fury igniting your gaze like struck flint, straining against the vines that held your wrists above your head, the motion pulling taut the supple curve of your arms.

"I am protecting our tsahik." You hissed, loyalty a shield as unyielding as your will, your voice echoing the sacred bond to Varang.

His lips curved into a grin, wide and boyish yet edged with something darker, delight sparkling in his eyes, the sharp angles of his face softening in the torchlight. "I've missed you."

You rolled your eyes, the gesture exaggerated, exasperation warring with the unwelcome flutter in your chest, turning your face away, the slope of your neck exposed in the motion, beads from your disrupted adornments clinking softly.

"I've missed your lips." He added, voice dropping to a husky whisper, desire threading through like vines claiming a tree, his fingers reaching out to trace the plush contour of your mouth, calluses rough against the sensitive skin.

You shook him off with a jerk of your head, the touch igniting sparks of unwanted heat irritation flaring alongside a traitorous shiver.

"Do not touch me, demon." You commanded, tone icy, loathing masking the conflict stirring within you.

But he only grinned wider, happiness radiating from him like bioluminescent blooms, his joy unmarred by your barbs as he settled back on his haunches to simply watch you, the weight of his gaze a caress in itself.

The days that followed blurred into a rhythm of captivity and unwelcome intimacy, the hut your world narrowed to woven walls and the single guardian who haunted your every waking moment.

Neteyam was the only face you saw, his presence a constant. Bringing woven baskets of fruit and roasted meats, feeding you with deliberate care. His fingers would brush your lips as he offered bites of sweet berry, the juice staining your chin, and you'd snarl with defiance in every bite, snapping at his hand like a cornered ikran, yet he persisted undeterred, his touch lingering on the delicate skin of your jaw.

He touched you freely, hands roaming while you snarled and twisted as fury boiled beneath your skin, the vines holding you fast to the mat or a sturdy post when he deemed it necessary. Stolen kisses came unbidden, his mouth claiming yours in quick heated presses when your guards were down, tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you bit back with rage fueling the clash of teeth.

He was utterly smitten, golden eyes devouring every inch of you with the way your chest heaved with indignant breaths, the flex of your thighs as you kicked futilely, the wild beauty of your stare that promised retribution.

One afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the hut's slits in golden shafts, he untied your ankles just enough to pull you onto his lap, your back pressed against the solid wall of his chest. His arms encircled your waist, strong and unyielding with possessiveness in his hold, the heat of his body seeping through your sparse coverings.

You snarled writhing, disgust and something perilously close to anticipation warring within, but the bonds on your wrists kept you captive to his whims.

"Shh, just relax." He murmured against your ear, tenderness laced with command, his large hands sliding upward, cupping the soft perky mounds of your breasts through the thin beaded top.

His thumbs circled the peaks, teasing them to firm points, desire evident in the hitch of his breath as he massaged your breasts with slow deliberate strokes that sent unwelcome jolts through your core. The sensation was maddening, the rough pads of his fingers kneading the yielding flesh, tracing the alluring undersweep before pinching lightly, drawing a gasp you couldn't suppress betrayal in the sound.

Your body arched involuntarily, nipples hardening under his touch, the azure skin flushing with heat as he lavished attention, his lips grazing the curve of your shoulder.

"See? You like it." He whispered, smug satisfaction coloring his voice, nipping at the tender skin there, his hips shifting subtly beneath you, the growing hardness pressing against your lower back.

You growled low, humiliation burning alongside the forbidden pleasure, twisting your head to glare at him, but the fight in your eyes dimmed fractionally with each passing day.

Weeks wove onward, the passage marked by the changing light outside and the subtle shift within you.

The snarls grew less fervent, your body anticipating his arrivals from the brush of his fingers to the the warmth of his frame, though you'd never admit it, never let the fondness crack your armored facade. You'd avert your gaze when he fed you, lips parting almost eagerly for the morsels, or lean into his massages despite the huffs of protest, a secret thrill coiling in your belly.

His touches became a ritual with his hands exploring the lines of your sides, thumbs dipping into the dip of your waist, or tracing the strong taper of your legs, always pushing boundaries while you feigned outrage.

One evening, as the stars began their vigil beyond the hut, Neteyam had you straddled across his thighs once more, your bound hands resting on his shoulders for balance.

The air hummed with humidity, your skin glistening faintly, the elegant fan of your lashes lowered as his palms worked their magic on your breasts again. This time bare, the beads pushed aside to expose the soft rounded swells. He kneaded them with reverence, awe in the gentle pressure, rolling the sensitive buds between fingers slick with shared sweat. His mouth following to lave hot open-mouthed kisses along the valley between.

Your breath hitched, conflict evident in the stutter, hips rocking subtly against him, the friction igniting sparks that blurred the line between hate and hunger. He groaned against your skin as need roughened the sound, one hand sliding down to grip the firm curve of your ass, pulling you closer as his tongue flicked teasingly.

It was in this haze of intimacy, bodies entwined like mates in the privacy of the alcove, that Alayni slipped into the hut unseen, her steps silent as a healer's grace. She had come under pretense of checking the captives' wounds, her pouch of salves clutched tightly, but the sight that greeted her froze her in the shadows.

You and Neteyam, lost in each other, his hands worshipping your form, your head thrown back in a moment of unguarded surrender.

Fury ignited in her chest, hot and consuming jealousy twisting her features into a mask of rage, eyes narrowing to slits.

Neteyam was supposed to be hers. The shy glances she'd cast, the wounds she'd tended with lingering touches, the dreams of bonding under Eywa's gaze. And now, here he was, defiling that future with you. An enemy, a Mangkwan witch, doing filthy things that should have been hers alone. Her fingers tightened on the pouch, knuckles paling, as she watched his mouth claim a nipple, your soft moan piercing the air like a betrayal.

But anger birthed cunning.

Alayni's lips curled into a smirk, cold and calculating as vindictive glee sparked in her gaze, she backed away silently, melting into the night. She knew just what to do, whispers to the right ears, seeds of doubt sown in fertile soil.

Varang would come for her sister but before that, she'd ensure this forbidden flame was snuffed out, one way or another.

The days dragged on in the stifling confines of the hut, your world reduced to the flicker of torch flames and the relentless pull of the vines that bound you. Whispers from beyond the woven walls hinted at unrest, scouts reporting movements in the ash-choked territories but you paid them little mind, your thoughts a whirlwind of simmering resentment and the unwelcome echoes of Neteyam's touches.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Alayni moved like a shadow through the camp, her steps light and purposeful as she sought out a Mangkwan scout. With a healer's gentle facade masking her venom, she slipped him a message etched on a leaf. The location of the Omatikaya's hidden holding ground, the precise hut where you were kept. Satisfaction curled her lips as she watched him dispatch immediately after hissing at her.

Varang would come, of that she was certain, and once you were ripped away, the stain you'd left on Neteyam's heart would fade, leaving her path clear.

She bided her time with calculated grace, weaving herself deeper into the fabric of the Sully family.

Mornings found her at Neytiri's side in the healer's marui, her hands steady as she ground herbs for poultices, her voice soft with feigned humility, adoration shining in her wide eyes as she praised Neytiri's wisdom. Evenings brought her to Jake, offering insights on the refugees' wounds, her touch lingering just a fraction too long on his arm as she murmured concerns for the clan's future.

Approval warmed their gazes, nods of encouragement that fueled her ambition. Everything unfolded as she envisioned. His parents' favor solidified, pressure mounting on Neteyam to seal the bond before the shadows of war encroached further.

One humid afternoon, as the sun dipped toward the canopy in a blaze of amber, Alayni slipped into your hut unannounced, the flap rustling like a conspirator's whisper.

You lay there, wrists still secured to the low beam overhead, your frame stretched out on the mat, the faint sheen of sweat tracing the elegant hollows of your collarbones. Your azure skin glowed softly in the diffused light, the subtle freckles across your shoulders like scattered stars, and your chest rose in steady rhythms.

She knelt beside you, her posture demure yet predatory, knees folding gracefully onto the earth as her tail flicked with restrained triumph. Her fingers brushed the edge of the mat, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your body.

"So this is where my soon-to-be mate has been occupying himself with." She said, voice honeyed with mock pity as a saccharine smile curved her lips, eyes glinting with malice.

You stared at her blankly, eyes narrowing slightly as you took in her features.

"Who?" You asked tone flat, your head tilting just enough to let a braid slip over your shoulder, brushing the firm flesh of your bicep.

Her grin widened, sweet as overripe fruit, revealing the gleam of her teeth as she leaned closer, the scent of healing herbs clinging to her like a veil.

"Neteyam." She purred, the name rolling off her tongue with possessive delight, triumph lacing the revelation. "We will be mated earlier than planned, as per his parents."

Something twisted in your chest. A sharp unexpected clench that stole your breath like thorns snagging delicate vines. Your heart stuttered, a betraying ache blooming beneath your ribs, but you schooled your features into impassive stone, the high planes of your cheekbones unchanging, your gaze steady as unyielding rock.

All this time, his whispers, his hands mapping your skin like sacred territory, his stolen kisses that left you breathless and conflicted, they were lies woven around another. A potential mate waiting in the wings while he toyed with you, the enemy captive.

Sick demon bastard.

"Put him on a leash then." You replied, forcing a grin that mirrored hers, malice flashing in your stare like lightning over ash plains, your voice dripping with feigned amusement. "So your future mate will stop coming to pester me."

The words tasted like bile but you held the expression as you met her stare head on.

Meanwhile, across the camp in the central marui, Neteyam stood rigid before his parents, the air thick with the scent of spiced tea and unresolved tension.

Jake's broad frame filled the space, his scarred arms crossed over his chest while Neytiri sat poised nearby, her fingers tracing patterns on a woven mat, golden eyes watchful.

The news fell like a stone into still water. A mating with Alayni, sealed in just one month's time, earlier than tradition dictated, a safeguard against the uncertainties of leadership should fate claim both Jake and Neytiri in battle.

"It's for the clan, son." Jake said, voice gravelly with finality, concern etching deeper lines into his brow, clapping a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the weight meant to ground him.

Neytiri nodded, her tail curling supportively around her leg gentle resolve in her tone. "Alayni is devoted and strong, she is who we have chosen. She will stand beside you as Olo'eyktan's mate."

Fury burned through Neteyam's veins, hot and unquenchable, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscles bunched along his sharp jawline.

He didn't want her. Not her shy glances, not her dutiful presence, they were chains disguised as comfort. No, his thoughts raced to you. The fire in your snarls, the beauty of your form yielding under his touch, the forbidden pull that consumed him. You, with your pretty eyes that pierced like arrows, your body a landscape he longed to claim eternally.

He said nothing, golden eyes darkening with suppressed rage, turning on his heel without another word. The marui's flap snapped shut behind him as he stormed toward your hut, craving the solace of your presence, the one anchor in this storm of obligation.

He pushed through the entrance, the dim interior unfolding before him like a betrayal frozen in time.

There you were, bound and defiant, but your face. Oh, Eywa, your face, it was lit with a grin that sliced deeper than any blade. The malicious glint in your eyes was back, amplified tenfold, a savage spark that echoed the day he'd first seen you amid the raid's chaos, ash-streaked and commanding.

Beside you knelt Alayni, her expression a mask of innocence shattered by the scene.

"Look, your future mate is here." You said, the words laced with venomous glee as your grin widened, teeth flashing as you tilted your chin upward.

The coldness in your stare pinned him, stripping away the fragile warmth he'd coaxed from you over weeks of stolen intimacies.

Neteyam stiffened, his broad chest heaving with a sharp inhale, the lean planes of his abdomen tensing beneath his harness.

You knew. The progress, the softening glances, the reluctant leans into his embrace crumbled to dust before his eyes. Alayni had poisoned it all, her meddling a dagger to his desires.

His gaze flicked to her, fury igniting like dry tinder. Without a word, he lunged forward, large hand wrapping around Alayni's slender wrist in a grip of iron, frustration boiling over in the tremble of his fingers. He dragged her up and out, her body stumbling in his wake, the flap whipping shut behind them.

You watched them go, the grin on your lips turning colder and sharper, like frost on volcanic glass a hollow ache gnawing at your core despite the armor. They did look good together, her demure form tucked against his towering strength, a picture of clan-approved harmony. And that truth stung more than any admission, a barb lodging deep, twisting with the realization of your own foolish vulnerability.

Outside, in the shadowed alcove between huts, Neteyam released Alayni with a shove, whirling on her as a hiss escaped his throat, low and guttural rage vibrating through the sound, his ears pinning back flat against his braided hair.

"What did you tell her?" He demanded, golden eyes blazing, the sharp angles of his face hardened into lines of accusation, his tail lashing like a whip.

Alayni glanced up at him through her lashes, the gesture shy and fluttering, feigned innocence veiling the satisfaction in her depths, rubbing her wrist with delicate fingers.

"That we will be mated in a month." She replied softly, voice trembling just enough to evoke pity, a subtle pout forming on her lips.

Neteyam growled, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder, frustration etching fury across his features, stepping closer until his shadow engulfed her.

"You ruined everything." He snarled, fists clenching at his sides, the cords of muscle in his forearms standing out in stark relief.

"I was just saying the truth." Alayni countered, chin lifting with quiet defiance, resolve strengthening her tone, eyes locking onto his. "Especially since it's been blessed by your parents. It's for the good of the clan, Neteyam."

He opened his mouth to retort, words of denial and desperation bubbling up, but the air shattered with a deafening roar. Explosions ripped through the camp, blooms of fire and ash erupting from the perimeter like vengeful spirits unleashed. The ground trembled, screams piercing the night as warriors scrambled, bows drawn and ikran screeching overhead. Mangkwans, fierce shadows descending from the shadows, their forms painted in war cries and fury.

They had come for you.

The chaos erupted like the fury of Eywa's wrath, the night sky fracturing with bursts of flame and acrid smoke that clawed at the senses.

Neteyam froze at the threshold of the marui, his hand outstretched toward the flap, every fiber of his being screaming to reach you, to shield you from the encroaching storm. But another explosion thundered closer, shaking the woven platform beneath his feet, the ground vibrating with the impact of Mangkwan ikrans diving from the shadowed cliffs. Warriors' cries pierced the air, sharp desperate calls to arms and he knew with a sinking dread, that duty bound him first.

His golden eyes lingered on the shadowed interior for a heartbeat longer, the pull toward you a magnetic ache in his chest before he spun away, muscles coiling like a predator's as he sprinted into the fray. m

Alayni stood forgotten in the dust, her form shrinking in his wake as he vanished among the leaping shadows of Omatikaya defenders.

Inside the marui, the world tilted on its axis. You had barely settled back against the mat, the vines around your wrists a familiar rasp against your skin, when the first boom reverberated through the walls, deep and ominous, like the rumble of volcanic depths stirring awake. Your eyes snapped open, head lifting as the air grew thick with the scent of scorched earth and distant blood.

What was this? Another raid? Or something far worse, born of the tensions that had simmered since your capture?

The flap burst open without warning, a silhouette materializing in the torchlight like a specter from the ash plains. Tall and imposing, her frame clad in the jagged armor of Mangkwan war paint, stripes of obsidian gleaming across her broad shoulders and down the powerful lines of her thighs.

Varang, your sister, the unyielding force of your clan, stepped forward, her presence filling the space with an electric menace, her tail lashing once in sharp triumph.

"Little tsmuke." She rumbled, voice low and edged with possessive glee, a fierce grin splitting her face, revealing the sharpened points of her canines as her amber eyes locked onto yours with predatory affection.

Your breath caught, a surge of relief flooding through you like cool rain on parched soil, your body shifting upright despite the bindings, the subtle flex of your toned abdomen drawing the loincloth's edges taut against your hips.

"Varang." You whispered, the word laced with raw vulnerability, hope flickering in your gaze, your full lips curving into a tentative smile that softened the sharp beauty of your features. "You came for me?"

She moved with purposeful strides, her large hands reaching for the vines with swift efficiency, slicing through them with a hidden dagger that flashed in the dim light. The fibers parted with a soft snap, and freedom rushed back into your limbs, a tingling warmth spreading from your wrists as you rubbed the faint red marks blooming on your azure skin.

Varang's grin widened, menacing and triumphant, her broad chest heaving with barely contained energy, the intricate scars across her collarbone catching the fire's glow like badges of conquest.

"Yes." She said, tone brooking no delay, commanding resolve in her stance as she gripped your arm, pulling you to your feet with effortless strength. "Come."

You followed her out into the night, the marui's warmth giving way to the chaotic symphony of battle.

The village platform teemed with motion. Omatikaya warriors leaping between branches, their forms blurring as they nocked arrows and unleashed volleys into the descending horde. Mangkwan fighters swarmed from the treeline, their ikran shrieking as they clashed mid-air, talons raking through flesh and wing. Explosions bloomed sporadically, grenades of volcanic powder hurled by your kin, igniting the underbrush in furious orange. The air hummed with the twang of bowstrings and the guttural roars of combat, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the earthy musk of sweat-soaked bodies.

Your bare feet padded softly over the woven walkways, heart pounding in sync with the frenzy, your unbound arms swinging freely for the first time in weeks, the cool night breeze kissing the exposed curves of your waist and the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the beaded strands.

Then, amid the turmoil, you spotted her. Alayni, huddled against a nearby post, her slender frame trembling in the flickering light, wide eyes darting as if seeking an anchor in the storm.

Varang strode past without a flicker of acknowledgment, her focus laser-sharp on escape but you couldn't hold back.

A snarl tore from your throat, low and feral fury igniting in your gaze, your lips peeling back to expose teeth in a vicious baring, the line of your neck tensing as you leaned toward her.

Varang's hand clamped down on your shoulder, firm and unyielding, halting your advance mid-step.

You glanced up at her, confusion etching across your face, the high cheekbones flushing faintly with the heat of your anger.

"She was the one who told us where you were. I would have cut her kuru off but we will be wasting time." Varang explained, voice a gravelly murmur as disgust curled her upper lip.

The revelation hit like a spear to the gut.

This fucking bitch, going to such depraved extremes just to claim Neteyam? Betraying her own people, inviting destruction upon them for a twisted shot at his bond?

Rage and amusement simmered in your veins, hot and unfiltered, but you channeled it into a smirk, slow and menacing, your eyes narrowing to slits that gleamed with cruel intelligence. You stepped closer to Alayni despite Varang's hold, your posture shifting into one of mocking poise, the graceful sway of your hips accentuating the lithe power in your legs.

"You became a traitor to your people just to have him?" You taunted, voice silky with venom as a low chuckle bubbled up, your head tilting to let a braid sway against the smooth plane of your shoulder. "Do you think you'd be mated with him once they found out you were the one who caused this destruction, their deaths?"

You giggled then, the sound cruel and crystalline, echoing like shattering glass amid the distant clamor, your laughter laced with derision as you watched her eyes sharpen, the shy facade cracking to reveal the venom beneath.

Alayni's features twisted, her soft mouth compressing into a thin line, but she forced a grin in return, brittle and defiant, her hands clenching at her sides, knuckles paling against her blue skin.

"No one will know." She hissed, the words dripping with false sweetness, a predatory glint flashing in her gaze, her chin lifting in haughty challenge. "Because you won't be here anymore to tell him."

You met her stare with a taunting calm, your smirk unwavering, the corners of your mouth quirking upward in serene mockery, your body relaxed yet poised, the subtle rise and fall of your chest betraying none of the storm within.

Varang's fingers dug into your arm then, urging you onward with a sharp tug, her massive form shielding you as she propelled you toward the edge of the platform.

"Enough." She growled, impatience sharpening her tone, her free hand gesturing toward her waiting nightwraith in the shadows.

Hesitation gripped you like invisible chains, heavier than the vines ever were.

Over those endless days and nights, fondness had crept into your heart for Neteyam. Unwanted and insidious, a warmth that bloomed in the wake of his persistent touches, his whispered promises that now rang hollow. You had grown accustomed to the way his golden eyes softened for you, the reverence in his caresses tracing the valleys of your spine, the heat of his body pressing close in the dim hut.

But to stay?

To linger as their prisoner, forced to witness him bound to this scheming viper in a month's time? No. The betrayal stung deeper than any wound. He had lied, omitted the truth of his impending mating while his hands roamed your skin, murmuring of futures intertwined, of desires that now felt like cruel jests. Your chest tightened, a sigh escaping your lips, soft and resigned, your shoulders slumping ever so slightly, the curve of your back arching as you drew in the smoky air you were familiar with.

You ran then, matching Varang's powerful strides, your legs carrying you with renewed vigor over the swaying bridges, the wind whipping through your hair and cooling the flush on your cheeks. The battle raged around you, but your focus narrowed to escape. The distant calls of your ikran, the path to freedom amid the chaos. Behind you, the marui faded into the night, a chapter closing with bitter finality.

Minutes stretched into an eternity of skirmishes before Neteyam could break free, his bow still humming from the arrows he'd loosed into the fray, his chest heaving with exertion, streaks of soot marring the defined ridges of his torso. He raced back to the marui, ignoring the sting of superficial cuts along his arms, his mind a singular blaze.

You.

Bursting through the flap, he scanned the interior, the empty mat, the severed vines scattered like discarded shackles. His heart plummeted, a cold void yawning in his chest, the lean muscles of his frame going rigid as denial clawed at him.

He whirled out, golden eyes landing on Alayni, who lingered outside, her posture a picture of feigned distress, arms wrapped around her slender waist as if to ward off the night's terror. He ignored the way she reached for him, her fingers brushing his elbow and fixed her with a glare that could shatter stone.

"Where is she?" He demanded, voice rough and edged with panic, his jaw clenching, the sharp planes of his face taut with desperation, tail flicking erratically behind him.

Alayni's expression crumpled into one of artful fragility, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears, lashes fluttering as she gazed up at him, her voice emerging soft and quivering, laced with sorrowful conviction. "She ran away, Neteyam. Her sister came and freed her. I told her you wouldn't want her to leave but she was happy to be free. Said she didn't want to be here... nor be in your presence."

Silence crashed over him like a tidal wave, his breath stalling in his lungs, the world narrowing to the echo of her words.

You really didn't like him. All those weeks,the stolen moments where your body arched into his, the fleeting softness in your gaze, the reluctant sighs that he mistook for yielding, they were illusions, born of captivity's coercion. You had endured him, nothing more, your responses a prisoner's survival, not a spark of true connection. The fire that had burned in his soul for you flickered and died, leaving only ashes in its wake, his heart turning to ice, numb and unyielding.

His broad shoulders sagged imperceptibly, the golden light in his eyes dimming to shadowed resolve.

Alayni stepped closer, her hand finding his arm again, this time with gentle insistence comfort threading her tone, a subtle smile curving her lips as she pressed the advantage. "It's okay, Neteyam. She is a Mangkwan, she's been wanting to escape. At least our people will have no problems anymore, and in a month, we will be mated."

He didn't pull away, the words settling over him like a shroud.

Acceptance seeped in, cold and inevitable, you did not want him, and perhaps it was time to let the obsession fracture, to forge ahead with the path laid before him by clan and kin. The battle's din faded to a distant roar as the warrior's mask slipped back into place, burying the remnants of his shattered longing for you.

Since then, weeks had slipped by like shadows fleeing the dawn, each day etching deeper lines of detachment into Neteyam's once-vibrant spirit. The lush canopy of the Omatikaya village hummed with its eternal rhythm, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of ikran wheeling overhead, but for him, the world had dulled to a muted haze. His golden eyes, once alight with the fire, now stared out with a steely impassivity, scanning horizons not for wonder, but for threats to be neutralized.

The raid led by Varang had receded into memory, its scars healed on the village platforms, yet the wound it inflicted on him festered unseen, a quiet erosion of the warmth that had defined him.

Tuk, with her boundless energy and innocent delight, felt the chill most acutely. She bounded up to him one evening as he sharpened his blade by the communal fire, her small hands clutching a fresh weave of beads, iridescent stones and feathers intertwined in a pattern mimicking the bioluminescent vines that glowed at night. Her tail swished with eager anticipation, freckles dancing across her cheeks as she thrust the creation forward, her wide eyes sparkling with hope voice bubbling with excitement.

"Neteyam, look! I made this for you, it's like the stars we saw last eclipse!"

He paused, the whetstone halting mid-stroke against the obsidian edge, his broad shoulders tensing beneath the woven straps of his chest harness. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened, tracing the delicate craftsmanship in her tiny fingers, the way the beads caught the sunlight and shimmered like captured fireflies. But the spark didn't ignite, no smile curved his lips, no playful ruffle of her hair followed.

Instead, he nodded curtly, resuming his task with mechanical precision, his jaw set in a firm line, voice flat and distant, devoid of the affectionate lilt she craved. "It's nice, Tuk. Put it with the others."

Her face fell, the joy draining like water from a punctured gourd, her ears drooping as she clutched the beads closer to her chest. She lingered for a beat, searching his profile, hoping for the brother who would scoop her up and declare it the finest gift Eywa ever bestowed. But he turned away, eyes fixed on the blade's gleaming surface, and she scampered off, shoulders slumped, the weave trailing forgotten in her wake.

The once-loving brother and son had hollowed into a shell, his movements efficient but soulless as if the essence that bound him to family and clan had been leeched away. All because of you, your escape a silent verdict on his delusions, a rejection that echoed in the empty spaces of his nights.

He threw himself into duties with relentless fervor. Leading patrols along the outer borders, training young warriors in the art of silent strikes, overseeing the weaving of new nets for the ikran handlers. His body moved with the grace of a predator, but his mind was a fortress, walled against reminiscence of you.

He avoided the routes where fate had first tangled your paths, the shadowed glades where Mangkwan raids had brushed too close to Omatikaya lands. No longer did he linger at the river's bend, where the water ran swift and clear, its banks lined with ferns that whispered secrets to the wind. Those places, once alive with the thrill of pursuit and stolen glances with you, now held only ghosts. He charted new paths, deeper into the heart of the forest, where the air grew thicker with the scent of moss and blooming nightflowers, forcing his focus to the tangible such as the snap of a branch underfoot or the distant roar of a thanator claiming territory.

Jake and Neytiri watched from afar, their concern a quiet storm brewing in stolen moments by their marui.

Jake's brow furrowed as he cleaned his rifle, a human relic he rarely touched these days, his massive frame leaning against a post, eyes tracking Neteyam's solitary figure vanishing into the treeline. The change had been stark, a full revolution from the son who joked with Lo'ak over shared kills to this impassive sentinel. It started after Varang's assault, the explosions that had torn through the night like Eywa's judgment, and though the Mangkwan leader had retreated with her forces, the aftermath lingered in Neteyam's silence.

"He's not himself." Jake murmured one evening, his voice rough with worry, arms crossed over his broad chest and the lines around his eyes deepening as he gazed at Neytiri.

Neytiri nodded, her braids swaying as she stirred a pot of herbal stew, the steam rising in fragrant curls that carried notes of healing roots. Her golden eyes, sharp and knowing, held a mother's intuition, tracing the invisible threads connecting her son's withdrawal to the captive who had slipped away.

"I think it is the Mangkwan tsakarem." She said, conviction lacing her tone, her tail curling thoughtfully around her ankle, fingers pausing on the wooden spoon as a memory of your face surfaced. "I believe she has woven herself into his thoughts. The attack... it freed her but it broke something in him."

Jake sighed, rubbing a hand over his braided mohawk, the weight of leadership pressing on him as surely as the humid air. They had suspected as much, the way Neteyam's gaze had lingered on the empty marui, the subtle flinch at mentions of Mangkwan scouts. But pushing him now, with the mantle of Olo'eyktan looming in a year's shadow, would only drive the fracture deeper.

"Let him be." He decided, voice resolute yet tinged with reluctance as be stood to clasp her shoulder, his callused palm warm against her skin. "He'll find his way. Duty will anchor him."

Alayni, meanwhile, bloomed in the vacuum of his detachment, her happiness a radiant veil masking the shadows of her deeds.

Two weeks until the mating ceremony and the village buzzed with preparations of fresh flowers woven into garlands and chants rehearsed under the great tree's glow. No one knew of her betrayal, the whispered coordinates she had passed to Varang's men, the calculated risk that had invited chaos to claim you and clear her path. To the clan, she was the dutiful future tsahik, her shy smiles and gentle hands a perfect counterpoint to Neteyam's stoic resolve.

She walked beside him now on a routine patrol, her steps light and synchronized with his longer strides, the sway of her hips accentuated by the fitted loincloth that hugged her slender curves. The sun filtered through the canopy in dappled patterns, gilding her azure skin and highlighting the subtle bioluminescent freckles dusting her collarbone. Alayni glanced up at him often, her dark eyes alight with unspoken triumph as a soft giggle escaped her lips, brushing a leaf from his arm, fingers lingering on the firm swell of his bicep.

"The forest feels peaceful today, doesn't it, Neteyam? Like Eywa is blessing our union already."

He nodded absently, his gaze fixed ahead on the winding path, the play of light and shadow across his chiseled features unchanging.

Accompanying her was duty, escorting his future mate through the clan's territories, ensuring her safety amid lingering threats from rival clans. His hand rested on his knife hilt, posture alert, the lean lines of his torso shifting with each measured step, sweat beading along the ridge of his spine from the midday heat. To him, it was rote, a task etched into the rhythm of leadership, devoid of the spark that had once ignited at your proximity.

But to Alayni, every moment was victory incarnate.

She had won, the enemy tsakarem fled, the obstacles in her way shattered, and soon his kuru would bond with hers under the eyes of the clan. Her heart raced with giddy elation, a flush warming her cheeks as she imagined the ceremony. His strong hands on her waist, the tsaheylu sealing their fates. She linked her arm through his pressing closer, the soft press of her breast against his side a deliberate intimacy, voice breathy with feigned shyness yet her eyes gleamed with possessive delight.

"I can't wait for the weaving of our kurus. It'll be perfect, won't it? Just us, forever."

Neteyam murmured agreement, the words automatic as his mind was elsewhere, on maps of patrol routes or on the warriors awaiting his command.

He tried with iron will to banish thoughts of you from the recesses of his soul. He would be Olo'eyktan soon, the weight of the clan on his shoulders, mated to Alayni in a union forged for stability and strength. There was no space for yearning, no indulgence for a ghost who had recoiled from his touch, who had fled at the first chance, eyes cold with disgust rather than desire. You hadn't loved him, your responses had been chains of circumstance, feigned to survive the cage of captivity.

The realization was a blade at his chest, twisting deeper with each suppressed memory.

Yet, in the quiet hours when the village slumbered and the stars wheeled overhead, your image weaseled in unbidden. He would lie on his mat, the thatch roof above him a barrier against the night's whispers but sleep evaded him. Visions assailed of the arch of your neck as you tilted your head in defiance, the silken glide of your skin under his fingertips during those stolen intimacies, the reluctant parting of your lips that he had mistaken for surrender. An ache bloomed in his chest like thorns embedding in its flesh, a hollow throb that echoed the void you had left.

He clenched his fists, nails biting into palms, forcing his breath steady as his eyes squeezed shut, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he willed the phantom away.

Duty. Clan. Future.

The mantra repeated, a shield against the erosion but the cracks persisted, widening with every heartbeat of his.

In the days that followed, the preparations intensified. Alayni flitted about with renewed purpose, her laughter ringing clearer as she helped Neytiri select ceremonial beads, her fingers deftly sorting the vibrant strands. Neteyam joined when required, his presence a steady anchor amid the festivities, but his smiles were rare, reserved for elders and children who demanded them.

Jake pulled him aside once, during a strategy session by the war council, his father's hand heavy on his shoulder voice gruff with concern, eyes searching his son's face for the boy he remembered. "Son, whatever haunts you, face it. Don't let it consume the leader you're becoming."

Neteyam met his gaze evenly, the golden depths unyielding as his shoulders squared with a nod crisp and final. "It's handled, sir. The clan comes first."

But as he walked away, the forest closing around him like a living shroud, the ache resurfaced again as a persistent whisper of what might have been, tangled forever in the undergrowth of his resolve.

Hours went by, the eclipse had long since painted the sky in deep indigo, the bioluminescent vines along the village platforms casting a soft ethereal glow that did little to ease the knot of worry twisting in Neytiri's chest.

She lay beside Jake in their marui, the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad back a testament to the exhaustion of leadership, his braided kuru draped loosely over the woven mat. But sleep eluded her, her golden eyes flicking toward the entrance flap, where the night sounds of Pandora filtered in.

Neteyam was late, far past the hour warriors returned from solitary vigils or patrols. Her eldest, the pillar of their family, had become a ghost in his own home, his steps silent and his words fewer than the stars above.

With a quiet resolve, she rose, her lithe form unfolding gracefully, the faint scars from old battles tracing faint lines along her arms like maps of survival. She draped a light shawl over her shoulders, the fabric whispering against her azure skin, and slipped out into the cooling air. The village slumbered, maruis dimly lit by inner fires, but her hunter's instincts guided her toward the outer platforms, where the great tree's roots intertwined with the earth.

There, perched on a low branch overlooking the valley, she found him. Neteyam with his back to her, broad shoulders slumped under the weight of invisible burdens. He stared upward, the starlight reflecting in the wet trails of tears carving paths down his cheeks, his golden eyes distant and shattered.

Her heart clenched like a fist around a thorn, a sharp ache blooming as she witnessed tears streaming freely from the face of her unbreakable son. In all her years, through battles and losses, she had never seen him cry. Not as a fierce young warrior facing his first hunt, not even when Kiri's visions had shaken the family to its core. These past weeks, he had been a hollow vessel, his laughter silenced, his touch withdrawn, but this vulnerability cracked the shell wide open, exposing the raw wound beneath.

She approached softly, her bare feet padding against the mossy wood, and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling his solid frame against her chest.

"My son." She murmured, her voice a gentle caress laced with sorrow, her chin resting on his shoulder, braids brushing his ear as she held him close. "What ails you? Speak to your sa'nok."

Neteyam sighed, a heavy exhale that carried the weight of unspoken tempests, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He leaned into her embrace, the tension in his neck easing fractionally, but words remained locked behind clenched teeth.

How could she understand?

The gravity of his love for you, a Mangkwan woman, an enemy incarnate had pulled at him like an undertow, drowning his sense of self. Each day chipped away at his resolve, the choice between duty to clan and the selfish pull of his heart a torment that left him adrift. He was losing pieces of himself in the effort to bury the ache, to forge ahead as the future Olo'eyktan.

"I am tired." He finally whispered, his voice cracking as he wiped at his face with the back of his hand, the muscles in his jaw flexing as fresh tears welled. "I cannot do this anymore, Mom. The weight... it's crushing me."

Neytiri's heart fractured further at his confession, the raw despair in his tone echoing the cries of a wounded ikran. She tightened her hold, her arms encircling his torso, fingers splaying across the firm planes of his abdomen as if to anchor him to the world.

She had suspected for weeks that this shadow over him stemmed from you, the woman who had been his captive, the one whose escape had coincided with his unraveling. Whispers of your name in council meetings, the way his gaze sharpened at mentions of Mangkwan movements, it all pointed to a bond forged in secrecy and strife. But she said nothing, offering only the silent strength of her presence, her tail curling protectively around his leg. In the quiet, she sent a fervent prayer to Eywa, her mind weaving pleas through the neural network of the land.

Great Mother, guide my son through this storm. There must be purpose in his pain, a path unseen amid the chaos.

The night deepened around them, mother and son entwined in shared silence, until exhaustion finally claimed him, his head lolling against her shoulder. Neytiri guided him back to the marui, her steps steady despite the turmoil churning within.

Soon, dawn broke with the first calls of prolemuris swinging through the canopy, painting the forest in hues of gold and green. Neteyam rose with the sun, his face a mask once more, his eyes hooded and expression schooled into impassive resolve.

Today, duty demanded he scout the eastern fringes, perilously close to the glades where he had first glimpsed you weeks ago, your form a vision of lethal grace amid the raid's fury. He had avoided those paths like a festering wound but intelligence from outriders reported Mangkwan activity stirring anew and evasion was no longer an option.

He joined Jake and Neytiri at the ikran roost, along with a cadre of warriors.

Neytiri watched him from afar as he checked his bowstring, the morning light catching the subtle sheen of sweat on his brow from the humid air. Memories of the previous night flooded her, the vulnerability in his tears, the plea in his voice and now, seeing him revert to this emotionless sentinel, her worry deepened like roots delving into soil. His movements were precise and efficient but there was no spark, no anticipation in his posture.

Alayni hovered at the periphery, her presence a flutter of nervous energy amid the preparations. She had risen early, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of impending union, and now she approached Neteyam with a sway in her step, the beads of her top clinking softly. Without hesitation, she pressed her lips to his cheek, the kiss lingering a beat too long, her hand brushing the curve of his arm, voice soft and adoring, eyes sparkling with feigned innocence as she pulled back slightly.

"Stay safe, Neteyam. Come back to me whole."

He nodded, the motion mechanical, his golden eyes sliding past her without warmth, fixed instead on the horizon.

Neytiri observed the exchange, her tail flicking in subtle disapproval, the contrast between Alayni's eagerness and her son's detachment a stark reminder of the fractures in his spirit and the duty they had handed to him.

The group saddled their ikrans, the massive creatures rumbling with impatience, wings unfurling like sails in the breeze. Neteyam mounted with fluid ease, his thighs gripping the creature's sides, the bond forming through their queues in a pulse of shared intent. With a collective cry, they ascended, the wind whipping through braids and loincloths as the forest shrank below, giving way to the vast expanse of floating mountains and vine-draped cliffs.

The skies were clear at first, the patrol weaving through thermal updrafts, Jake leading with hand signals sharp and commanding.

But peace shattered like fragile crystal, an ambush erupting from the clouds and the forest below, Mangkwan warriors on their own direhorses and winged mounts descending in a hail of fire-arrows and poisoned barbs. Flames licked at the air, ignited by incendiary tips, while the sharp whistle of shafts cut through the roar of wings.

Neytiri and Jake unleashed war cries that echoed across the valleys, primal and fierce, their ikrans diving into the fray. Neteyam clenched his teeth, the familiar surge of battle adrenaline sharpening his senses, but beneath it thrummed a deeper tension, his heart pounding not just from the clash, but from the scan of faces below, searching for yours amid the chaos.

No sign of you and the absence twisted like a knife at him. Disappointment that you weren't there for him to see once more and yet relief that you remained untouched by this violence.

He urged his ikran higher, bow drawn in a blur, arrows flying true to fell two attackers in mid-air, their bodies plummeting with guttural cries.

On the ground, Neytiri broke from the aerial skirmish, her ikran landing with a thud amid the underbrush as she spotted Varang, her form a whirlwind of aggression with war paint streaking her face in crimson patterns.

They clashed blades, Neytiri's movements a dance of lethal precision, her body twisting to evade a swipe snarling with protective fury, eyes blazing as she parried, the clash of metal ringing like thunder. Jake and the other warriors followed suit, dropping to engage the Mangkwan foot soldiers, the forest erupting into a symphony of grunts, screams, and the sizzle of flames devouring foliage.

Neteyam circled above, his ikran banking sharply to loose another volley, the wind tearing at his queue as he targeted a rider closing on Kiri's position.

It was going well, the Omatikaya numbers swelling as reinforcements crested a ridge until a shadow flickered in his periphery. An arrow, swift and unerring, punched into his chest just below the collarbone, the impact a searing bloom of agony that stole his breath. His grip faltered, the bow slipping from numb fingers, and he tumbled from his ikran, the world spinning in a vortex of sky and green.

Neytiri gasped, her head snapping upward mid-fight, horror etching her features as she saw her son plummeting as a dark silhouette against the sun. Jake's roar joined hers, raw and desperate as his face contorted in dread, fists clenching around his knife as he shouted orders to cover.

Neteyam fell far, the ground rushing up mercilessly as his body slammed into the earth with a sickening thud, head bouncing against a root, his vision exploding in stars before blackness edged in.

"Neteyam!" Neytiri's scream tore from her throat, a mother's anguish that pierced the din of battle.

The spot where he fell into was an inferno's cradle, flames from stray arrows encircling the clearing, vines crackling and popping as they fed the blaze. Smoke billowed thick and acrid and without intervention, the fire would claim him, his labored breaths already ragged from the embedded shaft and the impact of the fall.

You arrived on the fringes of the skirmish, the scene unfolding like a nightmare etched in firelight. Your eyes widened at the sight, Neteyam crumpled amid the chaos, his chest heaving around the protruding arrow, blood staining the azure expanse of his torso in rivulets that soaked his harness. Your heart clenched as a vise of unwelcomed emotion squeezed it tight, the pulse of it echoing in your ears over the clash of weapons. Torn, you gripped your bow tighter, gaze flicking to your sister locked in combat with Neytiri then to your warriors pressing the attack.

Aid them, your people and your blood or the enemy who had haunted your thoughts, his touch a ghost that lingered in fevered dreams?

He's the enemy. Let him burn, let the flames erase the complication he brought to my life.

You turned your back, the wind catching the loose strands of your braids, whipping them across your face like accusations. But your body halted, muscles locking as if Eywa herself rooted you in place.

You couldn't—wouldn't—leave him to this end.

The weight of what passed between you, the tangled web of resentment and reluctant pull, demanded closure. This would be the last, a one final act to sever the thread, to walk away unburdened. With a curse under your breath, you ran to him, your legs carrying you through the underbrush.

The heat battered you as you reached the flames' edge, the air shimmering with intensity but you plunged in, hauling his weighty form by the arms. His body was heavy, limp yet solid, shoulders broad and unyielding even in unconsciousness, the corded strength of his arms dragging across the scorched earth.

You pulled him free, grunting with effort, the muscles in your back flexing under the strain. Laying him on clearer ground, you assessed the damage. The arrow jutting from his chest, fletching charred at the edges, blood pulsing steadily from the wound, soaking the ground in dark pools.

You bit your lip, the sharp sting grounding you as concern warred with caution.

The severity was dire, his pulse thready under your probing fingers. But you were not just a mere warrior, you were also a healer and a tsakarem, healing coursed through your veins like the forest's lifeblood even with the violence in your being.

Kneeling beside him, your hands moved with practiced urgency, pressing woven leaves from your pouch against the entry to staunch the flow, murmuring ancient invocations to Eywa for mercy. The herbs' bitter scent mingled with the metallic tang of blood, your fingers smeared crimson as you worked, the curve of your neck arching forward in concentration, eyes fierce with determination.

Varang spotted you from across the fray, her snarl twisting her features mid-clash with Neytiri, eyes narrowing in disbelief and fury voice booming over the din, laced with betrayal as she parried a strike. "(Y/N)! What are you doing? Come, we have to leave!"

Neytiri, locked in the duel, glanced toward the sound, her gaze landing on you bent over her son, a flicker of stunned gratitude warring with the battle's rage in her.

More Omatikaya warriors surged forward, tipping the scales, forcing the Mangkwan to retreat.

You didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the call. Your focus absolute, hands pressing firmly to seal the wound, willing his life to hold.

Varang shot you one last glare, venomous and pained, before snarling at Neytiri with a guttural promise of unfinished business and then she signaled the fall back. Her warriors melted into the trees, their forms thundering away, leaving the air thick with smoke and the echo of conflict.

Your focus narrowed to the rise and fall of Neteyam's chest, each shallow breath a fragile tether to life, the arrow's shaft now crudely bound but the wound beneath pulsing with insistent threat. Sweat beaded along your temple, tracing a cool path down the arch of your cheekbone, your eyes locked on his face, the sharp angles softened in unconsciousness, the full curve of his lips parted as if in silent plea.

You didn't notice the delicate swirl of an atokirina, that ethereal seed of Eywa, drifting lazily on an unseen current, hovering above you both like a benediction unspoken.

Neytiri saw it, though. Her golden gaze catching the pale spinner as it lingered, a luminous point against the hazy sky, before floating onward. Her breath hitched, a profound shiver rippling through her frame, her shoulders seeming to pulse in quiet awe.

Eywa's will.

She broke from the fray with Jake at her side, their footfalls urgent through the trampled ferns, weapons still gripped tight but lowered in the face of this revelation.

You sensed their approach before you saw them, the rustle of leaves and the heavy cadence of warrior steps pulling your attention. Instinct flared of enemies closing in and you hissed low, a feral sound vibrating from your throat as you shifted away from Neteyam, your body coiling like a viper ready to strike. Your tail lashed behind you, the tip slicing the air with agitation, while your fingers twitched toward the knife at your hip, the leather sheath warm against your hip bone.

They were still foes, the Omatikaya who had chained you and humiliated you and you'd meet them with fangs bared, your toned legs braced against the earth, ready to spring.

Jake opened his mouth, his broad jaw setting with the intent to command, but Neytiri's voice cut through first, steady and resonant, her eyes fierce yet softened by gratitude, one hand extended palm-up in a gesture of uneasy truce. "You will come with us."

He paused, confusion flickering across his scarred features, but he moved without protest, kneeling to gather Neteyam's limp form. The future leader's weight sagged in his father's arms, head lolling against Jake's shoulder, the azure skin of his neck exposed in vulnerable slackness.

Other warriors converged, their ikrans circling low with throaty calls, assisting as Jake hoisted Neteyam toward the nearest mount, muscles bulging under the strain along his arms and back, the harness straps digging into his flesh.

You snarled at Neytiri, the sound raw and defiant, your tail flicking sharper now, brushing against the back of your calves as your fangs glinted in the dappled light. Your posture was rigid with suspicion as you rose to your full height, the beaded strands of your top shifting with the heave of your chest. "I will not be your captive again. Touch me and I'll carve my freedom from your hides."

Neytiri regarded you, her own tail curling thoughtfully at her side, the fire in your eyes mirroring the unyielding spark she knew from her own youth, the same blaze that had drawn Jake to her across clan lines.

Mercy stirred in her chest, unbidden and perplexing. Was it the debt of your aid to her son or the atokirina's silent sign that compelled her?

She straightened, her silhouette cutting a commanding figure against the fading smoke, voice firm and laced with an undercurrent of respect as she turned toward her ikran. "You will not be captive. You saved him, pulled him from Eywa's grasp. I believe the Great Mother has plans. Come, you waste time."

Suspicion coiled tight in your gut, a serpent ready to strike, yet beneath it hummed an inexplicable pull. A whisper urging yes, born of exhaustion, of the chaos you'd wrought by choosing him over your kin.

You hissed once more, baring your fangs in a final warning as your lips curled back, the sharp points catching the light as your ears flattened against your skull. "Lie to me and I will not hesitate to draw my blade even if it means my end."

She met your gaze without flinching, recognizing the kindred fire, the warrior's unbreaking will. With a nod, she mounted her ikran, the bond queue connecting in a soft neural sigh, wings unfurling with a leathery snap.

You approached cautiously, every sense alert. The warmth of the creature's hide under your palms as you swung up behind her, your thighs clamping around its sides, the curve of your hips settling against Neytiri's back. The ascent was swift, wind tearing at your braids, carrying the scent of singed earth and distant rain as the group soared towards their home.

The village emerged like a living tapestry below.

Jake dismounted first upon landing, Neteyam's body cradled securely in his arms, the young warrior's limbs dangling limply, blood crusting along the wound's edges. He ran toward Mo'at's healing marui, feet pounding the woven platforms, Neytiri and you following at a urgent pace.

Eyes turned as you passed, Omatikaya faces hardening at the sight of your Mangkwan markings, the ash remnants of war paint streaking your arms and thighs, whispers rippling like wind through reeds. You ignored them, chin lifted defiantly, your strides long and purposeful, the sway of your hips fluid despite the knot of unease in your belly.

Inside the marui, the air hung thick with the aroma of medicinal pastes and smoldering herbs, shelves lined with jars of glowing extracts. Mo'at moved with ancient grace, her wrinkled skin etched with the wisdom of seasons, drawing Neteyam onto a low pallet woven from supple vines. Her hands, gnarled yet precise, peeled back the hasty bandages you'd applied, assessing the damage with a cluck of her tongue as her eyes narrowed in concentration, fingers probing the inflamed flesh around the arrow's path.

You shifted uncomfortably near the entrance, arms crossed over your chest, the soft swell of your breasts pressing against the crossed forearms, your bare midriff taut with tension.

What madness had brought you here, into the heart of enmity? Why save this man, the one whispered to be bound to another in mating rites, his future woven without you?

Once assured of his survival, you'd slip away, beg for Varang's mercy, atone for the betrayal etched in your choice to heal, to drag him from flames.

Neytiri noticed the storm brewing in your eyes, the way your shoulders hunched slightly under invisible weight. She guided you to a woven mat beside her, her touch light on your elbow as she settled cross-legged.

"Sit. The weight you carry shows in your eyes."

Jake hovered nearby, his confusion etched in the furrow of his brow, arms still bearing faint smears of his son's blood as he glanced between you and Neytiri, tone edged with bewilderment. "Neytiri, why bring her? She's Mangkwan, an enemy blood in our home."

Mo'at's voice rose then, steady and authoritative, cutting the tension as she worked a poultice into the wound her movements rhythmic, the paste's earthy scent filling the space. "He is in critical condition. The arrow pierced deep, nicking the lung's edge. Without the temporary aid to stem the bleeding, he would have crossed to Eywa's embrace already."

Both parents turned to you, realization dawning as Neytiri's gaze held quiet thanks, Jake's a grudging respect.

"And the head trauma is severe, his skull bruised from the fall so visions may haunt him upon waking. He will recover but stress must be barred from his path. No extremes of anger or despair, lest the balance tip and fracture his spirit. Do not put him in situations where he will experience such."

Jake and Neytiri nodded solemnly, Jake's hand squeezing his mate's shoulder, resolve hardening his features. "We'll guard him like the tree itself."

You sat quietly, the breath easing from your lungs in a slow sigh of relief, your fingers unclenching from where they'd dug into your palms, leaving crescent marks on the soft pads.

He would live, the man whose golden eyes had pierced your defenses, whose touch lingered like a forbidden echo.

Neytiri looked at you then, not through the lens of a deadly warrior but as a mother whose heart swelled with gratitude, her expression softening, the lines around her eyes crinkling with unspoken emotion. "You have our thanks. Your hands brought him back to us."

Rising, you met her gaze steadily, your voice even despite the turmoil tail curling loosely at your feet, posture straightening with resolve. "He breathes. My part is done. I will leave now before your people remembers what I am."

She shook her head gently as her braids swayed, tone insistent yet kind, a hand gesturing to the marui's depths. "Stay the night. The forest paths grow treacherous after battle and dawn will light your way clearer. Tomorrow, go with Eywa's guidance."

Hesitation gripped you as visions of Varang's wrath flashed along with her snarl of betrayal but the offer Neytiri gave bought time, a buffer against the storm you'd unleashed. You nodded curtly, the motion causing a loose braid to slip over your shoulder, brushing the gentle slope of your collarbone.

Mo'at interjected, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she pointed to a partitioned alcove, the entrance draped in soft kelp weaves. "There is space in the marui for you. Rest there, no harm under this roof will fall upon you."

You inclined your head uncomfortably, the unfamiliar kindness chafing like ill-fitted armor, and retreated to the indicated area.

The partition muffled the outer sounds, but voices filtered in with familiar cadences of concern, perhaps Neteyam's siblings clustering with worried murmurs or that scheming Alayni's honeyed tones probing for weakness.

You sighed deeply, sinking onto the low sleeping platform, the woven fibers cool against your skin. Gazing at your hands, still faintly stained with his blood and nails chipped from the frantic extraction, you felt the weight crash down.

What have I done?

Varang's face loomed in your mind, her loyalty unyielding and yet you betrayed her, your blood for him. A traitor in your own eyes, cast adrift by a mercy you couldn't explain, the contours of your form curling inward as doubt gnawed at your thoughts.

The first light of dawn filtered through the woven walls of the marui, casting a soft glow that danced across the kelp partitions like whispers from the great tree itself.

You stirred from a fitful sleep, the platform beneath you cradling the subtle curves of your body with its resilient fibers, though no true rest had really come.

The air hummed with distant murmurs, low voices laced with concern, the rustle of movements that spoke of vigil. Neteyam's family, no doubt, gathered in their quiet desperation.

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes adjusting to the dim interior, a stray lock of ebony hair falling across your forehead, brushing the high plane of your cheek as you sat up. The faint ache in your muscles from the previous day's chaos lingered, a reminder of the flames you'd pulled him from, your frame still bearing the subtle smudges of ash along your arms and the line of your neck.

Pushing aside the drape with a steady hand, you stepped into the main chamber, the cool floor mats yielding under your bare feet, toes curling slightly against the texture. There they were, clustered around Neteyam's pallet. Neytiri's poised form kneeling closest, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his azure skin, while Jake stood sentinel nearby, his broad shoulders tense.

The siblings hovered at the edges, Tuk's small hands fidgeting with a beaded string, Lo'ak's jaw set in watchful silence, and Kiri sitting to the side with a faraway look.

You remembered them from his stories when he was pestering you and you remembered how you tried so hard to tune him out as you rolled your eyes.

Neteyam's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his features serene in repose, full lips slightly parted as if dreaming of battles yet unfought.

Your gaze locked with Neytiri's across the space, her golden eyes holding a depth of unspoken understanding, the faint lines at their corners deepening as she rose fluidly. The others' stares prickled your skin. They were curious and wary, the weight of enmity pressing like unseen hands, save for Jake whose attention remained fixed on his son, oblivious or perhaps deliberately so.

You held your ground, chin lifting subtly, the soft undulation of your torso accentuated by the morning light as it played over the beaded strands draping your chest.

Her voice emerged, a hand extending in quiet invitation as she closed the distance, the warmth of her presence cutting through the chill of suspicion. "Are you about to head out? The paths await but let me see you safely beyond our borders."

You nodded once, the motion causing your braids to shift, one grazing the delicate hollow of your throat.

Before words could form, her fingers encircled your wrist, firm but not forceful, the calluses of a huntress brushing your smoother skin. "Okay, I'll take you with my ikran. The skies are clearer at this hour."

Together, you moved toward the exit, your steps synchronized in wary alliance, the chamber's herbal scents fading behind you. Halfway there, Tuk's voice pierced the air like a sudden arrow, high-pitched with unbridled joy as her tiny frame bounced as she pointed, eyes wide with wonder.

"Neteyam! You're awake!"

Neytiri gasped beside you, a sharp intake that reverberated through her body, her grip tightening momentarily on your arm before releasing as she whirled, long legs carrying her back in a blur of urgency. His family converged instantly, a protective circle forming around the pallet, voices overlapping in a cacophony of relief.

Jake's baritone cut through as his hand raised in caution, posture rigid as he scanned his children's eager faces. "Easy, give him space. Let him breathe."

You didn't turn, didn't allow the pull of curiosity to drag you back.

Relief flickered in your chest that he lived, that his spirit is unbroken but seeing him now, vulnerable and surrounded by their bond, stirred too much. Your tail flicked once, a subtle lash against your calf, as you fixed your gaze on the exit, the woven flap beckoning like freedom's edge.

A groan echoed from the pallet, low and pained, followed by Neytiri's voice, thick with emotion as tears glistened on her lashes then spilling down the curve of her cheek as she cupped his face, her thumbs tracing the strong line of his jaw.

"Ma Teyam, my child, you're awake. Eywa has returned you to us."

Neteyam's first words hung in the air, raspy yet insistent, freezing you mid-step as his voice threaded confusion and longing, golden eyes blinking open to search the faces around him. "Where's my mate?"

Your heart clenched like a fist around a thorned vine, a sharp twist that stole your breath, the muscles of your back tensing beneath the thin straps of your top.

He meant her, that conniving soft-spoken healer, the one fate had chained him to.

The betrayal you'd wrought for his sake soured further, urging you toward escape, but Neytiri remained entangled in the moment, her form a barrier you couldn't breach without drawing eyes.

He spoke again, urgency sharpening his tone as he propped himself up slightly on one elbow, the defined planes of his abdomen flexing under the strain, beads of sweat gathering along his collarbone. "Where is my mate? Why is she not here? Where is (Y/N)?"

Silence crashed over the marui like a sudden storm, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of a nearby incense burner. You couldn't believe the words echoing in your ears. Your name on his lips like a claim, a delusion born of fever or fracture. His family still shielded him, their bodies a living wall, blocking any chance of his gaze finding you.

What madness gripped him?

Jake broke the hush, his voice measured, laced with concern as he kneeled closer, one large hand resting on Neteyam's shoulder, fingers splaying across the flesh there. "Kid, what do you mean mate? Talk to me, clear your head."

Neteyam frowned, confusion etching furrows across his forehead, his ears twitching slightly as he tilted his head, the kuru at his back shifting against the pallet as he scanned the circle of faces. "Huh? She's my mate. What do you mean what do I mean, Dad? We chose each other, it is done."

Neytiri exchanged a fleeting glance with Jake, her expression a mask of reassurance as she smiled gently, though her eyes held a storm of questions as she leaned in, her braids falling forward to brush his arm. "What's the last thing you remember, Ma Teyam? Tell your sa'nok, help us understand."

He groaned again, wincing as he pressed a hand to his temple, his fingers threading through his hair as his voice faltered, piecing together fragments like scattered leaves.

"We were together in the forest... deep in the glade, away from eyes. We mated, bound our kuru. I remember the warmth of her, falling asleep in her arms... then nothing. I woke up now. Why am I here? Where is she?"

Jake's mouth parted, words forming on the edge of his tongue but Neytiri's hand clamped onto his forearm, urgent and unyielding as her nails digged lightly into his skin, a silent reminder of her mother's grave warning, her gaze flicking to the tsahik for affirmation.

No stress, no shadows to cloud his fragile recovery.

Mo'at inclined her head subtly from her perch nearby, her weathered features serene, the wisdom in her eyes underscoring the peril of truths unspoken.

However, shock rippled through you like a current, your pulse thundering in your ears, the arch of your neck flushing with heat.

What sorcery had befallen this demon blood?

The forest encounter, the stolen touches, and the heated whispers had been a fever dream of his desire, not a true bonding. Yet here he proclaimed it as reality, your name woven into his delirium.

Your fingers curled at your sides, nails biting into palms, the soft pads whitening under pressure.

Jake rose then, his frame casting a long shadow as he leaned toward Neytiri whispering low, his jaw clenched in resolve. "I'll get Norm, let him scan the boy's head, figure out what's twisted in there."

He straightened, striding past you with purposeful steps.

You shifted sideways instinctively, pressing against the wall's curve, your body folding into the shadows to evade Neteyam's searching eyes, the faint scent of his blood still clinging to your skin like a ghost.

The drape parted again, admitting Alayni in a rush of hurried grace, her form halting abruptly at the sight of you lingering near the threshold. Her face fell, features draining of color, eyes widening in a flash of alarm as her lips parted in silent accusation, her tail coiling tight behind her as panic etched sharp lines around her mouth.

What is she doing here?

The enemy in their sanctum, everyone would know her schemes, the whispers of betrayal she'd sown.

You couldn't suppress the satisfied smirk curling your lips, a predatory glint in your gaze as you savored the tremor in her composure, the way her fingers twisted the hem of her wrap.

She glared daggers, a venomous spark in her eyes, before hurrying inside voice pitched with concern, dropping to her knees beside the pallet, her hand reached out to caress his cheek, nails grazing the smooth azure expanse. "Neteyam, are you okay? We've been so worried—"

He recoiled at her touch, jerking back with a hiss as his body tensed, shoulders hunching as if her fingers burned, golden eyes narrowing in instinctive rejection. "Don't touch me. My mate would not like that, keep your hands to yourself."

Alayni froze, confusion clouding her features as she glanced around the circle, her posture crumbling slightly. The gentle swell of her chest heaving with rapid breaths, seeking answers in their stunned expressions. First, you're here like some honored guest, unwatched and unchained and now Neteyam denying their bond, as if the ceremonies planned for days hence meant nothing.

"What do you mean? You have no mate, Neteyam. We will be mated in several days. It's all arranged, for the clan—"

His stare was blank and unyielding as he leaned away further, the muscles along his arms corded with tension, voice flat with conviction that brooked no argument. "I am mated, Alayni. Do not disrespect me and her by saying that. I've chosen, Eywa witnessed it."

Alayni's mouth opened for protest, words tumbling forth in a desperate rush as her hands gestured wildly but Lo'ak's fingers closed around her wrist, firm and ungentle, his grip steady as he pulled her back with a warning growl low in his throat.

"Enough, let him rest. You're making it worse."

Neytiri forced a smile then, thin and strained as she rose to her full height, her frame interposing as she pried Alayni from Lo'ak's hold, guiding her toward the entrance with a maternal hand on her shoulder.

She had once favored the girl.

Her respectful demeanor, the sweet softness that promised stability for her son, the shy affections that bloomed like night flowers. It was why she'd championed the union, envisioning harmony in their future. But now, Alayni's invasiveness grated, a threat to the delicate balance of Neteyam's healing. What she'd once seen as endearing now loomed as disruption, especially with the girl's recent clinginess fraying nerves that are already taut.

Her tone remained even, laced with polite finality as she steered Alayni through the drape, the fabric whispering against their forms. "Go now, child, rest and prepare for the day's duties. He'll need quiet to mend, we'll call when he's stronger."

Alayni resisted briefly, a flicker of indignation in her eyes, but Neytiri's unyielding gaze quelled it. As she was ushered out, you caught her eye from behind Neytiri's shoulder, your smirk deepening into something triumphant as your lips curved wickedly, the sharp tips of your fangs peeking as you watched her retreat.

Stupid bitch, starting to pay her karma.

The satisfaction bloomed warm in your chest, a counter to the earlier ache at the unraveling the web she'd spun.

The marui's air thickened with the scent of medicinal herbs and lingering tension as footsteps approached from beyond the drape. The flap parted with a soft rustle, admitting Jake first followed by a figure that made your eyes narrow in instinctive distrust.

He was another of those sky people avatars, shorter and bulkier than the Na'vi around him, with blue skin stretched over an unfamiliar musculature, his movements jerky and mechanical as he hauled a satchel bulging with strange, gleaming devices. In your eyes, he was just another demon in disguise, his eyes too round and probing behind a mask of false familiarity.

Neteyam's family parted slightly to allow them access, his golden gaze widening in confusion propping himself up on his elbows despite the wince that tugged at his full lips, the cords of his neck straining as he tilted his head.

"Dad? Norm? What's all this?" His voice carried a mix of bewilderment and faint alarm, the sharp angles of his shoulders tensing beneath the thin covering draped over his torso.

Jake placed a reassuring hand on his son's arm, the gesture firm yet gentle. "Just a check-up, son. Norm here's gonna make sure everything's healing right, no big deal."

Norm nodded efficiently, unpacking his tools with practiced haste. A handheld scanner humming to life, its blue light flickering like captured bioluminescence, and thin probes that beeped softly as they connected to Neteyam's temple and chest. The warrior submitted with reluctant patience, his ears flicking at each unfamiliar sensation as his chest rose and fell in shallow rhythms, the bandaged expanse over his ribs shifting with each breath.

You remained unseen, a ghost in the periphery, gratitude coiling in your gut that he hadn't glimpsed you yet, sparing you the complication of his fractured gaze.

The assessment dragged on, Norm murmuring readings under his breath, Jake hovering like a sentinel. Finally, they withdrew, the group filing out into the humid morning air. Norm repacking his gear with a satisfied grunt, Mo'at gliding behind with her staff tapping rhythmically, Neytiri close at her heel, her posture a blend of maternal poise and veiled anxiety.

Curiosity tugged at you drawing your steps toward the exit despite the risk. You hovered just inside, the soft swell of your hips swaying faintly as you strained to catch their words, the faint breeze carrying snippets through the kelp weave.

Norm's voice filtered back, clinical and detached gesturing vaguely at the air as if diagramming an invisible wound.

"Selective amnesia, most likely from the trauma to his skull. Concussions like that can scramble memories, make him fill in gaps with what his mind wants to believe. It'll probably clear up with rest but no pushing him. Avoid contradictions, let it fade naturally."

Mo'at's response came sharp and authoritative, her aged frame straightening one hand raised in admonition. "Precisely. No stress, Jake Sully. His spirit is fragile as fresh-woven thread, negative winds could unravel it further."

Jake glanced over his shoulder then, his eyes locking onto yours through the partial drape.

You met his stare blankly, your expression a mask of cool indifference, the line of your jaw set firm, lashes casting shadows over your irises.

He sighed heavily, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder as he rubbed a hand over his hair before nodding to Mo'at. "Understood. Thanks, Norm. Appreciate you coming out here on short notice."

He clapped the avatar on the back, steering him toward the path, their forms receding into the foliage.

Mo'at turned fully to you then, her wrinkled features softening into a knowing smile as she extended a gnarled hand in gentle summons, the beads on her bracelets clinking softly. "Come, child. He searches for you. Eywa's threads bind him still even in confusion."

Hesitation rooted you for a beat, your bare feet shifting against the mat, toes flexing into the fibers as doubt warred with obligation. But you moved forward, weaving through the siblings' loose circle, your presence rippling the air like a stone in still water. Neytiri observed from the side, her arms crossed over her chest, the arch of her back rigid with unspoken calculations.

Neteyam's eyes ignited at the sight of you, a spark of pure recognition and warmth flooding their golden depths as his face brightened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a boyish smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. "Baby, where have you been? I've been calling for you. Come here, let me see you."

Words failed you, caught in the tangle of your throat like thorns. Your pulse quickened, the delicate skin at your wrists flushing as you glanced desperately at Neytiri. She stepped in seamlessly, her voice a soothing murmur kneeling beside him. "She was just helping Mo'at with some herbs, Ma Teyam. Nothing to worry over. You're safe now, all of us here."

He nodded absently, already shifting to rise as his elbows dug into the padding, his torso twisting with intent, the play of muscles along his flanks evident even through the strain. But a sharp hiss escaped him as pain lanced through his chest. He glanced down, fingers probing the white bandages wrapped taut around his ribs, tracing the edges where faint bloodstains bloomed, his brow furrowing in dawning alarm.

"What happened? Why am I... like this?"

Neytiri's response flowed quick and fabricated, her tail flicking once in reassurance as she pressed him back gently, palms flat against his shoulders. "A minor fall during a hunt, nothing more. You're mending well but rest is key. No straining this body of yours."

Lo'ak chimed in from his perch nearby, his tone laced with concern as he leaned forward, one hand hovering as if ready to steady him. "Yeah bro, don't push it. You've been out cold, give yourself a break."

Tuk, unable to contain her awe any longer, stared up at you with unabashed wonder, her small fingers twisting in her lap, round cheeks dimpling as she beamed, the innocence in her voice cutting through the heaviness.

"You're pretty like the glowing vines at night."

Neteyam caught the words, his grin widening into something radiant and possessive as he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest despite the wince it provoked, his gaze raking over you with unabashed adoration. "She is, isn't she? Eywa blessed me beyond measure with the most beautiful woman as my mate."

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, a traitorous warmth that clashed with the snarl building in your chest. Your fangs ached to bare but Neytiri's sharp glance pinned you, her eyes narrowing imperceptibly, a silent command as she rose.

"I'll speak with her first, important matters."

She drew you aside into a quieter nook, the privacy of the woven screen shielding your exchange, her sigh heavy with exhaustion as her shoulders slumped slightly, the taper of her ears drooping as she met your eyes. "Please, play along just until his memories return. It's a delicate weave we're threading here."

A hiss bubbled up, low and frustrated, your claws flexing at your sides, a flicker of resentment darkening your features.

This wasn't the plan. It was only saving him from the flames and slipping away into the wilds. But now pretending this farce of a bond?

It deepened the chasm with Varang, a blade twisted further into your sister's trust, your loyalty fracturing like dry earth under storm.

Yet you exhaled sharply, the breath stirring the beads at your throat. "Just for today then I'll leave. I've lingered too long already, debts are paid."

Gratitude softened Neytiri's gaze, her hand squeezing your forearm in quiet alliance. "Thank you. Eywa sees your heart."

Eywa, their false goddess.

You refrained from speaking it and returned to the pallet together, his siblings' eyes tracking your approach.

Mo'at interjected then, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she gestured toward the exit with her staff, the carved wood glinting. "He may leave the healing hut now. Rest in your family marui where care is close."

Neteyam's confusion creased his forehead anew as he tilted his head, his kuru swaying as he pushed to sit fully, ignoring the twinge in his side. "Why the family marui? I have our own, shared with my mate. That's where I belong, with her."

Neytiri froze for a heartbeat then mustered a feigned grin, her lips curving upward in playful conspiracy, though tension lined her jaw. "Oh yes, of course you can sleep there. Silly of us to forget."

Relief lit Neteyam's face, a grin splitting wide as he eased to his feet with Lo'ak's support, his brother's arm slung around his waist, the lean power of his legs steadying as he leaned into the aid.

You walked in silence beside Neytiri, your steps measured, the sway of your form guarded against his occasional glances.

She guided the group to a nearby empty marui, its entrance framed by dangling vines that swayed like welcoming tendrils, the interior sparse but inviting with a low cot piled with fresh furs.

"I'll bring your things later." Neytiri explained smoothly as she waved a hand at the empty space, her posture relaxed in fabrication. "You forgot them before, rushing off to tend to (Y/N). Always so devoted."

Neteyam nodded, his attention fixed on you. Golden eyes tracing the cascade of your braids down your back, the subtle glow of your skin under the filtered light, though you kept your gaze averted, fixed on the horizon.

Kiri approached then, her touch feather-light on your arm in a soft pat, wordless solidarity in her empathetic eyes before she stepped back.

Tuk waved enthusiastically as she bounced on her toes, her laughter bubbling. "Bye! Take care of him, he's grumpy when hurt!"

Lo'ak gave a curt nod and Neytiri mirroring it with a final meaningful look before they departed, leaving the marui's quiet to envelop you.

You lingered at the entrance, the woven threshold framing your silhouette, arms crossed over the gentle rise of your chest as Neteyam settled onto the cot, his form reclining against the bolsters, long legs stretching out, the bandage peeking from beneath his wrap as he watched you expectantly.

"Baby, what are you doing all the way over there? Come here. I've missed you too much already."

You restrained the urge to roll your eyes, the old grudge simmering within you. Alayni's shadow, the secrets he'd buried back then, it fueled a quiet fury that tightened your lips. With deliberate slowness, you crossed the space, perching on the cot's edge at a careful distance, the furs dipping under your weight, your thighs pressing together in restrained tension.

He frowned at the gap reaching out, his hand encircling your waist with insistent warmth, drawing you nearer until your hip brushed his, the heat of his body seeping through the thin barriers. "Why so far?"

Without waiting, he leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there before his lips pressed soft lingering pecks along the column of your throat, tracing the pulse that fluttered beneath.

You shifted away slightly, a hand rising to his chest, gentle but firm against the bandaged expanse to halt him. "You must not move so much, your wound will reopen if you keep this up."

"I don't care, the ache is nothing compared to being without you." He dismissed it with a low hum undeterred, nosing deeper and inhaling your scent like a lifeline, his free arm looping around your midriff to anchor you. "You always smell so good."

Your eyes rolled despite yourself, exasperation sharpening your tone as you leaned back just enough to create space, though his hold persisted. "Do you not listen? Rest means rest, not this."

A grin curved his lips, playful and unrepentant as his eyes sparkled with mischief. He tilted his head, the sharp line of his jaw brushing your shoulder. "I do listen but my mate is just so irresistible. How can I resist when you're right here, pulling me like the tide?"

The words ignited a storm within you. The urge to drive your claws into his chest, to end this delusion with finality, to flee into the jungle's embrace, and beneath it all, a treacherous pull to lean in, to claim those lips and drown the betrayal.

Your breath hitched, eyes flashing as your voice dropped to a warning growl. "If you do not stop, you will sleep in your family's marui tonight, without me."

He chuckled, the sound rich and affectionate, as he tugged you flush against him now, his head resting on your shoulder, one hand tracing idle patterns along your arm, savoring the silken texture of your skin. "I don't want to be away from you, ever. Even for a night. You're my world, (Y/N). Tell me you feel it too. The bond, the pull. We've always been this way, haven't we?"

You stiffened, the weight of his touches pressing like chains, his body molding to yours, warm and insistent, nuzzling closer as if to weave your scents together anew.

"Neteyam..." It came out softer than intended, a conflicted murmur as your hand hovered over his, torn between pushing away and letting it linger. "Just... be still. For now."

He hummed contentedly and undaunted, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone, his fingers interlacing with yours, thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow circles. "As you wish but I'm not letting go of you."

The marui fell into a charged hush, his affection a balm and a burden, the line between pretense and peril blurring with every shared breath.

You spent the entire day ensnared in Neteyam's unyielding embrace, his body a constant insistent presence against yours. He was every bit the spoiled brat his amnesia painted him to be. Demanding, playful, and utterly oblivious to the storm raging within you. From the moment the morning light had fully crested the horizon, he refused to release your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours in a grip that was both tender and possessive, the calluses on his palms rough against your smoother skin.

"Feed me." He murmured during the midday meal, his voice a low rumble and laced with mischief.

He propped himself up on one elbow, the lean muscles of his forearm flexing as he gestured to the woven basket of fruits and roasted kelp strips. His golden eyes sparkled with expectation, the sharp angles of his cheekbones highlighted by the soft luminescence filtering in. You hesitated, the curve of your shoulders tensing beneath the lightweight shawl draped over them, but his pout, lips pursing in exaggerated plea, drew a reluctant sigh from you.

Slicing a piece of sweetfruit with your knife, its juice glistening on the blade like dew, you held it to his mouth. He leaned forward eagerly but paused just before taking it. His breath warm against your fingertips, eyes locking onto yours with feigned innocence.

"A kiss first." He demanded softly, tilting his head so his kuru brushed your thigh. "For every bite. It's our thing, remember?"

Irritation flared hot in your chest, your free hand itching to deliver a sharp smack to that smug jawline as the taper of his ears twitched in anticipation. Yet, beneath the annoyance, a treacherous warmth bloomed low in your belly, spreading like sunlight through mist. His affection, fabricated or not, wrapped around you like the humid air itself. You leaned in grudgingly, pressing your lips to his in a brief chaste touch, your mouth soft against the firm warmth of his, the faint taste of herbs from his earlier tonic lingering.

He hummed in satisfaction, finally accepting the fruit, chewing slowly while his gaze never left your face.

This ritual repeated through the afternoon. Bite after bite, kiss after kiss, each one pulling you deeper into the pretense. His laughter bubbled up between mouthfuls, light and carefree as his chest vibrated with the sound, though he winced slightly when it jostled his bandaged ribs, the white wrapping stark against his azure skin.

"You're too good to me." He said after one particularly lingering peck, his hand sliding up your arm to trace the delicate ridge of your collarbone. "How did I ever deserve you, baby?"

You only answered with an eye roll, willing yourself to calm.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the interior in hues of amber and violet, he grew more reflective, his clinginess evolving into quiet confessions. He pulled you onto the furs beside him, your legs tangling with his as he recounted the day he first laid eyes on you, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, fingers idly stroking the cascade of your braids that spilled over your shoulder.

"It was during that raid, I thought you were the most beautiful creature Eywa ever wove, all fire and grace in one breath. Even with your blade at my throat, I couldn't look away."

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, your pulse thrumming in your ears as you absorbed his words. The memory twisted in your mind, the confrontation, the kiss that had ignited everything yet led to this tangled web. Finally, you broke the quiet, your voice steady despite the knot in your throat shifting slightly, the soft swell of your hips pressing into the furs as you turned to face him.

"What do you think of Alayni?"

He blinked, surprise flickering across his features, the smooth plane of his forehead creasing. "Alayni? She's... nice. She's been around since we were children, always helping with the young ones or joining hunts. Reliable, like a sister almost."

The answer hung there, innocuous yet loaded. You pressed further, curiosity sharpening your tone with your eyes narrowing, lashes casting faint shadows on your high cheekbones. "Do you like her?"

His eyes widened, golden irises flaring with incredulity, leaning back as if the question physically pushed him.

"Like her? How could you even ask that when I burn for you alone?" He shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him, though it carried an edge of disbelief. "She's shown her interest. Blushing around me, weaving extra beads for my gear but I don't see her that way. Never have. My heart's been yours from the start."

You wanted to roll your eyes, the truth bubbling beneath your restraint.

Oh yes, but you were set to mate her if fate hadn't intervened.

The words clawed at your tongue but you swallowed them, maintaining the fragile peace.

He studied your expression, a sly smile curving his lips as he reached out to cup your chin, thumb brushing the plush curve of your lower lip. "Are you jealous? Tell me baby, does it sting knowing others vied for me?"

A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral as you bared your fangs briefly, the lines of your neck corded with tension as you pulled back from his touch. "No. Jealousy is for the weak. I'm merely curious about your tangled loyalties."

His smile deepened, brimming with adoration as his eyes softened, he drew you nearer, his broad palm splaying across the small of your back.

"Alayni was just one of the candidates my parents pushed before I met you. They thought her steady, a good match for a future Olo'eyktan." He paused, gaze distant, reliving the memory of when you left. "I came to the marui where you were that night, heart heavy because I'd just learned they'd chosen her. I didn't want it, I wanted you. So I went there to confess everything, to seek comfort in your arms but I saw you with her first. She told you, didn't she? But twisted it to make it seem like it was decided long ago, that I was playing you all along. She lied, (Y/N). It wasn't set in stone, I was ready to fight it from the moment I knew."

Your eyes grew wide, the revelation crashing over you, pupils dilating in shock as pieces clicked into place.

So he hadn't been deceiving you, not entirely. The betrayal you'd nursed, the fury at his supposed duplicity... it shifted, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.

"I almost went through with it, you know. Why you fled with your sister that night, she said you wanted nothing to do with me. I believed her, let the pain fester." He chuckled then, the sound bland and tinged with bitterness as his shoulders rolled in a shrug, the play of tendons in his neck visible as he tilted his head. "But then you came back, told me the truth... we mated, formed tsaheylu under the stars. It was perfect until I woke up like this with no recollection of why I'm bandaged."

The words hung false in the air, his mind's desperate weave to fill the voids. None of it had happened, the bond a phantom of his selective forgetfulness. Frustration boiled within you, a scream trapped behind clenched teeth, claws aching to rake through flesh, to lash out at the cruel irony.

But you schooled your features into neutrality, jaw setting firm as you met his gaze evenly. "I... see."

Undeterred by your reserve, he pulled you closer, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as his nose traced the sensitive hollow there, inhaling deeply as if committing your essence to memory. With a gentle tug, he guided you both down onto the furs. Mindful of his injury. you positioned carefully at his side, your head resting on the unbandaged plane of his shoulder, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with yours.

"I see you." He whispered fervently, lips brushing your temple in soft reverent kisses, each one a feather-light promise. "Since the day you held that blade to my throat, your fire called to mine."

You bit your lip, the sharp sting grounding you amid the whirlwind, teeth pressing into the tender flesh, a faint metallic tang blooming as you held your silence.

His affection enveloped you like a cocoon, warm and suffocating, lulling the day into evening's embrace.

The next morning dawned with a hush, the first rays piercing the marui's weave before Neteyam's eyes fluttered open. You stirred early, slipping from his arms with the stealth of a shadow, your movements fluid and silent, the contours of your legs uncoiling as you rose, bare feet padding softly against the cool floor.

Pausing at the threshold, you cast one last look back at him, his handsome features softened in sleep with his lashes fanning dark against his cheeks, the strong bridge of his nose casting a subtle shadow, lips parted in quiet breaths that stirred the air.

A pang twisted in your chest before you turned away, vanishing into the misty paths without a backward glance.

You wouldn't wait for Neytiri. By then, Neteyam would stir, his questions a net you couldn't afford to tangle in further. The jungle welcomed you back, vines parting like old allies as you wove toward the treeline, the weight of departure lifting with each step. Just as the clan's central paths faded behind you, a figure emerged from the underbrush.

Alayni, her posture rigid with venom, arms crossed over her chest as she blocked your way, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Had fun playing mates with mine? Taking advantage of his amnesia like the snake you are?" She spat, her voice dripping with accusation as she stepped closer, the aggressive sway of her hips belying the fury in her clenched fists.

You grinned at her, slow and evil, letting the malice curl your lips as your head tilted "Just as much fun as he had. Clinging, kissing, whispering sweet nothings. You should thank me for keeping him occupied."

She hissed lunging nearer, her breath hot and ragged as her fangs flashed. "Why are you even here? Skulking around like you belong?"

Your snarl matched hers, a guttural warning as your tail lashing behind you, claws extending slightly as you held your ground, the poised strength in your stance unyielding. "Don't worry, I'm leaving and never coming back. You won't have to betray your people again, teaming up with my sister to raid your own clan just to dispose of me in your twisted way."

Her grin twisted maliciously, a flash of triumph in her eyes lips pulling back in a sneer, one hand gesturing dismissively. "It was worth it. Every scream, every flame because it means Neteyam will be mine."

You pouted mockingly, the expression dripping with sarcasm as you puffed your cheeks slightly, eyes rolling in exaggerated pity.

"You had your people slaughtered, homes reduced to ash, all to eliminate me and claim him? You're not just delusional, you're a traitor through and through. Soon, your clan will uncover your rot and they'll see you for the venomous wretch you are."

Disgust curled your features, a final withering glance raking over her figure, the lines of your face hardening before you spun on your heel. Without another word, you melted into the foliage, the jungle swallowing your form whole, leaving her seething in the undergrowth.

The jungle's embrace felt mocking as you pushed through the dense foliage, the vines brushing against your arms like accusatory fingers. Your clan's territory loomed ahead, the familiar spires of woven huts rising against the canopy but the air hummed with a tension that set your nerves alight.

Once, the gazes that met yours were filled with awe, reverent whispers trailing your steps as the Tsakarem, the chosen one destined to weave Eywa's will into the clan's future next to your sister. Now, those same eyes shifted uneasily, darting away or narrowing in suspicion, the subtle flinch of shoulders and the hurried averting of faces speaking volumes.

You had betrayed them, after all, by dragging that Omatikaya warrior from the flames, his blood staining your hands as surely as your mercy had branded you a turncoat. Just as Alayni had sold her own people to the shadows for a chance at Neteyam's side, so had you fractured the bonds of your kin. The weight of it settled in your gut like river stones as you stepped into the clearing.

Whispers rippled through the gathered figures. Warriors pausing mid-stride, healers glancing up from their herbs with lips pressed thin.

Dread coiled tighter when she appeared.

Varang, your sister, emerging from the central marui like a specter carved from obsidian. Her presence commanded the space, broad shoulders squared beneath the weight of adorned armor, the scars across her arms a testament to battles won. But it was her face that chilled you. Blank, devoid of the fiery rage that usually ignited her amber eyes or twisted her full mouth into a snarl. This emptiness was worse, it was eerie and calculating, a void where her vicious fury should have roared.

"Tsmuke." You murmured, voice cracking despite your effort to steady it knees bending slightly as you lowered yourself in supplication, the soft curves of your torso shifting under the thin straps of your top. "Forgive me. I... I couldn't let him die there. Eywa's will—"

"Eywa's will? The boy had you believing that false goddess who abandoned us?" She approached, her movements deliberate, the powerful swing of her tail betraying nothing.

Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your kuru with a gentleness that belied the threat as her nails grazed the sensitive neural tendrils, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as she caressed it like a fragile vine. The touch was almost tender for her being yet it carried the promise of something darker.

"You are a traitor to your people." She said flatly, her voice a low monotone that echoed unnaturally in the hush as her eyes locked onto yours unblinking, the sharp angles of her jaw set like carved stone. "To your own sister. I should claim your kuru for that, sever it clean, or perhaps your head to remind all of divided hearts."

Horror bloomed cold in your chest as she drew her blade, raising it with fluid precision, the metal glinting in the dappled light, her biceps flexing with restrained power as she looped the edge toward your kuru. You breathed out sharply, bracing for the pain, your muscles tensing along your spine as your heart pounded against your ribs.

But she halted, the blade hovering inches from you before she withdrew it, letting your kuru slip free from her grasp. Her expression remained a mask of indifference, shoulders rolling back as she sheathed the weapon, the beads in her hair swaying with the motion. "You are not welcome here anymore. I have no use for divided loyalties, there is no place for traitors among the Mangkwan. Leave this place and if you ever return, I will not hesitate to forget you are my blood."

The words landed like a spear to the core, your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach as a wave of nausea churned, you rose unsteadily, legs wobbling beneath the strength of your thighs. You bit your lip hard, the sharp sting drawing a bead of blood that you tasted metallic on your tongue, and turned away without another plea. The clan's stares burned into your back as you walked, first heavy steps then a numb stride, your heart a leaden ache in your chest.

Exile.

You belonged nowhere now, a ghost adrift in Pandora's vast wilds, your cruelty once a shield now a hollow echo of your being.

Hours blurred into an endless trek, the jungle's symphony fading to a distant hum as exhaustion clawed at you. Your feet ached against the uneven terrain, the sway of your hips slowing with each mile. The sun climbed and dipped, painting the undergrowth in shifting patterns, until the rush of water drew you onward.

The river, the same crystalline vein where Neteyam had found you before, time and time again, his persistence a thorn in your side. It curved invitingly, fringed with glowing ferns but solace it offered right now was a lie.

You collapsed onto the mossy bank, knees buckling as the fight drained from you curling into yourself, silent tears carved warm paths down your cheeks. Sobs caught in your throat, muffled against your knees, the isolation crashing over you like the current's foam.

"This is what happens when you try to leave me."

The voice sliced through the quiet, low and resonant, startling you upright. Your head snapping up, braids whipping across your damp face, eyes wide with wary as you scanned the shadows.

There he was, Neteyam, stepping from the treeline in all his imposing glory, the sunlight gilding his azure form. But this was no vulnerable soft version, his face was etched with darkness, his golden eyes hooded and intense, the usual warmth replaced by a predatory gleam as his broad chest rose steadily. The faint scars on his arms standing out as he moved with purpose, his tail flicking like a whip.

"What are you doing here? How did you—?" You stammered, scrambling back on your hands as your palms sinked into the cool mud.

He chuckled, a dark velvety sound that sent chills racing across your skin. He closed the distance with unhurried strides, his long legs eating the ground. Crouching beside you, he invaded your space effortlessly, his heat radiating like a forge. One knee pressing into the earth, forearm resting on his thigh as he leaned in, the sharp cut of his jaw tilting toward you.

"I followed you." He said simply, amusement curling his lips fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to touch you, eyes tracing the tear-streaked glow of your cheeks. "I wasn't asleep when you slipped away."

Confusion swirled with the resolve in your chest. You straightened, forcing firmness into your voice as your chin lifted defiantly, the subtle curve of your neck exposed as you met his gaze, refusing to cower. "Leave me be, Neteyam. This isn't your concern."

He tilted his head, a knowing grin spreading across his features though the shadows in his expression deepened the hollows of his cheeks. "You're mine. Why would I leave you alone? We've danced this evasion too long, it's time you accept it."

A snarl tore from your throat, raw and unrestrained. The culmination of betrayal, exile, and this relentless pursuit bubbling over. Your fangs bared, the muscles of your shoulders coiling as you lunged forward slightly, claws extending in warning. You didn't care anymore about Neytiri's pleas to play along, to shield him from stress or negativity. Your world had shattered and his delusions were the final straw.

"I'm not yours! We aren't mated, none of it was real. You're supposed to be with that woman, Alayni. You hit your head in that fall. It's selective amnesia twisting your memories, making you think we're bonded when we're enemies. Demon blood runs in you and you're tainting everything, leave me alone!"

The words spilled out in a torrent, your chest heaving with the force of them as your breath comes in sharp bursts, the soft peaks of your breasts straining against the fabric as fury flushed your skin a deeper hue.

You expected shock, denial, perhaps anger but he remained calm, face blank as a still pond, absorbing every accusation without a flicker. His arms folding loosely across his torso, the defined ridges of his abdomen shifting subtly with each even inhale.

"Are you done, baby?" He asked softly, the endearment laced with dark affection, voice dipping low, one corner of his mouth quirking as he watched you unravel.

Confusion made your lashes fluttered along with disbelief as you looked at him. "Did you not hear what I said? It's all a lie, your mind's broken!"

"I heard you loud and clear." He replied evenly, unfolding to rise slightly, towering over you even in his crouch as his shadow fall across your form. "You think I'm stupid? That I don't know the truth of it all? I know everything, baby."

Your mind reeled, questions piling like storm clouds as your pulse thundered in your ears, fingers digging into the earth for stability as you searched his face for deceit.

What game was this?

He leaned closer, grin widening with a flash of something primal in his eyes. It was dark and unyielding possession, his pupils dilating as the golden hue sharpened like a predator's stare.

"I do not have selective amnesia." He tapped the side of his head, the words dropping like stones into deep water.

"What?" The syllable escaped as a whisper, shock rooting you in place as your body goes still, the taper of your waist tensing as realization dawned.

"Do you not get it, baby?" His grin softened into something almost tender, hand reaching out to caress your face lovingly. His palm cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the high plane of your cheekbone with feather-light pressure, calluses rough against your silken skin. "It was all a ploy, (Y/N). The confusion, the clinging, the fabricated memories. I orchestrated it to keep you close without resistance from my family, the clan, or even you. I needed you unbound, willing in my arms, away from the barriers who wants to keep us apart."

Shock rippled through you, the extreme lengths he had gone to. For you. This enemy, this forbidden flame, leaving you breathless. Your eyes widening, the vibrant irises reflecting his intensity as your lips parted in stunned silence.

Insanity woven from obsession stared back at you in his gaze.

"You're insane." You breathed, shaking your head in denial trying to twist away, the sleek strands of your braids swaying as your shoulders rolled back, seeking distance from him.

He chuckled again, the sound rich and unrepentant, pulling you flush against him with effortless strength. His arms encircling your waist, his chest a solid wall of warmth pressing into your softer frame, tsking softly as you resisted. "You made me this way."

You pushed against his chest, not with full force but enough to test the boundary, your palms flattening against the firm planes of muscle there, feeling the steady thrum beneath azure skin marked by faint healing scars.

"You're still gonna be mated to Alayni." You insisted, voice edged with defiance lips pressing into a thin line, the subtle quiver of your chin betraying the storm within. "We are not truly mated. She's what your parents want, what the clan demands. This changes nothing."

Neteyam tilted his head, golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that bordered on reverence, but his gaze drifted inexorably downward, fixating on the full curve of your lips. His pupils darkening as he leaned fractionally closer, the sharp line of his nose nearly brushing yours, ignoring your protest like a whisper lost in the wind. He didn't flinch, didn't argue, instead a soft hum escaped him as if your words were mere ripples on the surface of his resolve.

"She won't be." He murmured finally, voice low and threaded with certainty as one of his hand sliding up your back, fingers tracing the delicate ridge of your spine through the thin weave of your top. "Once my parents and the clan know what she did, Alayni will be cast out like the poison she is."

Shock rippled through you anew, widening your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of bluff breath catching, the slope of your shoulders tensing beneath his touch.

"What do you mean?" The question tumbled out, laced with suspicion.

Did he know? Had the threads of deception of that bitch unraveled further than I realized?

A grin split his features, slow and predatory, revealing the gleam of his fangs as amusement danced in his irises, tail curling possessively around your calf.

"I heard every word from your conversation with her earlier." He confessed, the admission rolling off his tongue like a secret long savored. "How she betrayed our clan, orchestrated the attack that brought death and ruin to so many. She sold us out for her own ambitions, your escape included."

The pieces clicked into place, stealing your breath.

When you'd risen that morning, believing him lost to sleep in the cot, he hadn't been. He'd lain still, eyes cracked just enough to watch you slip away, granting you a mere twenty seconds' head start before rising silently. His instincts had guided him through the underbrush, shadows cloaking his pursuit until he caught the murmur of voices.

Yours and Alayni's, sharp with accusation.

He'd lingered at the edge, ears attuned to every damning syllable. Alayni's confession, her gloating over the attack she'd ignited, the way she'd twisted your departure not as rejection of him, but as her calculated strike to claim what she coveted. Rage had simmered in him then but so had resolve, fueling his steps as he trailed you deeper into the wilds.

From there, he'd shadowed you to the Mangkwan borders, concealed among the vines as you faced Varang's cold judgment. Witnessing your banishment, exiled for the mercy you'd shown him had ignited something primal in his chest. His heart had burst with a twisted joy, not from your suffering, but from the irrefutable proof of your bond.

You'd chosen him over blood, over everything. No longer could you deny the pull between you.

He wanted to laugh at how successful his plan had worked.

It all stemmed from that fateful night, long before the ploy took shape. He'd woken in the dim glow of the marui, the haze of injury lifting just enough to catch his parents' hushed voices. Jake's gruff concern, Neytiri's soft recounting of your heroism.

You, the Mangkwan Tsakarem, his enemy, had saved him.

For weeks, his world had been a void, convinced you'd fled because you couldn't bear his touch, his clan's shadow tainting any future with you. But hearing of your sacrifice breathed life back into him, a spark that demanded action.

Right then, amid the quiet vigil of his family, he'd devised the selective amnesia. A performance to bind you to his side without the chains of duty or suspicion snapping shut. When morning came, he'd stirred with feigned confusion, clinging to you as his “mate,” weaving tales of a bond forged in secret. His grin had widened inwardly as belief took root. Lo'ak's wary glances, Jake's reluctant nods, even Alayni's frantic interjections when she knew, it all swallowed the lie whole.

His grandmother’s counsel had sealed it, her wise eyes warning against stress that might fracture his fragile recovery. He knew his parents would honor that, allowing you unrestricted access under the guise of healing him. No forced mating with Alayni, not while he played the vulnerable son. And his mother... she'd softened, her fierce maternal love yielding to the sight of him animated again, how she saw the hollow shell of who he was weeks past was banished by just your presence.

She wanted her son whole and you'd become the key to that illusion.

He intended to exploit every fracture, every concession. You were his obsession, the fire that consumed his thoughts, and he would claim you fully. No matter the cost, the lies, or the darkness it demanded from him.

You breathed out shakily, the weight of his machinations settling over you like a shroud, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, the soft swell of your form molding against his as resignation flickered in your gaze.

"So you know." You whispered, not a question but an acknowledgment, the fight ebbing from your limbs.

He nuzzled your nose then, an affectionate gesture laced with possession as his breath fanned warm across your skin, the bridge of his nose gliding gently against yours in a promise of intimacy.

"She will pay for taking you from me." He vowed, voice husky with a blend of love and unbridled obsession, eyes half-lidded, the raw edge of his tone vibrating through you.

You heard it all in his voice, the devotion twisted into something fierce and unrelenting, the madness born of longing.

He was the architect of your chaos. The raid's echoes, Alayni's schemes, Varang's blade at your kuru, all traces led back to this pull between you. Yet, against the ache of loss, attraction bloomed unbidden within, a heat coiling low in your belly. Now knowing the depths he'd plumbed, the deceptions, and the risks just to ensnare you... it stirred something reciprocal. His love was a storm, dark and consuming, but genuine in its fervor.

Darkness wasn't alien to you. As Varang's shadow, you'd wielded cruelty like a blade, reveling in its sharp clarity. Your clan, your sister, they were ghosts now, severed by your choices. What remained? Emptiness or the shelter of his embrace? He'd toppled empires of tradition for you and in his arms, you could rebuild from the ruins.

Your gaze lifted, locking onto his with a newfound resolve, lashes fluttering once as you held his stare. Slowly and deliberately, you drew him down as your lips parted to capture his in a kiss. Hesitant at first then deepening with the surrender you'd long resisted.

Surprise flashed in his eyes, a brief widening before satisfaction curved his mouth against yours. Hands tightening on your hips, pulling you flush as he responded with fervor, tongue teasing the seam of your lips in hungry invitation. He kissed you back like a man starved, pouring weeks of pent-up yearning into the press of mouths and the tangle of breaths.

His body ignited, mind flooding with visions of you.

The plush give of your breasts against his chest, the rounded allure of your hips begging for his grasp. He craved to peel away the barriers, to uncover the dusky peaks of your nipples for it to harden under his gaze, to part your thighs and breathe in the musky essence of your arousal, to lap at the slick heat until you shattered in his mouth.

The kiss ignited like dry tinder under a spark, Neteyam's mouth claiming yours with a ferocity that left no room for retreat. His tongue swept in, bold and demanding, curling around yours in a slick dance. You gasped into him, a sound he swallowed by the deepening press of his mouth. Your hands fisting the straps of his woven belt as denial flickered one last time in your chest. But his grip on your waist tightened, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips, pulling you impossibly closer until your curves molded to his unyielding frame.

"Mine." He growled against your lips, voice roughened by weeks of suppressed hunger.

He sucked on your tongue then, drawing it into his mouth with a wet obscene pull. His teeth grazing the sensitive underside, his low moan vibrating through you as saliva pooled and trickled at the corners. It was filthy and possessive, his obsession laid bare in the way he devoured you as if your very essence was the antidote to his torment.

You pulled back fractionally, breath ragged, the arch of your neck exposed as you tilted your head. Strands of dark hair cascading over one shoulder, catching the river's glow in silken waves.

"Neteyam... this is madness." You whispered, voice laced with lingering resistance, lips swollen and glistening from the onslaught of his hungry mouth. "We can't—Alayni, your clan—they'll never accept—"

His laugh was low and predatory, rumbling from deep in his chest as he nuzzled the curve of your jaw. Hot breath fanning your pulse point, fangs scraping lightly in a tease of possession.

"Fuck Alayni. Fuck the clan. You're the only one I see, the only one I crave." He captured your mouth again but this time his hand roamed lower, cupping the rounded swell of your ass through the thin fabric of your loincloth, kneading the flesh firmly eliciting an involuntary arch of your back. "Look at you. Soft, perfect, made for me. I've dreamed of this body every night, wanted to touch myself to the thought of burying myself inside you. Give in to me, baby. Surrender to what we both want."

His words coiled around you like vines, a manipulative silk weaving through your doubts. You were no innocent. Cruelty had been your armor but here, stripped by his gaze, vulnerability cracked through. And the heat building between your thighs betrayed you, a slick ache that made your denial ring hollow.

"I... I shouldn't." You murmured, even as your fingers traced the ridges of his abdomen, your nails dragging lightly, feeling the taut flex of muscle.

"But you will." He coaxed, voice dropping to a husky whisper as lips brushed your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine. "Because you feel it too, this pull, this need. Let me show you how good it can be. Just say yes and I'll make you forget everything else."

His free hand slipped under your top, callused palm gliding up your ribcage to cup one breast, his thumb circling the peak through the fabric drawing a sharp inhale from you as it pebbled under his touch.

Your resistance crumbled under the weight of his desire. You nodded, a small surrender, and he wasted no time. With deft fingers, he untied your top, letting it fall away to reveal the soft perky mounds of your breasts, nipples dusky and erect in the cool air.

Neteyam's breath hitched, eyes widening with reverent hunger as he stared with pupils dilating, a low groan escaping as he traced the curve with his gaze, committing every detail to memory.

"Eywa... so beautiful." He breathed, voice thick with awe leaning down to capture one peak in his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud while his hand kneaded the other.

Pleasure shot through you like lightning, your head falling back and throat bared, a soft whimper slipping free as your fingers threaded into his braids. He lavished attention on your chest, alternating between sucks and gentle bites leaving faint red marks that bloomed like petals on your azure skin, his obsession evident in the way he murmured praises against your flesh.

"These tits... fuck, I've wanted to taste them since the first time I saw you. So full, so responsive. Want to watch how they bounce for me."

Your body responded traitorously, hips grinding against his thigh as arousal soaked through your coverings. He sensed it, a wicked grin curving his lips as he pulled back eyes dark with intent, trailing kisses down your sternum.

"Eager already? Let me see all of you." His hands worked at your loincloth, peeling it away to expose your core as your thighs parted instinctively, the cool air kissing your heated folds.

For the first time, he beheld your pussy. It was swollen, glistening with need, the musky scent rising like an intoxicating fog.

Neteyam inhaled deeply, nose brushing the softness of your inner thigh, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss, a shudder rippling through his broad shoulders. "Oh fuck, your scent."

He buried his face closer, tongue darting out to lap at the juices trailing down your thighs, savoring the tangy essence with a filthy groan.

You cried out, legs trembling as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, the flat of his tongue pressing firm, coaxing more of your arousal to drip in his awaiting mouth. "Neteyam—ah!"

The sensation was overwhelming, his mouth relentless in sucking your folds, circling the bundle of nerves with expert flicks. His fingers parting you wider, exposing every inch to his voracious hunger. Your juices leaked freely now, coating his chin as he feasted, the lewd sounds of his slurps and your moans filling the air.

"Taste so fucking good." He rasped between laps, voice muffled against your heat, one hand pinning your hip while the other teased your entrance. "Dripping for me, aren't you? This pretty little cunt leaking like it knows it's about to be claimed."

He spat then, a deliberate dollop of saliva landing on your frothing core as he watched it mix with your slick before diving back in, tongue plunging deep to gather every drop.

Ecstasy built swiftly, your walls clenching around nothing, but he pulled away just as you teetered on the edge lips shiny, eyes gleaming with dark promise. "Not yet. I want to feel you come around my cock first."

Rising to his knees, he shed his own coverings, revealing his massive length. The flared head already beading with precum standing proud against his abdomen, the sheer size making your eyes widen in a mix of awe and apprehension.

You reached out tentatively, fingers wrapping around the girth barely encircling it, feeling the velvet heat pulse under your touch.

"It's... huge." You breathed stroking experimentally, thumb swiping over the tip drawing a hiss from him.

"All for you." He panted guiding your hand, hips bucking into your fist as he watched your face. "Gonna stretch you so good, fill you up until you're ruined for anyone else."

He positioned himself between your thighs, rubbing the head along your slit, coating himself in your combined wetness, teasing your swollen clit with each pass.

"Wait—Neteyam, we can't... not fully." You protested weakly, even as your body arched toward him in anticipation.

"We can and we will." He murmured manipulatively, nipping your lower lip as his eyes locked on yours with hypnotic intensity. "Just the tip first then the rest of my cock, baby. Let me in, surrender this much and I'll make it worth it."

He pressed forward slowly, the broad head breaching you and stretching your walls with a burn that bordered on pain before morphing into exquisite fullness. You moaned, nails raking down his back leaving red trails that made him growl in approval.

"Too much... oh." You gasped but your legs wrapped around his waist urging him deeper.

"That's it baby, take me." He cooed inching further, watching your face contort in pleasure, his own features twisting with restraint. Once fully sheathed, he paused letting you adjust to the bulge forming low in your belly, his hand pressing against it feeling himself inside you. "Look at that, my cock making a home in your tummy. You're made for breeding, aren't you?"

You mewled at his words and he began to move then, slow thrusts that built to a punishing rhythm with his hips snapping in lewd slaps, the riverbank echoing the sound. Love bites peppered your neck and shoulders, his teeth sinking in just enough to mark, scratches from your nails mirroring on his skin, a canvas of mutual claim.

"Fuck, you feel so good. Gripping me like you never want to let go." His words were shameless as raw sweat beading on his temple.

Pleasure mounted coiling tight until you shattered as your walls convulsed around him, a cry tearing from your throat and body arching off the ground, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

He didn't stop, chasing his own release with frantic drives. "Coming inside you. Gonna flood this pussy, make it mine."

He spilled, hot ropes of cum painting your depths, sloshing audibly with his final thrusts, the excess leaking out around his base obscenely.

But one round wasn't enough.

He flipped you onto your hands and knees, re-entering with a single brutal stroke, hand fisting your hair gently, arching your back as he pounded deeper.

"Again. Need to feel you milk me dry." He demanded, spitting into your open mouth this time, watching you swallow with a filthy grin.

The second climax hit you harder, mind fogging as he filled you anew, your tummy bulging visibly now, a lewd testament to his claim. By the third round, you were fucked dumb. Limbs heavy, moans incoherent with eyes glazed, body limp as he rutted into you from behind, one hand rubbing delicious circles on your clit.

"So good for me. Dumb on my cock, just how I like you." He praised, nipping your ear, his free hand roaming to squeeze your breast and pinched your nipple.

In your haze, he moved with purpose. Gathering your kuru, he connected it swiftly with his own. Tsaheylu forming in a surge of connection that bound your souls, the bond electric, amplifying every sensation as he thrust through your overstimulation. You felt the gravity of his love and obsession with you. How he wanted to etch himself into your being until he’s all you’ll ever know. How he was ready to defy everyone and leave his clan just to be with you. How he wanted to fill your pussy over and over again until you give him a big family. He burns for you and he will burn for you if he must.

You whimpered realizing too late but the pleasure drowned the protests bubbling up in you.

"Now it's real." He whispered triumphantly, voice laced with obsession and his eyes wild as the bond deepened. "Mated for life, no escaping me anymore. I'll take you home and no one can touch what's mine."

"Neteyam, what have you—" You slurred but he silenced you with a deep kiss, tongues tangling as he drove toward another peak.

"I'll make you a mama." He vowed between thrusts, manipulative edge sharpening his tone as his hand splayed over your lower belly pressing the bulge. "Keep getting you pregnant every damn time. Swelling with my seed so everyone knows who you belong to. Your sister, Alayni, the whole damn clan, they'll see you're mine forever. You just have to give in fully baby, surrender yourself to me."

The words, the bond, the relentless pleasure, it broke you.

Or perhaps remade you.

As he came again, cum sloshing deep and overflowing in thick rivulets down your thighs, you clung to him, your denial shattered. You were mated truly now and escape was a faded dream. In his arms, you found a twisted peace. His darkness mirroring your own, binding you to him.

Your body trembled in the aftermath, every nerve alight with the echoes of ecstasy and the profound weight of the bond now thrumming between you. Neteyam's cock remained buried deep in your walls, a deliberate barrier sealing his cum within your tender overworked folds. The raw heat of your core clenching sporadically around him, holding back the warm flood that threatened to spill. A soft whimper escaped your lips as overstimulation lingered like a sweet ache.

"Shh, baby." He murmured soothingly, his voice a low rumble against your ear as one large hand stroking the sweat-damp curve of your spine. "You did so good. So perfect for me."

His tone wrapped around you like a cocoon, possessive yet tender, the darkness in his eyes softened by satiated affection for you.

Your vision swam in a haze of bliss, eyelids heavy as you gazed up at him with your lashes fluttering, the lines of your face flushed with exertion, a faint sheen of perspiration highlighting the subtle glow of your skin.

"Neteyam—" You breathed, the word half-protest, half-plea, your voice husky from cries long silenced by his kisses.

He grinned then, a slow, predatory curve of his lips as he drank in the sight of you.

Naked and utterly claimed, scattered love bites blooming like violet bruises along your collarbone and the swell of your breasts, faint red welts from his nails marking your hips where he'd gripped too fiercely in the throes. Your beauty struck him anew, wild and unmarred by the world's judgments, every curve and stripes a testament to the obsession that had driven him to this.

Leaning down, he captured one dusky nipple between his lips again, suckling with gentle insistence as his tongue flicked the sensitive tip drawing a fresh gasp from you as sparks reignited low in your belly. He released it with a soft pop, only to claim your mouth in a lingering kiss. Lips molding to yours, the taste of shared passion still lingering on his tongue, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

Without withdrawing, he shifted, strong arms banding around your waist to pull you upright with him. His cock still lodged deliciously inside, shifted angles that sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, your walls fluttering in response. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle there, the stripes on his arms pulsing faintly in the dim light, a mirror to the bond's electric hum.

He stepped into the shallow river, the cool water lapping at your joined forms as he waded deeper. Cradling you against his chest, the current swirling around your thighs and teasing the sensitive juncture where you remained connected. Droplets clung to his broad shoulders, tracing rivulets down the defined planes of his torso as he began to wash you both. His free hand dipping into the stream to cup water over your marked skin, gentle swipes cleansing the evidence of your frenzy, though his eyes never left yours, still dark with lingering hunger.

All the while, he stole nasty smooches from your lips. Quick heated presses that deepened into tongue-tangling explorations as his fangs grazed your lower lip, a low hum of approval vibrating from his throat each time you yielded to his advances.

"My mate is so fucking pretty." He growled between kisses, voice thick with raw adoration as his gaze raked over you, from the tousled waves framing your face to the subtle sway of your hips in the water. "All full of my cum and marked. Look at you baby, mine in every way now."

You felt him stirring within you, thickening once more as arousal rebuilt. The lazy twitch of his hips pressing him deeper, sloshing the trapped seed inside you with obscene wet sounds that made your cheeks burn. A groan built in your throat, the sensation both soothing and igniting, your body betraying any semblance of fatigue.

"Do you not get tired?" You groaned, the words tumbling out as he mouthed at your nipple again, his teeth nipping the pebbled flesh, his hot breath fanning across your chest while the water buoyed your weight.

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations straight to your core as he lifted his head to meet your eyes, his own gleaming with unquenchable fire. "I'd fuck your pussy every day and still complain it's not enough."

The shameless declaration hung in the air, filthy and fervent, his hand sliding down to cup your ass, urging a subtle grind.

Your cunt pulsed at his words, a fresh wave of slick easing the way as desire coiled anew. Your inner muscles squeezing his cock involuntarily drawing a hiss from his parted lips. He responded in kind, fucking up into you with languid thrusts. Each roll of his hips deliberate, the friction building as your clit ground against the coarse texture at his pelvis, sparks blooming in your pussy with every press.

"You're so beautiful, baby." He whispered reverently, voice laced with awe, his free hand cradling the nape of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw as he held your gaze.

The water splashed softly around you, a rhythmic counterpoint to the deepening cadence of his movements.

Capturing your mouth once more, he parted your lips with his tongue, only to pull back slightly. Spitting a deliberate saliva into your open mouth, watching with hooded eyes as you swallowed, the act intimate and depraved. Then he dove in, sucking on your tongue with voracious pulls. Teeth grazing, saliva mingling in a messy heated exchange that left you breathless.

The pace quickened, his thrusts growing firmer despite the lazy intent. Your bodies rocking in the current, the bond amplifying every sensation until pleasure crested like a wave. You came first, a muffled cry against his lips as your walls clamped down. Stars fracturing your vision, limbs tightening around him in shuddering release. He followed moments later, spilling anew with a guttural moan. Hot pulses joining the existing warmth, the fullness overwhelming as it sloshed within you.

This time, he withdrew gently, the sudden emptiness making you whine softly. A trickle of his cum escaping to mingle with the river's flow. He cleaned you up for real then, thorough and attentive, rinsing away the remnants with cupped handfuls of water. Fingers careful over your sensitive skin, tracing the insides of your thighs before helping you into fresh coverings from his nearby pouch. He dressed himself swiftly, the woven fabric hugging his powerful frame, his kuru draped over one shoulder still tingling from the bond with you.

Scooping you into his arms, he cradled you bridal-style against his chest. Your head nestling into the crook of his neck, the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulling you. You snuggled closer instinctively, limbs heavy with exhaustion, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours like a balm.

He grinned down at you, that obsessive light in his eyes undimmed as his fangs peeked through before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Go to sleep, baby." He coaxed softly, voice a gentle command as one hand rubbed soothing circles on your back while he began the trek back towards his clan. "When you wake up, we'll be back in our marui as mates. Nobody can set us apart now."

Your eyes fluttered closed, the fight drained from you entirely. A quiet warmth blooming in your chest at the depth of his love, twisted as it was, mirroring the shadows in your own heart.

"You're still a disgusting demon to me." You mumbled, the words laced with weary affection rather than true venom you used to hurl at him.

He chuckled, the sound rich and fond echoing softly in the night, adjusting his hold to keep you secure as your breathing evened out. "And you're still beautiful to me."

As sleep claimed you fully, the world faded to the rhythm of his steps, the bond a unbreakable tether pulling you into his darkness.

His smile turned into a dark smirk as he continued to walk with you in his arms. He wasn't done yet. His plan still yet to unfold. He wasn't gonna rest until he's sure nobody will be an obstacle and he sure knows who to start with first.

Alayni will be an example of how far I'm willing to go for you, baby.

He laughed to himself as he realized, he really was obsessed with you.

next part

[lilacnavi]

you’re beautiful

pairings: aged up neteyam x mangkwan female reader

notes: obsessed neteyam, gradual dark neteyam, reader is varang’s mean younger sister, manipulation, angst/comfort, miscommunication trope, forbidden lovers, neteyam is a literal yearner, reader is realistic, love at first sight for neteyam, selective amnesia, reader is disgusted by neteyam’s demon blood, betrayal, smut & suggestive themes, p in v sex, themes of noncon & dubcon, breeding, spitting, tummy bulge, big dick neteyam.

word count: 34.5k (i literally have no brain juice anymore)

prompt: from the moment you had your blade pressed against his neck, all he could think of was how beautiful you are. he does not care if you’re a mangkwan and he does not care if you are disgusted by him, you are what he wants even if he has to go to extreme lengths to get you.

selective amnesia series: neteyam | ao’nung | lo’ak

main masterlist | neteyam masterlist

credits to @uzmacchiato (divider)

The dense canopy of Pandora's forest filtered the midday sun into dappled shafts of light casting shifting patterns on the undergrowth as Neteyam soared above on his ikran. His form honed by years of vigilant scouting, blended seamlessly with the creature's sleek blue hide, his golden eyes scanning the perimeters of Omatikaya territory with unwavering focus. The wind whipped through his braided hair carrying the earthy scent of moss and distant rain but today, an unfamiliar tension hummed in the air like Eywa herself was holding her breath.

A flicker of movement below caught his sharp gaze. A cluster of Na'vi figures darting through the underbrush, their movements predatory and coordinated. He signaled his ikran with a subtle shift of his thighs and the beast banked sharply, descending in a controlled spiral toward a concealed ledge. Wings folded with a soft rustle as he dismounted, his bare feet silent on the mossy ground. Crouching behind a thick fern and bow already in hand, Neteyam peered through the leaves, his heart steady but alert.

What he witnessed chilled him.

A raiding party from the Mangkwan clan of fierce warriors painted in ritualistic ash, their bodies smeared with the dark residue of volcanic soil that marked their savage tradition. They had ambushed a small group of Olangi travelers. The Olangi clan, a peaceful foragers from a neighboring grove, were outnumbered and overwhelmed, their pleas echoing faintly through the trees. The Mangkwans moved with brutal efficiency, spears glinting as they subdued their prey but it was the figure at the center that seized Neteyam's breath.

You.

Leading the raid with an air of unchallenged authority, your form cut an intoxicating silhouette against the chaos. Ash coated your skin like a second hide, obscuring the true hue beneath in swirling patterns that accentuated the sharp angles of your jaw. Even veiled in grime, your beauty pierced through with full lips curved in a predatory smile and eyes like smoldering embers, scanning the fray with calculated glee. Your body was clad in minimal hides, a beaded top that strained against the soft perky swell of your breasts, rising and falling with each commanding breath, and a loincloth that hugged the firm curve of your hips revealing toned legs braced for action.

Neteyam found himself entranced, curiosity gnawing at him. What lay under that ash? Smooth azure skin perhaps, glowing with the vitality of your clan or something rarer, more alluring?

But beauty masked cruelty.

He watched as you circled a kneeling Olangi male, his kuru held taut by one of your warriors.

The victim's pleas tumbled out in desperate sobs. "Please we mean no harm. Eywa, mercy!"

Your laughter rang out, mean and cutting, a sharp trill that sliced through the air like a blade. "Your goddess has no dominion here."

It wasn't joyous, it was mocking and laced with sadistic delight as you raised your obsidian knife, the edge catching the light. The Mangkwans deferred to you utterly, their eyes on you as if you were their spiritual guide yet Neteyam knew you weren’t the clan’s leader.

During a prior scouting run with his father, Jake had pointed out Varang, the true Tsahìk of the Mangkwans. Tall and imposing with an aura of unyielding command. That wasn't you. So who were you? Varang's kin perhaps her younger sister, wielding influence through blood ties? Or a favored enforcer, a prized weapon in her arsenal? The mystery only deepened his fixation, his gaze lingering on the way your ash-streaked arms flexed, muscles coiling like vines ready to strike.

The Olangi's kuru dangled vulnerably, the warrior presenting it for your ritual severing. A fate worse than death was severing one's bond with Eywa. Neteyam's jaw tightened with a surge of protectiveness igniting in his chest and he couldn't stand by. Nocking an arrow with fluid precision, he drew back the bowstring with the familiar creak grounding him. His aim was true, released with a whisper, the shaft flew straight and embedding in the hand of the Mangkwan holding the kuru. The warrior yelped dropping the kuru as blood welled while the Olangi collapsed in shock.

You hissed sharply in a venomous sound that reverberated through the trees, your head snapping toward the underbrush where the arrow had originated. Your ember eyes narrowed, piercing the foliage as if you could will the shadows to part. Though the leaves concealed him, your stare felt like it locked onto his golden ones, a challenge unspoken.

Neteyam held his breath, pulse thundering in his ears.

"How amusing." You chuckled lowly, the sound dripping with dark amusement with the thrill of the hunt sparking in your veins, your lips twisting into a smirk that revealed sharp canines.

Shifting your attention, you glanced at the injured warrior clutching his hand with pain etching his features.

"Tend to that." You dismissed him with a wave of your hand, voice cool and authoritative boredom masking your intrigue.

No time for weakness in my ranks.

Grinning to yourself with a secretive curve of your mouth that hinted at games yet to play, you barked orders to your group. "Retreat! Take what we came for."

The Mangkwans obeyed instantly, their weapon’s clubs thudding against Olangi skulls to knock them unconscious. Greedy hands snatching woven satchels of herbs, glowing crystals, and carved totems as prizes of the raid. They melted into the forest like smoke but you lingered a moment, casting one final lingering look toward Neteyam's hiding spot. Your smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with promise of a predator sensing prey nearby before you turned, your form vanishing into the green.

Neteyam exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a heartbeat as his muscles uncoiled with relief washing over him. Slumping against the fern, he berated his caution for being too close and too reckless. The raid's echoes faded leaving only the rustle of leaves.

Then cold steel kissed his throat.

His golden eyes flew open, meeting yours up close. Sadistic glee swirling in their depths like storm clouds over the sea. You had circled silently, a shadow among shadows, your blade now pressed under his chin, tilting his head back against the earth. The ash on your face cracked slightly with your predatory smile, revealing glimpses of smoother skin beneath that was flushed with exertion.

The bow and arrows lay discarded beside him, the telltale fletching matching the one that embedded in your warrior's hand.

"Nice shot, forest boy." You purred, voice laced with mocking admiration and excitement bubbling beneath the snarl, your breath warm against his skin. "Had a good time interrupting my fun?"

He didn't answer, lips pressed into a thin line, inwardly cursing his lapse. How had you slipped past? His body tensed beneath you but he held still and assessing.

You tsked, a sharp disappointed sound, your snarl twisting your features as you surged forward. With effortless strength, you pinned him to the ground. Your knee digging into his abdomen, the blade you held angling deeper. Its tip pricking his flesh just enough to draw a thin bead of blood. The metallic tang mingled with the forest's humidity, your weight settling over him dominantly, your thighs clamping his waist in a vise of muscle and heat.

From this vantage, you were breathtaking.

The ash smeared across your cheeks like war paint but the proximity unveiled nuances. The delicate slope of your nose, the way your braids framed your face and swaying with each controlled breath. Your body pressed against his firm one, soft perky breasts heaving through the scant hide while your thighs hugged him possessively, the firm ridges of your muscle flexing. The loincloth you wore rode up slightly in the struggle, teasing the shadowed juncture between your legs in a forbidden glimpse that stirred something primal in him.

Neteyam's gaze betrayed him, trailing downward despite the danger. Over the generous curve of your breasts, your nipples faintly outlined against the fabric from the adrenaline rush then to the powerful expanse of your thighs gripping him like you owned him already.

You hissed again, low and threatening as irritation flared hot in your being, the sound vibrating through your chest as you caught his wandering eyes. Leaning in closer with your blade steady, your face hovered inches from his. "I'll cut your throat for that."

He stared up at you dazed, the world narrowing to the beauty before him. The cruel spark in your eyes, the subtle sheen of sweat tracing a path down your neck.

Words escaped him before he could cage them, his voice rough with unintended awe. "You're beautiful."

Your eyes widened fractionally, the sadistic gleam flickering with surprise as an unwelcome heat coiled low despite yourself but you didn't falter. The blade nicked deeper against his skin, a warning as you ground your hips down experimentally, testing his resolve.

"Flattery won't save you, skxawng." You snarled though your voice held a husky edge, your curiosity warring with the cruelty you held.

The pressure of your body against his sent unwelcome sparks through both of you. His cock twitching involuntarily beneath the confines of his own coverings, your breath hitching as you felt it.

Neteyam's hands, bound by instinct not to fight yet, flexed at his sides, his golden eyes locked on yours now and unflinching. The forest seemed to hold its breath around you, the distant calls of ikran fading into irrelevance. He could smell the ash on you mingled with the wild scent of your skin, it was earthy and intoxicating.

"Why do they follow you like that?" He asked, voice steady despite the blade, deflecting while his mind raced.

Attraction bloomed dark and insistent in him, a shadow creeping over his usual honor. You weren't just beautiful, you were a storm and he found himself drawn to the eye.

You laughed then in a mean throaty sound that vibrated against him, amusement laced with dark promise shrouding it as you tilted your head to study him like prey. "Maybe you're not as foolish as you look."

Your free hand trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his toned abdomen feeling the ridges of his muscle tense. The touch was teasing and cruel, testing boundaries that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Your breasts brushed his chest with the movement softly and enticingly, the ash transferring in faint streaks to his skin.

He swallowed hard, your blade's edge a razor reminder but his body betrayed him as his hips shifted subtly upward seeking more friction from you.

"Let me go." He murmured, though it lacked conviction as desire thread through the plea. His eyes darkening as they traced the curve of your hip and the way your loincloth shifted hinting at the heat of your cunt beneath.

"And miss this?" You countered, voice dripping with sadistic playfulness as the thrill of power surged, pressing the blade just enough to draw another drop of blood from him.

But your eyes, those ember depths, held his. A challenge, an invitation to the darkness you both sensed brewing. The raid's adrenaline still pumped through your veins, mingling with this unexpected tension, your thighs tightening around him as if to claim victory.

Neteyam's breath came ragged now, the softness of your form contrasting the hardness of your intent, igniting a fire he hadn't anticipated. In that moment amidst the ash and threat, the future Olo'eyktan's resolve cracked with a darker hunger awakening for the woman who could lead with cruelty and beauty in equal measure. The forest watched as a silent witness to the spark that could and would inevitably consume you both.

"Who are you?" He repeated, his voice a low rumble with frustration edged in fascination, refusing to yield even as the steel bit into his skin. "Why do they follow you?"

You tilted your head slowly, braids swaying like dark serpents against your ash-smeared shoulders, your expression an enigma. Your eyes were narrowed to slits, unreadable as the depths of a hidden cenote. The motion caused your torso to shift, the beaded strands of your top grazing his chest once again with a whisper of friction, your soft curves molding briefly against the hard planes of his warrior's build.

After a deliberate pause, you leaned in closer, lips parting to reveal the edge of your teeth.

"I am Varang's younger sister." You murmured, voice smooth as polished obsidian and a hint of pride sharpening the words. "Her Tsakarem."

The revelation hung between you like a taut bowstring as Neteyam's mind raced.

Tsakarem, the heir apparent, groomed to ascend if fate claimed Varang. High standing indeed, woven into the spiritual fabric of the Mangkwan with threads of power and ritual. Your authority made sense now, the way your warriors had deferred, their eyes alight with reverence. But it also sparked unwelcome questions in him. Were you already mated? Bound in tsaheylu to some brutal consort, your being entwined with another?

A surge of fury clawed at his chest but he shoved it down, his jaw clenching as he focused on the way your thighs still gripped his sides, their toned length flexing with subtle control. Your eyes flicked to his face catching the flicker of turmoil and you pressed the knife deeper, the edge singing against his flesh as the thrill of dominance coursed through you.

"What clan are you from?" You demanded, your breath ghosting over his cheek, warm and laced with the metallic tang of anticipation.

"Omatikaya." He answered, voice steady despite the sting, his gaze never leaving yours, golden depths locking with ember ones.

You threw your head back and laughed, the sound rich and mocking as it echoed through the undergrowth.

"Oh, the clan of that tawtute turned Na'vi?" You sneered lowering your face again, your lips curling in contempt. "The clan of Toruk Makto?"

"He's my father." Neteyam replied with a quiet defiance threading his tone, his pride warring with the vulnerability of your proximity as his hands twitching at his sides resisting the urge to reach up and trace the curve of your jaw.

Your grin widened, sharp and predatory, teeth flashing as you savored the revelation, a spark of malicious delight igniting. The expression transformed your features, your cheekbones sharpening and your full lips stretching over a sadistic curve making you appear even more alluring in your cruelty.

"Ah, so you're a filthy sky demon then." You hissed, voice dripping with revulsion, loathing twisting like a vine in your gut at his unpure lineage. "How disgusting."

His heart clenched painfully at the look in your eyes.

Pure unfiltered disgust as if he were tainted by his human heritage, as if he’s unworthy of the ground you straddled. It stung deeper than the blade, a rejection that fueled the shadows creeping into his soul. Yet even as pain lanced through him, he couldn't tear his gaze from the line of your neck and the way sweat beaded along your throat tracing a path down to the valley between your heaving chest.

"What is your name?" You pressed, the knife steady while your free hand now rested on his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to anchor him as curiosity sharpened your focus amid the hate.

"Neteyam." He said simply, the word escaping like a confession, resignation mingling with an undercurrent of longing.

You laughed again, meaner this time with a throaty bark that vibrated through your core.

"Neteyam, the filthy sky demon." You mocked, rolling the name on your tongue like a curse. "My sister would be pleased that I bring the kuru of Toruk Makto's son before her."

Your eyes gleamed with dark promise, imagining the trophy of his kuru severed as a symbol of Mangkwan supremacy dangling in your marui.

Panic flickered in Neteyam's chest but it warred with an unwillingness to harm you. If he fought back now, twisting free and overpowering you, his hands might mar that flawless skin and leave bruises on your arms or that captivating face. Eywa he wished for a disturbance, anything to shatter this moment without violence for you. As if the Great Mother heard his silent plea, the air stirred with the powerful beat of wings slicing through the canopy followed by urgent voices calling his name echoing from above.

"Neteyam! Where are you?" Lo'ak's shout cut through the trees laced with worry while Jake's deeper timbre joined in, commanding and steady.

Relief nearly escaped him in a breath but he held it as he watched your reaction.

You heard it too. The approaching ikran and the unmistakable cadence of Omatikaya warriors. A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral as frustration boiled over like lava, your beautiful features twisting into a mask of fury.

"Interrupt me again next time." You growled, leaning down until your lips nearly brushed his ear, voice a venomous whisper with rage simmering beneath the threat. "And I'll have your kuru hanging from my marui."

With a fluid motion, you dismounted him, your thighs releasing their grip leaving a ghost of warmth where they'd clamped. Your body uncoiled, ash flaking from your limbs as you rose, your knife still clutched in your fist. You shot him one last glare, hateful and disgusted, eyes raking over him as if committing his form to memory for future vengeance. Then without another word you melted into the foliage, your form vanishing into the green shadows with the silent prowess of a seasoned hunter.

Neteyam lay there for a moment staring at the canopy above, the imprint of your weight lingering on his hips like a brand. He missed it already, the press of your curves and the dangerous allure of your scent. A low groan escaped him as he shifted, his arousal evident in the insistent throb beneath his loincloth, a betrayal of his body's response to your dominance.

Shaking his head to clear the haze, he sat up slowly, snatching his bow and arrows to drape across his lap to conceal the evidence of his desire.

"Bro, are you okay?" Lo'ak's voice broke the silence first, crashing through the underbrush with his usual reckless energy.

He skidded to a halt beside Neteyam, his tail flicking in concern while Jake approached more methodically. His gaze sweeping over the unconscious Olangi people sprawled nearby, their forms battered and kurus mercifully intact.

"Yeah." Neteyam replied curtly, forcing composure into his tone as he adjusted his position before rising to his feet with deliberate slowness.

Jake turned to them, his broad frame casting a long shadow, eyes sharp with paternal scrutiny.

"What happened here?" He asked, voice gravelly and worry etching lines around his eyes.

"Mangkwans raided the Olangi." Neteyam explained slinging his bow over his shoulder, the wood cool against his heated skin. "They were about to cut off their kurus. I intervened from the brush, shot an arrow to stop it."

He kept the details sparse, omitting the blade at his throat and the intoxicating weight of you atop him.

Jake tensed visibly, muscles coiling under his blue skin like a predator sensing threat. "Who was leading the raid? Varang?"

Neteyam's mind flashed to your face, those ember eyes and the cruel tilt of your lips, the ash-veiled beauty that haunted him already.

"No." He said, voice even even with the shadow of obsession stirring. "It's her sister. The Tsakarem."

Jake and Lo'ak whipped their heads toward him in unison, surprise widening their expressions.

"You saw her?" Lo'ak blurted, brows shooting up with intrigue sparking in his mischievous gaze.

Neteyam nodded once, curt and evasive.

He'd done far more than see you. He felt you, he breathed you but those truths stayed buried, coiling dark in his chest like a secret vow.

"Let's move." Jake commanded, already kneeling to check on the nearest Olangi, his hands gentle as he assessed wounds. "We need to help them. Bring them back to Omatikaya."

Neteyam inclined his head in agreement but as they gathered the dazed travelers by supporting limp arms and murmuring reassurances, his gaze drifted to the spot where you'd vanished. The undergrowth seemed to whisper your being, a siren call pulling at the edges of his honor. The future Olo'eyktan felt the first true fracture in his resolve, a darkness blooming not from duty but from the cruel beauty who'd marked him without a touch.

As ikran cries heralded their departure, he mounted his own bond-beast last, the wind carrying him homeward yet his thoughts lingered in the ash-scented wilds and chasing the ghost of your snarl.

Meanwhile, you sprinted through the tangled roots and bioluminescent vines, heart pounding with a mix of fury and something sharper, more unsettling. The forest blurred around you, the towering trees with bark etched like ancient scars turned into the familiar scorched ones but your mind replayed the encounter.

Those golden eyes staring up at you unafraid, calling you beautiful amid the threat. Disgusting sky demon, you reminded yourself, snarling under your breath as revulsion clashed with an unwelcome curiosity for the Omatikaya warrior.

Your legs pumped with relentless energy, thighs burning from the raid and the brief wrestle, the loincloth chafing against your sweat-slicked skin. Ash flaked from your arms as you vaulted a fallen log and landing with cat-like poise, your breaths coming in sharp bursts that made your chest ache.

Why had I let him live?

The question gnawed at you even as your marui came into view. Woven from volcanic fibers, perched on stilts over a steaming pool. Warriors milled about who were tending stolen goods such as the shimmering crystals piled in nets and the herbs bundled for Varang's rituals. You slowed, straightening your top where beads had shifted, exposing a sliver of your midriff, the soft undercurve of your breasts rising with each calming inhale.

Your sister's voice called from within, authoritative and probing but you waved it off, slipping inside to wash the encounter away.

Water from a nearby basin splashed over your face, rinsing rivulets of ash to reveal the true azure of your skin which was freckled with faint glowing spots that danced like stars under the dim light. You stared at your reflection in the rippling surface, cheekbones flushed from exertion, lips still curved in residual disdain, and eyes smoldering with unresolved fire.

Neteyam.

The name echoed, stirring a heat you crushed down. He was the enemy, a filthy intruder on your domain. Yet as you traced a finger along the scar on your palm from past battles, you couldn't shake the memory of his body beneath yours that’s stirring instincts you hadn't anticipated.

Varang entered then, her taller frame filling the entrance as her eyes narrowed at your disheveled state.

"Little tsmuke, the raid—success?" She asked, voice like grinding stone with concern veiled in command.

You met her gaze as you forced a smirk. "More than. We took what we needed."

Omitting the details, the blade, the almost-kill.

She nodded satisfied but you turned away, mind already plotting the next border push. Deep down though, a thread of anticipation wove through your thoughts.

Would those golden eyes seek you again?

The Tsakarem of Mangkwan didn't yield to weakness but this sky demon had cracked something open in you, a fissure where darkness and desire might mingle unchecked.

The air in the Tsahik's marui hung heavy with the scent of healing herbs, bitter yarrow and soothing aloe mingling in the steam rising from clay bowls.

Neteyam sat rigidly on a woven mat, his broad shoulders tense beneath the dim glow of suspended lanterns that cast flickering shadows across the curved walls of pandora vines. The shallow nick on his neck throbbed faintly, a reminder of your blade's kiss yet it was nothing compared to the deeper ache gnawing at his core.

His grandmother Mo'at, the revered Tsahik, was occupied elsewhere in the communal space, her hands deftly tending to the battered Olangi refugees who huddled in clusters, their faces dimmed by exhaustion and pain. Murmurs of gratitude and soft chants filled the air as she moved among them as a pillar of calm authority.

Instead, it was Alayni who attended to him, the young healer-in-training whose gentle presence had long been a fixture in his life.

She knelt before him, her slender fingers working with practiced care as she dabbed a cool poultice onto his wound. Alayni was pretty in a soft unassuming way, her eyes a warm amber that often darted shyly from beneath long lashes. Her braids were neatly bound with feathers, signifying her devotion to the healing arts and her movements were fluid and almost reverent as she applied the salve.

She had always been kind to him.

Slipping morsels of fresh fruit into his training satchel when he pushed himself too hard under the midday sun or lingering after lessons to ask about his day with a blush coloring her cheeks. His parents adored her, Neytiri saw in her the quiet strength of a future Tsahik while Jake appreciated her steadiness, a counterbalance to the chaos of their family. She was one of the potential mates they urged him to consider, especially now with his ascension to becoming Olo'eyktan looming in just a year.

Neteyam had entertained the idea once.

Alayni would make a good mate. She was loyal and nurturing, her shyness a balm to his burdens. She had expressed her interest subtly but persistently. A lingering touch during healings and invitations to walk the glowing paths at dusk, her voice soft with hope trembling in every syllable as she suggested they share a meal by the river. He had even agreed a few times out of duty, their conversations polite but devoid of the spark that now eluded him entirely.

But that was before you. Before the raid, before your ash-streaked form had pinned him down, your eyes burning with contempt that only fueled the fire in his blood.

Alayni was pretty, yes, but she paled against the vision of you. Your fierce beauty a storm to her gentle breeze, your cruelty a magnet to his unraveling restraint. He wanted you with a ferocity that bordered on madness, even after mere moments in your presence. He craved you despite the disgust twisting your lips when you spat "filthy sky demon," he craved you despite the enmity of your clans carving chasms between you. You were the enemy, a Mangkwan Tsakarem destined to lead raids that spilled Omatikaya blood, yet the thought of your thighs straddling him and your blade at his throat consumed him like a fever.

It was absurd, this pull. A betrayal of everything he stood for as the future leader but he couldn't deny it. His heart raced at the memory of your scent and his body stirred unbidden with a low heat pooling in his core.

As Alayni's fingers brushed the edge of the wound, her touch feather-light and caring, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her amber eyes searched his golden ones, wide with unspoken affection and a flicker of longing softening her features. But Neteyam kept his stare fixed on the far wall where woven tapestries depicted Eywa's embrace, his jaw set in quiet detachment.

His mind wandered relentlessly to you.

The curve of your hips as you dismounted, the snarl that bared your teeth, and the way your laughter had vibrated through him like a challenge. How could he see you again? Touch you? The forest was vast and the borders were tense but he would find a way. He would scout the edges, risk the shadows, anything to glimpse that fire once more.

"There." Alayni murmured finally, tying off a thin strip of leaf bandage with delicate precision as satisfaction warmed her voice. Her hand lingered, sliding down to caress his arm in a gesture of concern, her palm warm against the corded muscle of his bicep. "Are you alright, Neteyam? That cut... it could have been worse."

Her fingers traced a subtle path, innocent yet hopeful, her breath catching slightly as she awaited his response. In her mind, visions danced. In a year when Jake stepped down, she could be at his side, as Tsahik to his Olo'eyktan, their kurus entwining in tsaheylu under the Tree of Souls. The thought made her pulse quicken with a giddy flutter in her chest.

Neteyam nodded curtly, his voice flat and dismissive with impatience edging his tone as he rose to his feet making the mat rustle beneath him. "I'm fine. Thank you, Alayni."

He didn't meet her eyes, already turning toward the entrance, the weight of his bow slung across his back as a familiar anchor.

"Neteyam." She called out softly standing as well, her form silhouetted against the herbal steam, disappointment tinged with persistence. "Do you want to take a walk later? The glowworms by the falls are blooming. I thought... we could talk."

Her hands clasped together twisting nervously, the beads on her wrists clinking like a plea.

He paused at the flap of the marui, the humid air of the village filtering in and carrying the distant calls of ikran. His mother would beam if he accepted, she would see it as progress toward the merging they craved. But today the will eluded him, drowned out by the echo of your mocking laugh.

"I have something to do." He replied over his shoulder, the words clipped with feign regret buried under his resolve.

"Oh." She echoed faintly, the syllable hanging like a wilted petal, a quiet hurt settling in her posture as she watched him go.

Neteyam stepped into the bustling heart of the Omatikaya village, the high trees weaving a cathedral of leaves overhead yet his thoughts plotted a solitary path. He would scout the borders at dawn and venture closer to Mangkwan lands than wisdom allowed. Risk be damned, he needed to see you again, to unravel the enigma that had ensnared him.

The next day dawned with a veil of mist clinging to the forest floor, the air crisp and alive with the symphony of awakening life.

Neteyam mounted his ikran early, the creature's leathery wings cutting through the canopy as they soared toward the contested fringes. His heart thudded with anticipation, his golden eyes scanning the terrain below from the rivers snaking like veins to the clusters of ferns hiding potential threats.

Hours passed in fruitless search. There were no raiding parties and no ash-painted warriors, only the indifferent pulse of Eywa's domain. Disappointment settled heavy in his chest in a dull ache as he urged his ikran toward home, the wind whipping his braids like accusations of folly.

Just as resignation crept in, a flash of color caught his eye. A solitary figure by the river's bend, nestled in a sun-dappled clearing. His breath hitched, deep in his gut he knew it was you.

With a sharp command, he guided the ikran into a steep dive, landing silently in a thicket nearby as the beast's talons sank into moss without a sound. Dismounting swiftly, Neteyam crept forward, his warrior's grace muting his steps as excitement pounded in his veins like war drums. The underbrush parted under his careful hands, leaves whispering secrets as he approached with his heart racing in a mix of thrill and trepidation.

There you were, reclining on a bed of soft moss beside the lazily flowing river with the water's gentle murmur as a lullaby. Clearly sleep had claimed you with your body lax in repose, unguarded in a way that stole the air from his lungs.

For the first time, your face was bare, no war paint or ash to veil your features, washed clean by the river's touch. Your true azure skin gleamed under the filtered sunlight, smooth and unmarred, dotted with subtle bioluminescent freckles that shimmered like scattered stars across your high cheekbones and the bridge of your nose. Your lips, full and slightly parted, curved in the faintest hint of relaxation, a stark contrast to the snarls he remembered. Long lashes fanned against your lids, framing eyes hidden now but etched in his memory as embers of defiance. Strands of your dark hair, freed from the raid's bindings, cascaded over the moss like midnight rivers and framing the arch of your neck.

You were breathtaking, vulnerability wrapping around your fierce beauty like a fragile shroud. Out here alone with only the river as sentinel, you seemed almost ethereal. Chest rising and falling in slow even rhythms, the soft swell of your breasts straining gently against the thin weave of your top with each breath. No armor, no blade in hand, just you exposed to the world, exposed to him. Anyone could stumble upon you like this. A hunter, a rival, a man like him and do... something.

The thought sent fury through Neteyam, his gaze lingering with possession and hunger. His eyes trailed downward, drinking in the rest of you with unrestrained fervor.

Your arms were folded loosely beneath your head, elbows bent revealing the toned length of your limbs, muscles subtly defined from years of wielding weapons and commanding warriors. The curve of your waist dipped invitingly where your top rode up slightly exposing a sliver of taut midriff, the skin there flawless and warm-toned as if inviting touch. Your legs stretched out languidly, one knee bent in sleep, the other straight showcasing the powerful thighs that had pinned him so effectively and was now relaxed, their azure expanse glowing faintly in the light. The loincloth rode high on your hips, simple yet accentuating the flare of your form with the fabric clinging to the subtle contours beneath.

Every inch of you spoke of strength wrapped in allure like a siren in repose and Neteyam's breath grew shallow. His body responding with a surge of heat, fists clenching at his sides to restrain the urge to close the distance.

You stirred faintly in your slumber with a soft sigh escaping your lips as a breeze rustled the leaves overhead but your eyes remained closed and lost in dreams unknown.

Neteyam lowered himself silently onto the moss beside you, the soft earth yielding under his weight like a conspirator in his forbidden vigil. The river's gentle current whispered nearby, a serene counterpoint to the storm raging within him.

His golden eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed first on the rise and fall of your chest then drifted upward to your face. His gaze lingered on those parted lips which was plush and inviting, a stark vulnerability amid your warrior's form. They begged to be claimed and the thought sent a shiver through his frame making his tail flick restlessly behind him.

Lower still, his eyes traced the delicate beaded necklace top that clung to your torso. The strands of iridescent woven fibers draping just enough to shield the peaks of your breasts from full view. Yet the swell of them was evident, they were firm and rounded as they rise with each breath in a rhythm that mesmerized him. The azure curves peeking teasingly at the edges where the beads shifted. They were soft yet perky, a contradiction to the ferocity he knew you wielded and he imagined their weight in his palms, imagined the warmth and plushness yielding under his touch.

Further down, the simple loincloth of supple hide and vines rested high on your hips as it concealed the most intimate sanctum of your body, the place he yearned to uncover as selfish curiosity burned in him.

What secrets lay beneath that barrier?

The smooth contours of your mound perhaps flushed with the same azure hue, the delicate folds he fantasized would glisten with your essence. He wondered at the scent. Maybe it would be musky and wild like the forest after rain mingled with your unique fire and the taste? Maybe it would be sweet and tangy on his tongue, a forbidden nectar that would drive him to madness. His breath hitched, a low heat coiling in his abdomen as he shifted closer, the air between you thickening with unspoken tension.

Unable to resist any longer, Neteyam extended a hand, his callused fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that belied the darkness creeping into his soul. Your skin was impossibly soft there, like the finest moss under moonlight, and as he caressed the curve of your face, you nuzzled into his palm instinctively with a sleepy murmur escaping your lips.

The simple act undid him, it was a glimpse of innocence beneath your cruel exterior. He grinned, fangs peeking through his lips, a mix of affection and hunger lighting his features as he marveled at how cute you were in this moment when you’re stripped of your armor and snarls. This woman, who had threatened his life with such venom, now sought comfort in his touch without knowing it.

Biting his lower lip to stifle the growl building in his throat, Neteyam leaned down with his braids falling forward like dark curtains. He had to taste you just once, to etch this reality into his being. His lips pressed softly against yours in a tentative peck and the contact was electric. Your mouth yielding like ripe fruit, warm and plush that sent a jolt straight to his core.

And yet it wasn't enough, the hunger gnawed deeper within him.

Emboldened, he traced his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip lewdly and deliberately, savoring the faint saltiness before parting your lips further and sliding inside. He explored with unrestrained greed with his tongue curling against yours, sucking gently as a groan threatened to escape him from the pleasure rumbling low in his chest. The intimacy was intoxicating as if you were already mates bound in tsaheylu, your flavors mingling in a dance that blurred the lines of enemy and desire.

You stirred beneath him, a haze of sleep fracturing as awareness flooded in. Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes widening in shock at the invasion.

There he was, the Omatikaya warrior from the raid, Neteyam.

His face inches from yours, his tongue delving deep into your mouth with shameless possession. The wet heat of him and the bold suction on your tongue, it was an assault wrapped in seduction, his breath hot against your skin. Disbelief warred with fury as you registered the intimacy, your body tensing like a coiled spring. Your hands flew up to shove at his chest, your palms pressing against the firm planes of his pectorals feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath.

But Neteyam only groaned aloud now that you were awake, a sound of raw need vibrating against your lips. His large frame pinning you gently but firmly as he deepened the kiss. His mouth claimed yours harder, his tongue thrusting to muffle your rising protests as he swallowed your gasps in a fierce tangle that left you breathless. The world narrowed to the slick slide of him, the scrape of his fangs against your inner lip, and the way his body heat seeped into yours like an unwanted brand.

Finally he pulled back, a glistening thread of saliva bridging your lips that shimmered in the dappled light. He grinned down at you, eyes dark with triumph and yearning etched in the curve of his mouth.

"I've been searching for you." He murmured, voice husky and low with intensity lacing every word as if confessing a sacred vow.

Rage ignited in you like dry tinder to flame. With a feral snarl that bared your sharp teeth and venom dripping from the sound, you lashed out with your leg snapping up to kick him squarely in the ribs. The impact sent him reeling sideways with a grunt escaping him as he rolled onto the moss. Your hands scrambled to your side, fingers closing around the hilt of your dagger before yanking it free in a blur of motion. You surged to your feet, blade glinting as you loomed over him. Your form coiled for violence and breasts heaving with each furious breath that strained against the beaded top you wore much to his delight.

"You filthy demon." You hissed, voice laced with disgust and hatred sharpening your tone like your weapon, the dagger you held poised at his throat. "How dare you do that to me? Touch me like some lowly beast in heat?"

Your free hand wiped at your mouth as if to erase the lingering taste of him but the flush creeping up your neck betrayed a flicker of something else. Intrigue at the boldness of his claim and the way his words hung in the air like a challenge.

Neteyam didn't flinch even as the tip of your blade nicked his skin anew, a thin bead of blood welling up. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his muscular torso flexing under the thin straps of his chest covering as his golden eyes locked on yours with unyielding fervor.

"I can't stop thinking about you." He confessed, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered with desperation underscoring his plea. "From the moment you pinned me down, your fire... it haunts me. Tell me your name. Let me know who has captured me so completely."

His gaze roamed your form again, not with shame but with open yearning. Tracing the wild tangle of your hair framing your furious expression, the taut lines of your abdomen glistening with a sheen of river mist, and the powerful stance of your legs planted wide in defiance.

Disgust roiled in your gut, hot and acrid, at this Omatikaya intruder who dared invade your solitude and your body with such audacity. He was the enemy, son of the sky demon Toruk Makto, a threat to your clan's dominance and yet, the memory of his tongue and the heat of his mouth lingered like a poison you couldn't quite spit out. Intrigue twisted through the revulsion, what madness drove him to seek you out and kiss you as if you were his destined one?

Your grip tightened on the dagger, your knuckles paling as fury warred with a treacherous curiosity in your eyes.

"You think you can waltz in here and claim what isn't yours?" You spat stepping closer, the blade pressing harder against his jugular. "I should gut you here, leave your corpse for the viwiswasp to feast on. You're nothing but a pest, a filthy sky spawn with delusions."

But even as the words lashed out, mean and cutting, a part of you hesitated. The way his chest rose and fell mirroring your own ragged breaths, the earnest plea in his voice that clashed with the warrior's resolve. You wanted to kill him, to end this absurdity with a swift strike, to reclaim the control he'd stolen in that kiss. Your arm trembled slightly, your beauty twisted into something lethal as your lips curled in a sneer, and eyes blazing with the cruelty that defined you as Varang's sister, the Tsakarem destined to lead with iron will.

Neteyam's hand rose slowly, not to defend but to reach for you, fingers brushing the air near your wrist with longing softening the edges of his gaze.

"Kill me if you must." He whispered, voice thick with emotion and dark passion fueling his defiance. "But know that even in death, I'd want you. Your fire, your cruelty, all of it. You're no enemy to me, you're the one who's awakened something I can't ignore. Your name... please."

He wanted to love you, to pull you into his world of shadows and bind you there, consequences be damned.

Your heart thundered in your ears, a war drum echoing the chaos of betrayal and unwanted heat that his touch had ignited. The dagger trembled in your grasp, its razor edge kissing the pulse point at Neteyam's throat where his azure skin flushed with a mix of exertion and unbridled want. His golden eyes held yours unblinking, a predator's stare that refused to yield even in the face of death.

If giving him this scrap of yourself, of your name, would sever this madness then so be it.

"If I tell you my name…" You growled, voice low and edged with finality as threat wove through each syllable like thorns. "You must leave me alone. Swear it on Eywa or I'll carve your heart out here and now."

But you didn't wait for his oath, the words spilling from your lips like venom you needed to purge.

"(Y/N). Now leave me be or I'll make sure you die by my blade."

The name hung in the humid air, a reluctant offering that tasted like ash on your tongue. Your lips curled into a savage snarl, fury twisting your features and fangs glinting as you wrenched the dagger away to spun on your heel. Your bare feet sank into the cool moss, propelling you toward the river's edge where the water's gleam promised escape from his suffocating presence. Every muscle in your body coiled with the urge to flee, your hips swaying in a warrior's stride, and the loincloth brushing against your thighs like a reminder of the vulnerability he'd exploited.

"I can't do that." Neteyam called after you, his voice a rough timbre that cut through the rustle of leaves as desperation cracked the edges of his resolve.

He rose fluidly, his form unfolding like a shadow detaching from the earth with broad shoulders rolling as he took a step forward, clearly undeterred by the blood trickling down his neck.

You whirled around with disbelief flooding your veins like ice water, your wild mane of braids whipping across your shoulders in a dark cascade. The motion made your beaded top shift, the shells clinking softly against the curves of your chest which draw his gaze for a fleeting heated instant before you jabbed the dagger toward him accusingly.

"Why do you keep insisting?" You demanded, your voice rising in incredulous outrage while your confusion sharpened into a blade of its own. "Are you stupid, forest boy? We are enemies, I’m born of a clan that spills blood for sport and yet you want me?"

Your free hand gestured wildly between you, emphasizing the chasm that no words could bridge. Beauty radiated from you even in anger, the full swell of your mouth still tinged with the ghost of his kiss and a flush blooming across your collarbones like forbidden wildflowers.

"You and I could never be." You continued, the words lashing out with cruel precision, scorn dripping from your tone like poison. "My sister, Varang, would sooner see you flayed alive than accept you as the one to claim her tsmuke. She'd rip out your eyes for even dreaming it. And your precious Omatikaya? They'd never accept me. A Mangkwan, the Tsakarem who leads raids into your lands. What a fool you are, chasing shadows that will only lead you to ruin."

In your mind, he was a pathetic spectacle. This golden-eyed warrior, the son of legends, reduced to begging at the feet of his foe. His persistence grated against your pride, a fool's errand that mocked the iron walls you'd built around your heart. You turned away again with your shoulders squared, the dagger sheathed at your hip with a decisive snap and determined to outrun his folly.

"I don't care." Neteyam replied, his words steady and unyielding, a quiet fire burning beneath the surface as he stepped closer until the heat of his body brushed the air at your back.

But you didn't listen nor did let the plea sink in. You vanished into the underbrush, the forest swallowing you whole leaving him with the echo of your name and the sting of rejection.

Ever since that day, he haunted your steps like a specter woven from Pandora's own mists. Neteyam followed you through the tangled wilds of Mangkwan territory as a silent shadow at times, his presence a prickle at the nape of your neck when you scouted alone. Other moments, he'd emerge from the foliage, voice soft yet insistent, murmuring words meant to chip away at your defenses.

"The way you move through the trees, it's like you're part of them." He'd say one afternoon, golden eyes tracing the graceful flex of your calves as you leaped across a fallen log and your frame twisting mid-air with effortless poise.

Or in the hush of twilight as you sharpened your arrows by a flickering fire, he'd linger at the periphery and commenting on the stars reflected in your gaze, how they mirrored the fierce spark within you.

He was persistent, a relentless force driven by a singular goal. To soften you, to peel back the layers of cruelty until the woman he'd glimpsed in your sleep, the one who nuzzled his hand, emerged fully.

His approaches varied, sometimes bold with questions about your hunts, drawing out tales of Mangkwan prowess that made your chest swell despite yourself. Other times, quiet vigils where he'd simply watch, his muscular form leaning against a trunk, the scars on his arms catching the light like badges of battles fought for a cause, now fixated on you. Each encounter left you seething yet a treacherous warmth stirred in your core. His unwavering attention a balm to the isolation of your role as Tsakarem.

Weeks blurred into a tense rhythm, his pursuit weaving into the fabric of your days until one night, under a canopy heavy with the scent of night-blooming vines, you found yourself cornered.

Not by force but by the weight of his words.

You'd been tracking a hexapede through a secluded glade, the moon casting silvery paths on the dew-kissed ferns when he appeared blocking your path with a vulnerability that disarmed you. His braids were tousled from the chase, framing a face etched with raw honesty, the broad planes of his chest rising and falling as if he'd run for miles to reach you.

"Every duty, every breath I take without you feels empty." He confessed, voice a husky murmur, longing threading through like vines around your resolve. "You're not just an enemy, (Y/N). You're the fire that lights my darkness, the cruelty that makes me feel alive. Let me show you, let me prove that clans mean nothing when Eywa binds two souls like this."

His hand reached out not to grab but to hover near yours, the calluses on his fingers speaking of battles and bows. His golden eyes locking onto your lips with an intensity that made your pulse stutter.

The air thickened, charged with the unspoken pull that had simmered since that first kiss. Against your better judgment you stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until his breath ghosted your skin.

What was it about his persistence, the way he saw past your snarls to the beauty you wielded like a weapon?

Your body betrayed you as you leaned in, the soft peaks of your breasts brushing his chest through the thin barrier of beads sending sparks racing down your spine. His lips met yours in a tentative press then deepened as you responded, tongues tangling in a heated dance that tasted of forbidden fruit and shared secrets. Your hands fisted in his hair pulling him closer, the world fading to the firm press of his hips against yours and the low groan he emitted vibrating through you like thunder.

But reality crashed in like a tidal wave. Images of Varang's disapproving glare, the blood-soaked raids between your clans, and the impossibility of it all. You remembered who you were, the Tsakarem, Varang's unyielding sister, not some lovesick dreamer.

With a gasp you shoved him back, your palms slamming into the unyielding wall of his abdomen feeling the ripple of muscle beneath. He stumbled, eyes wide with shock and hurt, confusion flickering in their depths but you didn't let him speak.

"Do not come see me again nor follow me." You commanded, voice breaking with a mix of resolve and regret as steel hardened your tone to mask the tremor.

Your chest heaved, the beaded strands shifting with each ragged breath. You backed away, beauty sharpened by the pain of denial. Eyes stormy with unshed tears, lips swollen from the kiss, the lines of your body poised for flight.

"You and I... we could never be. Go back to your forest, Neteyam. Forget me or the next time I see you, my blade won't hesitate."

You turned and melted into the shadows leaving him kneeling in the glade, the echo of your rejection a wound deeper than any dagger could inflict. "(Y/N), wait—"

The night closed around you but his presence lingered like a scar like a persistent ache that neither distance nor denial could fully erase.

Weeks dragged on like vines choking the life from a once-vibrant tree and Neteyam hadn't caught even a whisper of your shadow flitting through the undergrowth. It was as if Eywa herself had woven you into the ether, erasing every trace of your presence from the tangled borders where your worlds collided. The forest, once a realm of purpose and patrol now felt hollow, its bioluminescent glow mocking the void you'd left in his chest.

He patrolled the edges of Omatikaya territory with mechanical precision, his bow slung across his back, but his golden eyes scanned not for threats but for the sway of a familiar form cutting through the mist-shrouded ferns.

Distraction clawed at him, a relentless predator that turned his thoughts into a storm of obsession. Training sessions blurred into forgotten commands. He'd miss cues from his father's strategies, his mind replaying the ghost of your lips against his and the way your body had arched into the kiss before rejection shattered the illusion. Your beauty haunted him, the elegant sweep of your neck as you snarled threats and the curve of your hips that spoke of battles won and raids led with unyielding command.

It consumed him, this dark hunger that twisted his once noble heart into something feral with nights spent pacing his marui pod, fingers tracing the air where your warmth had once pressed against him. Sleep evaded him replaced by visions of your eyes flashing defiance, your full mouth curving in cruel dismissal.

His family noticed the fracture in their golden son, the way his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, his once-sharp focus dulled like a blade left too long in the rain. Meals passed in silence with his portions untouched until Lo'ak, ever the bold sibling, cornered him one evening by the central fire pit. The flames danced across their azure skin, casting flickering shadows that mirrored the turmoil in Neteyam's gaze.

Lo'ak dropped onto the woven mat beside him, his tail flicking with casual concern, lean muscles shifting under his arm bands as he leaned in.

"Bro, are you okay?" Lo'ak asked, voice laced with brotherly worry and a teasing edge softening the probe with his ears twitching forward. "You've been off lately like you're hunting ghosts or something."

Neteyam nodded absently, his jaw tightening as he poked at the embers with a stick, sparks rising like fleeting hopes. The motion was rote, his mind elsewhere and tangled in the memory of your scent.

Lo'ak wasn't convinced, his brow furrowing as he studied the distant look in his brother's eyes.

He nudged Neteyam's arm, the contact grounding but insistent. "Did something happen during the Mangkwan raid before Dad and I found you? Spill it."

Neteyam stilled, the stick snapping in his grip as the question yanked him back to that fateful clash. The ash-streaked warrior who'd pinned him with a blade, your body a taut bowstring of lethal grace. The memory ached like a fresh wound, your name a thorn embedded deep in his being.

He exhaled sharply, golden eyes darkening with the weight of confession.

"The Tsakarem of Mangkwan." He murmured, voice rough with longing, a raw edge betraying the storm within him. "I want her. (Y/N)."

Lo'ak's eyes widened stupefied, his mouth parting in shock as he processed the impossibility. His golden brother, the perfect heir, ensnared by an enemy? The very heart of Mangkwan cruelty?

He leaned back running a hand through his braids as disbelief etched lines across his face. "Bro... you know Dad and Mom would never approve. She's one of them. The ones who raid our allies, spill blood like it's water. What the hell, Neteyam?"

Neteyam's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly under his skin, a fortress against the truth that echoed your own words like a cruel refrain.

He knew it, his Dad’s stern lectures on duty, his Mom’s unyielding gaze on clan purity but it did nothing to quench the fire you'd ignited. Your rejection replayed in his mind, the push of your hands against his chest, and the storm in your eyes as you declared your worlds irreconcilable. It only fueled the madness in him, making him crave the challenge of breaking through your walls.

As the brothers' tense exchange hung in the air, a soft rustle drew their attention.

Alayni emerged from the shadows of the surrounding pods, her steps hesitant and shy glances darting toward Neteyam like fireflies seeking light. Her frame was draped in healer's vines, the gentle swell of her hips swaying with quiet grace, her face framed by loose tendrils that caught the firelight and highlighting the soft blush on her cheeks. She carried a small pouch of herbs in a pretext for her approach but her eyes betrayed the deeper intent.

Lo'ak spotted her first, a mischievous grin splitting his face as he clapped Neteyam on the shoulder, the pat teasing and knowing amusement dancing in his tone. "Looks like your admirer is here for you. Don't mess this up, golden boy."

With a wink, he rose and sauntered off leaving Neteyam to the awkward solitude.

Neteyam rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his features but he schooled his expression as Alayni settled beside him. Closer than usual, her knee brushing his thigh in a tentative claim of space. The warmth of her proximity was gentle and unthreatening, her fingers twisting the pouch nervously as she met his gaze.

"How are you?" She asked softly, voice a melodic lilt with shyness threading through like delicate vines as her full lips curved in a hopeful smile. "It feels like I haven't seen you around since I treated your wound. You've been... distant."

Neteyam shrugged, his broad shoulders lifting in a noncommittal motion making the scars on his arms flex subtly under the fire's glow.

"Duties." He replied curtly, voice flat as an evasion masking the turmoil, his mind already drifting back to you, the one whose touch lingered like a brand.

Alayni leaned in slightly, her breath warm against his ear preparing to bridge the gap with words of care, her hand hovering near his as if to offer solace. But before she could speak, shouts erupted from the tree line with harsh cries of victory and the thud of bound feet against the earth.

Neteyam's head snapped up, heart thudding against his ribs like a war drum as he spotted his father and the warriors returning, their forms silhouetted against the fading light.

The captives trailed behind, ash-streaked skins marking them as Mangkwan raiders, their bodies slumped in defeat. Five in total, wrists bound with sturdy vines but one sight stopped Neteyam's breath.

You.

Unconscious, your form cradled in the arms of a warrior with your head lolling against his chest, the ash paint smudged across your high cheekbones and the elegant line of your jaw. Your braids hung limp framing a face pale from exhaustion, the resilient curves of your body draped in tattered raiding gear that clung to the subtle flare of your waist and the firm strength of your thighs.

The others were dragged roughly but you were carried like a precious cargo even in enmity.

He scrambled to his feet, abandoning Alayni mid-breath, her confused expression lost in his haste. Legs pumping, he wove through the gathering crowd following Jake and the warriors into the large containment hut at the village's edge. The structure loomed, woven from sturdy branches and hides, its interior dim and partitioned for holding foes.

The captives were deposited inside. The four males shoved into a far corner with their glares defiant as their hisses of Mangkwan curses filled the air.

You were placed apart in a secluded alcove screened by a heavy cloth drape, your unconscious form laid gently on a mat of woven reeds. The warrior who carried you stepped back wiping sweat from his brow as Jake oversaw the securing of the space.

"Dad, what happened?" Neteyam demanded, voice edged with urgency and concern sharpening his tone like a drawn arrow as he stepped into the hut's shadowed confines with his tail lashing behind him.

Jake turned, his massive frame blocking the entrance momentarily, his eyes weary from the skirmish but sharp with command.

He wiped a streak of dirt from his arm, the muscles there corded from years of battle. "We were about to capture Varang. Had her cornered in the ravine but the female blocked it, took the hit meant for her. Bought enough time for their Tsahik to escape."

The female. You. The only one among them, your role as shield a testament to the fierce loyalty that bound you to your sister in fire and ash.

Neteyam's gaze flicked to your still form, hidden now behind the cloth and a pang twisted in his gut.

"She's the Tsakarem." He supplied, the words heavy with a mix of protectiveness and dread lacing his revelation.

Jake's eyes widened, surprise flashing across his stern features as he processed the implications, his hand pausing mid-gesture. "She's important to the Mangkwans then. Varang will probably come after her. Ransom or rescue, doesn't matter. We can't let that slide."

"She will." Neteyam confirmed stepping closer, his voice low and resolute, the ache of your vulnerability fueling his words. "That's her younger sister. Varang won't rest until she's free."

Jake nodded at the confirmation, his expression hardening into strategic resolve, clapping a hand on Neteyam's shoulder in brief solidarity. "We will keep a tight watch then. I'll ask them questions later. See what we can pry loose about their next moves."

With that he turned and strode out, the warriors filing after him leaving the hut in tense silence broken only by the captives' low growls from the corner.

Neteyam lingered, the air thick with the scent of sweat and earth from the raid. He approached your alcove parting the cloth with a steady hand, the fabric whispering against his fingers. There you lay tied loosely at wrists and ankles to prevent escape upon waking. Vines that bit gently into your skin, marked by fresh bruises blooming like dark petals along your arms and the arch of your collarbone.

Still as beautiful as he remembered, even in captivity. Your lashes fanned against your cheeks, full lips parted slightly in unconscious repose, the soft rise and fall of your chest drawing his eye to the swell beneath your disheveled top, and beads scattered like fallen stars.

He wanted to see you again, to clash words and wills in the wild freedom of the forest but not like this. Bound and broken at the mercy of his clan. Not with his family's eyes now fixed on you as a prize in their war. Kneeling beside you, the mat dipping under his weight as he reached out, callused fingers tracing the curve of your cheek and brushing away a smudge of ash to reveal the smooth glow beneath. Your skin was warm, alive with the pulse he knew so well, and the touch sent a shiver through him as desire warred with regret.

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Gentle and lingering, tasting the faint salt of battle and the sweetness he'd stolen before.

"Foolish girl." He whispered against your mouth, tenderness laced with dark possession as his breath mingled with yours in the dim light.

The words were a caress and a claim, his thumb stroking the plush line of your lower lip as he pulled back, golden eyes devouring the sight of you vulnerable yet unbroken. In this moment with the world outside plotting your fate, he vowed silently to shield you. From his clan, from Varang's wrath, from everything but the bond that refused to die.

You stirred faintly under his touch, a soft murmur escaping your throat but consciousness eluded you still. Neteyam remained, a sentinel in the shadows, his heart a battlefield where love and enmity bled into one.

Hours slipped by in the dim hush of the containment hut, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke from the raid. Flickering torchlight danced across the woven walls, casting elongated shadows that twisted like serpents in the undergrowth.

You stirred slowly, the haze of unconsciousness peeling away to reveal the ache throbbing through your limbs, a dull fire from the blow that had felled you, protecting Varang's escape. Your eyelids fluttered open, gaze sharpening as the world came into focus. The sturdy reeds beneath you, the vines binding your wrists and ankles in a loose but unyielding embrace, and worst of all, the two figures looming nearby.

Neteyam knelt close, his golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on hunger, broad shoulders tense under his warrior's harness, the lean cords of muscle in his arms flexing as he leaned forward. Beside him stood Jake Sully, Toruk Makto, his massive frame radiating authority, scarred torso marked by battles long past, tail swaying with restrained impatience.

A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral disgust curling your lips like a predator's warning, your body coiling against the restraints as you bared your teeth. The sight of them, your captors and enemies, ignited a blaze in your chest, your form tensing, the subtle strength in your thighs pressing against the mat as you tested the bonds.

Jake crossed his arms, his gaze steady and unyielding, a hint of weary respect in his tone. "Your warriors stabbed themselves refusing to talk. You are the only one left."

You met his eyes, a smirk twisting your full mouth despite the vulnerability of your position, the line of your jaw lifting in defiance. Ash still clung in faint traces to your high cheekbones, accentuating the beauty of your features.

"Their loyalties bind them to us." You replied, voice smooth and laced with pride, a mocking edge sharpening the words, your chest rising with a steady breath that drew attention to the swell beneath your tattered top.

Jake tsked, shaking his head, the sound rough like gravel, underfoot frustration etching faint lines around his eyes. "You're one stubborn clan."

You hissed at him, the sound sharp and venomous, hatred flashing in your stare, ears flattening against your skull as you glared at the legend before you, the human-turned-Na'vi who embodied everything your clan despised.

"You will remain here, captive." Jake continued, his voice firm, command underscoring the decree. "You'll be our leverage if your sister ever decides to attack."

A growl rumbled deep in your chest, directed solely at him. The Toruk Makto, the anomaly who dared threaten your bloodline. Your fingers curled into fists within the vines, nails digging into your palms, the taper of them drawing faint crescents on your skin.

Jake sighed, the exhale heavy with the weight of leadership, and clapped a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the gesture paternal and trusting as a subtle nod of handover. "Keep watch on her. The responsibility is on you."

Neteyam nodded, his expression composed outward, calm masking the thrill surging through his veins, but inside, glee bubbled like a hidden spring. He alone would guard you, tend to you, unravel the fortress of your resistance. As Jake strode out, the flap of the hut falling shut behind him, the space shrank to just the two of you, the air humming with unspoken tension.

"Baby." Neteyam murmured, voice low and intimate, affection warming the endearment as he shifted closer on his knees, his warm breath ghosting over your bound form.

You recoiled, disgust twisting your features, revulsion flaring hot in your gut, your head snapping back as far as the position allowed, the cascade of your braids shifting across your shoulders.

"Don't call me with that filthy tawtute terms of yours." You spat, words dripping venom as anger sharpened each syllable, your torso arching away from him.

He ignored the barb, golden eyes gleaming with unshakeable resolve as he leaned in, the scent of forest and him invading your senses. "Why did you let yourself get captured?"

You snarled baring fangs, fury igniting your gaze like struck flint, straining against the vines that held your wrists above your head, the motion pulling taut the supple curve of your arms.

"I am protecting our tsahik." You hissed, loyalty a shield as unyielding as your will, your voice echoing the sacred bond to Varang.

His lips curved into a grin, wide and boyish yet edged with something darker, delight sparkling in his eyes, the sharp angles of his face softening in the torchlight. "I've missed you."

You rolled your eyes, the gesture exaggerated, exasperation warring with the unwelcome flutter in your chest, turning your face away, the slope of your neck exposed in the motion, beads from your disrupted adornments clinking softly.

"I've missed your lips." He added, voice dropping to a husky whisper, desire threading through like vines claiming a tree, his fingers reaching out to trace the plush contour of your mouth, calluses rough against the sensitive skin.

You shook him off with a jerk of your head, the touch igniting sparks of unwanted heat irritation flaring alongside a traitorous shiver.

"Do not touch me, demon." You commanded, tone icy, loathing masking the conflict stirring within you.

But he only grinned wider, happiness radiating from him like bioluminescent blooms, his joy unmarred by your barbs as he settled back on his haunches to simply watch you, the weight of his gaze a caress in itself.

The days that followed blurred into a rhythm of captivity and unwelcome intimacy, the hut your world narrowed to woven walls and the single guardian who haunted your every waking moment.

Neteyam was the only face you saw, his presence a constant. Bringing woven baskets of fruit and roasted meats, feeding you with deliberate care. His fingers would brush your lips as he offered bites of sweet berry, the juice staining your chin, and you'd snarl with defiance in every bite, snapping at his hand like a cornered ikran, yet he persisted undeterred, his touch lingering on the delicate skin of your jaw.

He touched you freely, hands roaming while you snarled and twisted as fury boiled beneath your skin, the vines holding you fast to the mat or a sturdy post when he deemed it necessary. Stolen kisses came unbidden, his mouth claiming yours in quick heated presses when your guards were down, tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you bit back with rage fueling the clash of teeth.

He was utterly smitten, golden eyes devouring every inch of you with the way your chest heaved with indignant breaths, the flex of your thighs as you kicked futilely, the wild beauty of your stare that promised retribution.

One afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the hut's slits in golden shafts, he untied your ankles just enough to pull you onto his lap, your back pressed against the solid wall of his chest. His arms encircled your waist, strong and unyielding with possessiveness in his hold, the heat of his body seeping through your sparse coverings.

You snarled writhing, disgust and something perilously close to anticipation warring within, but the bonds on your wrists kept you captive to his whims.

"Shh, just relax." He murmured against your ear, tenderness laced with command, his large hands sliding upward, cupping the soft perky mounds of your breasts through the thin beaded top.

His thumbs circled the peaks, teasing them to firm points, desire evident in the hitch of his breath as he massaged your breasts with slow deliberate strokes that sent unwelcome jolts through your core. The sensation was maddening, the rough pads of his fingers kneading the yielding flesh, tracing the alluring undersweep before pinching lightly, drawing a gasp you couldn't suppress betrayal in the sound.

Your body arched involuntarily, nipples hardening under his touch, the azure skin flushing with heat as he lavished attention, his lips grazing the curve of your shoulder.

"See? You like it." He whispered, smug satisfaction coloring his voice, nipping at the tender skin there, his hips shifting subtly beneath you, the growing hardness pressing against your lower back.

You growled low, humiliation burning alongside the forbidden pleasure, twisting your head to glare at him, but the fight in your eyes dimmed fractionally with each passing day.

Weeks wove onward, the passage marked by the changing light outside and the subtle shift within you.

The snarls grew less fervent, your body anticipating his arrivals from the brush of his fingers to the the warmth of his frame, though you'd never admit it, never let the fondness crack your armored facade. You'd avert your gaze when he fed you, lips parting almost eagerly for the morsels, or lean into his massages despite the huffs of protest, a secret thrill coiling in your belly.

His touches became a ritual with his hands exploring the lines of your sides, thumbs dipping into the dip of your waist, or tracing the strong taper of your legs, always pushing boundaries while you feigned outrage.

One evening, as the stars began their vigil beyond the hut, Neteyam had you straddled across his thighs once more, your bound hands resting on his shoulders for balance.

The air hummed with humidity, your skin glistening faintly, the elegant fan of your lashes lowered as his palms worked their magic on your breasts again. This time bare, the beads pushed aside to expose the soft rounded swells. He kneaded them with reverence, awe in the gentle pressure, rolling the sensitive buds between fingers slick with shared sweat. His mouth following to lave hot open-mouthed kisses along the valley between.

Your breath hitched, conflict evident in the stutter, hips rocking subtly against him, the friction igniting sparks that blurred the line between hate and hunger. He groaned against your skin as need roughened the sound, one hand sliding down to grip the firm curve of your ass, pulling you closer as his tongue flicked teasingly.

It was in this haze of intimacy, bodies entwined like mates in the privacy of the alcove, that Alayni slipped into the hut unseen, her steps silent as a healer's grace. She had come under pretense of checking the captives' wounds, her pouch of salves clutched tightly, but the sight that greeted her froze her in the shadows.

You and Neteyam, lost in each other, his hands worshipping your form, your head thrown back in a moment of unguarded surrender.

Fury ignited in her chest, hot and consuming jealousy twisting her features into a mask of rage, eyes narrowing to slits.

Neteyam was supposed to be hers. The shy glances she'd cast, the wounds she'd tended with lingering touches, the dreams of bonding under Eywa's gaze. And now, here he was, defiling that future with you. An enemy, a Mangkwan witch, doing filthy things that should have been hers alone. Her fingers tightened on the pouch, knuckles paling, as she watched his mouth claim a nipple, your soft moan piercing the air like a betrayal.

But anger birthed cunning.

Alayni's lips curled into a smirk, cold and calculating as vindictive glee sparked in her gaze, she backed away silently, melting into the night. She knew just what to do, whispers to the right ears, seeds of doubt sown in fertile soil.

Varang would come for her sister but before that, she'd ensure this forbidden flame was snuffed out, one way or another.

The days dragged on in the stifling confines of the hut, your world reduced to the flicker of torch flames and the relentless pull of the vines that bound you. Whispers from beyond the woven walls hinted at unrest, scouts reporting movements in the ash-choked territories but you paid them little mind, your thoughts a whirlwind of simmering resentment and the unwelcome echoes of Neteyam's touches.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Alayni moved like a shadow through the camp, her steps light and purposeful as she sought out a Mangkwan scout. With a healer's gentle facade masking her venom, she slipped him a message etched on a leaf. The location of the Omatikaya's hidden holding ground, the precise hut where you were kept. Satisfaction curled her lips as she watched him dispatch immediately after hissing at her.

Varang would come, of that she was certain, and once you were ripped away, the stain you'd left on Neteyam's heart would fade, leaving her path clear.

She bided her time with calculated grace, weaving herself deeper into the fabric of the Sully family.

Mornings found her at Neytiri's side in the healer's marui, her hands steady as she ground herbs for poultices, her voice soft with feigned humility, adoration shining in her wide eyes as she praised Neytiri's wisdom. Evenings brought her to Jake, offering insights on the refugees' wounds, her touch lingering just a fraction too long on his arm as she murmured concerns for the clan's future.

Approval warmed their gazes, nods of encouragement that fueled her ambition. Everything unfolded as she envisioned. His parents' favor solidified, pressure mounting on Neteyam to seal the bond before the shadows of war encroached further.

One humid afternoon, as the sun dipped toward the canopy in a blaze of amber, Alayni slipped into your hut unannounced, the flap rustling like a conspirator's whisper.

You lay there, wrists still secured to the low beam overhead, your frame stretched out on the mat, the faint sheen of sweat tracing the elegant hollows of your collarbones. Your azure skin glowed softly in the diffused light, the subtle freckles across your shoulders like scattered stars, and your chest rose in steady rhythms.

She knelt beside you, her posture demure yet predatory, knees folding gracefully onto the earth as her tail flicked with restrained triumph. Her fingers brushed the edge of the mat, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your body.

"So this is where my soon-to-be mate has been occupying himself with." She said, voice honeyed with mock pity as a saccharine smile curved her lips, eyes glinting with malice.

You stared at her blankly, eyes narrowing slightly as you took in her features.

"Who?" You asked tone flat, your head tilting just enough to let a braid slip over your shoulder, brushing the firm flesh of your bicep.

Her grin widened, sweet as overripe fruit, revealing the gleam of her teeth as she leaned closer, the scent of healing herbs clinging to her like a veil.

"Neteyam." She purred, the name rolling off her tongue with possessive delight, triumph lacing the revelation. "We will be mated earlier than planned, as per his parents."

Something twisted in your chest. A sharp unexpected clench that stole your breath like thorns snagging delicate vines. Your heart stuttered, a betraying ache blooming beneath your ribs, but you schooled your features into impassive stone, the high planes of your cheekbones unchanging, your gaze steady as unyielding rock.

All this time, his whispers, his hands mapping your skin like sacred territory, his stolen kisses that left you breathless and conflicted, they were lies woven around another. A potential mate waiting in the wings while he toyed with you, the enemy captive.

Sick demon bastard.

"Put him on a leash then." You replied, forcing a grin that mirrored hers, malice flashing in your stare like lightning over ash plains, your voice dripping with feigned amusement. "So your future mate will stop coming to pester me."

The words tasted like bile but you held the expression as you met her stare head on.

Meanwhile, across the camp in the central marui, Neteyam stood rigid before his parents, the air thick with the scent of spiced tea and unresolved tension.

Jake's broad frame filled the space, his scarred arms crossed over his chest while Neytiri sat poised nearby, her fingers tracing patterns on a woven mat, golden eyes watchful.

The news fell like a stone into still water. A mating with Alayni, sealed in just one month's time, earlier than tradition dictated, a safeguard against the uncertainties of leadership should fate claim both Jake and Neytiri in battle.

"It's for the clan, son." Jake said, voice gravelly with finality, concern etching deeper lines into his brow, clapping a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the weight meant to ground him.

Neytiri nodded, her tail curling supportively around her leg gentle resolve in her tone. "Alayni is devoted and strong, she is who we have chosen. She will stand beside you as Olo'eyktan's mate."

Fury burned through Neteyam's veins, hot and unquenchable, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscles bunched along his sharp jawline.

He didn't want her. Not her shy glances, not her dutiful presence, they were chains disguised as comfort. No, his thoughts raced to you. The fire in your snarls, the beauty of your form yielding under his touch, the forbidden pull that consumed him. You, with your pretty eyes that pierced like arrows, your body a landscape he longed to claim eternally.

He said nothing, golden eyes darkening with suppressed rage, turning on his heel without another word. The marui's flap snapped shut behind him as he stormed toward your hut, craving the solace of your presence, the one anchor in this storm of obligation.

He pushed through the entrance, the dim interior unfolding before him like a betrayal frozen in time.

There you were, bound and defiant, but your face. Oh, Eywa, your face, it was lit with a grin that sliced deeper than any blade. The malicious glint in your eyes was back, amplified tenfold, a savage spark that echoed the day he'd first seen you amid the raid's chaos, ash-streaked and commanding.

Beside you knelt Alayni, her expression a mask of innocence shattered by the scene.

"Look, your future mate is here." You said, the words laced with venomous glee as your grin widened, teeth flashing as you tilted your chin upward.

The coldness in your stare pinned him, stripping away the fragile warmth he'd coaxed from you over weeks of stolen intimacies.

Neteyam stiffened, his broad chest heaving with a sharp inhale, the lean planes of his abdomen tensing beneath his harness.

You knew. The progress, the softening glances, the reluctant leans into his embrace crumbled to dust before his eyes. Alayni had poisoned it all, her meddling a dagger to his desires.

His gaze flicked to her, fury igniting like dry tinder. Without a word, he lunged forward, large hand wrapping around Alayni's slender wrist in a grip of iron, frustration boiling over in the tremble of his fingers. He dragged her up and out, her body stumbling in his wake, the flap whipping shut behind them.

You watched them go, the grin on your lips turning colder and sharper, like frost on volcanic glass a hollow ache gnawing at your core despite the armor. They did look good together, her demure form tucked against his towering strength, a picture of clan-approved harmony. And that truth stung more than any admission, a barb lodging deep, twisting with the realization of your own foolish vulnerability.

Outside, in the shadowed alcove between huts, Neteyam released Alayni with a shove, whirling on her as a hiss escaped his throat, low and guttural rage vibrating through the sound, his ears pinning back flat against his braided hair.

"What did you tell her?" He demanded, golden eyes blazing, the sharp angles of his face hardened into lines of accusation, his tail lashing like a whip.

Alayni glanced up at him through her lashes, the gesture shy and fluttering, feigned innocence veiling the satisfaction in her depths, rubbing her wrist with delicate fingers.

"That we will be mated in a month." She replied softly, voice trembling just enough to evoke pity, a subtle pout forming on her lips.

Neteyam growled, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder, frustration etching fury across his features, stepping closer until his shadow engulfed her.

"You ruined everything." He snarled, fists clenching at his sides, the cords of muscle in his forearms standing out in stark relief.

"I was just saying the truth." Alayni countered, chin lifting with quiet defiance, resolve strengthening her tone, eyes locking onto his. "Especially since it's been blessed by your parents. It's for the good of the clan, Neteyam."

He opened his mouth to retort, words of denial and desperation bubbling up, but the air shattered with a deafening roar. Explosions ripped through the camp, blooms of fire and ash erupting from the perimeter like vengeful spirits unleashed. The ground trembled, screams piercing the night as warriors scrambled, bows drawn and ikran screeching overhead. Mangkwans, fierce shadows descending from the shadows, their forms painted in war cries and fury.

They had come for you.

The chaos erupted like the fury of Eywa's wrath, the night sky fracturing with bursts of flame and acrid smoke that clawed at the senses.

Neteyam froze at the threshold of the marui, his hand outstretched toward the flap, every fiber of his being screaming to reach you, to shield you from the encroaching storm. But another explosion thundered closer, shaking the woven platform beneath his feet, the ground vibrating with the impact of Mangkwan ikrans diving from the shadowed cliffs. Warriors' cries pierced the air, sharp desperate calls to arms and he knew with a sinking dread, that duty bound him first.

His golden eyes lingered on the shadowed interior for a heartbeat longer, the pull toward you a magnetic ache in his chest before he spun away, muscles coiling like a predator's as he sprinted into the fray. m

Alayni stood forgotten in the dust, her form shrinking in his wake as he vanished among the leaping shadows of Omatikaya defenders.

Inside the marui, the world tilted on its axis. You had barely settled back against the mat, the vines around your wrists a familiar rasp against your skin, when the first boom reverberated through the walls, deep and ominous, like the rumble of volcanic depths stirring awake. Your eyes snapped open, head lifting as the air grew thick with the scent of scorched earth and distant blood.

What was this? Another raid? Or something far worse, born of the tensions that had simmered since your capture?

The flap burst open without warning, a silhouette materializing in the torchlight like a specter from the ash plains. Tall and imposing, her frame clad in the jagged armor of Mangkwan war paint, stripes of obsidian gleaming across her broad shoulders and down the powerful lines of her thighs.

Varang, your sister, the unyielding force of your clan, stepped forward, her presence filling the space with an electric menace, her tail lashing once in sharp triumph.

"Little tsmuke." She rumbled, voice low and edged with possessive glee, a fierce grin splitting her face, revealing the sharpened points of her canines as her amber eyes locked onto yours with predatory affection.

Your breath caught, a surge of relief flooding through you like cool rain on parched soil, your body shifting upright despite the bindings, the subtle flex of your toned abdomen drawing the loincloth's edges taut against your hips.

"Varang." You whispered, the word laced with raw vulnerability, hope flickering in your gaze, your full lips curving into a tentative smile that softened the sharp beauty of your features. "You came for me?"

She moved with purposeful strides, her large hands reaching for the vines with swift efficiency, slicing through them with a hidden dagger that flashed in the dim light. The fibers parted with a soft snap, and freedom rushed back into your limbs, a tingling warmth spreading from your wrists as you rubbed the faint red marks blooming on your azure skin.

Varang's grin widened, menacing and triumphant, her broad chest heaving with barely contained energy, the intricate scars across her collarbone catching the fire's glow like badges of conquest.

"Yes." She said, tone brooking no delay, commanding resolve in her stance as she gripped your arm, pulling you to your feet with effortless strength. "Come."

You followed her out into the night, the marui's warmth giving way to the chaotic symphony of battle.

The village platform teemed with motion. Omatikaya warriors leaping between branches, their forms blurring as they nocked arrows and unleashed volleys into the descending horde. Mangkwan fighters swarmed from the treeline, their ikran shrieking as they clashed mid-air, talons raking through flesh and wing. Explosions bloomed sporadically, grenades of volcanic powder hurled by your kin, igniting the underbrush in furious orange. The air hummed with the twang of bowstrings and the guttural roars of combat, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the earthy musk of sweat-soaked bodies.

Your bare feet padded softly over the woven walkways, heart pounding in sync with the frenzy, your unbound arms swinging freely for the first time in weeks, the cool night breeze kissing the exposed curves of your waist and the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the beaded strands.

Then, amid the turmoil, you spotted her. Alayni, huddled against a nearby post, her slender frame trembling in the flickering light, wide eyes darting as if seeking an anchor in the storm.

Varang strode past without a flicker of acknowledgment, her focus laser-sharp on escape but you couldn't hold back.

A snarl tore from your throat, low and feral fury igniting in your gaze, your lips peeling back to expose teeth in a vicious baring, the line of your neck tensing as you leaned toward her.

Varang's hand clamped down on your shoulder, firm and unyielding, halting your advance mid-step.

You glanced up at her, confusion etching across your face, the high cheekbones flushing faintly with the heat of your anger.

"She was the one who told us where you were. I would have cut her kuru off but we will be wasting time." Varang explained, voice a gravelly murmur as disgust curled her upper lip.

The revelation hit like a spear to the gut.

This fucking bitch, going to such depraved extremes just to claim Neteyam? Betraying her own people, inviting destruction upon them for a twisted shot at his bond?

Rage and amusement simmered in your veins, hot and unfiltered, but you channeled it into a smirk, slow and menacing, your eyes narrowing to slits that gleamed with cruel intelligence. You stepped closer to Alayni despite Varang's hold, your posture shifting into one of mocking poise, the graceful sway of your hips accentuating the lithe power in your legs.

"You became a traitor to your people just to have him?" You taunted, voice silky with venom as a low chuckle bubbled up, your head tilting to let a braid sway against the smooth plane of your shoulder. "Do you think you'd be mated with him once they found out you were the one who caused this destruction, their deaths?"

You giggled then, the sound cruel and crystalline, echoing like shattering glass amid the distant clamor, your laughter laced with derision as you watched her eyes sharpen, the shy facade cracking to reveal the venom beneath.

Alayni's features twisted, her soft mouth compressing into a thin line, but she forced a grin in return, brittle and defiant, her hands clenching at her sides, knuckles paling against her blue skin.

"No one will know." She hissed, the words dripping with false sweetness, a predatory glint flashing in her gaze, her chin lifting in haughty challenge. "Because you won't be here anymore to tell him."

You met her stare with a taunting calm, your smirk unwavering, the corners of your mouth quirking upward in serene mockery, your body relaxed yet poised, the subtle rise and fall of your chest betraying none of the storm within.

Varang's fingers dug into your arm then, urging you onward with a sharp tug, her massive form shielding you as she propelled you toward the edge of the platform.

"Enough." She growled, impatience sharpening her tone, her free hand gesturing toward her waiting nightwraith in the shadows.

Hesitation gripped you like invisible chains, heavier than the vines ever were.

Over those endless days and nights, fondness had crept into your heart for Neteyam. Unwanted and insidious, a warmth that bloomed in the wake of his persistent touches, his whispered promises that now rang hollow. You had grown accustomed to the way his golden eyes softened for you, the reverence in his caresses tracing the valleys of your spine, the heat of his body pressing close in the dim hut.

But to stay?

To linger as their prisoner, forced to witness him bound to this scheming viper in a month's time? No. The betrayal stung deeper than any wound. He had lied, omitted the truth of his impending mating while his hands roamed your skin, murmuring of futures intertwined, of desires that now felt like cruel jests. Your chest tightened, a sigh escaping your lips, soft and resigned, your shoulders slumping ever so slightly, the curve of your back arching as you drew in the smoky air you were familiar with.

You ran then, matching Varang's powerful strides, your legs carrying you with renewed vigor over the swaying bridges, the wind whipping through your hair and cooling the flush on your cheeks. The battle raged around you, but your focus narrowed to escape. The distant calls of your ikran, the path to freedom amid the chaos. Behind you, the marui faded into the night, a chapter closing with bitter finality.

Minutes stretched into an eternity of skirmishes before Neteyam could break free, his bow still humming from the arrows he'd loosed into the fray, his chest heaving with exertion, streaks of soot marring the defined ridges of his torso. He raced back to the marui, ignoring the sting of superficial cuts along his arms, his mind a singular blaze.

You.

Bursting through the flap, he scanned the interior, the empty mat, the severed vines scattered like discarded shackles. His heart plummeted, a cold void yawning in his chest, the lean muscles of his frame going rigid as denial clawed at him.

He whirled out, golden eyes landing on Alayni, who lingered outside, her posture a picture of feigned distress, arms wrapped around her slender waist as if to ward off the night's terror. He ignored the way she reached for him, her fingers brushing his elbow and fixed her with a glare that could shatter stone.

"Where is she?" He demanded, voice rough and edged with panic, his jaw clenching, the sharp planes of his face taut with desperation, tail flicking erratically behind him.

Alayni's expression crumpled into one of artful fragility, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears, lashes fluttering as she gazed up at him, her voice emerging soft and quivering, laced with sorrowful conviction. "She ran away, Neteyam. Her sister came and freed her. I told her you wouldn't want her to leave but she was happy to be free. Said she didn't want to be here... nor be in your presence."

Silence crashed over him like a tidal wave, his breath stalling in his lungs, the world narrowing to the echo of her words.

You really didn't like him. All those weeks,the stolen moments where your body arched into his, the fleeting softness in your gaze, the reluctant sighs that he mistook for yielding, they were illusions, born of captivity's coercion. You had endured him, nothing more, your responses a prisoner's survival, not a spark of true connection. The fire that had burned in his soul for you flickered and died, leaving only ashes in its wake, his heart turning to ice, numb and unyielding.

His broad shoulders sagged imperceptibly, the golden light in his eyes dimming to shadowed resolve.

Alayni stepped closer, her hand finding his arm again, this time with gentle insistence comfort threading her tone, a subtle smile curving her lips as she pressed the advantage. "It's okay, Neteyam. She is a Mangkwan, she's been wanting to escape. At least our people will have no problems anymore, and in a month, we will be mated."

He didn't pull away, the words settling over him like a shroud.

Acceptance seeped in, cold and inevitable, you did not want him, and perhaps it was time to let the obsession fracture, to forge ahead with the path laid before him by clan and kin. The battle's din faded to a distant roar as the warrior's mask slipped back into place, burying the remnants of his shattered longing for you.

Since then, weeks had slipped by like shadows fleeing the dawn, each day etching deeper lines of detachment into Neteyam's once-vibrant spirit. The lush canopy of the Omatikaya village hummed with its eternal rhythm, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of ikran wheeling overhead, but for him, the world had dulled to a muted haze. His golden eyes, once alight with the fire, now stared out with a steely impassivity, scanning horizons not for wonder, but for threats to be neutralized.

The raid led by Varang had receded into memory, its scars healed on the village platforms, yet the wound it inflicted on him festered unseen, a quiet erosion of the warmth that had defined him.

Tuk, with her boundless energy and innocent delight, felt the chill most acutely. She bounded up to him one evening as he sharpened his blade by the communal fire, her small hands clutching a fresh weave of beads, iridescent stones and feathers intertwined in a pattern mimicking the bioluminescent vines that glowed at night. Her tail swished with eager anticipation, freckles dancing across her cheeks as she thrust the creation forward, her wide eyes sparkling with hope voice bubbling with excitement.

"Neteyam, look! I made this for you, it's like the stars we saw last eclipse!"

He paused, the whetstone halting mid-stroke against the obsidian edge, his broad shoulders tensing beneath the woven straps of his chest harness. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened, tracing the delicate craftsmanship in her tiny fingers, the way the beads caught the sunlight and shimmered like captured fireflies. But the spark didn't ignite, no smile curved his lips, no playful ruffle of her hair followed.

Instead, he nodded curtly, resuming his task with mechanical precision, his jaw set in a firm line, voice flat and distant, devoid of the affectionate lilt she craved. "It's nice, Tuk. Put it with the others."

Her face fell, the joy draining like water from a punctured gourd, her ears drooping as she clutched the beads closer to her chest. She lingered for a beat, searching his profile, hoping for the brother who would scoop her up and declare it the finest gift Eywa ever bestowed. But he turned away, eyes fixed on the blade's gleaming surface, and she scampered off, shoulders slumped, the weave trailing forgotten in her wake.

The once-loving brother and son had hollowed into a shell, his movements efficient but soulless as if the essence that bound him to family and clan had been leeched away. All because of you, your escape a silent verdict on his delusions, a rejection that echoed in the empty spaces of his nights.

He threw himself into duties with relentless fervor. Leading patrols along the outer borders, training young warriors in the art of silent strikes, overseeing the weaving of new nets for the ikran handlers. His body moved with the grace of a predator, but his mind was a fortress, walled against reminiscence of you.

He avoided the routes where fate had first tangled your paths, the shadowed glades where Mangkwan raids had brushed too close to Omatikaya lands. No longer did he linger at the river's bend, where the water ran swift and clear, its banks lined with ferns that whispered secrets to the wind. Those places, once alive with the thrill of pursuit and stolen glances with you, now held only ghosts. He charted new paths, deeper into the heart of the forest, where the air grew thicker with the scent of moss and blooming nightflowers, forcing his focus to the tangible such as the snap of a branch underfoot or the distant roar of a thanator claiming territory.

Jake and Neytiri watched from afar, their concern a quiet storm brewing in stolen moments by their marui.

Jake's brow furrowed as he cleaned his rifle, a human relic he rarely touched these days, his massive frame leaning against a post, eyes tracking Neteyam's solitary figure vanishing into the treeline. The change had been stark, a full revolution from the son who joked with Lo'ak over shared kills to this impassive sentinel. It started after Varang's assault, the explosions that had torn through the night like Eywa's judgment, and though the Mangkwan leader had retreated with her forces, the aftermath lingered in Neteyam's silence.

"He's not himself." Jake murmured one evening, his voice rough with worry, arms crossed over his broad chest and the lines around his eyes deepening as he gazed at Neytiri.

Neytiri nodded, her braids swaying as she stirred a pot of herbal stew, the steam rising in fragrant curls that carried notes of healing roots. Her golden eyes, sharp and knowing, held a mother's intuition, tracing the invisible threads connecting her son's withdrawal to the captive who had slipped away.

"I think it is the Mangkwan tsakarem." She said, conviction lacing her tone, her tail curling thoughtfully around her ankle, fingers pausing on the wooden spoon as a memory of your face surfaced. "I believe she has woven herself into his thoughts. The attack... it freed her but it broke something in him."

Jake sighed, rubbing a hand over his braided mohawk, the weight of leadership pressing on him as surely as the humid air. They had suspected as much, the way Neteyam's gaze had lingered on the empty marui, the subtle flinch at mentions of Mangkwan scouts. But pushing him now, with the mantle of Olo'eyktan looming in a year's shadow, would only drive the fracture deeper.

"Let him be." He decided, voice resolute yet tinged with reluctance as be stood to clasp her shoulder, his callused palm warm against her skin. "He'll find his way. Duty will anchor him."

Alayni, meanwhile, bloomed in the vacuum of his detachment, her happiness a radiant veil masking the shadows of her deeds.

Two weeks until the mating ceremony and the village buzzed with preparations of fresh flowers woven into garlands and chants rehearsed under the great tree's glow. No one knew of her betrayal, the whispered coordinates she had passed to Varang's men, the calculated risk that had invited chaos to claim you and clear her path. To the clan, she was the dutiful future tsahik, her shy smiles and gentle hands a perfect counterpoint to Neteyam's stoic resolve.

She walked beside him now on a routine patrol, her steps light and synchronized with his longer strides, the sway of her hips accentuated by the fitted loincloth that hugged her slender curves. The sun filtered through the canopy in dappled patterns, gilding her azure skin and highlighting the subtle bioluminescent freckles dusting her collarbone. Alayni glanced up at him often, her dark eyes alight with unspoken triumph as a soft giggle escaped her lips, brushing a leaf from his arm, fingers lingering on the firm swell of his bicep.

"The forest feels peaceful today, doesn't it, Neteyam? Like Eywa is blessing our union already."

He nodded absently, his gaze fixed ahead on the winding path, the play of light and shadow across his chiseled features unchanging.

Accompanying her was duty, escorting his future mate through the clan's territories, ensuring her safety amid lingering threats from rival clans. His hand rested on his knife hilt, posture alert, the lean lines of his torso shifting with each measured step, sweat beading along the ridge of his spine from the midday heat. To him, it was rote, a task etched into the rhythm of leadership, devoid of the spark that had once ignited at your proximity.

But to Alayni, every moment was victory incarnate.

She had won, the enemy tsakarem fled, the obstacles in her way shattered, and soon his kuru would bond with hers under the eyes of the clan. Her heart raced with giddy elation, a flush warming her cheeks as she imagined the ceremony. His strong hands on her waist, the tsaheylu sealing their fates. She linked her arm through his pressing closer, the soft press of her breast against his side a deliberate intimacy, voice breathy with feigned shyness yet her eyes gleamed with possessive delight.

"I can't wait for the weaving of our kurus. It'll be perfect, won't it? Just us, forever."

Neteyam murmured agreement, the words automatic as his mind was elsewhere, on maps of patrol routes or on the warriors awaiting his command.

He tried with iron will to banish thoughts of you from the recesses of his soul. He would be Olo'eyktan soon, the weight of the clan on his shoulders, mated to Alayni in a union forged for stability and strength. There was no space for yearning, no indulgence for a ghost who had recoiled from his touch, who had fled at the first chance, eyes cold with disgust rather than desire. You hadn't loved him, your responses had been chains of circumstance, feigned to survive the cage of captivity.

The realization was a blade at his chest, twisting deeper with each suppressed memory.

Yet, in the quiet hours when the village slumbered and the stars wheeled overhead, your image weaseled in unbidden. He would lie on his mat, the thatch roof above him a barrier against the night's whispers but sleep evaded him. Visions assailed of the arch of your neck as you tilted your head in defiance, the silken glide of your skin under his fingertips during those stolen intimacies, the reluctant parting of your lips that he had mistaken for surrender. An ache bloomed in his chest like thorns embedding in its flesh, a hollow throb that echoed the void you had left.

He clenched his fists, nails biting into palms, forcing his breath steady as his eyes squeezed shut, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he willed the phantom away.

Duty. Clan. Future.

The mantra repeated, a shield against the erosion but the cracks persisted, widening with every heartbeat of his.

In the days that followed, the preparations intensified. Alayni flitted about with renewed purpose, her laughter ringing clearer as she helped Neytiri select ceremonial beads, her fingers deftly sorting the vibrant strands. Neteyam joined when required, his presence a steady anchor amid the festivities, but his smiles were rare, reserved for elders and children who demanded them.

Jake pulled him aside once, during a strategy session by the war council, his father's hand heavy on his shoulder voice gruff with concern, eyes searching his son's face for the boy he remembered. "Son, whatever haunts you, face it. Don't let it consume the leader you're becoming."

Neteyam met his gaze evenly, the golden depths unyielding as his shoulders squared with a nod crisp and final. "It's handled, sir. The clan comes first."

But as he walked away, the forest closing around him like a living shroud, the ache resurfaced again as a persistent whisper of what might have been, tangled forever in the undergrowth of his resolve.

Hours went by, the eclipse had long since painted the sky in deep indigo, the bioluminescent vines along the village platforms casting a soft ethereal glow that did little to ease the knot of worry twisting in Neytiri's chest.

She lay beside Jake in their marui, the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad back a testament to the exhaustion of leadership, his braided kuru draped loosely over the woven mat. But sleep eluded her, her golden eyes flicking toward the entrance flap, where the night sounds of Pandora filtered in.

Neteyam was late, far past the hour warriors returned from solitary vigils or patrols. Her eldest, the pillar of their family, had become a ghost in his own home, his steps silent and his words fewer than the stars above.

With a quiet resolve, she rose, her lithe form unfolding gracefully, the faint scars from old battles tracing faint lines along her arms like maps of survival. She draped a light shawl over her shoulders, the fabric whispering against her azure skin, and slipped out into the cooling air. The village slumbered, maruis dimly lit by inner fires, but her hunter's instincts guided her toward the outer platforms, where the great tree's roots intertwined with the earth.

There, perched on a low branch overlooking the valley, she found him. Neteyam with his back to her, broad shoulders slumped under the weight of invisible burdens. He stared upward, the starlight reflecting in the wet trails of tears carving paths down his cheeks, his golden eyes distant and shattered.

Her heart clenched like a fist around a thorn, a sharp ache blooming as she witnessed tears streaming freely from the face of her unbreakable son. In all her years, through battles and losses, she had never seen him cry. Not as a fierce young warrior facing his first hunt, not even when Kiri's visions had shaken the family to its core. These past weeks, he had been a hollow vessel, his laughter silenced, his touch withdrawn, but this vulnerability cracked the shell wide open, exposing the raw wound beneath.

She approached softly, her bare feet padding against the mossy wood, and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling his solid frame against her chest.

"My son." She murmured, her voice a gentle caress laced with sorrow, her chin resting on his shoulder, braids brushing his ear as she held him close. "What ails you? Speak to your sa'nok."

Neteyam sighed, a heavy exhale that carried the weight of unspoken tempests, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He leaned into her embrace, the tension in his neck easing fractionally, but words remained locked behind clenched teeth.

How could she understand?

The gravity of his love for you, a Mangkwan woman, an enemy incarnate had pulled at him like an undertow, drowning his sense of self. Each day chipped away at his resolve, the choice between duty to clan and the selfish pull of his heart a torment that left him adrift. He was losing pieces of himself in the effort to bury the ache, to forge ahead as the future Olo'eyktan.

"I am tired." He finally whispered, his voice cracking as he wiped at his face with the back of his hand, the muscles in his jaw flexing as fresh tears welled. "I cannot do this anymore, Mom. The weight... it's crushing me."

Neytiri's heart fractured further at his confession, the raw despair in his tone echoing the cries of a wounded ikran. She tightened her hold, her arms encircling his torso, fingers splaying across the firm planes of his abdomen as if to anchor him to the world.

She had suspected for weeks that this shadow over him stemmed from you, the woman who had been his captive, the one whose escape had coincided with his unraveling. Whispers of your name in council meetings, the way his gaze sharpened at mentions of Mangkwan movements, it all pointed to a bond forged in secrecy and strife. But she said nothing, offering only the silent strength of her presence, her tail curling protectively around his leg. In the quiet, she sent a fervent prayer to Eywa, her mind weaving pleas through the neural network of the land.

Great Mother, guide my son through this storm. There must be purpose in his pain, a path unseen amid the chaos.

The night deepened around them, mother and son entwined in shared silence, until exhaustion finally claimed him, his head lolling against her shoulder. Neytiri guided him back to the marui, her steps steady despite the turmoil churning within.

Soon, dawn broke with the first calls of prolemuris swinging through the canopy, painting the forest in hues of gold and green. Neteyam rose with the sun, his face a mask once more, his eyes hooded and expression schooled into impassive resolve.

Today, duty demanded he scout the eastern fringes, perilously close to the glades where he had first glimpsed you weeks ago, your form a vision of lethal grace amid the raid's fury. He had avoided those paths like a festering wound but intelligence from outriders reported Mangkwan activity stirring anew and evasion was no longer an option.

He joined Jake and Neytiri at the ikran roost, along with a cadre of warriors.

Neytiri watched him from afar as he checked his bowstring, the morning light catching the subtle sheen of sweat on his brow from the humid air. Memories of the previous night flooded her, the vulnerability in his tears, the plea in his voice and now, seeing him revert to this emotionless sentinel, her worry deepened like roots delving into soil. His movements were precise and efficient but there was no spark, no anticipation in his posture.

Alayni hovered at the periphery, her presence a flutter of nervous energy amid the preparations. She had risen early, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of impending union, and now she approached Neteyam with a sway in her step, the beads of her top clinking softly. Without hesitation, she pressed her lips to his cheek, the kiss lingering a beat too long, her hand brushing the curve of his arm, voice soft and adoring, eyes sparkling with feigned innocence as she pulled back slightly.

"Stay safe, Neteyam. Come back to me whole."

He nodded, the motion mechanical, his golden eyes sliding past her without warmth, fixed instead on the horizon.

Neytiri observed the exchange, her tail flicking in subtle disapproval, the contrast between Alayni's eagerness and her son's detachment a stark reminder of the fractures in his spirit and the duty they had handed to him.

The group saddled their ikrans, the massive creatures rumbling with impatience, wings unfurling like sails in the breeze. Neteyam mounted with fluid ease, his thighs gripping the creature's sides, the bond forming through their queues in a pulse of shared intent. With a collective cry, they ascended, the wind whipping through braids and loincloths as the forest shrank below, giving way to the vast expanse of floating mountains and vine-draped cliffs.

The skies were clear at first, the patrol weaving through thermal updrafts, Jake leading with hand signals sharp and commanding.

But peace shattered like fragile crystal, an ambush erupting from the clouds and the forest below, Mangkwan warriors on their own direhorses and winged mounts descending in a hail of fire-arrows and poisoned barbs. Flames licked at the air, ignited by incendiary tips, while the sharp whistle of shafts cut through the roar of wings.

Neytiri and Jake unleashed war cries that echoed across the valleys, primal and fierce, their ikrans diving into the fray. Neteyam clenched his teeth, the familiar surge of battle adrenaline sharpening his senses, but beneath it thrummed a deeper tension, his heart pounding not just from the clash, but from the scan of faces below, searching for yours amid the chaos.

No sign of you and the absence twisted like a knife at him. Disappointment that you weren't there for him to see once more and yet relief that you remained untouched by this violence.

He urged his ikran higher, bow drawn in a blur, arrows flying true to fell two attackers in mid-air, their bodies plummeting with guttural cries.

On the ground, Neytiri broke from the aerial skirmish, her ikran landing with a thud amid the underbrush as she spotted Varang, her form a whirlwind of aggression with war paint streaking her face in crimson patterns.

They clashed blades, Neytiri's movements a dance of lethal precision, her body twisting to evade a swipe snarling with protective fury, eyes blazing as she parried, the clash of metal ringing like thunder. Jake and the other warriors followed suit, dropping to engage the Mangkwan foot soldiers, the forest erupting into a symphony of grunts, screams, and the sizzle of flames devouring foliage.

Neteyam circled above, his ikran banking sharply to loose another volley, the wind tearing at his queue as he targeted a rider closing on Kiri's position.

It was going well, the Omatikaya numbers swelling as reinforcements crested a ridge until a shadow flickered in his periphery. An arrow, swift and unerring, punched into his chest just below the collarbone, the impact a searing bloom of agony that stole his breath. His grip faltered, the bow slipping from numb fingers, and he tumbled from his ikran, the world spinning in a vortex of sky and green.

Neytiri gasped, her head snapping upward mid-fight, horror etching her features as she saw her son plummeting as a dark silhouette against the sun. Jake's roar joined hers, raw and desperate as his face contorted in dread, fists clenching around his knife as he shouted orders to cover.

Neteyam fell far, the ground rushing up mercilessly as his body slammed into the earth with a sickening thud, head bouncing against a root, his vision exploding in stars before blackness edged in.

"Neteyam!" Neytiri's scream tore from her throat, a mother's anguish that pierced the din of battle.

The spot where he fell into was an inferno's cradle, flames from stray arrows encircling the clearing, vines crackling and popping as they fed the blaze. Smoke billowed thick and acrid and without intervention, the fire would claim him, his labored breaths already ragged from the embedded shaft and the impact of the fall.

You arrived on the fringes of the skirmish, the scene unfolding like a nightmare etched in firelight. Your eyes widened at the sight, Neteyam crumpled amid the chaos, his chest heaving around the protruding arrow, blood staining the azure expanse of his torso in rivulets that soaked his harness. Your heart clenched as a vise of unwelcomed emotion squeezed it tight, the pulse of it echoing in your ears over the clash of weapons. Torn, you gripped your bow tighter, gaze flicking to your sister locked in combat with Neytiri then to your warriors pressing the attack.

Aid them, your people and your blood or the enemy who had haunted your thoughts, his touch a ghost that lingered in fevered dreams?

He's the enemy. Let him burn, let the flames erase the complication he brought to my life.

You turned your back, the wind catching the loose strands of your braids, whipping them across your face like accusations. But your body halted, muscles locking as if Eywa herself rooted you in place.

You couldn't—wouldn't—leave him to this end.

The weight of what passed between you, the tangled web of resentment and reluctant pull, demanded closure. This would be the last, a one final act to sever the thread, to walk away unburdened. With a curse under your breath, you ran to him, your legs carrying you through the underbrush.

The heat battered you as you reached the flames' edge, the air shimmering with intensity but you plunged in, hauling his weighty form by the arms. His body was heavy, limp yet solid, shoulders broad and unyielding even in unconsciousness, the corded strength of his arms dragging across the scorched earth.

You pulled him free, grunting with effort, the muscles in your back flexing under the strain. Laying him on clearer ground, you assessed the damage. The arrow jutting from his chest, fletching charred at the edges, blood pulsing steadily from the wound, soaking the ground in dark pools.

You bit your lip, the sharp sting grounding you as concern warred with caution.

The severity was dire, his pulse thready under your probing fingers. But you were not just a mere warrior, you were also a healer and a tsakarem, healing coursed through your veins like the forest's lifeblood even with the violence in your being.

Kneeling beside him, your hands moved with practiced urgency, pressing woven leaves from your pouch against the entry to staunch the flow, murmuring ancient invocations to Eywa for mercy. The herbs' bitter scent mingled with the metallic tang of blood, your fingers smeared crimson as you worked, the curve of your neck arching forward in concentration, eyes fierce with determination.

Varang spotted you from across the fray, her snarl twisting her features mid-clash with Neytiri, eyes narrowing in disbelief and fury voice booming over the din, laced with betrayal as she parried a strike. "(Y/N)! What are you doing? Come, we have to leave!"

Neytiri, locked in the duel, glanced toward the sound, her gaze landing on you bent over her son, a flicker of stunned gratitude warring with the battle's rage in her.

More Omatikaya warriors surged forward, tipping the scales, forcing the Mangkwan to retreat.

You didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the call. Your focus absolute, hands pressing firmly to seal the wound, willing his life to hold.

Varang shot you one last glare, venomous and pained, before snarling at Neytiri with a guttural promise of unfinished business and then she signaled the fall back. Her warriors melted into the trees, their forms thundering away, leaving the air thick with smoke and the echo of conflict.

Your focus narrowed to the rise and fall of Neteyam's chest, each shallow breath a fragile tether to life, the arrow's shaft now crudely bound but the wound beneath pulsing with insistent threat. Sweat beaded along your temple, tracing a cool path down the arch of your cheekbone, your eyes locked on his face, the sharp angles softened in unconsciousness, the full curve of his lips parted as if in silent plea.

You didn't notice the delicate swirl of an atokirina, that ethereal seed of Eywa, drifting lazily on an unseen current, hovering above you both like a benediction unspoken.

Neytiri saw it, though. Her golden gaze catching the pale spinner as it lingered, a luminous point against the hazy sky, before floating onward. Her breath hitched, a profound shiver rippling through her frame, her shoulders seeming to pulse in quiet awe.

Eywa's will.

She broke from the fray with Jake at her side, their footfalls urgent through the trampled ferns, weapons still gripped tight but lowered in the face of this revelation.

You sensed their approach before you saw them, the rustle of leaves and the heavy cadence of warrior steps pulling your attention. Instinct flared of enemies closing in and you hissed low, a feral sound vibrating from your throat as you shifted away from Neteyam, your body coiling like a viper ready to strike. Your tail lashed behind you, the tip slicing the air with agitation, while your fingers twitched toward the knife at your hip, the leather sheath warm against your hip bone.

They were still foes, the Omatikaya who had chained you and humiliated you and you'd meet them with fangs bared, your toned legs braced against the earth, ready to spring.

Jake opened his mouth, his broad jaw setting with the intent to command, but Neytiri's voice cut through first, steady and resonant, her eyes fierce yet softened by gratitude, one hand extended palm-up in a gesture of uneasy truce. "You will come with us."

He paused, confusion flickering across his scarred features, but he moved without protest, kneeling to gather Neteyam's limp form. The future leader's weight sagged in his father's arms, head lolling against Jake's shoulder, the azure skin of his neck exposed in vulnerable slackness.

Other warriors converged, their ikrans circling low with throaty calls, assisting as Jake hoisted Neteyam toward the nearest mount, muscles bulging under the strain along his arms and back, the harness straps digging into his flesh.

You snarled at Neytiri, the sound raw and defiant, your tail flicking sharper now, brushing against the back of your calves as your fangs glinted in the dappled light. Your posture was rigid with suspicion as you rose to your full height, the beaded strands of your top shifting with the heave of your chest. "I will not be your captive again. Touch me and I'll carve my freedom from your hides."

Neytiri regarded you, her own tail curling thoughtfully at her side, the fire in your eyes mirroring the unyielding spark she knew from her own youth, the same blaze that had drawn Jake to her across clan lines.

Mercy stirred in her chest, unbidden and perplexing. Was it the debt of your aid to her son or the atokirina's silent sign that compelled her?

She straightened, her silhouette cutting a commanding figure against the fading smoke, voice firm and laced with an undercurrent of respect as she turned toward her ikran. "You will not be captive. You saved him, pulled him from Eywa's grasp. I believe the Great Mother has plans. Come, you waste time."

Suspicion coiled tight in your gut, a serpent ready to strike, yet beneath it hummed an inexplicable pull. A whisper urging yes, born of exhaustion, of the chaos you'd wrought by choosing him over your kin.

You hissed once more, baring your fangs in a final warning as your lips curled back, the sharp points catching the light as your ears flattened against your skull. "Lie to me and I will not hesitate to draw my blade even if it means my end."

She met your gaze without flinching, recognizing the kindred fire, the warrior's unbreaking will. With a nod, she mounted her ikran, the bond queue connecting in a soft neural sigh, wings unfurling with a leathery snap.

You approached cautiously, every sense alert. The warmth of the creature's hide under your palms as you swung up behind her, your thighs clamping around its sides, the curve of your hips settling against Neytiri's back. The ascent was swift, wind tearing at your braids, carrying the scent of singed earth and distant rain as the group soared towards their home.

The village emerged like a living tapestry below.

Jake dismounted first upon landing, Neteyam's body cradled securely in his arms, the young warrior's limbs dangling limply, blood crusting along the wound's edges. He ran toward Mo'at's healing marui, feet pounding the woven platforms, Neytiri and you following at a urgent pace.

Eyes turned as you passed, Omatikaya faces hardening at the sight of your Mangkwan markings, the ash remnants of war paint streaking your arms and thighs, whispers rippling like wind through reeds. You ignored them, chin lifted defiantly, your strides long and purposeful, the sway of your hips fluid despite the knot of unease in your belly.

Inside the marui, the air hung thick with the aroma of medicinal pastes and smoldering herbs, shelves lined with jars of glowing extracts. Mo'at moved with ancient grace, her wrinkled skin etched with the wisdom of seasons, drawing Neteyam onto a low pallet woven from supple vines. Her hands, gnarled yet precise, peeled back the hasty bandages you'd applied, assessing the damage with a cluck of her tongue as her eyes narrowed in concentration, fingers probing the inflamed flesh around the arrow's path.

You shifted uncomfortably near the entrance, arms crossed over your chest, the soft swell of your breasts pressing against the crossed forearms, your bare midriff taut with tension.

What madness had brought you here, into the heart of enmity? Why save this man, the one whispered to be bound to another in mating rites, his future woven without you?

Once assured of his survival, you'd slip away, beg for Varang's mercy, atone for the betrayal etched in your choice to heal, to drag him from flames.

Neytiri noticed the storm brewing in your eyes, the way your shoulders hunched slightly under invisible weight. She guided you to a woven mat beside her, her touch light on your elbow as she settled cross-legged.

"Sit. The weight you carry shows in your eyes."

Jake hovered nearby, his confusion etched in the furrow of his brow, arms still bearing faint smears of his son's blood as he glanced between you and Neytiri, tone edged with bewilderment. "Neytiri, why bring her? She's Mangkwan, an enemy blood in our home."

Mo'at's voice rose then, steady and authoritative, cutting the tension as she worked a poultice into the wound her movements rhythmic, the paste's earthy scent filling the space. "He is in critical condition. The arrow pierced deep, nicking the lung's edge. Without the temporary aid to stem the bleeding, he would have crossed to Eywa's embrace already."

Both parents turned to you, realization dawning as Neytiri's gaze held quiet thanks, Jake's a grudging respect.

"And the head trauma is severe, his skull bruised from the fall so visions may haunt him upon waking. He will recover but stress must be barred from his path. No extremes of anger or despair, lest the balance tip and fracture his spirit. Do not put him in situations where he will experience such."

Jake and Neytiri nodded solemnly, Jake's hand squeezing his mate's shoulder, resolve hardening his features. "We'll guard him like the tree itself."

You sat quietly, the breath easing from your lungs in a slow sigh of relief, your fingers unclenching from where they'd dug into your palms, leaving crescent marks on the soft pads.

He would live, the man whose golden eyes had pierced your defenses, whose touch lingered like a forbidden echo.

Neytiri looked at you then, not through the lens of a deadly warrior but as a mother whose heart swelled with gratitude, her expression softening, the lines around her eyes crinkling with unspoken emotion. "You have our thanks. Your hands brought him back to us."

Rising, you met her gaze steadily, your voice even despite the turmoil tail curling loosely at your feet, posture straightening with resolve. "He breathes. My part is done. I will leave now before your people remembers what I am."

She shook her head gently as her braids swayed, tone insistent yet kind, a hand gesturing to the marui's depths. "Stay the night. The forest paths grow treacherous after battle and dawn will light your way clearer. Tomorrow, go with Eywa's guidance."

Hesitation gripped you as visions of Varang's wrath flashed along with her snarl of betrayal but the offer Neytiri gave bought time, a buffer against the storm you'd unleashed. You nodded curtly, the motion causing a loose braid to slip over your shoulder, brushing the gentle slope of your collarbone.

Mo'at interjected, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she pointed to a partitioned alcove, the entrance draped in soft kelp weaves. "There is space in the marui for you. Rest there, no harm under this roof will fall upon you."

You inclined your head uncomfortably, the unfamiliar kindness chafing like ill-fitted armor, and retreated to the indicated area.

The partition muffled the outer sounds, but voices filtered in with familiar cadences of concern, perhaps Neteyam's siblings clustering with worried murmurs or that scheming Alayni's honeyed tones probing for weakness.

You sighed deeply, sinking onto the low sleeping platform, the woven fibers cool against your skin. Gazing at your hands, still faintly stained with his blood and nails chipped from the frantic extraction, you felt the weight crash down.

What have I done?

Varang's face loomed in your mind, her loyalty unyielding and yet you betrayed her, your blood for him. A traitor in your own eyes, cast adrift by a mercy you couldn't explain, the contours of your form curling inward as doubt gnawed at your thoughts.

The first light of dawn filtered through the woven walls of the marui, casting a soft glow that danced across the kelp partitions like whispers from the great tree itself.

You stirred from a fitful sleep, the platform beneath you cradling the subtle curves of your body with its resilient fibers, though no true rest had really come.

The air hummed with distant murmurs, low voices laced with concern, the rustle of movements that spoke of vigil. Neteyam's family, no doubt, gathered in their quiet desperation.

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyes adjusting to the dim interior, a stray lock of ebony hair falling across your forehead, brushing the high plane of your cheek as you sat up. The faint ache in your muscles from the previous day's chaos lingered, a reminder of the flames you'd pulled him from, your frame still bearing the subtle smudges of ash along your arms and the line of your neck.

Pushing aside the drape with a steady hand, you stepped into the main chamber, the cool floor mats yielding under your bare feet, toes curling slightly against the texture. There they were, clustered around Neteyam's pallet. Neytiri's poised form kneeling closest, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his azure skin, while Jake stood sentinel nearby, his broad shoulders tense.

The siblings hovered at the edges, Tuk's small hands fidgeting with a beaded string, Lo'ak's jaw set in watchful silence, and Kiri sitting to the side with a faraway look.

You remembered them from his stories when he was pestering you and you remembered how you tried so hard to tune him out as you rolled your eyes.

Neteyam's chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, his features serene in repose, full lips slightly parted as if dreaming of battles yet unfought.

Your gaze locked with Neytiri's across the space, her golden eyes holding a depth of unspoken understanding, the faint lines at their corners deepening as she rose fluidly. The others' stares prickled your skin. They were curious and wary, the weight of enmity pressing like unseen hands, save for Jake whose attention remained fixed on his son, oblivious or perhaps deliberately so.

You held your ground, chin lifting subtly, the soft undulation of your torso accentuated by the morning light as it played over the beaded strands draping your chest.

Her voice emerged, a hand extending in quiet invitation as she closed the distance, the warmth of her presence cutting through the chill of suspicion. "Are you about to head out? The paths await but let me see you safely beyond our borders."

You nodded once, the motion causing your braids to shift, one grazing the delicate hollow of your throat.

Before words could form, her fingers encircled your wrist, firm but not forceful, the calluses of a huntress brushing your smoother skin. "Okay, I'll take you with my ikran. The skies are clearer at this hour."

Together, you moved toward the exit, your steps synchronized in wary alliance, the chamber's herbal scents fading behind you. Halfway there, Tuk's voice pierced the air like a sudden arrow, high-pitched with unbridled joy as her tiny frame bounced as she pointed, eyes wide with wonder.

"Neteyam! You're awake!"

Neytiri gasped beside you, a sharp intake that reverberated through her body, her grip tightening momentarily on your arm before releasing as she whirled, long legs carrying her back in a blur of urgency. His family converged instantly, a protective circle forming around the pallet, voices overlapping in a cacophony of relief.

Jake's baritone cut through as his hand raised in caution, posture rigid as he scanned his children's eager faces. "Easy, give him space. Let him breathe."

You didn't turn, didn't allow the pull of curiosity to drag you back.

Relief flickered in your chest that he lived, that his spirit is unbroken but seeing him now, vulnerable and surrounded by their bond, stirred too much. Your tail flicked once, a subtle lash against your calf, as you fixed your gaze on the exit, the woven flap beckoning like freedom's edge.

A groan echoed from the pallet, low and pained, followed by Neytiri's voice, thick with emotion as tears glistened on her lashes then spilling down the curve of her cheek as she cupped his face, her thumbs tracing the strong line of his jaw.

"Ma Teyam, my child, you're awake. Eywa has returned you to us."

Neteyam's first words hung in the air, raspy yet insistent, freezing you mid-step as his voice threaded confusion and longing, golden eyes blinking open to search the faces around him. "Where's my mate?"

Your heart clenched like a fist around a thorned vine, a sharp twist that stole your breath, the muscles of your back tensing beneath the thin straps of your top.

He meant her, that conniving soft-spoken healer, the one fate had chained him to.

The betrayal you'd wrought for his sake soured further, urging you toward escape, but Neytiri remained entangled in the moment, her form a barrier you couldn't breach without drawing eyes.

He spoke again, urgency sharpening his tone as he propped himself up slightly on one elbow, the defined planes of his abdomen flexing under the strain, beads of sweat gathering along his collarbone. "Where is my mate? Why is she not here? Where is (Y/N)?"

Silence crashed over the marui like a sudden storm, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of a nearby incense burner. You couldn't believe the words echoing in your ears. Your name on his lips like a claim, a delusion born of fever or fracture. His family still shielded him, their bodies a living wall, blocking any chance of his gaze finding you.

What madness gripped him?

Jake broke the hush, his voice measured, laced with concern as he kneeled closer, one large hand resting on Neteyam's shoulder, fingers splaying across the flesh there. "Kid, what do you mean mate? Talk to me, clear your head."

Neteyam frowned, confusion etching furrows across his forehead, his ears twitching slightly as he tilted his head, the kuru at his back shifting against the pallet as he scanned the circle of faces. "Huh? She's my mate. What do you mean what do I mean, Dad? We chose each other, it is done."

Neytiri exchanged a fleeting glance with Jake, her expression a mask of reassurance as she smiled gently, though her eyes held a storm of questions as she leaned in, her braids falling forward to brush his arm. "What's the last thing you remember, Ma Teyam? Tell your sa'nok, help us understand."

He groaned again, wincing as he pressed a hand to his temple, his fingers threading through his hair as his voice faltered, piecing together fragments like scattered leaves.

"We were together in the forest... deep in the glade, away from eyes. We mated, bound our kuru. I remember the warmth of her, falling asleep in her arms... then nothing. I woke up now. Why am I here? Where is she?"

Jake's mouth parted, words forming on the edge of his tongue but Neytiri's hand clamped onto his forearm, urgent and unyielding as her nails digged lightly into his skin, a silent reminder of her mother's grave warning, her gaze flicking to the tsahik for affirmation.

No stress, no shadows to cloud his fragile recovery.

Mo'at inclined her head subtly from her perch nearby, her weathered features serene, the wisdom in her eyes underscoring the peril of truths unspoken.

However, shock rippled through you like a current, your pulse thundering in your ears, the arch of your neck flushing with heat.

What sorcery had befallen this demon blood?

The forest encounter, the stolen touches, and the heated whispers had been a fever dream of his desire, not a true bonding. Yet here he proclaimed it as reality, your name woven into his delirium.

Your fingers curled at your sides, nails biting into palms, the soft pads whitening under pressure.

Jake rose then, his frame casting a long shadow as he leaned toward Neytiri whispering low, his jaw clenched in resolve. "I'll get Norm, let him scan the boy's head, figure out what's twisted in there."

He straightened, striding past you with purposeful steps.

You shifted sideways instinctively, pressing against the wall's curve, your body folding into the shadows to evade Neteyam's searching eyes, the faint scent of his blood still clinging to your skin like a ghost.

The drape parted again, admitting Alayni in a rush of hurried grace, her form halting abruptly at the sight of you lingering near the threshold. Her face fell, features draining of color, eyes widening in a flash of alarm as her lips parted in silent accusation, her tail coiling tight behind her as panic etched sharp lines around her mouth.

What is she doing here?

The enemy in their sanctum, everyone would know her schemes, the whispers of betrayal she'd sown.

You couldn't suppress the satisfied smirk curling your lips, a predatory glint in your gaze as you savored the tremor in her composure, the way her fingers twisted the hem of her wrap.

She glared daggers, a venomous spark in her eyes, before hurrying inside voice pitched with concern, dropping to her knees beside the pallet, her hand reached out to caress his cheek, nails grazing the smooth azure expanse. "Neteyam, are you okay? We've been so worried—"

He recoiled at her touch, jerking back with a hiss as his body tensed, shoulders hunching as if her fingers burned, golden eyes narrowing in instinctive rejection. "Don't touch me. My mate would not like that, keep your hands to yourself."

Alayni froze, confusion clouding her features as she glanced around the circle, her posture crumbling slightly. The gentle swell of her chest heaving with rapid breaths, seeking answers in their stunned expressions. First, you're here like some honored guest, unwatched and unchained and now Neteyam denying their bond, as if the ceremonies planned for days hence meant nothing.

"What do you mean? You have no mate, Neteyam. We will be mated in several days. It's all arranged, for the clan—"

His stare was blank and unyielding as he leaned away further, the muscles along his arms corded with tension, voice flat with conviction that brooked no argument. "I am mated, Alayni. Do not disrespect me and her by saying that. I've chosen, Eywa witnessed it."

Alayni's mouth opened for protest, words tumbling forth in a desperate rush as her hands gestured wildly but Lo'ak's fingers closed around her wrist, firm and ungentle, his grip steady as he pulled her back with a warning growl low in his throat.

"Enough, let him rest. You're making it worse."

Neytiri forced a smile then, thin and strained as she rose to her full height, her frame interposing as she pried Alayni from Lo'ak's hold, guiding her toward the entrance with a maternal hand on her shoulder.

She had once favored the girl.

Her respectful demeanor, the sweet softness that promised stability for her son, the shy affections that bloomed like night flowers. It was why she'd championed the union, envisioning harmony in their future. But now, Alayni's invasiveness grated, a threat to the delicate balance of Neteyam's healing. What she'd once seen as endearing now loomed as disruption, especially with the girl's recent clinginess fraying nerves that are already taut.

Her tone remained even, laced with polite finality as she steered Alayni through the drape, the fabric whispering against their forms. "Go now, child, rest and prepare for the day's duties. He'll need quiet to mend, we'll call when he's stronger."

Alayni resisted briefly, a flicker of indignation in her eyes, but Neytiri's unyielding gaze quelled it. As she was ushered out, you caught her eye from behind Neytiri's shoulder, your smirk deepening into something triumphant as your lips curved wickedly, the sharp tips of your fangs peeking as you watched her retreat.

Stupid bitch, starting to pay her karma.

The satisfaction bloomed warm in your chest, a counter to the earlier ache at the unraveling the web she'd spun.

The marui's air thickened with the scent of medicinal herbs and lingering tension as footsteps approached from beyond the drape. The flap parted with a soft rustle, admitting Jake first followed by a figure that made your eyes narrow in instinctive distrust.

He was another of those sky people avatars, shorter and bulkier than the Na'vi around him, with blue skin stretched over an unfamiliar musculature, his movements jerky and mechanical as he hauled a satchel bulging with strange, gleaming devices. In your eyes, he was just another demon in disguise, his eyes too round and probing behind a mask of false familiarity.

Neteyam's family parted slightly to allow them access, his golden gaze widening in confusion propping himself up on his elbows despite the wince that tugged at his full lips, the cords of his neck straining as he tilted his head.

"Dad? Norm? What's all this?" His voice carried a mix of bewilderment and faint alarm, the sharp angles of his shoulders tensing beneath the thin covering draped over his torso.

Jake placed a reassuring hand on his son's arm, the gesture firm yet gentle. "Just a check-up, son. Norm here's gonna make sure everything's healing right, no big deal."

Norm nodded efficiently, unpacking his tools with practiced haste. A handheld scanner humming to life, its blue light flickering like captured bioluminescence, and thin probes that beeped softly as they connected to Neteyam's temple and chest. The warrior submitted with reluctant patience, his ears flicking at each unfamiliar sensation as his chest rose and fell in shallow rhythms, the bandaged expanse over his ribs shifting with each breath.

You remained unseen, a ghost in the periphery, gratitude coiling in your gut that he hadn't glimpsed you yet, sparing you the complication of his fractured gaze.

The assessment dragged on, Norm murmuring readings under his breath, Jake hovering like a sentinel. Finally, they withdrew, the group filing out into the humid morning air. Norm repacking his gear with a satisfied grunt, Mo'at gliding behind with her staff tapping rhythmically, Neytiri close at her heel, her posture a blend of maternal poise and veiled anxiety.

Curiosity tugged at you drawing your steps toward the exit despite the risk. You hovered just inside, the soft swell of your hips swaying faintly as you strained to catch their words, the faint breeze carrying snippets through the kelp weave.

Norm's voice filtered back, clinical and detached gesturing vaguely at the air as if diagramming an invisible wound.

"Selective amnesia, most likely from the trauma to his skull. Concussions like that can scramble memories, make him fill in gaps with what his mind wants to believe. It'll probably clear up with rest but no pushing him. Avoid contradictions, let it fade naturally."

Mo'at's response came sharp and authoritative, her aged frame straightening one hand raised in admonition. "Precisely. No stress, Jake Sully. His spirit is fragile as fresh-woven thread, negative winds could unravel it further."

Jake glanced over his shoulder then, his eyes locking onto yours through the partial drape.

You met his stare blankly, your expression a mask of cool indifference, the line of your jaw set firm, lashes casting shadows over your irises.

He sighed heavily, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder as he rubbed a hand over his hair before nodding to Mo'at. "Understood. Thanks, Norm. Appreciate you coming out here on short notice."

He clapped the avatar on the back, steering him toward the path, their forms receding into the foliage.

Mo'at turned fully to you then, her wrinkled features softening into a knowing smile as she extended a gnarled hand in gentle summons, the beads on her bracelets clinking softly. "Come, child. He searches for you. Eywa's threads bind him still even in confusion."

Hesitation rooted you for a beat, your bare feet shifting against the mat, toes flexing into the fibers as doubt warred with obligation. But you moved forward, weaving through the siblings' loose circle, your presence rippling the air like a stone in still water. Neytiri observed from the side, her arms crossed over her chest, the arch of her back rigid with unspoken calculations.

Neteyam's eyes ignited at the sight of you, a spark of pure recognition and warmth flooding their golden depths as his face brightened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a boyish smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. "Baby, where have you been? I've been calling for you. Come here, let me see you."

Words failed you, caught in the tangle of your throat like thorns. Your pulse quickened, the delicate skin at your wrists flushing as you glanced desperately at Neytiri. She stepped in seamlessly, her voice a soothing murmur kneeling beside him. "She was just helping Mo'at with some herbs, Ma Teyam. Nothing to worry over. You're safe now, all of us here."

He nodded absently, already shifting to rise as his elbows dug into the padding, his torso twisting with intent, the play of muscles along his flanks evident even through the strain. But a sharp hiss escaped him as pain lanced through his chest. He glanced down, fingers probing the white bandages wrapped taut around his ribs, tracing the edges where faint bloodstains bloomed, his brow furrowing in dawning alarm.

"What happened? Why am I... like this?"

Neytiri's response flowed quick and fabricated, her tail flicking once in reassurance as she pressed him back gently, palms flat against his shoulders. "A minor fall during a hunt, nothing more. You're mending well but rest is key. No straining this body of yours."

Lo'ak chimed in from his perch nearby, his tone laced with concern as he leaned forward, one hand hovering as if ready to steady him. "Yeah bro, don't push it. You've been out cold, give yourself a break."

Tuk, unable to contain her awe any longer, stared up at you with unabashed wonder, her small fingers twisting in her lap, round cheeks dimpling as she beamed, the innocence in her voice cutting through the heaviness.

"You're pretty like the glowing vines at night."

Neteyam caught the words, his grin widening into something radiant and possessive as he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest despite the wince it provoked, his gaze raking over you with unabashed adoration. "She is, isn't she? Eywa blessed me beyond measure with the most beautiful woman as my mate."

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, a traitorous warmth that clashed with the snarl building in your chest. Your fangs ached to bare but Neytiri's sharp glance pinned you, her eyes narrowing imperceptibly, a silent command as she rose.

"I'll speak with her first, important matters."

She drew you aside into a quieter nook, the privacy of the woven screen shielding your exchange, her sigh heavy with exhaustion as her shoulders slumped slightly, the taper of her ears drooping as she met your eyes. "Please, play along just until his memories return. It's a delicate weave we're threading here."

A hiss bubbled up, low and frustrated, your claws flexing at your sides, a flicker of resentment darkening your features.

This wasn't the plan. It was only saving him from the flames and slipping away into the wilds. But now pretending this farce of a bond?

It deepened the chasm with Varang, a blade twisted further into your sister's trust, your loyalty fracturing like dry earth under storm.

Yet you exhaled sharply, the breath stirring the beads at your throat. "Just for today then I'll leave. I've lingered too long already, debts are paid."

Gratitude softened Neytiri's gaze, her hand squeezing your forearm in quiet alliance. "Thank you. Eywa sees your heart."

Eywa, their false goddess.

You refrained from speaking it and returned to the pallet together, his siblings' eyes tracking your approach.

Mo'at interjected then, her voice carrying the weight of authority as she gestured toward the exit with her staff, the carved wood glinting. "He may leave the healing hut now. Rest in your family marui where care is close."

Neteyam's confusion creased his forehead anew as he tilted his head, his kuru swaying as he pushed to sit fully, ignoring the twinge in his side. "Why the family marui? I have our own, shared with my mate. That's where I belong, with her."

Neytiri froze for a heartbeat then mustered a feigned grin, her lips curving upward in playful conspiracy, though tension lined her jaw. "Oh yes, of course you can sleep there. Silly of us to forget."

Relief lit Neteyam's face, a grin splitting wide as he eased to his feet with Lo'ak's support, his brother's arm slung around his waist, the lean power of his legs steadying as he leaned into the aid.

You walked in silence beside Neytiri, your steps measured, the sway of your form guarded against his occasional glances.

She guided the group to a nearby empty marui, its entrance framed by dangling vines that swayed like welcoming tendrils, the interior sparse but inviting with a low cot piled with fresh furs.

"I'll bring your things later." Neytiri explained smoothly as she waved a hand at the empty space, her posture relaxed in fabrication. "You forgot them before, rushing off to tend to (Y/N). Always so devoted."

Neteyam nodded, his attention fixed on you. Golden eyes tracing the cascade of your braids down your back, the subtle glow of your skin under the filtered light, though you kept your gaze averted, fixed on the horizon.

Kiri approached then, her touch feather-light on your arm in a soft pat, wordless solidarity in her empathetic eyes before she stepped back.

Tuk waved enthusiastically as she bounced on her toes, her laughter bubbling. "Bye! Take care of him, he's grumpy when hurt!"

Lo'ak gave a curt nod and Neytiri mirroring it with a final meaningful look before they departed, leaving the marui's quiet to envelop you.

You lingered at the entrance, the woven threshold framing your silhouette, arms crossed over the gentle rise of your chest as Neteyam settled onto the cot, his form reclining against the bolsters, long legs stretching out, the bandage peeking from beneath his wrap as he watched you expectantly.

"Baby, what are you doing all the way over there? Come here. I've missed you too much already."

You restrained the urge to roll your eyes, the old grudge simmering within you. Alayni's shadow, the secrets he'd buried back then, it fueled a quiet fury that tightened your lips. With deliberate slowness, you crossed the space, perching on the cot's edge at a careful distance, the furs dipping under your weight, your thighs pressing together in restrained tension.

He frowned at the gap reaching out, his hand encircling your waist with insistent warmth, drawing you nearer until your hip brushed his, the heat of his body seeping through the thin barriers. "Why so far?"

Without waiting, he leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there before his lips pressed soft lingering pecks along the column of your throat, tracing the pulse that fluttered beneath.

You shifted away slightly, a hand rising to his chest, gentle but firm against the bandaged expanse to halt him. "You must not move so much, your wound will reopen if you keep this up."

"I don't care, the ache is nothing compared to being without you." He dismissed it with a low hum undeterred, nosing deeper and inhaling your scent like a lifeline, his free arm looping around your midriff to anchor you. "You always smell so good."

Your eyes rolled despite yourself, exasperation sharpening your tone as you leaned back just enough to create space, though his hold persisted. "Do you not listen? Rest means rest, not this."

A grin curved his lips, playful and unrepentant as his eyes sparkled with mischief. He tilted his head, the sharp line of his jaw brushing your shoulder. "I do listen but my mate is just so irresistible. How can I resist when you're right here, pulling me like the tide?"

The words ignited a storm within you. The urge to drive your claws into his chest, to end this delusion with finality, to flee into the jungle's embrace, and beneath it all, a treacherous pull to lean in, to claim those lips and drown the betrayal.

Your breath hitched, eyes flashing as your voice dropped to a warning growl. "If you do not stop, you will sleep in your family's marui tonight, without me."

He chuckled, the sound rich and affectionate, as he tugged you flush against him now, his head resting on your shoulder, one hand tracing idle patterns along your arm, savoring the silken texture of your skin. "I don't want to be away from you, ever. Even for a night. You're my world, (Y/N). Tell me you feel it too. The bond, the pull. We've always been this way, haven't we?"

You stiffened, the weight of his touches pressing like chains, his body molding to yours, warm and insistent, nuzzling closer as if to weave your scents together anew.

"Neteyam..." It came out softer than intended, a conflicted murmur as your hand hovered over his, torn between pushing away and letting it linger. "Just... be still. For now."

He hummed contentedly and undaunted, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone, his fingers interlacing with yours, thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow circles. "As you wish but I'm not letting go of you."

The marui fell into a charged hush, his affection a balm and a burden, the line between pretense and peril blurring with every shared breath.

You spent the entire day ensnared in Neteyam's unyielding embrace, his body a constant insistent presence against yours. He was every bit the spoiled brat his amnesia painted him to be. Demanding, playful, and utterly oblivious to the storm raging within you. From the moment the morning light had fully crested the horizon, he refused to release your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours in a grip that was both tender and possessive, the calluses on his palms rough against your smoother skin.

"Feed me." He murmured during the midday meal, his voice a low rumble and laced with mischief.

He propped himself up on one elbow, the lean muscles of his forearm flexing as he gestured to the woven basket of fruits and roasted kelp strips. His golden eyes sparkled with expectation, the sharp angles of his cheekbones highlighted by the soft luminescence filtering in. You hesitated, the curve of your shoulders tensing beneath the lightweight shawl draped over them, but his pout, lips pursing in exaggerated plea, drew a reluctant sigh from you.

Slicing a piece of sweetfruit with your knife, its juice glistening on the blade like dew, you held it to his mouth. He leaned forward eagerly but paused just before taking it. His breath warm against your fingertips, eyes locking onto yours with feigned innocence.

"A kiss first." He demanded softly, tilting his head so his kuru brushed your thigh. "For every bite. It's our thing, remember?"

Irritation flared hot in your chest, your free hand itching to deliver a sharp smack to that smug jawline as the taper of his ears twitched in anticipation. Yet, beneath the annoyance, a treacherous warmth bloomed low in your belly, spreading like sunlight through mist. His affection, fabricated or not, wrapped around you like the humid air itself. You leaned in grudgingly, pressing your lips to his in a brief chaste touch, your mouth soft against the firm warmth of his, the faint taste of herbs from his earlier tonic lingering.

He hummed in satisfaction, finally accepting the fruit, chewing slowly while his gaze never left your face.

This ritual repeated through the afternoon. Bite after bite, kiss after kiss, each one pulling you deeper into the pretense. His laughter bubbled up between mouthfuls, light and carefree as his chest vibrated with the sound, though he winced slightly when it jostled his bandaged ribs, the white wrapping stark against his azure skin.

"You're too good to me." He said after one particularly lingering peck, his hand sliding up your arm to trace the delicate ridge of your collarbone. "How did I ever deserve you, baby?"

You only answered with an eye roll, willing yourself to calm.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the interior in hues of amber and violet, he grew more reflective, his clinginess evolving into quiet confessions. He pulled you onto the furs beside him, your legs tangling with his as he recounted the day he first laid eyes on you, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, fingers idly stroking the cascade of your braids that spilled over your shoulder.

"It was during that raid, I thought you were the most beautiful creature Eywa ever wove, all fire and grace in one breath. Even with your blade at my throat, I couldn't look away."

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, your pulse thrumming in your ears as you absorbed his words. The memory twisted in your mind, the confrontation, the kiss that had ignited everything yet led to this tangled web. Finally, you broke the quiet, your voice steady despite the knot in your throat shifting slightly, the soft swell of your hips pressing into the furs as you turned to face him.

"What do you think of Alayni?"

He blinked, surprise flickering across his features, the smooth plane of his forehead creasing. "Alayni? She's... nice. She's been around since we were children, always helping with the young ones or joining hunts. Reliable, like a sister almost."

The answer hung there, innocuous yet loaded. You pressed further, curiosity sharpening your tone with your eyes narrowing, lashes casting faint shadows on your high cheekbones. "Do you like her?"

His eyes widened, golden irises flaring with incredulity, leaning back as if the question physically pushed him.

"Like her? How could you even ask that when I burn for you alone?" He shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him, though it carried an edge of disbelief. "She's shown her interest. Blushing around me, weaving extra beads for my gear but I don't see her that way. Never have. My heart's been yours from the start."

You wanted to roll your eyes, the truth bubbling beneath your restraint.

Oh yes, but you were set to mate her if fate hadn't intervened.

The words clawed at your tongue but you swallowed them, maintaining the fragile peace.

He studied your expression, a sly smile curving his lips as he reached out to cup your chin, thumb brushing the plush curve of your lower lip. "Are you jealous? Tell me baby, does it sting knowing others vied for me?"

A snarl ripped from your throat, low and feral as you bared your fangs briefly, the lines of your neck corded with tension as you pulled back from his touch. "No. Jealousy is for the weak. I'm merely curious about your tangled loyalties."

His smile deepened, brimming with adoration as his eyes softened, he drew you nearer, his broad palm splaying across the small of your back.

"Alayni was just one of the candidates my parents pushed before I met you. They thought her steady, a good match for a future Olo'eyktan." He paused, gaze distant, reliving the memory of when you left. "I came to the marui where you were that night, heart heavy because I'd just learned they'd chosen her. I didn't want it, I wanted you. So I went there to confess everything, to seek comfort in your arms but I saw you with her first. She told you, didn't she? But twisted it to make it seem like it was decided long ago, that I was playing you all along. She lied, (Y/N). It wasn't set in stone, I was ready to fight it from the moment I knew."

Your eyes grew wide, the revelation crashing over you, pupils dilating in shock as pieces clicked into place.

So he hadn't been deceiving you, not entirely. The betrayal you'd nursed, the fury at his supposed duplicity... it shifted, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.

"I almost went through with it, you know. Why you fled with your sister that night, she said you wanted nothing to do with me. I believed her, let the pain fester." He chuckled then, the sound bland and tinged with bitterness as his shoulders rolled in a shrug, the play of tendons in his neck visible as he tilted his head. "But then you came back, told me the truth... we mated, formed tsaheylu under the stars. It was perfect until I woke up like this with no recollection of why I'm bandaged."

The words hung false in the air, his mind's desperate weave to fill the voids. None of it had happened, the bond a phantom of his selective forgetfulness. Frustration boiled within you, a scream trapped behind clenched teeth, claws aching to rake through flesh, to lash out at the cruel irony.

But you schooled your features into neutrality, jaw setting firm as you met his gaze evenly. "I... see."

Undeterred by your reserve, he pulled you closer, nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as his nose traced the sensitive hollow there, inhaling deeply as if committing your essence to memory. With a gentle tug, he guided you both down onto the furs. Mindful of his injury. you positioned carefully at his side, your head resting on the unbandaged plane of his shoulder, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with yours.

"I see you." He whispered fervently, lips brushing your temple in soft reverent kisses, each one a feather-light promise. "Since the day you held that blade to my throat, your fire called to mine."

You bit your lip, the sharp sting grounding you amid the whirlwind, teeth pressing into the tender flesh, a faint metallic tang blooming as you held your silence.

His affection enveloped you like a cocoon, warm and suffocating, lulling the day into evening's embrace.

The next morning dawned with a hush, the first rays piercing the marui's weave before Neteyam's eyes fluttered open. You stirred early, slipping from his arms with the stealth of a shadow, your movements fluid and silent, the contours of your legs uncoiling as you rose, bare feet padding softly against the cool floor.

Pausing at the threshold, you cast one last look back at him, his handsome features softened in sleep with his lashes fanning dark against his cheeks, the strong bridge of his nose casting a subtle shadow, lips parted in quiet breaths that stirred the air.

A pang twisted in your chest before you turned away, vanishing into the misty paths without a backward glance.

You wouldn't wait for Neytiri. By then, Neteyam would stir, his questions a net you couldn't afford to tangle in further. The jungle welcomed you back, vines parting like old allies as you wove toward the treeline, the weight of departure lifting with each step. Just as the clan's central paths faded behind you, a figure emerged from the underbrush.

Alayni, her posture rigid with venom, arms crossed over her chest as she blocked your way, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Had fun playing mates with mine? Taking advantage of his amnesia like the snake you are?" She spat, her voice dripping with accusation as she stepped closer, the aggressive sway of her hips belying the fury in her clenched fists.

You grinned at her, slow and evil, letting the malice curl your lips as your head tilted "Just as much fun as he had. Clinging, kissing, whispering sweet nothings. You should thank me for keeping him occupied."

She hissed lunging nearer, her breath hot and ragged as her fangs flashed. "Why are you even here? Skulking around like you belong?"

Your snarl matched hers, a guttural warning as your tail lashing behind you, claws extending slightly as you held your ground, the poised strength in your stance unyielding. "Don't worry, I'm leaving and never coming back. You won't have to betray your people again, teaming up with my sister to raid your own clan just to dispose of me in your twisted way."

Her grin twisted maliciously, a flash of triumph in her eyes lips pulling back in a sneer, one hand gesturing dismissively. "It was worth it. Every scream, every flame because it means Neteyam will be mine."

You pouted mockingly, the expression dripping with sarcasm as you puffed your cheeks slightly, eyes rolling in exaggerated pity.

"You had your people slaughtered, homes reduced to ash, all to eliminate me and claim him? You're not just delusional, you're a traitor through and through. Soon, your clan will uncover your rot and they'll see you for the venomous wretch you are."

Disgust curled your features, a final withering glance raking over her figure, the lines of your face hardening before you spun on your heel. Without another word, you melted into the foliage, the jungle swallowing your form whole, leaving her seething in the undergrowth.

The jungle's embrace felt mocking as you pushed through the dense foliage, the vines brushing against your arms like accusatory fingers. Your clan's territory loomed ahead, the familiar spires of woven huts rising against the canopy but the air hummed with a tension that set your nerves alight.

Once, the gazes that met yours were filled with awe, reverent whispers trailing your steps as the Tsakarem, the chosen one destined to weave Eywa's will into the clan's future next to your sister. Now, those same eyes shifted uneasily, darting away or narrowing in suspicion, the subtle flinch of shoulders and the hurried averting of faces speaking volumes.

You had betrayed them, after all, by dragging that Omatikaya warrior from the flames, his blood staining your hands as surely as your mercy had branded you a turncoat. Just as Alayni had sold her own people to the shadows for a chance at Neteyam's side, so had you fractured the bonds of your kin. The weight of it settled in your gut like river stones as you stepped into the clearing.

Whispers rippled through the gathered figures. Warriors pausing mid-stride, healers glancing up from their herbs with lips pressed thin.

Dread coiled tighter when she appeared.

Varang, your sister, emerging from the central marui like a specter carved from obsidian. Her presence commanded the space, broad shoulders squared beneath the weight of adorned armor, the scars across her arms a testament to battles won. But it was her face that chilled you. Blank, devoid of the fiery rage that usually ignited her amber eyes or twisted her full mouth into a snarl. This emptiness was worse, it was eerie and calculating, a void where her vicious fury should have roared.

"Tsmuke." You murmured, voice cracking despite your effort to steady it knees bending slightly as you lowered yourself in supplication, the soft curves of your torso shifting under the thin straps of your top. "Forgive me. I... I couldn't let him die there. Eywa's will—"

"Eywa's will? The boy had you believing that false goddess who abandoned us?" She approached, her movements deliberate, the powerful swing of her tail betraying nothing.

Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your kuru with a gentleness that belied the threat as her nails grazed the sensitive neural tendrils, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as she caressed it like a fragile vine. The touch was almost tender for her being yet it carried the promise of something darker.

"You are a traitor to your people." She said flatly, her voice a low monotone that echoed unnaturally in the hush as her eyes locked onto yours unblinking, the sharp angles of her jaw set like carved stone. "To your own sister. I should claim your kuru for that, sever it clean, or perhaps your head to remind all of divided hearts."

Horror bloomed cold in your chest as she drew her blade, raising it with fluid precision, the metal glinting in the dappled light, her biceps flexing with restrained power as she looped the edge toward your kuru. You breathed out sharply, bracing for the pain, your muscles tensing along your spine as your heart pounded against your ribs.

But she halted, the blade hovering inches from you before she withdrew it, letting your kuru slip free from her grasp. Her expression remained a mask of indifference, shoulders rolling back as she sheathed the weapon, the beads in her hair swaying with the motion. "You are not welcome here anymore. I have no use for divided loyalties, there is no place for traitors among the Mangkwan. Leave this place and if you ever return, I will not hesitate to forget you are my blood."

The words landed like a spear to the core, your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach as a wave of nausea churned, you rose unsteadily, legs wobbling beneath the strength of your thighs. You bit your lip hard, the sharp sting drawing a bead of blood that you tasted metallic on your tongue, and turned away without another plea. The clan's stares burned into your back as you walked, first heavy steps then a numb stride, your heart a leaden ache in your chest.

Exile.

You belonged nowhere now, a ghost adrift in Pandora's vast wilds, your cruelty once a shield now a hollow echo of your being.

Hours blurred into an endless trek, the jungle's symphony fading to a distant hum as exhaustion clawed at you. Your feet ached against the uneven terrain, the sway of your hips slowing with each mile. The sun climbed and dipped, painting the undergrowth in shifting patterns, until the rush of water drew you onward.

The river, the same crystalline vein where Neteyam had found you before, time and time again, his persistence a thorn in your side. It curved invitingly, fringed with glowing ferns but solace it offered right now was a lie.

You collapsed onto the mossy bank, knees buckling as the fight drained from you curling into yourself, silent tears carved warm paths down your cheeks. Sobs caught in your throat, muffled against your knees, the isolation crashing over you like the current's foam.

"This is what happens when you try to leave me."

The voice sliced through the quiet, low and resonant, startling you upright. Your head snapping up, braids whipping across your damp face, eyes wide with wary as you scanned the shadows.

There he was, Neteyam, stepping from the treeline in all his imposing glory, the sunlight gilding his azure form. But this was no vulnerable soft version, his face was etched with darkness, his golden eyes hooded and intense, the usual warmth replaced by a predatory gleam as his broad chest rose steadily. The faint scars on his arms standing out as he moved with purpose, his tail flicking like a whip.

"What are you doing here? How did you—?" You stammered, scrambling back on your hands as your palms sinked into the cool mud.

He chuckled, a dark velvety sound that sent chills racing across your skin. He closed the distance with unhurried strides, his long legs eating the ground. Crouching beside you, he invaded your space effortlessly, his heat radiating like a forge. One knee pressing into the earth, forearm resting on his thigh as he leaned in, the sharp cut of his jaw tilting toward you.

"I followed you." He said simply, amusement curling his lips fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to touch you, eyes tracing the tear-streaked glow of your cheeks. "I wasn't asleep when you slipped away."

Confusion swirled with the resolve in your chest. You straightened, forcing firmness into your voice as your chin lifted defiantly, the subtle curve of your neck exposed as you met his gaze, refusing to cower. "Leave me be, Neteyam. This isn't your concern."

He tilted his head, a knowing grin spreading across his features though the shadows in his expression deepened the hollows of his cheeks. "You're mine. Why would I leave you alone? We've danced this evasion too long, it's time you accept it."

A snarl tore from your throat, raw and unrestrained. The culmination of betrayal, exile, and this relentless pursuit bubbling over. Your fangs bared, the muscles of your shoulders coiling as you lunged forward slightly, claws extending in warning. You didn't care anymore about Neytiri's pleas to play along, to shield him from stress or negativity. Your world had shattered and his delusions were the final straw.

"I'm not yours! We aren't mated, none of it was real. You're supposed to be with that woman, Alayni. You hit your head in that fall. It's selective amnesia twisting your memories, making you think we're bonded when we're enemies. Demon blood runs in you and you're tainting everything, leave me alone!"

The words spilled out in a torrent, your chest heaving with the force of them as your breath comes in sharp bursts, the soft peaks of your breasts straining against the fabric as fury flushed your skin a deeper hue.

You expected shock, denial, perhaps anger but he remained calm, face blank as a still pond, absorbing every accusation without a flicker. His arms folding loosely across his torso, the defined ridges of his abdomen shifting subtly with each even inhale.

"Are you done, baby?" He asked softly, the endearment laced with dark affection, voice dipping low, one corner of his mouth quirking as he watched you unravel.

Confusion made your lashes fluttered along with disbelief as you looked at him. "Did you not hear what I said? It's all a lie, your mind's broken!"

"I heard you loud and clear." He replied evenly, unfolding to rise slightly, towering over you even in his crouch as his shadow fall across your form. "You think I'm stupid? That I don't know the truth of it all? I know everything, baby."

Your mind reeled, questions piling like storm clouds as your pulse thundered in your ears, fingers digging into the earth for stability as you searched his face for deceit.

What game was this?

He leaned closer, grin widening with a flash of something primal in his eyes. It was dark and unyielding possession, his pupils dilating as the golden hue sharpened like a predator's stare.

"I do not have selective amnesia." He tapped the side of his head, the words dropping like stones into deep water.

"What?" The syllable escaped as a whisper, shock rooting you in place as your body goes still, the taper of your waist tensing as realization dawned.

"Do you not get it, baby?" His grin softened into something almost tender, hand reaching out to caress your face lovingly. His palm cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the high plane of your cheekbone with feather-light pressure, calluses rough against your silken skin. "It was all a ploy, (Y/N). The confusion, the clinging, the fabricated memories. I orchestrated it to keep you close without resistance from my family, the clan, or even you. I needed you unbound, willing in my arms, away from the barriers who wants to keep us apart."

Shock rippled through you, the extreme lengths he had gone to. For you. This enemy, this forbidden flame, leaving you breathless. Your eyes widening, the vibrant irises reflecting his intensity as your lips parted in stunned silence.

Insanity woven from obsession stared back at you in his gaze.

"You're insane." You breathed, shaking your head in denial trying to twist away, the sleek strands of your braids swaying as your shoulders rolled back, seeking distance from him.

He chuckled again, the sound rich and unrepentant, pulling you flush against him with effortless strength. His arms encircling your waist, his chest a solid wall of warmth pressing into your softer frame, tsking softly as you resisted. "You made me this way."

You pushed against his chest, not with full force but enough to test the boundary, your palms flattening against the firm planes of muscle there, feeling the steady thrum beneath azure skin marked by faint healing scars.

"You're still gonna be mated to Alayni." You insisted, voice edged with defiance lips pressing into a thin line, the subtle quiver of your chin betraying the storm within. "We are not truly mated. She's what your parents want, what the clan demands. This changes nothing."

Neteyam tilted his head, golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that bordered on reverence, but his gaze drifted inexorably downward, fixating on the full curve of your lips. His pupils darkening as he leaned fractionally closer, the sharp line of his nose nearly brushing yours, ignoring your protest like a whisper lost in the wind. He didn't flinch, didn't argue, instead a soft hum escaped him as if your words were mere ripples on the surface of his resolve.

"She won't be." He murmured finally, voice low and threaded with certainty as one of his hand sliding up your back, fingers tracing the delicate ridge of your spine through the thin weave of your top. "Once my parents and the clan know what she did, Alayni will be cast out like the poison she is."

Shock rippled through you anew, widening your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of bluff breath catching, the slope of your shoulders tensing beneath his touch.

"What do you mean?" The question tumbled out, laced with suspicion.

Did he know? Had the threads of deception of that bitch unraveled further than I realized?

A grin split his features, slow and predatory, revealing the gleam of his fangs as amusement danced in his irises, tail curling possessively around your calf.

"I heard every word from your conversation with her earlier." He confessed, the admission rolling off his tongue like a secret long savored. "How she betrayed our clan, orchestrated the attack that brought death and ruin to so many. She sold us out for her own ambitions, your escape included."

The pieces clicked into place, stealing your breath.

When you'd risen that morning, believing him lost to sleep in the cot, he hadn't been. He'd lain still, eyes cracked just enough to watch you slip away, granting you a mere twenty seconds' head start before rising silently. His instincts had guided him through the underbrush, shadows cloaking his pursuit until he caught the murmur of voices.

Yours and Alayni's, sharp with accusation.

He'd lingered at the edge, ears attuned to every damning syllable. Alayni's confession, her gloating over the attack she'd ignited, the way she'd twisted your departure not as rejection of him, but as her calculated strike to claim what she coveted. Rage had simmered in him then but so had resolve, fueling his steps as he trailed you deeper into the wilds.

From there, he'd shadowed you to the Mangkwan borders, concealed among the vines as you faced Varang's cold judgment. Witnessing your banishment, exiled for the mercy you'd shown him had ignited something primal in his chest. His heart had burst with a twisted joy, not from your suffering, but from the irrefutable proof of your bond.

You'd chosen him over blood, over everything. No longer could you deny the pull between you.

He wanted to laugh at how successful his plan had worked.

It all stemmed from that fateful night, long before the ploy took shape. He'd woken in the dim glow of the marui, the haze of injury lifting just enough to catch his parents' hushed voices. Jake's gruff concern, Neytiri's soft recounting of your heroism.

You, the Mangkwan Tsakarem, his enemy, had saved him.

For weeks, his world had been a void, convinced you'd fled because you couldn't bear his touch, his clan's shadow tainting any future with you. But hearing of your sacrifice breathed life back into him, a spark that demanded action.

Right then, amid the quiet vigil of his family, he'd devised the selective amnesia. A performance to bind you to his side without the chains of duty or suspicion snapping shut. When morning came, he'd stirred with feigned confusion, clinging to you as his “mate,” weaving tales of a bond forged in secret. His grin had widened inwardly as belief took root. Lo'ak's wary glances, Jake's reluctant nods, even Alayni's frantic interjections when she knew, it all swallowed the lie whole.

His grandmother’s counsel had sealed it, her wise eyes warning against stress that might fracture his fragile recovery. He knew his parents would honor that, allowing you unrestricted access under the guise of healing him. No forced mating with Alayni, not while he played the vulnerable son. And his mother... she'd softened, her fierce maternal love yielding to the sight of him animated again, how she saw the hollow shell of who he was weeks past was banished by just your presence.

She wanted her son whole and you'd become the key to that illusion.

He intended to exploit every fracture, every concession. You were his obsession, the fire that consumed his thoughts, and he would claim you fully. No matter the cost, the lies, or the darkness it demanded from him.

You breathed out shakily, the weight of his machinations settling over you like a shroud, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm, the soft swell of your form molding against his as resignation flickered in your gaze.

"So you know." You whispered, not a question but an acknowledgment, the fight ebbing from your limbs.

He nuzzled your nose then, an affectionate gesture laced with possession as his breath fanned warm across your skin, the bridge of his nose gliding gently against yours in a promise of intimacy.

"She will pay for taking you from me." He vowed, voice husky with a blend of love and unbridled obsession, eyes half-lidded, the raw edge of his tone vibrating through you.

You heard it all in his voice, the devotion twisted into something fierce and unrelenting, the madness born of longing.

He was the architect of your chaos. The raid's echoes, Alayni's schemes, Varang's blade at your kuru, all traces led back to this pull between you. Yet, against the ache of loss, attraction bloomed unbidden within, a heat coiling low in your belly. Now knowing the depths he'd plumbed, the deceptions, and the risks just to ensnare you... it stirred something reciprocal. His love was a storm, dark and consuming, but genuine in its fervor.

Darkness wasn't alien to you. As Varang's shadow, you'd wielded cruelty like a blade, reveling in its sharp clarity. Your clan, your sister, they were ghosts now, severed by your choices. What remained? Emptiness or the shelter of his embrace? He'd toppled empires of tradition for you and in his arms, you could rebuild from the ruins.

Your gaze lifted, locking onto his with a newfound resolve, lashes fluttering once as you held his stare. Slowly and deliberately, you drew him down as your lips parted to capture his in a kiss. Hesitant at first then deepening with the surrender you'd long resisted.

Surprise flashed in his eyes, a brief widening before satisfaction curved his mouth against yours. Hands tightening on your hips, pulling you flush as he responded with fervor, tongue teasing the seam of your lips in hungry invitation. He kissed you back like a man starved, pouring weeks of pent-up yearning into the press of mouths and the tangle of breaths.

His body ignited, mind flooding with visions of you.

The plush give of your breasts against his chest, the rounded allure of your hips begging for his grasp. He craved to peel away the barriers, to uncover the dusky peaks of your nipples for it to harden under his gaze, to part your thighs and breathe in the musky essence of your arousal, to lap at the slick heat until you shattered in his mouth.

The kiss ignited like dry tinder under a spark, Neteyam's mouth claiming yours with a ferocity that left no room for retreat. His tongue swept in, bold and demanding, curling around yours in a slick dance. You gasped into him, a sound he swallowed by the deepening press of his mouth. Your hands fisting the straps of his woven belt as denial flickered one last time in your chest. But his grip on your waist tightened, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips, pulling you impossibly closer until your curves molded to his unyielding frame.

"Mine." He growled against your lips, voice roughened by weeks of suppressed hunger.

He sucked on your tongue then, drawing it into his mouth with a wet obscene pull. His teeth grazing the sensitive underside, his low moan vibrating through you as saliva pooled and trickled at the corners. It was filthy and possessive, his obsession laid bare in the way he devoured you as if your very essence was the antidote to his torment.

You pulled back fractionally, breath ragged, the arch of your neck exposed as you tilted your head. Strands of dark hair cascading over one shoulder, catching the river's glow in silken waves.

"Neteyam... this is madness." You whispered, voice laced with lingering resistance, lips swollen and glistening from the onslaught of his hungry mouth. "We can't—Alayni, your clan—they'll never accept—"

His laugh was low and predatory, rumbling from deep in his chest as he nuzzled the curve of your jaw. Hot breath fanning your pulse point, fangs scraping lightly in a tease of possession.

"Fuck Alayni. Fuck the clan. You're the only one I see, the only one I crave." He captured your mouth again but this time his hand roamed lower, cupping the rounded swell of your ass through the thin fabric of your loincloth, kneading the flesh firmly eliciting an involuntary arch of your back. "Look at you. Soft, perfect, made for me. I've dreamed of this body every night, wanted to touch myself to the thought of burying myself inside you. Give in to me, baby. Surrender to what we both want."

His words coiled around you like vines, a manipulative silk weaving through your doubts. You were no innocent. Cruelty had been your armor but here, stripped by his gaze, vulnerability cracked through. And the heat building between your thighs betrayed you, a slick ache that made your denial ring hollow.

"I... I shouldn't." You murmured, even as your fingers traced the ridges of his abdomen, your nails dragging lightly, feeling the taut flex of muscle.

"But you will." He coaxed, voice dropping to a husky whisper as lips brushed your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine. "Because you feel it too, this pull, this need. Let me show you how good it can be. Just say yes and I'll make you forget everything else."

His free hand slipped under your top, callused palm gliding up your ribcage to cup one breast, his thumb circling the peak through the fabric drawing a sharp inhale from you as it pebbled under his touch.

Your resistance crumbled under the weight of his desire. You nodded, a small surrender, and he wasted no time. With deft fingers, he untied your top, letting it fall away to reveal the soft perky mounds of your breasts, nipples dusky and erect in the cool air.

Neteyam's breath hitched, eyes widening with reverent hunger as he stared with pupils dilating, a low groan escaping as he traced the curve with his gaze, committing every detail to memory.

"Eywa... so beautiful." He breathed, voice thick with awe leaning down to capture one peak in his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud while his hand kneaded the other.

Pleasure shot through you like lightning, your head falling back and throat bared, a soft whimper slipping free as your fingers threaded into his braids. He lavished attention on your chest, alternating between sucks and gentle bites leaving faint red marks that bloomed like petals on your azure skin, his obsession evident in the way he murmured praises against your flesh.

"These tits... fuck, I've wanted to taste them since the first time I saw you. So full, so responsive. Want to watch how they bounce for me."

Your body responded traitorously, hips grinding against his thigh as arousal soaked through your coverings. He sensed it, a wicked grin curving his lips as he pulled back eyes dark with intent, trailing kisses down your sternum.

"Eager already? Let me see all of you." His hands worked at your loincloth, peeling it away to expose your core as your thighs parted instinctively, the cool air kissing your heated folds.

For the first time, he beheld your pussy. It was swollen, glistening with need, the musky scent rising like an intoxicating fog.

Neteyam inhaled deeply, nose brushing the softness of your inner thigh, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss, a shudder rippling through his broad shoulders. "Oh fuck, your scent."

He buried his face closer, tongue darting out to lap at the juices trailing down your thighs, savoring the tangy essence with a filthy groan.

You cried out, legs trembling as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, the flat of his tongue pressing firm, coaxing more of your arousal to drip in his awaiting mouth. "Neteyam—ah!"

The sensation was overwhelming, his mouth relentless in sucking your folds, circling the bundle of nerves with expert flicks. His fingers parting you wider, exposing every inch to his voracious hunger. Your juices leaked freely now, coating his chin as he feasted, the lewd sounds of his slurps and your moans filling the air.

"Taste so fucking good." He rasped between laps, voice muffled against your heat, one hand pinning your hip while the other teased your entrance. "Dripping for me, aren't you? This pretty little cunt leaking like it knows it's about to be claimed."

He spat then, a deliberate dollop of saliva landing on your frothing core as he watched it mix with your slick before diving back in, tongue plunging deep to gather every drop.

Ecstasy built swiftly, your walls clenching around nothing, but he pulled away just as you teetered on the edge lips shiny, eyes gleaming with dark promise. "Not yet. I want to feel you come around my cock first."

Rising to his knees, he shed his own coverings, revealing his massive length. The flared head already beading with precum standing proud against his abdomen, the sheer size making your eyes widen in a mix of awe and apprehension.

You reached out tentatively, fingers wrapping around the girth barely encircling it, feeling the velvet heat pulse under your touch.

"It's... huge." You breathed stroking experimentally, thumb swiping over the tip drawing a hiss from him.

"All for you." He panted guiding your hand, hips bucking into your fist as he watched your face. "Gonna stretch you so good, fill you up until you're ruined for anyone else."

He positioned himself between your thighs, rubbing the head along your slit, coating himself in your combined wetness, teasing your swollen clit with each pass.

"Wait—Neteyam, we can't... not fully." You protested weakly, even as your body arched toward him in anticipation.

"We can and we will." He murmured manipulatively, nipping your lower lip as his eyes locked on yours with hypnotic intensity. "Just the tip first then the rest of my cock, baby. Let me in, surrender this much and I'll make it worth it."

He pressed forward slowly, the broad head breaching you and stretching your walls with a burn that bordered on pain before morphing into exquisite fullness. You moaned, nails raking down his back leaving red trails that made him growl in approval.

"Too much... oh." You gasped but your legs wrapped around his waist urging him deeper.

"That's it baby, take me." He cooed inching further, watching your face contort in pleasure, his own features twisting with restraint. Once fully sheathed, he paused letting you adjust to the bulge forming low in your belly, his hand pressing against it feeling himself inside you. "Look at that, my cock making a home in your tummy. You're made for breeding, aren't you?"

You mewled at his words and he began to move then, slow thrusts that built to a punishing rhythm with his hips snapping in lewd slaps, the riverbank echoing the sound. Love bites peppered your neck and shoulders, his teeth sinking in just enough to mark, scratches from your nails mirroring on his skin, a canvas of mutual claim.

"Fuck, you feel so good. Gripping me like you never want to let go." His words were shameless as raw sweat beading on his temple.

Pleasure mounted coiling tight until you shattered as your walls convulsed around him, a cry tearing from your throat and body arching off the ground, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

He didn't stop, chasing his own release with frantic drives. "Coming inside you. Gonna flood this pussy, make it mine."

He spilled, hot ropes of cum painting your depths, sloshing audibly with his final thrusts, the excess leaking out around his base obscenely.

But one round wasn't enough.

He flipped you onto your hands and knees, re-entering with a single brutal stroke, hand fisting your hair gently, arching your back as he pounded deeper.

"Again. Need to feel you milk me dry." He demanded, spitting into your open mouth this time, watching you swallow with a filthy grin.

The second climax hit you harder, mind fogging as he filled you anew, your tummy bulging visibly now, a lewd testament to his claim. By the third round, you were fucked dumb. Limbs heavy, moans incoherent with eyes glazed, body limp as he rutted into you from behind, one hand rubbing delicious circles on your clit.

"So good for me. Dumb on my cock, just how I like you." He praised, nipping your ear, his free hand roaming to squeeze your breast and pinched your nipple.

In your haze, he moved with purpose. Gathering your kuru, he connected it swiftly with his own. Tsaheylu forming in a surge of connection that bound your souls, the bond electric, amplifying every sensation as he thrust through your overstimulation. You felt the gravity of his love and obsession with you. How he wanted to etch himself into your being until he’s all you’ll ever know. How he was ready to defy everyone and leave his clan just to be with you. How he wanted to fill your pussy over and over again until you give him a big family. He burns for you and he will burn for you if he must.

You whimpered realizing too late but the pleasure drowned the protests bubbling up in you.

"Now it's real." He whispered triumphantly, voice laced with obsession and his eyes wild as the bond deepened. "Mated for life, no escaping me anymore. I'll take you home and no one can touch what's mine."

"Neteyam, what have you—" You slurred but he silenced you with a deep kiss, tongues tangling as he drove toward another peak.

"I'll make you a mama." He vowed between thrusts, manipulative edge sharpening his tone as his hand splayed over your lower belly pressing the bulge. "Keep getting you pregnant every damn time. Swelling with my seed so everyone knows who you belong to. Your sister, Alayni, the whole damn clan, they'll see you're mine forever. You just have to give in fully baby, surrender yourself to me."

The words, the bond, the relentless pleasure, it broke you.

Or perhaps remade you.

As he came again, cum sloshing deep and overflowing in thick rivulets down your thighs, you clung to him, your denial shattered. You were mated truly now and escape was a faded dream. In his arms, you found a twisted peace. His darkness mirroring your own, binding you to him.

Your body trembled in the aftermath, every nerve alight with the echoes of ecstasy and the profound weight of the bond now thrumming between you. Neteyam's cock remained buried deep in your walls, a deliberate barrier sealing his cum within your tender overworked folds. The raw heat of your core clenching sporadically around him, holding back the warm flood that threatened to spill. A soft whimper escaped your lips as overstimulation lingered like a sweet ache.

"Shh, baby." He murmured soothingly, his voice a low rumble against your ear as one large hand stroking the sweat-damp curve of your spine. "You did so good. So perfect for me."

His tone wrapped around you like a cocoon, possessive yet tender, the darkness in his eyes softened by satiated affection for you.

Your vision swam in a haze of bliss, eyelids heavy as you gazed up at him with your lashes fluttering, the lines of your face flushed with exertion, a faint sheen of perspiration highlighting the subtle glow of your skin.

"Neteyam—" You breathed, the word half-protest, half-plea, your voice husky from cries long silenced by his kisses.

He grinned then, a slow, predatory curve of his lips as he drank in the sight of you.

Naked and utterly claimed, scattered love bites blooming like violet bruises along your collarbone and the swell of your breasts, faint red welts from his nails marking your hips where he'd gripped too fiercely in the throes. Your beauty struck him anew, wild and unmarred by the world's judgments, every curve and stripes a testament to the obsession that had driven him to this.

Leaning down, he captured one dusky nipple between his lips again, suckling with gentle insistence as his tongue flicked the sensitive tip drawing a fresh gasp from you as sparks reignited low in your belly. He released it with a soft pop, only to claim your mouth in a lingering kiss. Lips molding to yours, the taste of shared passion still lingering on his tongue, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

Without withdrawing, he shifted, strong arms banding around your waist to pull you upright with him. His cock still lodged deliciously inside, shifted angles that sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, your walls fluttering in response. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle there, the stripes on his arms pulsing faintly in the dim light, a mirror to the bond's electric hum.

He stepped into the shallow river, the cool water lapping at your joined forms as he waded deeper. Cradling you against his chest, the current swirling around your thighs and teasing the sensitive juncture where you remained connected. Droplets clung to his broad shoulders, tracing rivulets down the defined planes of his torso as he began to wash you both. His free hand dipping into the stream to cup water over your marked skin, gentle swipes cleansing the evidence of your frenzy, though his eyes never left yours, still dark with lingering hunger.

All the while, he stole nasty smooches from your lips. Quick heated presses that deepened into tongue-tangling explorations as his fangs grazed your lower lip, a low hum of approval vibrating from his throat each time you yielded to his advances.

"My mate is so fucking pretty." He growled between kisses, voice thick with raw adoration as his gaze raked over you, from the tousled waves framing your face to the subtle sway of your hips in the water. "All full of my cum and marked. Look at you baby, mine in every way now."

You felt him stirring within you, thickening once more as arousal rebuilt. The lazy twitch of his hips pressing him deeper, sloshing the trapped seed inside you with obscene wet sounds that made your cheeks burn. A groan built in your throat, the sensation both soothing and igniting, your body betraying any semblance of fatigue.

"Do you not get tired?" You groaned, the words tumbling out as he mouthed at your nipple again, his teeth nipping the pebbled flesh, his hot breath fanning across your chest while the water buoyed your weight.

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations straight to your core as he lifted his head to meet your eyes, his own gleaming with unquenchable fire. "I'd fuck your pussy every day and still complain it's not enough."

The shameless declaration hung in the air, filthy and fervent, his hand sliding down to cup your ass, urging a subtle grind.

Your cunt pulsed at his words, a fresh wave of slick easing the way as desire coiled anew. Your inner muscles squeezing his cock involuntarily drawing a hiss from his parted lips. He responded in kind, fucking up into you with languid thrusts. Each roll of his hips deliberate, the friction building as your clit ground against the coarse texture at his pelvis, sparks blooming in your pussy with every press.

"You're so beautiful, baby." He whispered reverently, voice laced with awe, his free hand cradling the nape of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw as he held your gaze.

The water splashed softly around you, a rhythmic counterpoint to the deepening cadence of his movements.

Capturing your mouth once more, he parted your lips with his tongue, only to pull back slightly. Spitting a deliberate saliva into your open mouth, watching with hooded eyes as you swallowed, the act intimate and depraved. Then he dove in, sucking on your tongue with voracious pulls. Teeth grazing, saliva mingling in a messy heated exchange that left you breathless.

The pace quickened, his thrusts growing firmer despite the lazy intent. Your bodies rocking in the current, the bond amplifying every sensation until pleasure crested like a wave. You came first, a muffled cry against his lips as your walls clamped down. Stars fracturing your vision, limbs tightening around him in shuddering release. He followed moments later, spilling anew with a guttural moan. Hot pulses joining the existing warmth, the fullness overwhelming as it sloshed within you.

This time, he withdrew gently, the sudden emptiness making you whine softly. A trickle of his cum escaping to mingle with the river's flow. He cleaned you up for real then, thorough and attentive, rinsing away the remnants with cupped handfuls of water. Fingers careful over your sensitive skin, tracing the insides of your thighs before helping you into fresh coverings from his nearby pouch. He dressed himself swiftly, the woven fabric hugging his powerful frame, his kuru draped over one shoulder still tingling from the bond with you.

Scooping you into his arms, he cradled you bridal-style against his chest. Your head nestling into the crook of his neck, the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulling you. You snuggled closer instinctively, limbs heavy with exhaustion, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours like a balm.

He grinned down at you, that obsessive light in his eyes undimmed as his fangs peeked through before he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Go to sleep, baby." He coaxed softly, voice a gentle command as one hand rubbed soothing circles on your back while he began the trek back towards his clan. "When you wake up, we'll be back in our marui as mates. Nobody can set us apart now."

Your eyes fluttered closed, the fight drained from you entirely. A quiet warmth blooming in your chest at the depth of his love, twisted as it was, mirroring the shadows in your own heart.

"You're still a disgusting demon to me." You mumbled, the words laced with weary affection rather than true venom you used to hurl at him.

He chuckled, the sound rich and fond echoing softly in the night, adjusting his hold to keep you secure as your breathing evened out. "And you're still beautiful to me."

As sleep claimed you fully, the world faded to the rhythm of his steps, the bond a unbreakable tether pulling you into his darkness.

His smile turned into a dark smirk as he continued to walk with you in his arms. He wasn't done yet. His plan still yet to unfold. He wasn't gonna rest until he's sure nobody will be an obstacle and he sure knows who to start with first.

Alayni will be an example of how far I'm willing to go for you, baby.

He laughed to himself as he realized, he really was obsessed with you.

next part

[hanginginthevoid]

ketstun -> sang

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 Neteyam x Reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 instead of heading to the reef clans, jake sully takes his family to search for the herwìslär clan, the snow people. despite her cold demeanor that rivals that of the weather outside, neteyam cannot help himself upon falling for the olo'eyktans daughter. only you seem to not want him, and he cannot understand why.

ᶜʷ cannon divergence, rude(?) reader, yearning, my baby lo’ak being an ass for a minute, sharing a bed(kinda), ‘i dont want ninat’ vibes, reader and neteyam are lowk jake and neytiri 2.0, misunderstandings, tshaeylu, suggestive content, angst?(happy ending), a child

ʷᶜ 12.6k

A fresh hunt meant there was much to do.

Every part of a kill was to be used. It could be detrimental to the people if even a single part was discarded. In the harsh conditions of the frozen taiga you called home, every part of a kill must be used.

You were stood over a square frame, currently tying a fresh pelt onto it. After tightening each side multiple times to ensure that the pelt was pulled to its max, you began shaving away at the various layers of fat.

Proper technique must be used when shaving the fat away. If you angle the knife improperly you may tear through the pelt, rendering it useless. Yet the motions are calming to you, it being something you’ve done for many years.

Various other clan women are also completing the same tasks, idle chatter falling around you. Many are pleased with the result of this hunt, some gloat over the kills their mates or children have made, a few congratulate you on the kills you made today as well. 

The corners of your lips tilt upwards, a pleased grin settling on your cheeks. As the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik’s oldest child duty settled heavy on your shoulders. A good hunt today meant that the clan would be happy for at least a week, which meant that your parents would be happy for the week, so you could also be happy for the week. 

“I heard you killed the largest her’ang today,” Posma whispered next to you. Your ear flicks, as the words take form in your head.

She was correct to hear that you had killed the biggest her’ang, but you did not say that to anyone. You would never boast about such a thing. 

“Who said that?” Your hand pauses in its motion as you turn your head, refusing to slice without eyes on your target.

Posma giggles at you, she is one of your oldest friends, the two of you being together since you could only toddle along the furs. “It does not matter. You should be proud.”

“Being proud is not becoming.” 

“It’s not unbecoming!”

You huff, “There is a fine line between being proud and being pompous. Most toe the line, I do not desire to do such a thing.”

You turn your head back towards your work. Shearing the last few pieces of fat from the pelt you sheath your knife. Due to its curved shape you must tie it before you can move onto your next task.

As you’re scooping your curved fingers into a jar filled with salt Posma continues, “You would not. It would not deter anyone if you were to take some satisfaction in your accomplishments.”

“Focus on your duties Posma.” You flick your tail in her direction, trying to shoo her away, “We can participate in such discussions later.”

Your fingers splay the salt in a decently thick coating across the pelt. It must be enough to thoroughly dry the pelt, but it cannot be too much where the pelt cannot breathe. A final glance across the entire pelt leaves you with the conclusion that you can leave it for the night and check upon it again tomorrow.

You turn to leave, wanting to know how the rest of the preparations of the kills are going. But you make sure to call out to Posma one more time before you leave, “You will sit next to me tonight?” 

Her cheery reply follows less than a second later, “Always!” 

Hometree and most of the clan's establishments resided underground, deeply embedded into the ground. It was much warmer there than temperatures outside, but furs and pelts were still required if you desired to be a comfortable temperature while walking around. 

You move towards the outer areas of the village, wanting to see if every kill has been brought in yet. However on your way there a shot of your name makes you still in your path.

It is Huamtey who calls you. One of the clan warriors, one that you were out hunting with just earlier today. “You must come, I cannot find the Olo’eyktan.”

“My father is missing?”

“You misunderstand, I believe he is tied up with other duties and I cannot find him.” Huamtey grimaces a little, nervous of your reaction to his miscommunication, “The sentries said they are hearing foreign wails, I was hoping the Olo’eyktan would lead the search.”

“But I am the next best thing?”

“You are mighty. We would be honored if you guided us.”

A smile graces your lips as you nod. Whatever beast resided outside the village gates, you and this search party would slay it. Whatever it was would not harm your people. 

As you emerge from the gates, you raise your hand in greeting to the sentries. Then you lay your eyes upon the group. It is small, only eight of them, but it would do. You had killed big predators with less people.

A deep call resonates in your throat, but your lips stay sealed. You repeat the call a few times, urging your mount to approach. In the distance you can see shifting between the trees, your legs carry you forward to meet it halfway. As you approach your herwanpalu a rough, loud rumbling emerges from deep in his chest. 

He is happy to see you so soon. Your hand reaches out to scratch along his forehead eventually falling behind one of his ears. You saddle him, tightening the straps before turning back towards the group. “Let us go, it will be dark soon.”

It is hard to miss the yowls of the unknown creatures. They are sharp, and loud – one might assume that they were calling out, searching for something. But that would be a naive thought, there were only predators and prey in this taiga, and this thing would become prey whether it wanted to or not. 

The calls lead the nine of you to the tundra. No trees reside here making it risky hunting grounds. But if the beast wanted to fight here, who were you to deny it? 

You first scan the ground, searching for some large disfigured creature to be staring back at you. You find none, instead you see five shadows seemingly circling around. When you look up you see bright and deeply shaded creatures. 

Ones that you’ve never seen before. They’re colors you’re familiar with, seeing them in the summer months, but they definitely do not belong here in winter. You start making motions with your hands, dividing and directing the group so you could circle them.

The members are to find a good angle, one that they can get a presumed clean kill shot from. On your mark they will take it, if you’re lucky all five will go down at once. An immaculate feat, one you would shortly be discussing over fresh meat at the cookfire.

The white of the pelts blends nicely with the herwanpalu furs, and their furs blend almost seamlessly with the snow. The flying creatures shouldn’t be able to see any danger until it is too late. 

You raise your bow, aiming for the chest cavity of the beast. You can hear a hunting call come from your right, another from your left – it was time to strike. When your arrow sailed, theirs would fly too.

But then you falter. There is something atop the creature. Could it be mangkwan? No. They never ventured to these parts, it being far too cold for their hot nature. 

“Hold!” You hiss, just loud enough for the group to hear. “Hold position, do not reveal yourselves. I will make contact.”

You dismount your herwanpalu, slinging your bow back over your shoulder and flipping your hood down. You shout, “If you wish to live, land your beast and surrender!” 

The call triggers a response. At first the beasts begin banking tightly left and right, granting their riders better visibility to the land below. And then they descend and land.

You allow them to clamber off of their mounts, to come to stand before you before questioning, “Who are you?” 

“We seek uturu.”

“Who are you to seek uturu?”

“I am Jake Sully, my mate Neytiri, and our children. You’re from the Herwìslär clan right?” His hands are upturned trying to seem like he is not a threat. You step to the side, eyeing his family. They looked to be cold, slightly huddled together, their animal hide cloaks doing nothing to shield them from the freezing tundra temperatures. 

You’re skeptical. They may be trying to cause chaos, to destroy the clan from the inside out. The doubt flows entirely through your body, your tail lashing, ears pressed tightly to your skull. It triggers Neytiri to speak.

“My husband was Toruk Makto. He brought the clans together against the sky people.”

Toruk Makto? This man was Toruk Makto? That was not a name to be taken lightly, the stories of a great flying beast, the scariest thing in the sky; and the very few Na’vi who were able to tame it were named Toruk Makto.

If these Na’vi were any bit honorable they would not throw the title around. You could indulge them at the very least, bring them in and if they misbehaved take them as prisoners. 

“Reveal yourselves!” Your voice booms out across the tundra. Jake Sully and his family flinch, surprised at the sudden burst of energy. Their heads whipping around at the sudden movement of the warriors around you.

Then you point, “You will follow me. And they,” Your hand changes direction towards the warriors, “Will follow you. Come.”

As you direct them back towards the village you can only imagine what your father will think. If he will believe that you made the right choice, or if he will be disappointed that you risked the safety of the clan. 

You motion the sentries to open the gate, allowing you entrance to the village. One of the warriors runs ahead to go retrieve your father. You continue to bring the Sullys forwards, deeper into the village.

“Where are we going?” 

It is Jake who speaks up. Apparently the only one with a voice in his family. You spare him a glance, seeing the apprehension clear on his face.

“To see the Olo’eyktan. He will decide your fate.”

That seems to settle him. Neytiri begins whispering something, keeping it low enough that even just a few feet away you cannot hear them chatter. It did not matter though, your father approached and their fates would soon be sealed.

Your father stands strong. If his furs did not differentiate him from the rest of the clan, then surely the necklace and beaded covering that rested on top of them would. The deep black tattoos in distinctive lines decorated his face more than others. 

But if none of that directed the Sully's to who this was, then his presence must have. It commanded attention more so than others, leaving you nowhere else to look.  

You take the last few steps to him as he opens his mouth to speak, “What is this?”

“They seek uturu. Apparently the father is Toruk Makto.” You meet his eyes briefly, before walking past him and turning to stand slightly behind him.

“Toruk Makto seeks uturu with us? The Herwìslär people?”

Jake nods “Yes. We will learn your ways, be helpful, right?” He turns, nodding to his family, encouraging them to agree with his statements.

“It will be tough, difficult to teach who has already been taught.”

“We can learn. We can adapt. We will adapt.”

“Then it is decided.” Your father steps forwards, reaching his arm out in the traditional Na’vi binding contract, “Toruk Makto and his family will receive uturu with us! Teach them our ways, and treat them as our own!”

As Jake wraps his hand around your fathers forearm, your father continues his brief speech, “You may learn with me, your mate with mine. My daughter will teach your children the ways. Nume nìwin.”

As they separate you rush to your fathers side. “Father. They are dark, they will easily attract attention when hunting.”

“Then you will give them extra pelts to cover.” He dismisses you easily, readily moving direct people to either help the Sullys to a kelku, or return to their prior duties. 

“But look at their tails! They will freeze off when the winter gets harsher.”

“Pelts, again daughter.”

“And their eyes! The brightness will make it difficult to see when they leave the village!”

“You are to teach them our ways.” He turns, locking you in place with a pointed stare, “Do not make me repeat myself, and do not give more excuses as to how useless they will be without seeing their capabilities.”

You tuck into yourself. Abashed at being reprimanded and dismissed out in public, you turn back to the Sullys, “Come I will bring you to your kelku, so you may drop off your things. Then we will go get pelts so you do not freeze to death.”

Looks like you would not be sitting with Posma at the cookfire.

“Not like that.” You tug Neteyams hands away from the pelt and fur he is stitching together. You begin unstitching the progress he has made.

Neteyam is watching your movements carefully, “What was I doing wrong?”

His voice is curious – a genuineness to it that makes you want to believe that he truly wants to make it better.

“Your stitch would allow air to slip between the pelt and the fur. It would not insulate properly.” You take the needle crafted of bone from his hand and begin to stitch slowly, “When you stitch like this it traps the heat, pushing it back onto your body instead of allowing it to escape.”

You hand the coat back to Neteyam first, then the needle. He nods at you before beginning to stitch the same way you showed him. When you are content with how he is working you spare a glance at the rest of the group.  

Posma and Tempat have joined you in your duties. They seem to be working well with the remaining Sully kids. Posma guiding Kiri and Tuk, while Tempat is stuck with Lo'ak.

Fur binding is one of the most essential skills that a Herwìslär member must know. It is something that you learn as a child. As if you were to get lost or stranded and cannot craft a proper coat you will freeze to death. 

You wish you were hunting today. Or drying pelts. Even foraging would be more preferable. You truly wish you were doing anything else besides teaching remedial skills to mostly grown Na'vi.

Before your mind can drift Neteyam calls you softly, when you turn your head he hands over the coat again. “Did I do it properly?”

You turn it over in your palms. Visually the stitches seem good, like they will hold. Then you begin tugging roughly around the seams. If the stitching was bad, they would burst from your onslaught. 

However, they don’t. You smile a little when you hand Neteyam his coat again, “It will hold. Good work.”

He smiles at that. Proud at being able to adapt like his father said, to make something of his own in a new clan, and maybe just a little bit at your smile. He has not seen you smile often since his family has arrived, and for him to be the cause of your baby blue cheeks raising to make space for the upturn of your lips makes satisfaction settle warm in his chest.

Lo’ak’s whine drags your attention away, “When are we gonna ride a mount?”

“Soon.”

“When is soon? We have been cooped up in here for days now.” 

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam smacks the back of his head, “Apologize.”

Before Lo’ak can open his mouth again, you laugh a little. You suppose they must be feeling like caged animals, not seeing the true sky for many nights as the pelts they received on the first night were not well fitted for taiga exploration. 

And you were just thinking about wanting to be anywhere but here. Itching to go outside and to have the fresh frozen air sting your lungs. 

“Come, we can attempt to ride with your new furs.”

Lo’ak is smiling, but then he realizes you did not promise a ride. “Attempt?”

“Yes. Herwanpalu do not allow just anyone to ride.” 

“So they are like ikran, one rider for one mount.”

Posma speaks then, “Not particularly! Some herwanpalu are more friendly, and they allow multiple riders. Others are possessive, even going to great lengths to prevent their riders from mounting another.”

Her light, happy tone helps settle the Sully children a little bit. If she mentioned it, that must mean that there are plenty of herwanpalu willing to allow them to ride. 

As your small group emerges out of the gate and into the taiga in front of you, you begin grunting. The sound comes from the back of your throat, with your lips closed. Posma and Tempat follow you, making their own sounds.

“Each herwanpalu comes at a specific call.” You turn to face the Sullys as you explain, “We teach them their calls as cubs, when they are most impressionable. Some will answer when any use their call, others may refuse as Posma said.”

Your mount approaches. He circles you while purring, before turning to sniff at the air where the Sullys stand. Now that he has come, you begin a new call, urging another friendlier mount to come.

“This is Wi’tsin.” You pet his head lovingly as Tuk approaches, “He and I have been together many years. He is one of the more possessive mounts that Posma had mentioned.”

While he may have been possessive, Wi’tsin would not hurt anyone you showed favor to. He allows the Sullys to pet him, to feel the difference of his furs. 

Tuk hasn’t taken her hands off him, she seems to be enamoured with the softness of him, “Can I ride him?” 

“You may join me if your siblings allow it.”

She whips around facing Neteyam with a dragged out pleaseeee. You can see the fondness in his eyes even though his expression remains contemplative. But then he nods, “I suppose she is more experienced and it would be a better ride.” 

He was right, it would be a better ride with you. No tumbling, or fighting for control. She would have a good time. So after you get everyone else settled, get them saddled up and positioned correctly on the mounts you tug Tuk up onto Wi’tsin.

“We will head to the lake, then return.” You motion your mount to move through the bond, “It is a simple ride, the perfect opportunity to learn the mounts.”

While the herwanpalu were not difficult mounts to ride, it was still new to the Sullys. They would need to learn the breathing patterns of the beasts. Need to learn how their paws felt pressing into the snow. How their ears were attuned to even the smallest critters, and their tails swished to allow them quick turns. 

The first bit of the trek, you direct them to walk. To zig and zag through the trees, to feel the curve of the herwanpalu’s spine. To understand how swiftly they can move. 

It goes about as well as you would assume. Lo’ak falls off on his first turn, telling the herwanpalu to move faster than you had told him to. He was unused to how to move his body in turn with the mounts, so when she dove to avoid a tree he flew off her back.

You show them that the mounts may also be used for climbing, demonstrating with Tuk and yourself upon a tree. It is then that Kiri falls off. On her recount she ‘misjudged how rough her mount would slam onto the tree’ and then the story shortly changed to being shocked at the feeling of the bark underneath the mount's claws course through her fingers. 

By the time you make it to the lake the only one to not make a fool of themselves and take a tumble in the fresh snowfall is Neteyam. He took every motion with stride, moved with the mount as if they were one. He curved his spine on the sharp turns, and pressed himself into the furs and saddle while climbing up the trees. 

“This is the grand lake. It thaws in the warmer months, allowing for free fishing and swimming.” As you monologue, you begin to walk out towards the center of the lake, “Most of it freezes during the winter, but we carve into the ice to allow for fishing. Would you like to try?”

“We know how to fish, zusawkrr olo’eyk

te.” Lo’ak laughs as if it is childish to assume they don’t know how to fish.

That they don’t know how to carve the ice. That they don’t know they must tie some twine to the end of their arrows. That they don’t know how important it is to angle properly, and strike as soon as they see their target.

So instead of helping them, you decide to let them figure it out themselves. Striding back over to Wi’tsin, you dig into a woven bag attached to his saddle. You place the serrated crystal knife into Lo’ak’s hand and gesture towards the ice at his feet, “Show me.”

It does not go well. 

Lo’ak doesn’t carve deep enough the first time, so Tempat takes the knife and shows him how to properly carve into the ice. 

You have to admit that he does take a good shot. His arrow is aimed well, sinking directly into his kill. But without any twine, there is no way to drag it back to the surface. 

Lo’ak has been teasing you since the Sullys arrived. Trying to poke the right buttons. Attempting to break your composure. You assume comedy is his comfort, so it does not offend you.

But it does little to soften you to the Sullys. Still not believing they could be useful, that they could fully acclimate to your people. 

Their ability to ride the herwanpalu does little to change your mind. If they wanted to survive here, they would have to learn this mount at the minimum. 

Nonetheless you are pleased with their progress towards becoming competent. 

Pleased that you are one step closer to not having to see them unless you desired.

It’s late, the cookfire nearly being diminished to embers.

A few weeks have passed since you taught him and his siblings how to ride their first Herwìslär mount. The rest of their lessons have been going smoothly since.

You had just allowed Neteyam and Lo’ak to join on their first group hunt. Tonight's dinner being partially the fruits of their labor. So when Neteyam approaches you, you decide to grant him a small smile. 

He tries to smile back, it looks more like a grimace however, with how his eyebrows are pinched and his eyes are lost in thought. “You know I was a warrior with the Omatikaya.”

You nod, well aware of his past.

“I wish to become a warrior here too.”

It was not an outlandish thing to ask. He wanted responsibility, to prove himself in the clan. But it was risky; the Herwìslär final rite of passage being taming their own flying mount. You assume it also has something to do with how his mother and fathers txawuks have recently matured. 

You must tame it while it is a juvenile, making the bond when it is still young. They are ridable from the time of taming, but it still takes a few months for them to reach full size.

It is of utmost importance to avoid the mother. Many Na’vi have passed from the trial; dying from the fall, succumbing to their injuries, or never returning after interacting with the mother.

“You are not ready. The txawuk are not forgiving.”

He shuffles into a seat next to you, “Ikran try to kill us as well. It is how we know we picked the proper mount, as they must also pick us.”

You run your tongue across your bottom teeth. Shaking your head lightly as you weigh your choices, as you debate Neteyam’s odds.

He speaks again when you don’t respond, “I am strong. You have seen me hunt, I am reliable. I can do this.”

“I cannot save you if something goes wrong.” You side eye him, “If you slip, if you are bitten, if you do not seal the bond, I cannot interfere.”

“I will not fail. My fingers will not lose their grip, and my reflexes will not slow.”

You click your tongue in annoyance. Neteyam was not giving this up, you would grant him his request if he completed a final test.

“You will hunt a her’ang tomorrow, without assistance.” You turn to face him, greyed out green eyes staring into his amber ones, “If you complete the test I will grant your request to complete your final rite and be welcomed into the arms of the people as one of us.”

Neteyam smiles then, it’s more boyish than you’ve seen him smile. A warmth blooms in your chest as you admire him, finally beginning to see him as one of the people. To allow yourself to view all possibilities of him.

“I will not fail.” Neteyam reiterates. Overjoyed that he’s so close to getting his wish granted. 

You send him off to sleep then, informing him that it would be a long and tiring hunt and he needed his energy. You follow shortly after retiring to your own kelku. 

In the morning you inform your father that you will be gone on a hunt. He reminds you that the winds shifted yesterday, that the skies in the distance looked to be gray with snowfall.

But you brush him off. You’ve hunted in storms before, been stuck out in the wilderness in even the harshest of winds and temperatures. And if Neteyam wanted to become a warrior in the eyes of your people, he would have to prove himself in all conditions.

So the two of you head out, dressed in the warmest furs, quivers full where they are attached to your herwanpalu’s, spare paint hanging from your tewng in case yours came off in the snowfall. The snow is light at the start of your hunt, coming down fast but not enough to obscure your vision.

You are only there to observe, to step in if everything goes terribly wrong. Neteyam leads, tracking the her’ang up a mountain. The tracking gets difficult then, old prints getting frosted over in new snowfall.

Maybe you underestimated the snow. It was falling heavier than you thought it would, and Neteyam was too stubborn to make camp earlier in the night when there was still light to aid you. 

So you call out to him, hoping it reaches his ears despite the howling winds, “Neteyam!”

He turns to face you, his hood resting heavy over his forehead. He waits for you to reach him, “What is it?”

“We must find shelter.” 

“But we are so close!” 

Neteyam was always the responsible one of his siblings. Always the one to pull back before things could escalate so it made no sense why he would be so set on staying out in these harsh conditions.

“I know you cannot feel your toes! And that your fingers feel as if they will fall off even when tucked into your furs!” You’re peering at him through snow-crusted lashes, “There is a cave, in that part of the mountainside! I have rested there before, come!”

You don’t allow him to protest, directing Wi’tsin towards the cave. The two of you needed to get out of the snow as soon as possible. Needed to start a fire, and regain circulation in your phalanges before you lost them. 

When you get to the deepest part of the cave Neteyam speaks up again. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have forced us to go deeper.”

“Do not apologize.” You begin sparking stones together to start a fire, “Eagerness is nothing to be ashamed of.”

The two of you do not speak much. Neteyam thinking about how difficult it would be to find the her’ang in the morning, how if it continued moving in the storm he would never see it again. You debating how long it would be before you could return home. 

As the night goes on the snow does not relent. It filters into the cave, resting softly in the mouth waiting to dissolve in the morning.

The chill in the air sends shivers up your spine. Even though you have experienced many overnight hunts, on most of them you had properly insulated shelters. If you did not, you at least did not have the snow blowing at you. 

The furs and the fire do nothing to quell the nip in the air. Nothing to soothe the ache in your chest from inhaling the frozen air. You shift, unfurling from the ball you curled yourself into before peering at where Wi’tsin is. 

Maybe you could curl up with him, allowing his furs to warm you along with your own. But you cannot bring yourself to call to him, he is huddled closely with Neteyam’s herwanpalu. The two of them sharing body heat to fight off the cold.

You suppose it was a good idea. That it could be a useful tool, especially if Eywa's creation was also partaking. So you call softly to Neteyam.

If he was asleep you did not wish to wake him, but you knew his sharp ears would pick up on your voice if he was still awake. 

It takes a few moments, but he slowly shifts to face you. “What is it? Are you alright?” 

“Are you cold?”

He laughs at the stupidity of your question, the breaths he heave fog up in front of you, “Yes. I am cold.”

“Would you like to…” Oh Eywa this was embarrassing. “Would you like to share body heat?”

“What?” Neteyam's disbelieved tone comes softly across the fire, the crackling nearly covering it completely. 

“We can rest on your fur, or mine, and rest the other above us so that we can trap all the heat together.”

He nods, “All right.” 

You shuffle over quickly. Ushering him to take off his fur as you toss yours on the stone ground of the cave. As he shrugs it off his shoulders you smooth out your fur and plant yourself on the left side.

As Neteyam settles on the right side he tosses his pelt over you, tugging it over himself until it rests comfortably over both of you.

He notices your distance. It's clear that despite being the one to suggest being close, you're trying to stay away from him.

Believing it to be because of him, he reassures you, “You can come closer. I do not mind.” 

“No, it is fine. Just give it a few minutes. The heat will accumulate soon.”

Then your eyes are closing. Dismissing him as the slightest bit of heat settles around you. 

It takes Neteyam a bit longer to fall asleep. He's been infatuated since the moment he first saw you after landing his ikran in the snowy plain. 

The misty blue tone your skin had, and the slate blue stripes that seemed to wrap around your body in more wispy patterns than he had ever seen on someone from the Omatikaya. 

The pattern your bioluminescent freckles made upon your face, some of them even gleaming brightly underneath the black paint you had plastered across your eyes. 

The tattoo you had on your chin. One line leading seemingly from your mouth, down the middle of your lip and chin to where it ended somewhere between your jawline and neck. Two dotted lines frame the one solid line, following its path down your chin.

And now he's getting to see it all up close. To stare at you unabashed. So Eywa forgive him if he resists sleep for a while to admire.

Eventually his eyelids drift close from exhaustion. But the chill in the air does not stop just because the two of you are under the same fur.

Unconsciously, the two of you drift closer together; moving towards the warmth the other is emanating. You turn from facing him, your back now pressing into his front.

You wake slowly. Eyes blinking languidly as they try to scrunch to remove the crust that has settled on your inner eyes.

You don't recognize the warmth at your back at first. Assuming it is just from your heat getting trapped between the pelts. Then there's a soft exhale on your cheek.

Your body stills completely, eyes widening in shock, while you try to slow your own breathing so as to not startle whatever beast is looming over you. When you slide your eyes up towards the ceiling of the cave and spot nothing, a confused look graces your features.

Upon turning slightly, you're met with Neteyam's neck. It's then that you realize he has a grip around your waist. That your legs are tangled with his. And that his chest is pressed tightly to your back.

What had happened while you were asleep? How did you end up all the way in his personal space? Or did he inch his way into yours?

You shift to leave. Slowly untangling your legs, then you try to remove his grasp on your waist. In your shifting Neteyam stirs, grip tightening until you clear your throat lightly.

“Oh. I am sorry.” An indigo tint rises to his cheeks in embarrassment. 

“It is fine. We must have shifted towards each other's warmth.” You want to sit, want to sling your fur back on and shrink back into yourself. But Neteyam is still lying down, still waking from his rest.

“You did not mind?” A slight upturn graces his lips.

A blush graces your cheeks now, “It was out of necessity.”

“Would you have minded if it had not been out of necessity?”

You huff. Sitting up despite the cold, allowing your skin to prickle at the temperature. “Focus on becoming one of the people, then you may ask me such questions.”

Neteyam moves as you do, quickly donning his fur and moving off of yours so that you may dress as well.

He hunts well that day. Tracks fast. Moving as one with the cold.

The bite in his lungs urging him to move swiftly, but not brashly.

When the two of you come close to the her'ang, you still. Using your mounts to become one with the trees.

Neteyam takes atypical aim, piercing through the beast's skull instead of its heart. But you whoop and yip all the same once the kill is made. Proud that he has accomplished such a task on his own.

Proud that he will soon claim his txawuk.

Proud that he will be one of your people soon.

When you finally return to the village the rest of the clan's people react the same. You usher Neteyam to them as you haul his kill to be skinned and broken down into all its pieces. 

Your favorite member of the family is Tuk. Children are the most impressionable, and she takes well to your customs. 

She adores your carvings made of bone. Nestles into the furs you’ve gifted her. Asks to go on rides on Wi’tsin whenever you have free time. And if you cannot take her, she runs to one of the many friends she's made in your clan.

But you make a special exception for Neteyam in your heart after waking up with him in the cave. The past months spent with him have a new look to them, a brighter hue as you see all his redeeming qualities.

It was an old tradition to have one of your most honored furs be that of the first her'ang you killed by your lonesome. You had not passed the knowledge to Neteyam, deciding it would make for a good surprise. One last gift before he joined your people as a warrior.

So you personally skin the beast. Tie it to the drying posts. Paste salts upon it. Then you wait.

Four days pass before the furs are ready.

Your patience almost wore thin, almost believing that they would not be ready before he took on his final rite. But thank Eywa, they were ready. 

Your stride is soft as you approach the Sully tent, not wanting to wake anyone still sleeping inside. You can hear murmurs whispering from inside, but pay them no mind. Most of the village has not risen yet and it would be rude to speak in loud tones.

A familiar name passes through the conversation though. Your name is sounded out by Lo’ak’s voice – it is then that you decide to listen instead of making your presence known. 

“I’m just sayin bro. You’ve got her sweet on you after your hunt.”

Neteyam laughs a bit boyishly, “It is not like that.”

“Yeah but even Tuk couldn’t get her to let up on us. Always nagging about the clan ways, and how we wouldn’t fit.”

Oh Eywa forbid you were skeptical that Na’vi that came from a tropical climate would have a hard time adjusting. 

“She likes Tuk. They do many things together.”

“Sure, but she still hounded us. You, me and Kiri had to learn so much. And she didn’t even give us compassion for the simple fact that we were here because of uturu!”

A sigh resonates in the space. You can hear some shuffling before Neteyams voice sounds again.

“She just worries for the future, Lo’ak. A heavy title rests on her shoulders.”

“Yeah but she didn’t have to be such an ass about it.”

You were brash, sure. Drilled your customs into their skulls. Made them practice the same tasks a hundred times. 

But they were things you had done thousands of times, things any person their age was well familiar with. And if they wanted to be sure members in your clan, then they needed to be able to complete the tasks without needing assistance. 

“Listen, I’m just saying thanks for working her so that we could catch a break, I knew you’d come around.”

Working you? This whole time Neteyam was just feeding into you, trying to receive your affections so his siblings would not have to hear from you?

You supposed you were tough on them. But you did not threaten to skin them, did not shy away from their jokes or their teasing. If they wanted to take things slower, or differentiate the skills they practiced, why not just say something?

Despite yourself, when a sinking feeling invades your chest, you realize that you did come to like them. That you enjoyed their company, and could even see yourself spending time with them after they had been properly integrated into the clan.

Clearly your sentiments were not returned. 

Lo’ak and Kiri were far enough in their rites that you did not have to deal with them anymore. Tuk could join the other young children at this point. And Neteyam would be finishing his final rite shortly, freeing you of his presence. 

You did not need to make a scene. Did not need to confront them for their hurtful words, you were never meant to hear them anyway.

You were meant to play into the role. Get strung along by Neteyam for Eywa knows how long. And to be cast aside when he chose someone else.

Turning on your heel you head back towards the village center. Tempat and Posma are there, waiting eagerly for Neteyam’s send off. 

“I am feeling unwell, perhaps some bad fruit at the cookfire last night.” Hastily, you thrust the furs from Neteyam’s kill into Posma’s arms, “Can one of you guide him today?”

Posma replies, a concerned glint in her eyes at your unusual behavior, “Of course! Go rest, you will not want to miss the celebration later.” 

Hours later after Neteyam has left on his journey Posma pokes her head into your kelku. She spots you curled up on your bed of furs and pelts, submerged to the point that she only notices from the uneven lump.

“I had Tempat lead Neteyam.”

You only glance at her from your heap. Eyes blinking slowly as acknowledgement. 

She sheds the furs that adorn her shoulders, then lifts the ones that rest on top of you. Climbing in and cradling your head to her chest she speaks again, “What has happened?”

“It does not matter.”

The rumble of laughter in her chest is comforting. If you closed your eyes and focused enough maybe it could lull you back to sleep.

“I think it does.” Her hand begins stroking through your braids, slightly scratching on their way down then smoothing again on the next pass. “You were very proud, very excited, to give Neteyam his furs.”

“He received them did he not?”

“He did. But he does not know the love and attention that was put into them.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting Posmas, “You did not sell me out?”

“Of course not! You are my tsmuke, blood or not, and he is just a boy.”

Your eyes begin to tear at that. If he would treat you so cruelly in private, while being so kind to your face, then he is just a boy. At some point, your few tears turn into sobs. The crashing weight of everything finally collapsing onto you. 

Your endless duties meant that you did not have time to form bonds outside of your few friends. That you did not have time to seek a mate, to ask for Eywa’s blessing. And it had seemed as if one was handed to you on a silver platter. 

Neteyam was well fit to be Olo’eyktan, he had spent his entire life training for it with the Omatikaya. And you had learned both the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik responsibilities – well prepared to lead on your own, or with someone standing by your side. 

He had listened. Had encouraged you to speak about your childhood eagerly, wanting to hear how the lesson for the day tied into Herwìslär culture. 

He made it a point to come and find you even after you had dismissed his siblings. You had thought it had been to spend time with you, under the guise of studying. 

Thought that his interest in your clans weaving techniques could have possibly meant him looking into your clans courting techniques.

Eywa. You even thought that some part of him deciding to complete the most dangerous rite was so that he could pick a mate in your people. That he could ask your father to court you and eventually take you as his mate.

Now you know that it all was so Lo’ak and Kiri could frolic around the village without you to guide them. 

Without you breathing down their necks, trying to ensure that they were completely set before you sent them off on their own.

But as you had thought earlier, the Sully kids did not need you anymore. You’re sure of it when your mother returns home and informs you of Neteyam returning with a txawuk. 

Good for him. Great for you. You could finally return to the way your life had been, to only completing your trainings and duties and spending your free time however you pleased.

You do not attend the gathering that night to celebrate Neteyam’s accomplishment. Still feigning illness.

You ignore the disappointment at not celebrating his achievement with him. However, it does not matter, the wound is still fresh. 

It remains fresh for weeks. You go from just avoiding Neteyam to no longer speaking to Kiri, even leaving your sessions with your mother when she decides to join. You avoid Lo’ak at all costs, his shouts of zusawkrr olo’eykte! go unanswered. When Tuk asks you to take her out for rides, you instead redirect her towards her siblings, and if they are busy you remind her that Posma or Tempat would take her if she truly desired to go.

Your new pattern is not difficult. In fact, you quite like it. Like the fact that you have time to focus on yourself again. That you can refocus on learning how to best lead your people.

Neteyam had expected you to guide him when he completed his last rite. That even if you said you could not interfere, that you could not catch him when he fell, that you would at least be there with him. Your presence enough to give him some calmness in his death-defying moment.

But you are not there when he arrives. Posma is there, Tempat too. They greet him excitedly, bestowing him a gift in the form of the furs of his first solo her’ang kill. 

It's only when Tempat ushers him forward that he questions where you are. Why they were leaving without his kayru. 

A sad smile graces their features when they tell him you are sick. That you went home to recover before the celebration that would be held in his honor tonight.

It gave him some peace. Knowing that you weren’t missing the event because you wanted to, but because of an illness. The peace fades as worry ebbs in, what had gotten you sick? It must have been bad if you couldn't at least see him off.

No matter, he could ask you all about it when he returned. Inquire about your illness, then talk your ear off about how the rite went. Afterwards he'd beg you to compare it to yours.

Always eager to learn about you. To learn about your people. To meld to your ways.

He wondered what age you were when you completed the rite. Who went with you? How many younglings were there to choose from? What drew you to the one you picked?

So many questions that he never got answers to. You never showed at the celebration. Lo'ak thought you just must have been missing each other; perfectly coasting around the gathering at exact opposite points. Neteyam knew better though. 

He saw Posma come by, share her joy for him, then stop and grab two food wraps before venturing off again. Neteyam would try to deny it, to refuse that she was bringing the second wrap for you, but he knew better.

Had you been consumed with your duties today? That wouldn't make sense, he was one of your duties so you should have been with him. But it would be fine, he would see you tomorrow and all would be well.

But then tomorrow comes and you do not greet the Sully children in the morning. Do not find them at their kelku, do not surprise them from behind as they meander towards the village center. There is nothing that even hints at your presence.

Neteyam’s able to find Tempat. Calling out to him and rushing to his side. “Is she still sick?”

Tempat smiles brightly at him, “Oh, no. You have completed your last rite, and your siblings are far enough that they can join the others their age!”

“So that is it?” 

Tempat nods, speaking something about them being able to do whatever they pleased when their duties were completed.

But Neteyam wanted to see you. That was what would please him. Yet he cannot seem to grasp a moment of your time.

It has now been a full moon cycle since Neteyam has spoken to you.

Something gnaws at his chest uncomfortably. He went from spending every moment with you, to now being lucky if he can catch a glimpse of your furs through the crowd.

Every hunt he attends, you miss. Every call of your name is ignored. Every trip Posma and Tempat take him and his siblings on, you do not attend.

He tries to sit near you at the cookfires, engage in your circle of friends. Anytime he gets close you politely excuse yourself, planting yourself firmly between your parents. He considers approaching, it may work in his favor. 

Your father had ordered you to speak to him and his siblings before, maybe it would be the same now. But he thinks back on how angry it had made you, how at first you only spent time with them because you were bound by duty to. He wanted you to talk with him because you wanted to; not because you were forced.

So he keeps trying his luck in other forms. 

He joins the women as they dry pelts and furs – ignores how when you see him you retreat.

He spends much time carving. Honing in on his ability to carve into bone, to make intricate patterns in it. 

He hunts and goes for flights, spending as much time as he's allowed away from the village. Trying to will his tropical skin to fade, for it to become well resistant to the cold of your home. 

After two moon cycles of not speaking with you he confronts Posma. 

“I just do not understand what happened. Did she really only tolerate our presence?” 

Posma purses her lips, “It is not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Please enlighten me.” Neteyam exasperates, he is tired of this.

“She is busy with her duties.”

“Do not patronize me. I see her spend time with the hunters, weavers, and carvers.” Neteyam huffs, biting his lip before continuing, “If we, if I, have done something I would like to apologize.”

“It is not my place to share if there is something to apologize for.” Posma crosses her arms, “Whatever answers you're looking for, I do not have.”

Neteyam nods, gnawing at his lip again. Posma moves to leave, assuming the conversation is over, but then he calls out to her again.

“Can you take us to the Hollow of S? Kiri would like to connect with Eywa.”

“You do not know the way?”

Neteyam allows a sheepish smile to grace his face, “We have only been once, and I do not wish to get lost.”

So Posma nods, tells him to meet her at the gates after their duties are done. Neteyam rushes to where Kiri is weaving, pleading with her to keep up his lie.

She had not asked to visit the Hollow. Had not complained and nagged her brother as he had made it seem, but she would not mind going. Naturally though, as a younger sibling, she needed to press.

“Why do you need to go?”

Netryam rolled his eyes, “It does not matter. Just do not expose me, alright?”

“It is for your little crush, isn't it?” Kiri laughs when Neteyam’s eyes widen a fraction, “What? Did you overhear that she would be there?”

“No. No, I did not. I just…” He huffs, unwilling to share something so deep when he is so unsure. But Kiri was not Lo'ak, she would not rat out his secret, “I just want to see if Eywa wills it.” 

At that Kiri stills, a grin overtaking her face. It has been a long time coming that her brother admitted his infatuation, so supposed she could keep up the lie for him.

It was clear along the Sullys that Neteyam had been taken with you since they had arrived. They noticed his staring, seeking you out in gatherings or meetings.

Tried to not tease him as he practiced traditional clan necessities of carving and weaving in his spare time.

His father was pleased. Not only was he adapting, but he was truly making it his home. Finding his home, in a place where they were safe.

His mother did not approve at first. It was not against you, it had absolutely nothing to do with you. She had hoped that they would return to her people, the Omatikaya, when the time was right. If Neteyam settled and built a life here, it would mean that she lost her firstborn.

She eventually came to terms with it. Her son would have to find a mate someday, why not be happy that it is someone so skilled? Someone held in high prestige and who reminded her much of herself when Jake had originally come to her people.

Kiri and Tuk were excited. Another sister was someone else to make adorable chest coverings for, someone else to share secrets with, someone else who could braid your hair in intricate patterns with pretty beads. Even if they ended up being able to go back to the Omatikaya, it only meant they had a secondary home here, with new friends, mounts and lifestyles.

Lo'ak liked you. Despite your temperament towards him and his family, you had been kind. You had stuck up for him when one of the warriors a little older than him called him a ‘half-breed’. A firm slap of your palm against the boys cheek paired with a hiss to ‘not disrespect your Olo'eyktan or Toruk Makto again’. 

From then on everyone knew it wasn't to be mentioned that they were related to even the idea of the sky people. It meant a lot to Lo'ak; his five fingers being something that even some Omatikaya people judged him for. 

He didn't mind that Neteyam had a thing for you. Hell, if anything he was shocked his brother liked someone so cold and cut off. But he slowly came to realize that his brother saw himself in you. That he found someone he could relate to, someone he could speak to of his pressures and they would know exactly how he felt.

One night after a particularly rough lesson, one that Lo'ak did not do well on, their dad asks you how they are progressing. You tell him that maybe Lo'ak could use a little bit more practice at the skill, maybe put some more focus into it, but other than that everyone did well.

That night Jake had called a family meeting. He laid into Lo'ak, as he frequently does, telling him he needed to do better. To focus more, and to wise up, before he ruined the uturu they had sought.

Lo'ak had stormed off, chest aching at his father's disappointment. But then the feeling turned angry, angry that his father never understood the stress he was under. Angry that no one stood up for him. 

Eventually it snowballs into anger at you. If you had never said anything, then this whole night would have never happened. So when Neteyam comes to comfort him Lo'ak asks him to warm you up a bit.

To get you to understand their struggle, specifically his, a bit more. Neteyam says no, that you do understand the struggles, and that it was just a stressful day for everyone.

So Lo'ak pushes a bit more. States that Neteyam is a ‘chicken’ as his dad would say, a coward for Na'vi. That he's refusing to warm you up because he's afraid you won't accept his advances.

Lo'ak doesn't think anything bad could come if it. Neteyam would get what he wanted, the rest of the family would be content with his choice.

Another advantage would be that hopefully some of Neteyam’s worrying would pass onto you, and allow him to get into some actual trouble with this new clan. To allow him to deepen the friendships he's made.

He pushes his older brother's buttons to the point of aggravation. Telling him it's okay big bro, we both know you couldn't get her anyway. And Neteyam's need to prove himself surfaces. He had already been trying to attract your view, what was the harm in helping out his baby bro?

And it had gone well for a while. He was slowly inching his way closer to you; aiding you in your duties after his lessons, sitting with you at the cookfires, helping you haul the kills in, sometimes even just bringing you a steaming beverage as you went over your Tsahik training. 

He truly believed that he was carving his way into your heart. Then right before his final rite, you dumped him and his siblings as if they were hot coals. Refusing to look at them, to speak to them, Eywa you barely acknowledged that they existed. 

So when Neteyam finally approaches the Hollow of Spirits he makes quickly towards the glowing ice stalactites. They’re cold, slippery to the touch, but from the moment Neteyam puts his fingers on one he can feel Eywa pulsing through them.

His opposite hand flies back, reaching for his kuru. He expects a jolt when he connects, for the iciness to freeze over his blood, but instead all he feels is warmth.

The Great Mother knows what he is here for and she confirms his beliefs. That you are the one for him. That you would come to your mantles well when the time came. 

A grin forces its way onto his face, an insurmountable amount of joy overcoming him. It was settled. He would craft the courting gift he had been thinking of for weeks now. 

It is one infused with both of your peoples. And when you see it, you will agree to courting him. Eywa has willed it after all. 

A few more days pass – Neteyam wanted the gift to be perfect. He briefly worries that him not approaching you may make you drift towards another. But his remembrance of Eywa's plans calms him. 

It is a beautiful necklace. 

When you wear it, it will sit right between your collarbones. He has used Omatikayan weaving patterns, but weaved Herwìslär beads on both sides. In the center rests a bead that he once wore in his hair, one that he searched hours for, wanting something the same shade as the outer edges of a tsawksyul. Finally, resting just below the bead he has weaved in a carving of bone, one shaped to be a tsawksyul; his favorite flower in the entire forest, one he hoped to show you one day. 

He tracks you down, pleased to see you’re sitting with Posma fiddling with your bowstring. He knows that Posma saw something in his demeanor change at the Hollow of Spirits, that she may even aid him in getting you to not be stubborn and to listen to him. 

“We must speak.” 

You glance up at him, before sliding your eyes to your friend. He must be speaking to her as he hasn’t had the chance to talk to you in weeks. When you stay silent he calls out your name, followed by a soft please.

“Will it be brief? I have much to do.” 

Neteyam’s lips purse in a tight smile, “I hope it does not.”

“Then speak, so it may move quickly.”

“I have thought of you for many moons – well, to be honest, since my family has arrived for uturu.” Eywa, Neteyam hopes you look at him at least once while he spills his guts, “You are like no one I have ever met. So similar to myself that I did not know how to handle it at first. I see you.”

You raise your head glancing at him with scrutiny swimming in your eyes. He does not mind the way you look at him, simply joyed at being able to look into your eyes finally, to restudy your features. So he continues, more sure now, “I’ve been taken by you; every thought is consumed by you. Every moment I have spent away from you was spent searching for you.” 

Neteyam ruffles through the satchel that rests under his furs, producing an intricately woven necklace, “I wish to court you. To eventually make you ma muntxate.” He presents the gift to you. His hands tremble a bit as he awaits your answer, even if Eywa has willed it he still has nerves.

You huff, turning your face away, leaning back into the bowstring you were previously toying with. “No.”

Neteyam is shocked. He had known you were not on the best of terms, even if he did not know why. But he was sure that the previous moments would be enough for you to at least be willing to try with him. 

He can see Posma is shocked too. Though he is not sure if it is from his admission, or yours.

“No?”

“I do not want it. If you wish to find a muntxate, I am sure that Selra is interested.”

“Selra? The singer?”

“Yes.” You nod along, “She tries to be discreet, but anyone can spot the way she looks at you over the cookfire.”

“I do not want Selra. We have not even had a conversation.” Neteyam refuses to bring his hands back, to allow your rejection of his courting, “I only desire you.”

“Ei’wen is also a good choice.” 

“I do not want–”

“She is a hunter. Assuming that is one of the similarities you see between yourself and I.”

Posma's eyes have not stopped darting between the two of you. She obviously should not be here for this conversation, all it does is make her curious over what she has missed, at what lead to this point in your relationship.

“I do not want them. I want you.” He once again jostles the jewelry in his palm, “I have come here to ask you, only after consulting with Eywa. The Great Mother has told me we are destined, you must believe me.”

You scoff, “I do not have to believe any words that spill from your tongue. You have spoken lies before to achieve what you want, there is nothing stopping you from doing so again.”

Neteyam has no idea what you are talking about. He has never lied to you before, never done anything deceitful to you. But before he can confess this you are up, snatching your bow from where you had rested it, and beginning to storm away from him.

When he moves to follow, to chase you down and prove his point, Posma presses a hand into his chest, halting his movement. He does not allow this to deter him, instead shouting after you, “Ask Eywa yourself! At the Hollow of Spirits, as I had! She will tell you the same thing she has told me!”

Your pace quickened after the words spilled past his lips. He never gets a response but he knows you heard him. Knows that it will fester and nag at your brain until you go to check yourself, so he turns to Posma.

“May I ask a favor?”

The hand on his chest retracts until just a single finger rests above his heart, “You are on thin ice. You do not get to ask for a favor.”

“I just wish to know if she listens. If she travels to the Hollow.”

Posma does not grant him an answer. She simply pushes into his chest with her finger and heads in the direction you went. Neteyam is uncertain that she will tell him, uncertain that you would even head remotely in the direction of the Hollows anytime soon. But he still had faith that Eywa was correct, that she had not led him astray.

Another week passes languidly. He goes through the motions; hunting, foraging, spending time with his siblings and newfound friends. The only change from the past two months is that you now let your eyes linger on him.

It is not fond, an intense glare that almost leaves him shrinking in on himself. He is not afraid of you; has never been and will never be. So he takes it in stride, smiling when he meets your gaze, allowing his tail to swish a little with curiosity. 

He hopes one of these days that instead of staring, you would approach. Even if you do not, he will take any improvement in your acknowledgement of him. Would be pleased if you were to lash out at him, if it meant he got to hear your voice. 

A sort of limbo passes over him. He hopes you would not reject him. That you would accept his advances. If you did not it would be okay, he is unsure of how long it would take him to recover from such a loss, but he would figure it out. He just hopes that you drag out the time before telling him, that you allow him to live in the fantasy where you accept for a little while longer.

Neteyam is on his way to take Tuk for a ride on his herwanpalu when Posma stops him. “I did not tell you anything, do you understand?” 

Oh.

He nods, yes he understands. He’s been waiting for this moment. Tuk is ordered to find something else to do, to go find her friends or her other older siblings. After she is moving with purpose back towards the village he runs to call his herwanpalu.

He mimics the grunts and calls you taught him. It would be smart to adorn her in a saddle, to have some supplies if something went wrong, but Neteyam is moving to make it as quickly as possible. His fingers grip tight onto the fur in front of him, before commanding his mount to speed in your direction. He did not need to see the realization on your face. Did not need to be there as you disconnected your kuru from the stalactite. He simply needed to arrive before you left. 

He walks into the Hollow, breathless as if he had personally ran the entire way here. From the silence he half expects you to be gone. The hopeful half of him assumes that you are still connected, still speaking to Eywa and searching out answers.

So he crawls softly and thoughtfully through the cave, he doesn’t want to startle you out of your conversation if you are not yet done. He does not spot you and his face falls, assuming you left.

He moves to the mouth of the cave, disappointed that he missed what he considered to be the best opportunity to change your mind. Before he can step towards the more surface levels of the hollow a voice calls after him. 

“Why did you lie?” 

Ah. So you were here. 

He whips around, amber eyes scanning his surroundings. They hone in on your figure, lower legs dipping into the freezing water that some stalactites rest above.

“I would never lie to you. Can you be more specific?”

Neteyam is moving closer now, unintentionally blocking you in. You see it as intentional, that he wants to force a conversation that does not need to be had. He sees it as his body refusing to be away from you anymore, especially in such a sacred place. 

“I overheard you before your final rite. Lo’ak said that you had been ‘working’ me so that I would take it easier on you and your siblings during your lessons.”

He laughs a breath through his nose, “It was not like that.” 

You hiss in return. If he thinks you to be stupid, then you would leave. Before you can stand Neteyam grabs your hand, planting it underneath his against the floor. 

“Lo’ak is a skxawng, but he does know how to get under my skin.” His free hand lifts to direct your face towards his, “He said that I could not get you to become infatuated with me as I had with you, said that I was a fnawe’tu.”

Your eyes trace his furs, recognizing it as the same ones you crafted specially for him, “You are not a fnawe’tu.”

“I am not. And Lo’ak knew I would be eager to prove him wrong, he simply wanted to get under my skin one last time before I came into my own in this clan.”

You begin to think it over. Lo’ak had always been teasing, always the one to try and use comedy even in situations they did not belong in. He was not cruel, simply wanting to find his place.

“What were you doing outside our kelku?”

“I came to deliver the furs from your first solo kill, as a final good luck.”

He smiles widely at you, “These are from you?”

You nod in agreement, not able to trust your voice. 

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes after that. Neteyam does not want to overwhelm you, and you have too much going on in your head to formulate a proper thought.

At some point you speak again, softly as to not disturb the peace the two of you have entered. “Do you still have the necklace?”

“Of course.” Neteyam begins digging into his furs, when he procures the necklace you stare at it longingly.

“I lied.” When his brow furrows in confusion you continue. “When I said I did not want it? I had lied, it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen a Na’vi create.”

“Then may I put it on the most beautiful Na’vi I have ever seen?”

Neteyam moves quickly when you agree. His fingers move deftly as he ties the necklace into place. Then he allows them to ghost down the weave, tracing over the beads before stopping to rest upon the centerpiece.

He nods in approval, eyes meeting yours when he glances up. A new emotion swims in them, one of hunger, of desire; something he has not seen you allow yourself to indulge in before. 

Oh Eywa, he had been waiting for this. If you wanted him, he would allow you to devour him whole. Send his spirit back to the ancestors and he would thank you. 

Instead he forces himself to hold his composure, allows his fingers to ghost back up your neck. Curves his palm so it rests on the back of your neck, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, subconsciously pursing them as you stare at his. 

So he takes the lead, lightly pressing his lips to yours. Neteyam soon finds that this is not enough, that after so many months of not being able to have you that it would take him forever to satiate the heat that began to pool in his stomach. 

You lick into his mouth and he realizes you must be just as hungry as he is. He does not fight you, allows you to have dominance, to take what you want with no resistance. It’s only when you pull back for breath that he revolts, hands moving to lift you to rest in his lap.

It gives him more places to put his hands, and makes it easier for you to take whatever you want. When you pull away again Neteyam chases, he knows that you’re not pulling away for air and he does not wish to halt.

“This is…” You’re huffing, needing to catch all the breaths that Neteyam stole from you, “We are moving fast.”

“We moved slow for many months.” When your brow creases in protest, he allows his thumbs to rub soothing circles into your waist where they’ve snuck under your fur, “But if you wish, we can continue to take it slow.”

You do not wish to take it slow. But you are still apprehensive with what he said about Lo’ak. If he was lying to you, and he really was playing you in the beginning you aren’t sure if you would be able to recover emotionally. 

Sensing your turmoil, Neteyam nuzzles his nose against yours, “What is it yawne?”

“I just worry that you are still playing me. That I am embarrassing myself with my actions.”

He smiles at you lovingly, “I am not. I have never been. But we can go ask Lo’ak if you would like to quell your worries.”

You do not respond, weighing your options. You could ask Lo’ak, could confront him and ask why he did not just speak to you directly. But if it was truly as Neteyam said it would only embarrass you. You’re shocked out of your stupor when pink, glowing tendrils emerge in front of your eyes.

“Or, because we both know you would not trust his words on a situation as serious as this anyway, I can prove it to you now.”

“We cannot take back tsaheylu, Neteyam. Be serious.”

He does not lower his kuru at your words, “I am being serious. What did Eywa show you?”

“That she has willed us to be together. It has been fated since we were children.”

He smiles, Eywa had shown him similar visions. “So why delay if it will happen eventually?”

Neteyam had a point. Your father may skin you, your mother would be disappointed that there were no pre-mating ceremonies completed. But if Eywa willed it to happen, and the two of you were ready, would it really be harmful?

Your hand reaches behind you to grasp your kuru, “You are sure?”

“I have never been more sure.”

So you press your kuru forward, allowing the tendrils to entangle themselves with his. 

Your pupils blow wide. The emotions bombard you like something you’ve never felt before, the feeling overwhelming all of your senses. 

The love, the nervousness, the way he pined for you for months. The way he admires his parents, and adores his siblings. How he misses the Omatikaya forest, but has made your forest one of his own too. 

Feel his desire to take you flying on his ikran, for you to claim your own ikran. To show you his forest, share all his knowledge of it with you. How he wants to feed you the delicacies of his people, to watch you in just simple loincloths instead of heavy furs.

Then the memories flow through you, ones that are not your own. A bright lush forest, roaring rivers, snowless floating mountains. Little hands holding a newborn baby. Hands being directed to aim properly at a fish.

When you finally come back to your senses you’re huffing a bit, body working to compensate for the immense things your brain is being flooded with. When you realize Neteyam has come to himself too, you lurch forward.

It’s messy at first, your teeth clashing with his, fangs accidentally catching his lips. But then you can feel everything from his perspective. The tug of the fang, the way he briefly thinks about how he would not mind you sinking them into him on purpose. 

Suddenly you’re overwhelmed all over again. You allow Neteyam to roll you onto your back, allow him to take control. He licks into your mouth again, eager to experience this while connected to you.

You know there will be repercussions when the two of you arrive home. That there will be questions. Important talks between your parents and yourselves. But as Neteyam begins to kiss down the side of your face, to your jaw, and eventually your jugular you cannot find any will to care about the repercussions. 

When he lifts the carved bone from where it rests just beneath your collarbones, and presses a kiss to the spot, you believe you could face public humiliation for this and not be upset. It must pass through the bond, as shortly after Neteyam laughs against your ribs. 

Whatever conspires from there is just for the two of you to know and everyone else to question.

At least it was.

Almost exactly twelve months after your night in the Hollow you welcome your first child, and everyone is more than aware of what you got up to.

Translations (had to make some of these up by mashing words together from the na’vi dictionary, so not everything is 100% correct): Her’ang - Snow beast Herwanpalu - Snow feline Herwìslär clan - Snow cave clan Uturu - refugee/sanctuary Nume nìwin - Learn quickly Kelku - home Tewng - Loincloth Zusawkrr olo’eykte - Future clan leader Txawuk - Giant flying mount Tsmuke - Sister Kayru - Teacher Ma muntxate - My mate Tsawksyul - Sun lily Skxawng - Moron/Idiot Fnawe’tu - Coward Yawne - Beloved

a/n: i adore this fic so please be nice to it.. i loosely wanted to mirror inuit culuture, so a bunch of inspiration for the way that the na'vi of the clan acted or things that they wore were based off of that. i also adore the snow, and the cold, and everything to do with winter so i naturally had to put two obsessions together. i put pictures that i based the creatures on below.

fun fact: i wrote about 3-4k of the words for this while actively shoveling snow for about 8 hours :p

Dividers by @cafekitsune and @cursed-carmine

Likes/Comments/Reblogs give me butterflies ʚїɞ

Credits to Edoardo Campagnolo and Antonio J. Manzanedo

[neteyamthinker]

let me earn you

pairings aged-up neteyam x tayrangi!female warrior

notes reader is ikeyni’s daughter, mean neteyam (dw he will grovel for this <3) crybaby neteyam, angst, she fell first and he fell harder, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)

synopsis neteyam has always been the only boy who stirred your heart. as a man, he is everything you’ve ever wanted... and now that circumstances have finally drawn you closer, it feels like the perfect chance to make him see you. but with the looming war, the firstborn son of toruk makto has no room for distractions, and he won’t hesitate to push aside anyone who threatens his focus.

word count 17.7k

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You leaned against one of the massive pillars of the war pavilion, idly braiding a strand of fiber for your new knife sheath. Usually, your senses would be filled with the smell of salt and moss that clung to the cliffs of your home in the Eastern Sea, but here, in the rainforest, it was mostly choked out by the heavy stench of fuel and burning forest, and around you, the war council was deep in debate.

Your mother stood tall with the other chieftains, gesturing sharply at a large map laid on a long table. Beside her stood your brother, the future Olo’eyktan of your clan, listening intently.

And then, there was the real view.

Neteyam stood just behind his father, Jake Sully. He was taller than most of the men in your clan, broad-shouldered, and muscled, taking after his father, even though he had the fierce beauty of his mother. He was listening to the strategy with that maddeningly intense, perfectly disciplined look he always wore. Always the dutiful son, the perfect soldier.

You bit your lip, a slow smirk spreading across your face. He was so incredibly handsome it was ridiculous, especially when he looks like he carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. You’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that intensity... To be the subject of his focus and determination.

You shivered at the thought of it, and your brother caught your eyes across the table. He noticed where you were staring, rolled his eyes, and mouthed, “Stop it.”

“Their supply lines are vulnerable here, along the gorge,” Jake Sully was saying, moving a stone on the ridge on the map. “But they’ve got turrets scanning the skies. If we fly in blind, we’re target practice.”

“We need a distraction,” Neteyam muttered, his brow furrowed as he stared at the map. “Someone fast enough to draw the attention away from the ground strike team, but agile enough to avoid getting hit. But it’s high risk.”

“My people are born on the wind,” Ikeyni spoke up. She placed a hand flat on the table, her sharp eyes shifting from Jake to his eldest son. “If you need someone who can deliver what you need, you take my daughter.”

Neteyam’s head snapped up. His golden eyes immediately finding yours from where you leaned against the pillar, as if he knew where exactly you had been standing. A frown instantly marred his handsome face and he turned back to your mother, his posture stiffening.

“Olo’eykte, with respect, the RDA has upgraded those tracking systems,” Neteyam argued, his voice tight with that dutiful edge you loved to mess with. “They aren’t just shooting blindly anymore. It is high risk. A single mistake, and the ikran and its rider are—”

“Are you saying I can’t handle it?”

You purred the words as you finally pushed off the pillar, sauntering closer to the table, tossing your half-braided sheath fiber aside. Every eye in the room tracked your movement, but yours were locked on the Omatikaya’s golden boy. You stopped right beside him, close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him. You tilted your head up, letting a slow smirk pull at your lips as you looked at his clenched jaw.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer, “I’d think you were trying to keep me out of the sky to keep me safe. I didn’t realize you care that much?”

A sudden bark of laughter broke out from an elder across the table and the others followed suit. Meanwhile, your brother shook his head at your sheer audacity. Jake Sully’s lips twitched upward, a faint, amused glint in his eyes as he looked between you two, clearly remembering what it was like to be young and stubborn. Even the older, stern warriors around the table began to chuckle, the suffocating tension of the war efforts breaking open to let a little light in. It was a comforting reminder to the elders that despite the demons coming back, the youth were still acting their age.

Neteyam, however, did not laugh.

He let out a long, slow breath through his nose, his shoulders dropping a fraction as he looked down at you. His ears twitched back in mild annoyance, but he didn't step away from you. He was tolerant, as he always was, enduring your teasing with the patience of a tree weathering a storm. He had always known that you are a lethal asset to the people’s war efforts... But unfortunately, you are also a source of a massive, distracting headache.

“I care about the success of the mission,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a low register meant only for you. His gaze was incredibly intense up close, close to the kind of focus that had made you shiver imagining just moments ago. “We are planning a raid that could cost lives. This isn’t the time for games.”

Partly slighted at his doubt, you frowned. “I am completely serious,” you said, dropping the just enough to show the deadly huntress beneath. You motioned at the map right where the turrets were marked. “These are coastal winds. I’ve navigated treacherous cliff gaps like it’s a playground snce I was a child. My ikran and I will rise to the challenge, you’ll see.”

“Alright, alright, break it up,” Jake intervened, though the grin was obvious in his voice as he tapped the map. “If Ikeyni says she’s the one for the job, then she’s the one. Neteyam, you’ll be leading the ground insertion. That means your timing with the distraction has to be perfect.”

Neteyam tore his eyes away from you, nodding sharply to his father. “Yes, sir.”

But as the council began to break into smaller groups to discuss once more among themselves, Neteyam didn't immediately walk away. He stayed right where he was, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He looked down at you, the exasperation fading into something quieter, something serious and heavy.

“It really is dangerous out there,” he said softly, his golden eyes searching yours. “The winds in the gorge are unpredictable.”

You matched his seriousness for a rare, passing second, to let him see that you are capable underneath all the flirting. “I know, Neteyam. But I’m faster than them. Trust me.”

He nodded, his jaw hardening. “I do trust you. Just... don't make me regret it.”

With a final, lingering look that left your heart hammering against your ribs, he turned to follow his father. You watched him go, your smirk slowly returning as you realized that for at least a few minutes, you had been the absolute center of his universe.

The next day, you were up before the first light, immediately going to where your ikran was roosting, smiling when you saw her already prepared, like always. “Ready, girl?“ you murmured, stroking her sleek, brightly patterned neck.

She screeched in response, a sharp, eager sound and you chuckled, mounting her back and connecting your kuru to hers, the familiar, rushing warmth of the tsaheylu flooding your senses. Your head swiveled to the side when you sensed a presence, seeing Neteyam stopping several paces away, already geared with his warrior cummerbund, longbow, amd chest knife sheath.

Your head tilted, admiring how handsome he looked as you smiled brightly. “Hi! Good morning,” you grinned. “Came to send me with a good luck kiss?”

He remained serious though, his eyes scanning your form on your ikran. “Be careful out there.” he said in a clipped tone, not waiting for a response before he turned away.

You chuckled, shaking your head. So serious, you thought, smirking. So handsome, too, anyway, the other part of your mind retorted and you rolled your eyes. You clicked your tongue and pulled at your ikran’s reins, making her surge up into the sky. You flew higher than usual, hiding in the thick clouds to scan high above the gorge. The sky was still a deep, bruised purple when the signal came through the comms secured to your ear.

“Pathfinder,” Jake Sully’s voice crackled, steady and calm. “Ground teams, position. You are clear to engage. Eye in the sky, you're up.”

A heartbeat later, a lower, tighter voice filtered through. “Be careful up there. Hit your marks.”

Neteyam.

Your smirk returned, invisible to him but it laced your voice enough for him to imagine it. “I heard that twice already, Neteyam. Are you so worried?” your honeyed teasing voice dripping through the comms.

You heard his groan and it was followed by a chuckle that sounded so much like Jake’s but it was cut short. “Just focus on the mission,” Neteyam’s voice snapped back through the earpiece.

You chuckled. “Watch the skies, Sully. Try not to blink, or you’ll miss me.”

Without waiting for a response, you clicked your tongue. Your ikran folded her wings and dove straight off the cliffside into the gaping maw of the gorge. The wind shrieked past your ears, whipping your braids wildly. Below, the metallic structures of the RDA outpost clung to the valley floor like a parasite. Within seconds, the base's automated defense grid woke up. Loud whirs echoed through the canyon as three massive turrets pivoted, their motion-tracking lasers sweeping the dark sky until they locked onto you.

“Now!” you hissed, leaning flat against your ikran's back.

You maneuvered your ikran in the sky as heavy explosive rounds tore through the air. The blasts should have scared you, but it surprised even you that it didn’t. You pulled sharply on the reins, banking hard to the left. A volley of bullet shattered the rocky cliffside right where you had been a millisecond before, reducing it to a powdery debris. You laughed out loud,  pushing your mount into a tight, dizzying barrel roll, diving directly between the narrow gaps of the cliffs.

The tracking systems couldn't keep up. The automated turrets jerked violently, scrambling to overcorrect their aim as you flew through the blind spots, From your view high above, you watched Neteyam and his ground strike team. While the turrets were completely distracted by your earlier display, they swarmed out of the dense forest like shadows. Leading the charge, Neteyam moved with terrifying precision, breaching the perimeter fencing, dropping two RDA guards before they could even raise their weapons. Behind him, Lo'ak and the other warriors systematically planted charges on the supply crates and fuel lines.

Even from up above, your eyes found him effortlessly, admiring his swift and unyielding movements, completely commanding. He was a force of nature.

“Charges are live! Pull back, pull back!” You heard Neteyam’s voice bark through the comms. He looked up into the sky, his golden eyes scanning the smoke until he caught the bright, unmistakable red of your ikran’s wings looping through the clouds. “Y/N, disengage! Get out of there!”

Swooping low one last time, you let out a victorious battle cry as a massive explosion ripped through the base behind you. You looked and saw an image of a huge ball of fire consuming the turrets and the supply lines. The explosion gave your ikran the motivation to increase her speed, launching you up and out of the fiery gotge into the safety of the skies. The raid was a flawless success.

By the time you got back to Hometree, the adrenaline was still humming under your skin. You hopped down from your ikran, patting her flank affectionately as the other warriors cheered and celebrated the clean victory. No casualties for the party and a massive blow to the sky people. A smudge of black engine soot marred your cheek, your eyes searching the crowd.

Neteyam was standing near his father, catching his breath, his skin glistening with sweat and ash. He looked exhausted, but the heavy tension that usually held his shoulders tight had momentarily melted away. As if sensing your gaze, his head turned. His golden eyes locked onto yours across the clearing. You stared at him, raising your brow and tilting your chind up with a proud, triumphant grin that said, I told you so.

Neteyam watched you for a long moment. Then, slowly, a genuine, breathless smile broke across his handsome face. It was a rare, stunning sight that made your heart do a violent flip against your ribs. He broke away from his father and walked straight toward you, stopping just a foot away.

“You showboated,” he murmured, his voice low but devoid of the seriousness that usually laced it.

“I just gave them a show,” you corrected smoothly, crossing your arms. “There is a difference. And I did it.”

“You did,” Neteyam conceded, his eyes dropping to the soot on your cheek before rising to meet your gaze with an intensity that made you almost forget how to breathe. “It was an incredible show. You were incredible up there.”

Your breath hitched. For all your constant flirting and loud teasing, having his quiet praise directed entirely at you caught you completely off guard that the witty comeback died on your tongue, your cheeks warming under his stare.

Neteyam noticed your sudden silence, and a small, amused smirk, one that looked a lot like your own, as if he had just copied it, pulled at the corner of his lips.

“What's wrong?” he asked softly, stepping just a fraction closer. “Quiet now? I didn't realize it was that easy to shut you up.”

You stared up at him, your mouth slightly open. The proximity was intoxicating, and for someone who usually spent his time dodging your advances, he was occupying a lot of your personal space now.

Your eyes flicked down to his smirk, then back up to his eyes. “I’m just savoring the moment. You’re more handsome up close,“ you smirked, regaining your composure a little. You leaned in, forcing him to maintain that dizzying eye contact. “And it’s not every day the great Neteyam admits I'm incredible. I might just let it get in my head.”

Neteyam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Coughing softly, he cleared his throat as he took a strategic step backward, breaking the contact but keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “Don't get used to it,” he muttered, though his tone was lacking any real bite. “Go get cleaned up. My father wants a full debrief within the hour.”

He turned on his heel and walked back toward Jake, though you didn't miss the way his tail swished behind him. You let out a quiet, triumphant laugh, wiping the soot from your cheek with the back of your hand. There was still an armor, but you had managed to crack it... That’s a small victory!

In the following days, the high of the victory had settled into the familiar routine of war. The leaders gathered once again in the pavilion. This time, however, the mood was lighter. The success of the gorge raid had given the rebellion more time to breathe. Your mother pointed at the eastern coast on the map, discussing the movement of RDA sea vessels who was last seen going farther east.

“They are retreating toward the deep water,” your brother noted, crossing his arms. “The destruction of the supply lines has damaged their operations in the coastal outposts.”

“We need to take control of the momentum,” Jake said, leaning over the table. “Neteyam, what’s the status of our perimeter watches?”

Neteyam stepped forward, completely back into his professional, disciplined element. “The forest guards are doubling their patrols. But we need to ensure our aerial scouts are maintaining a strict radius. We can't afford to get complacent just because we succeed in one mission.”

You smiled, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned over the map table, deliberately putting yourself right in his line of sight. “Oh, don't worry, Commander. Our scouts are alwasys in the air. We don't get tired easily.” You paused, letting your eyes slowly track down his body before bringing your gaze back to his face. “Though, if you're so worried about our stamina, you're welcome to come up with me next time. I can show you how we stay energized.”

A collective ripple of amused snickers passed through the council. Your brother hid his face in his hands, muttering something about losing his mind, while your mother let out a small, huffing chuckle. “Daughter...” she said pointedly.

Neytiri smiled, shaking her head at Ikeyni. You watched Neteyam close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. He was so incredibly tolerant of you, enduring the teasing with the quiet patience of a palulukan letting a cub bat at its tail.

“Y/N,” Neteyam said slowly, opening his eyes to look at you with deadpan exasperation. “I have to train the youth at the archery grounds after this. I do not have time to be a part of your games.”

“A shame,” you purred, flashing him a brilliant, unbothered grin. “You don't know what you're missing.”

Hours later, you found yourself wandering down toward the village training grounds, hearing the familiar sound of snapping bowstrings and the light thud of arrows hitting bark targets. You stood there, crossing your arms as you watched the scene. Neteyam was in his element. He was surrounded by a dozen young, aspiring warriors, all holding smaller training bows. He was patient and focused, moving down the line to correct their posture.

“Keep your elbow high,” Neteyam instructed a young boy, gently adjusting the kid's arm. “Do not fight the bow string. Let it become an extension of your arm. Look at the center of the mark, breathe out, and release.”

The boy released the string, and the arrow thudded squarely into the inner ring of the target. The kids cheered, and Neteyam offered a rare, warm smile, patting the boy's shoulder.

“Very good. Again.”

“Nice,” you called out, stepping out from the shadows.

The group of young hunters immediately turned, their eyes widening when they saw you. In your clan, you were a legend among the youth, the daughter who flew like the wind and didn't care about the rules. A few of the older teenagers standing nearby immediately started whispering and nudging each other, grinning widely because everyone knew you loved to push Neteyam’s buttons.

Neteyam stiffened, his shoulders squaring as he turned to face you. He gripped his longbow, his ears twitching back. “I am teaching, Y/N. Go find something else to do.”

“I just want to see if I can help,” you said innocently, sauntering closer until you were standing right in front of him, entirely ignoring the giggles of the children behind him. You reached out, your fingers lightly tracing the curve of his heavy longbow. “You see, kids, the Omatikaya are used to shooting on the ground, on their feet. But if you want real precision while moving, you need a loose hip. Like this.”

You fluidly snatched a training bow from a nearby rack, notched an arrow in the blink of an eye, and without even pausing to aim, you spun on your heel and released. The young warriors erupted into gasps and cheers when they saw the arrow hit the center of the furthest target cleanly, totally thrilled by the display. You tossed the bow back onto the rack, turning around to look at Neteyam with a smug, raised eyebrow.

“See?” you murmured, stepping into his space, tilting your head up. “It’s about flexibility, too. Maybe I should give you a private lesson sometime. I can teach you how to loosen up what’s stiff.” you murmured, biting your lip.

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, his aw practically tightening into stone. His face burned a furious, deep shade of violet, his golden eyes wide as he stared down at you. He knows, with a piercing awareness, how completely trapped he is between his duty and his sheer, chaotic attraction to you, and he shouldn’t like it. But he does, so Eywa help him. He took a deep breath, gripping his bow tightly to keep his hands from shaking.

“Class dismissed,” Neteyam barked out, his voice a strained, tight rumble. “Go practice your stealth skills. Now.”

The kids scrambled away, still laughing and whispering, leaving the two of you completely alone in the training grounds. Neteyam stepped even closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you as he glared down, though the heat radiating from his skin told a completely different story.

“You are impossible,” he whispered fiercely.

You laughed, enjoying the sight of the crack getting bigger each day. You’ve never had this much progress in the past... Perhaps because you don’t really see each other for longer than a few days. Sometimes, your mother gets invited to festivals in the Omatikaya and she brings you and your brother with her, or it’s her who invites the Sullys to come for festivals in your clan.

You’ve always liked Neteyam better than his brother. Lo’ak is a good acquaintance, but it was Neteyam who you’ve always found more interesting. What with his intense focus and unyielding determination on everything he puts his mind to, but you could tell it was also born from his desire to live up to his parents’ legacy.

He is the firstborn, after all. The heir to the Omatikaya leadership. The return of the sky people was the reason why he’s grown even more serious and focused, determined to protect the people, Eywa’eveng, and his family, even more so. You respect that a great deal, but you also think he needs to loosen up a bit before he stresses himself into an early grave.

You wonder if he even has interest in women, or if he only cares about his bows and his arrows. But you don’t like to think of that. It makes you fiercely jealous to think of him directing that intense focus on a woman who’s not you... Or to think of him letting a woman see past the armor you’re working so hard to crack.

But you are too confident. You thought the crack in his armor was getting wider by the day, and you genuinely believed it was only a matter of time before he finally let his guard down.

You should have remembered that in war, the higher you fly, the harder you fall.

More council meetings ensued in the following days, and now, you found yourself back in the sky. The RDA had deployed a small convoy of armored vehicles, and Neteyam’s squad was tasked to do a quiet interception.

“Hold your position above the tree line,” you heard Neteyam’s voice through the comms, crisp and authoritative. “Do not engage until the ground team has disabled their communications. If they see you, they will lock down the area and call for reinforcements. Do you copy?”

You had copied. But as you circled in the grey mist, you saw one of the AMP suits pivoting its heavy cannon directly toward the dense foliage where Neteyam’s ground sweepers were crawling. Your heart leaped into your throat. You waited to hear from him, or for the communication to be cut, but you can’t wait when they could all be gunned down any second.

I am fast enough, you had thought, fueled by that same headstrong confidence that had always served you before. I can take out that suit before it fires.

So, you dove.

But you had underestimated the trees’ density in this sector. Your ikran’s wing clipped a massive branch, throwing off your trajectory by a fraction of a second, and it was all the automated sensors needed. The AMP suit spun, firing a volley of heavy-caliber rounds into the sky. A hot, tearing agony sliced across your thigh, a bullet graze, and the concussive blast sent your ikran screeching into a spiral.

Your sudden, messy descent completely blew the ground team's cover. The convoy opened fire on the forest blindly. Screams of pain echoed through the comms, cutting through your panic. By the time it all ended, the convoy was destroyed, but the cost to the war party was devastating. Blood soaked your leg wraps but you cared little for it, forcing your ikran into the air, flying back to the Hometree with your chest tightening in suffocating fear and shame.

When you landed in the clearing, the celebratory atmosphere of the past weeks was entirely dead. You scrambled off your mount, wincing as your injured leg buckled slightly, and rushed toward the center, catching sight of him immediately. Neteyam was lifting a huntress off the back of his ikran. Her arm was painted in deep, crimson blood from a horrific wound on her shoulder. It was Tarya.

“Get the medical bay ready! Move!” Neteyam roared, his voice cracking with a raw, terrifying desperation you had never heard from him before. He was covered in soot and someone else's blood, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

“Neteyam—” you breathed, stepping forward, your hands shaking. “Neteyam, I—I am so sorry. I saw the suit turning toward you, I thought I could—”

Neteyam snapped. He lowered Tarya into the frantic arms of the medical healers, then turned on you so fast his tail whipped the air. He closed the distance between you in two giant, looming strides, towering over you.

“You thought?” he asked, his voice drawing the shocked eyes of every warrior present. “I don’t think so! You are entirely, helplessly obstinate! You almost fell! You almost died, did you even think of that?!”

You flinched, stepping back, but he kept coming, his golden eyes blazing with a dangerous, lethal heat that made you feel incredibly small.

“And because you couldn't follow a single, simple order, these warriors are wounded!” He said in a hard voice, his jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grinding. “Tarya might not survive the night! Do you understand that? Do you even care?”

“I do care!” you cried out, tears of shame finally burning your eyes. “I was trying to protect—”

“You didn’t listen! Like always!” he cut you off, his chest heaving as he glared down at you with complete contempt. “You treat this war like a game to win my attention! You are a massive, childish distraction, Y/N! Everyone knows it, and I am sick of it! Do you think people bleeding out in the mud is a joke? Do you think this war is just another festival for you to play around in?”

The words felt like physical daggers piercing straight into your chest, ripping away at your pride and your confidence. You stood frozen, completely exposed and deeply ashamed in front of the people present. Your mouth opened to apologize again.

“I'm sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking.

“Save your apologies,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a cold, venomous hiss that hurt far worse than his shouting. “If you cannot take this seriously, you should just withdraw from the war efforts entirely. Frankly, your behavior is putting everyone's life on the line.”

He didn't wait for you to answer. He turned his back on you completely, jogging alongside the stretcher as they wheeled his warriors toward the human facilities.

You stood alone in the dirt. You couldn't even feel the throbbing wound on your thigh. The numbness of absolute embarrassment and guilt swallowed you whole. He was right. You had been stupid and childish. You had been playing a dangerous game with people's lives just to hear him say your name.

You didn't seek out the Tsahik. You didn't think you deserved her medicine. Weakly, you dragged yourself back onto your ikran and flew away from the Hometree, heading toward the borders of your own clan's territory. You spent the evening in isolation, using bitter, stinging ocean herbs to tend to your own thigh, weeping silently in the dark. You resolved that you would return to apologize to the wounded warriors, and thinking of doing that is already making you feel flayed.

You had been too confident in your abilities and now, you have put people’s lives on the line. You should be ashamed. He was right about you leaving the war efforts, too, perhaps that was for the better. Because of what happened, you don’t think you still have enough confidence to go out there and fight.

You went to your clan, simply to change clothes, but was welcomed by the heavy grief that befell the people. An honored elder had passed away from natural causes, and by custom, the clan had to gather for the burial rites. Your mother and brother returned from the war front to attend, their faces grim.

After the body was given back to Eywa, your brother found you sitting on a secluded cliffside, staring blankly out at the crashing waves of the Eastern Sea. He sat down beside you, sighing. “I heard of the northern ridge,” he said quietly.

You clutched your knees to your chest, refusing to look at him. “Is Tarya... is she alive?”

“She is. Jake’s human friends saved her. She will recover. The others are okay, too,” your brother assured you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “The war party didn't lose its momentum, sister, if that’s what you’re worried about. But... the injuries could have been prevented. You know this.”

“I know,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I think I should leave, before I put everyone's lives on the line.” You looked up at your brother, your eyes hollow. “I’ll fly back tomorrow. Just to apologize to those who were wounded because of me. And then... I'm coming home.”

Later that evening, you stood inside your mother's yurt, packing away your combat gear. Ikeyni watched you from the entrance, her arms crossed, as you told her what you told your brother, your voice flat and devoid of its usual spark.

“It would be better anyway if I stay back here, Mother,” you said, tying off a leather pouch. “I can act on your behalf with the local hunters. I'm just a bother to the war council over there.”

Ikeyni stared at you, her sharp eyes assessing your rigid posture, your bandaged leg, and the complete lack of confidence in your eyes.

“Whose words are those?” your mother asked softly. “Are they yours?”

You paused, your hands trembling over your gear. You shook your head slowly. “Mother, he was right,” you said, a lump forming in your throat as Neteyam's furious face flashed in your mind. “I wasn't taking the war seriously. I think it would do the council better if I leave. We have plenty of competent riders to do my job. I don't belong there.”

Ikeyni let out a long, heavy sigh. She walked over, placing a firm, warm hand on the nape of your neck, tilting your forehead up to look into her eyes.

“If that is what you truly want, then so be it,” your mother murmured softly, leaning forward to kiss your temple. “But remember who you are, daughter. You are a child of the wind. Do not let one storm ground you forever.”

The journey back to the Omatikaya clan felt different this time. Usually, you would be racing your brother through the clouds, your laughter wild and loud, but today, you simply flew silently behind your mother. When you landed and entered the pavilion, the change in you was loud. Normally, there was always a sharp, teasing smirk ready for whoever caught your eye, but now, your face was barely moving, your eyes fixed on a permanent point in front of you.

The shame was suffocating and it felt like a huge boulder they tied around you. The council proceeded, discussing territory lines and defensive strategies for what felt like hours, while you stood rigid behind your mother, your eyes watching them move pieces on the map, unknowing of Neteyam’s eyes seeking you despite Ikeyni’s body blocking him from sight.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward into the light of the pavilion when the elders finally paused. Your voice was flat as you addressed the chieftains and the elders, completely stripped of its usual playful edge. “I want to apologize for the failure of my recent mission. I disobeyed orders, and I take full accountability for the consequences. I am even sorrier that it took me days to stand before you and say this; my clan was laying an elder to rest.“

You took a breath, your hands clasped tightly behind your back so no one could see them shaking.

“As you can see, I am unfit for this council. I lack the discipline required for operations of this scale. Moving forward, I am letting my mother decide on my replacement from the Tayrangi riders.”

A heavy silence descended upon the pavilion.

“Y/N,” Jake Sully spoke first, his deep voice carrying a wave of gentleness that surprised you. He leaned over the table, his eyes soft. “The war party didn't lose its momentum. We took out the convoy. You don't need to pin the blame solely on yourself. This is war. Mistakes happen and warriors are always meant to be wounded.”

Neytiri leaned forward next, her sharp, golden eyes searching your hollow face. “Do I understand what you mean, Ikeyni’ite? Are you leaving the council?”

“Yes,” you nodded, your voice firm.

Your mother stepped into the space beside you, her voice steady and protective, supplementing your words before anyone else could question you. “I have asked her to stay back with the Tayrangi. Ruk’e and I are heavily occupied with the war efforts here, and I need someone I trust to oversee the people.”

“Olo'eykte. Tsakarem.”

The voice cut through the pavilion, low and fractured, making your heart seize painfully in your chest. You didn't want him to speak. You didn't want to look at him.

Neteyam stepped forward from behind his father's shoulder. His posture wasn't stiff with the perfect discipline of a soldier anymore, it looked strained, his shoulders slightly hunched. “I wish to speak,” he said, his eyes locked on you, seeking yours, though you kept your gaze fixed somewhere near his collarbone. “I want to apologize to you, Y/N, before the council, for my reaction days ago. I was angry, and I spoke out of turn. You do not need to leave the council because of it.”

You felt a faint ripple of shock go through you, but it didn't revive your heart. Instead, a fresh wave of mortification washed over you. You felt even more ashamed that he felt obligated to apologize in front of the entire leadership just to close the issue gracefully and maintain alliance peace. To you, him telling you not to leave was just something he was saying for the record, a diplomatic necessity.

“You have nothing to apologize for, warrior, and I have nothing to forgive either,” you said, your voice entirely level, devoid of any anger or spite. It was just empty.

One of the Omatikaya elders turned to your mother. “Ikeyni, is this decision final? We would hate to lose such a skilled asset for the war efforts.”

“Yes,” you answered for her, your tone absolute. Nothing could have changed your mind. “If the council pleases, I excuse myself. I wish to apologize to the warriors who were wounded because of me.”

You were already looking at the door, not catching how Neteyam’s head reared back as if something had clawed at him. Without waiting for a formal dismissal, you turned and walked out of the pavilion, the sudden shift to freedom doing nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

You walked straight toward the medical areas, knowing you would find the injured split between the Tsahik’s tent and the human facilities. You went to the Tsahik's tent first, stepping into the dim space. When you approached the wounded Omatikaya warriors, your throat tightened, but they easily brushed your apologies off with tired, warm smiles.

“It is no one's fault,” one of them murmured. “We know what we came there for. Being wounded is expected for a warrior.”

When you went to the human facilities, you found Tarya resting in a clean bed, her shoulder heavily bandaged. When you spoke your apologies to her, she reached out to pat your arm. “Do not carry this weight, sister. We are alive. That is what matters.”

The sheer kindness of their forgiveness almost made you cry. A bitter, agonizing thought crossed your mind, wishing Neteyam thinks the same.

But you immediately caught yourself, mentally slapping the thought away. Stop it. You need to stop thinking about what Neteyam thinks or what he doesn't. You knew it would take time. You had liked him for so long, possibly loved him, but that part of your life was over now.

You walked out to the clearing where your ikran was waiting, ready to leave this place behind for good. You were just reaching for her leather harness when heavy, frantic footsteps behind you, hearing your name being called.

You closed your eyes for a brief second before turning around. Neteyam was jogging toward you, breathing heavily. He had asked to leave the council to follow you the exact moment you walked out, but Jake hadn't allowed him to dismiss himself until the meeting officially concluded.

Now, as he stopped a few paces away, you actively turned off your imaginative mind. You completely shut down that part of yourself that used to over-analyze his every breath, forcing yourself not to read into the fact that he looked almost desperate, entirely at a loss for words.

Neteyam's eyes flickered down, and you saw his face almost crumple, a sharp grimace crossing his features at the sight of the cloth bandaging your thigh. You subtly shifted your weight, trying your best to hide the injury behind the wing of your ikran.

His eyes flickeredup to yours, swimming with a quiet, raw desperation you tried your hardest to ignore. “Y/N, please. I am so sorry for what I said in the clearing. I shouldn't have—”

“It’s alright, Neteyam,” you cut him off smoothly, your voice polite and empty. “You were right anyway. Truly, I should be ashamed of my behavior right from the start. I didn't take things as seriously as I should have, and that only proves how unfit I am for the council. So, you see, you were completely right about me leaving—”

“No,” he breathed, the word breaking from him like a gasp. His shoulders fell, and he took a sudden step forward, his hand reaching out.

Unconsciously, your posture tensed, and you took a sharp step backward, pressing yourself closer to the flank of your ikran as if to seek safety.

Neteyam froze. His extended hand trembled in the air before slowly dropping to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice strained with a deep pain that, once again, you forced yourself to ignore.

“I know,” you said quickly, forcing a small chuckle to ease the tension. “Sorry.” You cleared your throat, gesturing vaguely to the sky. “But just as I said, everything has become much clearer to me now. I want to leave before I put more people in danger. Perhaps, I should even thank you for opening my mind about that—”

“No, Y/N, listen to me,” he stepped closer again, his voice rising in an urgent, pleading rush. “I was just... I was so scared for the wounded. I was terrified. And I said things that I shouldn't have said, terrible things—”

“You said things that were true, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, your face completely calm as you reached up to ruffle the crest of your ikran's head. “And as I said, I am completely cool about them. I accept them, and I understand. You have nothing to apologize for. In truth, it was just a superior delivering valid criticisms that I needed to learn from.”

“I was unnecessarily cruel,” Neteyam burst out, his jaw trembling as he stared at your polite, unbothered expression. “I was unfair of me to pin all the blame on you. Their tracking systems were upgraded, the terrain was bad—I couldn't tell you how much I have regretted my words every second since. Y/N, please... it is I who needs your forgiveness—”

You let out a sigh and Neteyam stopped abruptly, as if your sigh had put a physical gag on him. He watched you, terrified of whatever words were about to leave your mouth.

“Neteyam. It is over and done with,” you said, your voice shifting into a serious, cold finality that left no room for argument. “I have no hard feelings over it whatsoever. Everything you said that day was true. I didn’t listen, and it put people in danger. I was reckless. I was foolish. You were right, so stop insisting you were wrong, because I’ll start thinking this is just your guilt talking. Stand by your words, and let’s leave things be.”

You reached behind you, grabbing your kuru and connecting it swiftly to your ikran's, before fluidly mounting her back, settling into the saddle with a practiced, rigid grace.

Neteyam stood rooted to the dirt. He had stopped breathing. He stared up at you, his chest aching so violently he wished with everything in him that your ikran’s wings wouldn't work. He wished the wind would die. He wished he could reach out, grab the reins, and drag you back down. His heart throbbed with a suffocating mix of guilt, regret, and something far heavier that he couldn't even name.

He had hurt you. He had completely broken your spirit, and it was devastatingly obvious. Sitting on your ikran, you were unrecognizable. The brilliant, chaotic spark was entirely gone. Your playful confidence was buried deep beneath a layer of careful, polite nonchalance.

“Have a good life, Neteyam,” you murmured.

With a sharp click of your tongue, your ikran surged forward, her powerful wings launching you into the open sky.

Neteyam watched you fly away, your form growing smaller and smaller until you were nothing but a speck in the distance. A sharp, physical spasm ripped through his chest, and his golden eyes stung, blurring his vision. His fingers curled into tight, trembling fists, his teeth gritting together so hard he thought they would crack under the pressure.

He had wanted you to take the war seriously. He had wanted you to stop distracting him. But as he stood alone in the empty clearing, looking up at the empty sky, Neteyam realized he had never been more brokenly, horribly distracted in his entire life.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The war efforts did not stop just because Neteyam’s world had lost its friction. If anything, the pace of the rebellion quickened after the destruction of the northern convoy. The Omatikaya and their allies pushed the RDA further toward the coastal margins, reclaiming three separate valleys within a single turn of the moon.

Neteyam did his duty with the same cold precision his father had drilled into him since he was old enough to hold a knife. To the common warriors, he was still the golden heir... Unshakable, vigilant, a pillar of the clan along his parents and Mo’at.

But inside his own skin, he was experiencing a slow, suffocating death.

Every hour of every day, his mind raced backward, tracing the bridge he had violently brought down. He missed you with a ferocity that physically brought ache to his gut. It felt like a boulder was placed in his ribs, overcrowding his lungs. Some days, he could barely breathe.

And the worst part was the quiet.

Before his stupidity, every spot of the Hometree was a minefield of your laughter. He had spent months training himself to ignore the sound of that, even though it was the balm to his soul at the end of every exhausting day, the honeyed delivery of your voice, and the way you would lean your shoulder against his, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from you. He had thought of you as a massive, beautiful distraction. He had braced himself against you like a tree hardening its bark against a persistent storm.

Now, it was just gone. And the silence you left behind was deafening.

Dozens of times during the mid-day meetings, Neteyam would find his head turning instinctively to the left, his eyes scanning the roots or the wooden pillars for a glimpse of your vibrant red paint. At the training grounds, his shoulder would tingle, expecting the sudden touch of your hand.

But there was none.

By the second week, the pressure in Neteyam’s chest grew so immense that he began to lose his grip on his characteristic discipline. He became desperate for any connection to you, any excuse to hear updates from you that he found Ikeyni’s intense focus on war tactics and Ruk’e’s silence very irritating.

Stop talking of war, he thought. Let’s talk about your sister.

So when Ruk’e announced he was flying back to the Tayrangi to retrieve a shipment of leather harnesses and specialized arrows for the coastal hunters, Neteyam didn't even hesitate.

“I will go with you,” he had said, stepping into the ikran roosts before Ruk’e could even clear his mount for takeoff.

Ruk’e had paused, his hand tightening on his reins as he looked at Neteyam. There was no mission along the coast. There was no tactical reason for the commander of the ground forces to waste half a day acting as a pack-beast for supply crates.

“The eastern passes are clear, Sully,” Ruk’e said, his voice carrying that protective, guarded edge that you both possessed. “I do not need an escort.”

“My father wants an updated report on the drafts near the bay,” Neteyam lied, his jaw clenching as he connected his queue to his ikran. His voice was tight, nearly fracturing under the weight of his hidden urgency. “We are moving the division soon. I also need to see the terrain.”

Ruk’e stared at him for a long, heavy moment, reading the dark circles beneath his eyes and the frantic, nervous twitch of his tail. With a slow sigh, Ruk’e nodded silently. The flight to the Eastern Sea was the longest hour of Neteyam’s life. His mind ran through a thousand different scenarios, each one more pathetic than the last. He thought of finding you by the cliff’s edge. He thought of going down on his knees, uncaring of who saw him. He would let you see past his walls. He would let you see that he was nothing but a stupid man who had torn out his own heart stupidly. He was stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your final words had been repeating in his skull like a death chant. Have a good life, Neteyam.

It had sounded like a permanent severance. A final closure. He remembered how, weeks ago, when the realization that you intended to live the rest of your days without ever seeing him again hit him, he nearly doubled over, a physical gasp tearing from his throat as if he had been struck in the gut. Now, as they finally crested the high cliffs of the Tayrangi territory, his hope was crushed into dust. Apparently, you were not around. And he thought he was imagining the smirk that passed Ruk’e’s face.

They were there for close to two hours, gathering everything and securing it on their ikrans. At one point, Neteyam had looked high above and saw the unmistakable, bright red-and-orange span of your ikran’s wings flying down. His heart leaped into his throat, a sudden, violent surge of blood hammering in his ears. He leaned forward, preparing, his mouth already forming your name.

But then, Neteyam watched in absolute horror as your ikran turn back toward the blind side of the cliffs, diving deep into the sea mists until you completely vanished from sight. He looked at his ikran, its recognizable bright blue-green scales... Even from leagues away, you had seen the beast. Even though you didn't really see him, you decided to turn away. Avoiding him. Flying away from him.

Neteyam spent the rest of the supply run standing on the landing platforms, his eyes fixed on the empty horizon, his hands gripping his longbow so tightly his knuckles turned a sickly, pale shade of blue. You never came back up. You stayed hidden in the shadows of the rocks until they had to leave and fly back home to the forest, feeling more like a ghost than a living man.

Many nights later, Neteyam sat on a log near the weapon racks, idly running a whetstone down the edge of his hunting knife when a shadow fell over him. Jake Sully stepped into the light, his large frame blocking out the stars. He watched his eldest son for a quiet minute, taking in the rigid, defensive curve of the his spine.

“You're off your mark, son,” Jake said, his deep voice slicing through the crickets. “During the perimeter check today, you missed three separate trails on the western border. That’s not like you.”

Neteyam didn't look up. He kept his head bowed, the whetstone scraping against the blade. “Just tired, sir. The patrols have been long.”

“It’s not the patrols,” Jake countered gently. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the weapon rack, his expression softening. “I know what happened after the ridge raid, Neteyam.”

The whetstone stopped.

Neteyam’s hands tried to grip the knife tighter to hide the trembling of his fingers. For the first time in his life, he couldn't hold his mask in place. A small, ragged breath escaped his lips, and when he finally turned his face up to look at his father, Jake blinked sharply from the surprise of seeing Neteyam’s eyes bright with unshed tears.

“I hurt her, Dad,” Neteyam said weakly, his voice breaking. “I was... I was so unnecessarily cruel. I was too stupid, opening my mouth like that. Shouting at her... saying those terrible things.”

He let out a shaky breath, his face crumpling from the sheer, agonizing effort of trying not to cry, but the first tear slipped anyway.

“Have you seen her at the pavillion, Dad?” he asked. “That's not her. That is no longer her because I broke her. I took her spirit and I crushed it with my cruelty. And what’s worse, what is killing me every second, is that she thinks she deserved it. She thinks I was right.” He dropped the knife into the dirt, his hands coming up to cover his face. “I don't know how to turn it all back around. I want her to forgive me. I want her to know... I’d rip my own heart right out of my chest if it means I could take away the pain I gave her.”

Jake let out a long, heavy sigh. His own features crumpled in deep distress for the two of you. He reached down, placing a calloused hand on his son’s trembling shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Have you tried apologizing again? Truly talking to her?”

“No,” Neteyam choked out, pulling his hands away from his face, his eyes red-rimmed from his tears. “I think she doesn't want to see me ever again. I flew to the Tayrangi with Ruk'e last week... and the moment she saw my ikran, she retreated. She dove back into the cliffs... She didn't want to be near me, Dad.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his teeth. “Have you tried hiding your ikran from view?”

Neteyam shot his father a miserable, exhausted look. “Dad,” he said, his you're-not-helping tone incredibly obvious. “I don't want to force her. If she wants to be away from me, I... I have to respect that. Even if it kills me.”

“Well,“ Jake said slowly, shifting his weight as he stared out into the dark canopy. “Perhaps you should just give her time... The perfect time to talk to her would probably be when she’s mated and having children with her husband—”

“Dad,” Neteyam’s voice rose and deepened, his head snapping up in sheer horror. The tears on his cheeks dried instantly as his heart did a terrifying, sickening dive into his stomach.

“What?” Jake asked, completely straight-faced, though there was a tiny, knowing glint in his eye. “You're taking too much time, son. Men could swoop in anytime, you know? Especially now. She’s back home, heartbroken, and trying to move on from a stupid boy who is too terrified to admit that he belongs to her. That’s exactly when other men take their chances.”

Neteyam closed his eyes, his breathing turning shallow and fast. For the first time in his twenty-two years of life, he felt a wild, primitive urge to beat his own father up.

It wasn't funny, but he knew that his father wasn’t joking either, and as he sat there, his mind began to spin into a dark spiral of jealousy and terror. He had always known that you liked him, that you had liked him since you were children, but because he had been so focused on his duty, he had never allowed himself to measure the depth of it. He had taken your presence for granted. He had assumed you would always be there, annoying him, teasing him, waiting for him to finally turn around.

But you were a chieftain's daughter. You were a legendary huntress, beautiful, fierce, and wild. He knew exactly how many Tayrangi young men watched you with fierce attraction when you flew. The only reason they had stayed away before was because you were down here, making a public nuisance of yourself over the Omatikaya heir.

Now, you were back home. Heartbroken and vulnerable.

Neteyam’s fingers curled into tight fists against his knees, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned under the pressure. The thought of another warrior touching your hand, the thought of another man making you laugh, or seeing that brilliant, wicked smirk return to your face, made his blood run thick.

“She is the daughter of the Olo’eykte,” Neteyam muttered, his voice dropping into a low register. “She would not just choose anyone.”

“No, she wouldn't,” Jake agreed softly. “But she will choose eventually, Neteyam. And right now, you're letting her believe she is better off without you.”

Jake turned away, leaving Neteyam to sit with the desperate fire that had lit inside him. He had broken your spirit, yes. But he would be damned if he let another man be the one to fix it.

With this new fire in him, Neteyam returned to the Tayrangi three more times over the following weeks, armed with a bag of increasingly flimsy excuses. The first time, he claimed his father needed a precise audit of the coastal clan's surplus ikran armor. The second time, he practically forced himself onto a tracking detail meant to map the migration patterns of the sturmbeast herds near the Tayrangi territories. By the third time, he was carrying a bundle of forest herbs from Mo’at that Tayrangi healers hadn't even asked for.

Yet, three times, you managed to dodge him completely.

It was maddening. It felt as though someone was deliberately feeding you a schedule of his arrivals and departures. Every time his blue-green ikran broke through the coastal fog, you were already gone, out on a hunt, or patrolling the northern borders. He even began to suspect your brother, Ruk’e, was secretly warning you through some hidden signal, but he knew for a fact that the man had no way of communicating with you.

You were simply anticipating him. You were treating him like an incoming storm, closing your doors and retreating into a safe place before the first drop of rain could touch you.

By the fourth visit, Neteyam had reached his absolute limit. He didn't bring an escort, and he didn't use the main landing platforms. He left his ikran tethered half a league away, hidden in a dense thicket, and trekked up the rocky coastal paths on foot, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was taking his father’s advice now, though he really hated the thought of surprising you.

He caught you by pure accident near the lower tide pools, where the cliffs formed a secluded cove. You were alone, repairing a frayed net, your long legs tucked beneath you on the smooth stone.When his shadow fell over you, you snapped your head up. For a second, your eyes widened in genuine, startled surprise. But the shock vanished, replaced instantly by that smooth mask of careful, polite nonchalance that made Neteyam’s stomach twist into a painful knot.

“Neteyam,” you said, your voice casual, but your fingers tightened so hard around the wooden netting needle. You made no move to stand, looking up at him as if he were nothing more than a passing trader. “What brings you here? Do you need help with anything, or were you sent here?”

You spoke the words with an easy, detached courtesy, even though your entire posture screamed that you wanted to be anywhere else but in front of him.

Neteyam closed the distance between you, his strides long and desperate. He didn't care about his dignity anymore. He didn't care that he was the commander of the ground forces or the son of Toruk Makto. He stopped just two paces away from you, his breath hitching as his eyes immediately swept down to your thigh. The bandage was gone, replaced by a white scar where the bullet had grazed you.

The sight of it made his throat tighten with a fresh wave of suffocating guilt.

“I wasn't sent, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, fractured register. He took a half-step forward, his hands twitching at his sides, wanting so desperately to reach out but forcing himself to stay back. “I came because of you. I came because I want to talk to you. I... I cannot sleep, I cannot breathe, and I—”

You let out a sharp, sudden breath, dropping the netting needle into your lap. The polite facade finally cracked, and you stood up, your tail whipping the air behind you in a sudden flash of genuine irritation.

“Aren’t we over this, Neteyam?” you snapped, your eyes narrowing as you glared up at him. “We discussed this already. I thought we agreed to get past it.”

“Y/N, please—”

“No, listen to me,“ you cut him off, your voice rising, hard and sharp. “If this is about your guilt, you can lay it down. I told you before, I have nothing to forgive. I accepted your words because they were true. But if you are going to keep coming here with more pathetic apologies and diplomatic reassurances, you are actually going to make me angry.” You stepped closer. “I told you to stand by your words. If you cannot back your own words, Neteyam, I would be deeply disappointed. You are going to lead your clan one day, and an Olo'eyktan’s words must be solid as stone. If you are this fickle with your own tongue, how can anyone trust you?“

“That is the problem!” He said pointedly, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing emotion as he grabbed your hand, his fingers locking around your wrist before you could pull away, his grip desperate but fiercely tender. “I regret my words, I regret them every single second of every day—”

You tried to wrench your wrist free, but he held fast, his eyes blazing down into yours with a terrifying, weeping intensity.

“I know I cannot take them back,” he breathed, his chest heaving as he stared into your eyes. “I know I cannot magically wipe away the pain I inflicted on you, and I know I cannot just hand you back the confidence that I shattered, but I will work on my hands and knees to bring you back to who you used to be. I will do whatever it takes, Y/N. I swear it to the Great Mother.”

You stopped pulling against his grip, your frame going completely rigid. A bitter huff escaped you, “I don't like who I used to be,” you whispered, and his head moved as if you’d slapped him. “And you said it yourself that day, you don't like it either. You said you were sick of it. You said I was a massive, childish distraction—”

“I was a fool!” he cried, his voice breaking completely. “I was terrified for the warriors, but most of all, I was terrified for you. When you fell from the sky... I thought I lost you. I let my fear turn into venom, and I threw it at the one person who didn't deserve it.”

You stared at him, your jaw tight, your breathing ragged. For a second, just a fraction of a second, Neteyam thought he saw a flicker of the old warmth that used to belong entirely to him. But then, your expression hardened again.

“It doesn't matter why you said it, Neteyam,” you said, your voice flat. “The fact remains that your assessment was correct. I was reckless, and I put lives at risk. Your cruelty was just the mirror I needed to see myself clearly. Now, let go of me. I have nets to mend."

Neteyam’s fingers slowly uncurled, his arm dropping to his side as if it had been cut. You didn't give him another glance, you simply sat back down on the rock, picked up your wooden needle, and began weaving the fibers with steady, unbothered precision.

That day was completely unproductive for him. He spent the remaining hours sitting on a boulder a few paces away, watching you work in absolute silence. You didn't speak to him again. You didn't look at him. You treated him like a piece of rock, completely ignoring his presence until the sun began to dip and he was forced to hike back to his ikran, his heart heavier than when he had arrived.

Neteyam did not give up. In fact, his failure only made him more relentless.

He began flying between the Omatikaya and the Tayrangi almost every single day, uncaring of the brutal, grueling transit on top of his patrols, trainings, and war meetings. He would wake up before the first light of dawn, complete his mandatory border patrols, and then immediately push his ikran through the treacherous mountain drafts just to spend an hour or two on the cliffs.

He became a desperate fixture in your clan. He didn't care how it looked to your people. He didn't care that they watched with raised eyebrows and murmurs of amusement as the proud Omatikaya heir practically degraded himself for a glimpse of their chieftain's daughter. He didn’t know how to fully show you how sorry he is, and how sorry he will be for the rest of his life, so he started with the absolute surrender of his pride.

If you were out in the lower fields gathering ocean kelp for the healers, Neteyam would appear beside you to help without a word. He would haul the heavy, water-logged crates onto his shoulders, carrying them up the steep cliff paths so you wouldn't have to. You would tell him to leave, your voice sharp with annoyance, but he would simply set his jaw, and go back down for another load.

When you were assigned to clean and grease the riding saddles, he would sit on the floor opposite you, taking the rough scraping stones out of your hands. He would spend hours working the stiff leather until his fingers blistered, quiet despite the clear annoyance and suffocating silence you serve him. Some days, you wouldn't even show yourself, your people telling him you went to patrol or hunted, leaving him sitting alone on the rocky ledges for hours.

But he always came back the next day.

One evening, after a particularly brutal afternoon where you had completely ignored his existence while he helped the elders fix something, he caught you as you walked back toward your family's yurt. The sky was a bruised purple, and the bioluminescence was casting a soft light across your face.

He called out your name, his voice light despite the clear exhaustion on his face. He looked terrible, his shoulders were bruised from hauling timber, but there was still the sharp, military crispness of his posture despite the air of a man who was running on nothing but sheer desperation.

You stopped, but you didn't turn around to face him. “Go home, Neteyam. Take the war seriously instead of spending so much of your time here. Your father needs you.”

“My father has other warriors,” Neteyam said, stepping closer. “I will not stop. I will come here every day. I will carry every basket, I will mend every net, I will bleed on these rocks until I’ve proven myself to you.”

You finally turned your head, looking over your shoulder at him. Your face was half-hidden in the shadows, but your eyes were fixed on him.

“You are wasting your time,” you said, though your voice devoid of its usual malice, carrying only a profound, weary sadness. “The girl who would have been happy with all of these is gone, Neteyam. Even I couldn’t bring her back. You cannot bring back something that no longer exists.”

His breath hitched, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow from his father’s training sessions. His ears pinned flat against his head, but he took a deep breath, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. You silently gasped, watching the proud, golden boy of the Omatikaya, who had been raised to hold his head high, lowering himself in the dirt of the Tayrangi cliffs.

“Then who is she now?“ he asked quietly. “Would you let me meet her?” he pleaded, looking up at you soulfully, his chest heaving. “If she is a stranger, then let me earn her. Let me learn the way she breathes, the way she speaks, what makes her laugh now. I do not care if it takes the rest of my life. I will build a bridge over whatever ocean you put between us.”

You looked down at him, your eyes tracing his bruised shoulders, the raw, blistered skin on his fingers, and the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked so tired, what with his duties back home and the tasks he’s killing himself to do here, only to be ignored by you.

“You are a fool, Neteyam,” you murmured softly.

“I am,” he agreed instantly, his eyes tired but fiercely intense. “I am a fool who took you for granted and hurt you, who took too long to realize that my world has no tilt on its axis if you don’t belong in it.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. For many moons, you had kept your heart behind an impenetrable wall of ice, convincing yourself that what had happened broken something inside you that could never be mended. But looking at him now, no armor to break nor wall to climb, and entirely surrendered at your feet, a terrifyingly familiar warmth threatened to crack the frost.

You stepped around him, your tail flicking with a wave of mixed emotions. “The elders need the nets mended by first light tomorrow,” you said, not looking back as you pulled open the flap of your yurt. “If you are going to bleed on our rocks, you might as well make yourself useful.”

You left him outside and he watched the flap shut close with a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there in moons. He let out a long breath, staying on his knees for a moment longer. A fierce, protective spark reignited in his chest. That wasn’t exactly forgiveness, but you had indirectly told him not to leave and tend to the nets, a complete opposite of how you’d pushed him away every single day in the past moons.

He’s not confident yet, but it was a crack in your armor.

Standing up, he wiped the dust from his knees, his eyes watching the flap with tangible longing, before deciding to walk down toward the docks where the torn nets lay waiting.

Days turned into weeks, and Neteyam’s presence in the cliffs before the first light ever crested the horizon has become a constant view. You were drinking your morning tea on a higher ledge when you saw him trekking up the hill, his ikran stubbornly left in a hidden thicket half a league away even though you’d stop avoiding him or fleeing away at the sight of his ikran. You’d seen where he hids his ikran and knew that he had to trek the rocky, miles-long paths on foot before he could even reach your home.

“You should have just brought your mount here instead of trekking that much distance,” you casually said.

He stared at you, as if surprised that you’d suggest that. “Maybe... Maybe tomorrow,” he replied.

Your eyes narrowed at how he was uncharacteristically wearing his warrior cummerbund. It was a gear he wears during missions, but one he rarely wore for casual labor. On top of that, he also looked too pale for your liking, his skin lacking its usual vibrance and his lips almost as white as sea foam.

“Did you come straight here from a mission?“ you probed and he immediately shook his head.

“Just patrol,” he answered, his voice a little gravelly.

Your eyes narrowed, refusing to press for more answers but you watched him almost the entire time, silently going straight to work, lifting heavy timber, hauling supply crates, and helping grease the stiff riding saddles of your clan’s riders. It was past mid-day when he finished, just in time for him to get back for the council meeting, if their schedule is still the same as you remembered.

You caught him just as he was walking down the mountain path. “Neteyam,” you called out.

He turned around immediately and you saw the slight sway that followed that sudden movement, which he tried to mask by shifting his weight.

“You should eat before you go,” you said, keeping your voice even. “I haven’t eaten yet, too... Only if you’d like,” you added.

A look of pure surprise crossed over his pale face. For a second, he just stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The exhaustion weighing him down seemed to lift, replaced by a twinkle in his eyes that made you almost smile. Thank Eywa, you were able to stop yourself!

“I... I would like that,” he murmured, his voice soft.

He walked back with you into the communal yurt, aware of your people’s eyes tracking your movements. After all, this was the first time you actually invited him in for anything, knowing how their imaginative minds have long came up with stories of their own to explain the presence of the Toruk Makto’s heir in the Tayrangi.

He sat across from you and you noted how slow he seemed to be moving, having known how efficient he usually is, so you handed him a bowl of steaming soup and a plate of honeyed roasted fish that you’ve already cut into bite-sized pieces. His eyes were heavy on you that your skin seemed to tingle at your every move, too conscious of yourself knowing that he’s watching you.

Your eyes snapped to his, your brow rising. “Eat. The food will go cold,“ you said.

He nodded, redirecting his attention on his food. Despite the pain on his side, a sense of profound peace seemed to settle over him. He was sitting across from you, eating your food, sharing your space. He was so glad he perservered to go today. Whatever agony pokes at him under his tight cummerbund was a cheap price to pay for this single moment with you.

When the bowl was completely empty, he placed it down with meticulous care, waiting for you to finish without speaking, but halfway your meal, your eyes snapped up to his.

“You can go, if you wished,” you said casually.

“Believe me, I do not wish to be anywhere but here,” he replied. “I knew I would have to wait, you were always a slow-eater.”

Your lips pushed forward. He knows that. You tilted your head to brush it off. “I’ve grown faster since I became a huntress,” you retorted.

“Hm. I wish I can see it,” he said, his voice laced with humor.

You stuffed the rest of your food into your mouth, chewing non-stop as your cheeks filled with food bubbling like a syaksyuk eating utumauti. A snort escaped him as he watches you, one that turned into a genuine laugh, though it was cut short, his ears twitching and his jaw tightening as he suppressed a grimace.

“Why?” you asked, your voice muffled by the food in your mouth. He looked like he was pained.

He shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on the low table. He handed you a bowl of water. “Slow down, syaksyuk, or you’ll choke...”

He chuckled when you rolled your eyes before ccepting the water he offered, continuously chewing. Once you were finished, you finally spoke, “You should get moving,” you said softly, reaching over to stack his empty bowl onto your plate. “If you are late for the council meeting, they might think that Toruk Makto’s heir lacks discipline. We don’t want that.”

Neteyam let out a quiet sigh, the humor fading into a weary but profoundly content expression. He slowly pushed himself up from the ground, a sharp, involuntary gasp escaping his teeth before his hand flew to his ribs, but he quickly converted the movement into a stretch. He looked down at you with a lingering fondness.

“Thank you for the meal,” he said softly. “I must head to the council now. I will... I will be back tomorrow. With my ikran, if you meant what you said.”

You went to stand, following him out of the communal space to walk him only until the ledge. “Take care...” you whispered in the wind as you watched him go. Your eyes narrowed, noting how unusually heavy his steps were. He really looked remarkably weak.

You figured you'd ask him tomorrow, but your suspicion was answered much sooner than you expected. In the dead of night, Ruk’e quietly entered your yurt, his expression unusually grave.

“Pack your weapons,” he said, his voice low. “The war council needs you back urgently. The RDA is pushing the western flank, and they need every competent ikran rider back in the air.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Mother agrees it is time.”

He left out the part where Jake Sully himself spoke with him. What you didn't know was that back at the Omatikaya hometree, Neteyam had fallen ill through the night. Yesterday, during a swift ambush on an RDA scout unit, a stray shrapnel had torn into his midriff. It was just a minor injury that required only bed rest, but Neteyam had completely ignored the Tsahik's orders. He had wrapped it tightly, hidden it beneath his cummerbund, and flown straight to the Tayrangi to help haul your clan's imports.

When he returned to the forest, he could barely stand. His wound was bleeding beneath his cummerbund, and his body hot with fever.

Now, he lay on a mat in the Tsahik’s tent, practically delirious. Neytiri sat near him, her tail whipping in a furious frenzy as she scolded him. “You went to the Tayrangi? What did you even do there that you’d managed to have your flesh torn open?! Have you lost your mind, Neteyam?!”

Through the haze of his fever, Neteyam weakly opened his eyes. “Mother... it’s fine. I am fine. Just... do not tell her. She wants me to bring... My ikran tomorrow...” his mouth formed into a lazy smile.

“What?!” Neytiri cried out, her voice breaking in panic. “Neteyam, you could barely open your eyes, and you're flying back there again to do only the Great Mother knows what?!“

“Mother, it’s okay,” he muttered, brushing her hands away.

Jake stepped into the tent, his large hand resting on his wife's shoulder to calm her, though he himself was worried. “You can't do this to yourself, boy. You're going to kill yourself before the RDA even gets a chance to.”

Neteyam let out a long, ragged sigh, his eyes closed. “Have you ever had someone be your entire world, Dad?” he whispered, his voice laced with contentment. “We ate together earlier... And it felt like my entire world was narrowed down on that table... With her sitting across from me. I don't think... I don't think I can miss a single day not seeing her. If I stop showing up... She will think I gave up.”

Neytiri’s fury slowly melted away, her face falling as she watched her son finally drift into a deep, feverish sleep. She turned to Jake and his eyes snapped to her, sharing a look of understanding.

The next morning, you walked with mother and brother to the war pavilion. You had flown back with Ruk’e at dawn, your mind focused on the reports Ruk’e has told you, but some parts of you were thinking about how Neteyam would react seeing you back in the council. Now, he wouldn't have to exhaust himself flying from the forest to the Eastern Coast.

The council welcomed you, asking you about things back home and slowly easing the current climate regarding the sky people into the conversation. You assured them your brother has told you and that you know what you came here for. You turned to the pavilion’s entrance when you heard an entourage enter, freezing at the sight you saw.

Neteyam entered first, his midriff wrapped with a medical woven fabric, and there was an unmistakable fresh smear of blood already blooming through the center of the cloth. He looked very pale. His head casually snapped to your direction, and the absolute shock on his face mirrored your own. Written on his forehead was a huge why are you here?

He instinctively took a half-step backward, his tail twitching as if he wanted to flee the pavilion entirely rather than let you see him like this. But Jake was standing directly behind him. His father placed a firm, unyielding hand on his shoulder, gently prompting him forward into the room. Neteyam swallowed hard, forced his chin up, and continued walking as if everyone in the pavilion didn’t witness his panic at the sight of you.

Well, it’s not like these people are oblivious to his daily trips to the Tayrangi. They had known, it’s only that they didn’t know exactly what for though they had a hunch. And now, he practically confirmed it. He was persistently going there for you.

Meanwhile, the pieces in your mind instantly fell into place. His paleness yesterday, the cummerbund, the obvious weariness... He had been bleeding out while lifting things that normally needed the strength of two men.

“Thank you all for gathering so quickly,” Jake began, clearing his throat as he addressed the elders. “I spoke with Ikeyni and Ruk’e yesterday. We have expanded our flight perimeters, and we drastically need our most skilled ikran riders back in the vanguard. Y/N has agreed to step back into her role.”

As the chieftains murmured their approval, the briefing began. You forced your mind to focus, stepping up to the map table to report on the coastal movements. “The Tayrangi borders are currently stable,” you said, your voice serious and level. “We ran three separate scouts and extended it along the northern reef daily. So far, it's untouched.”

You reached across the wide table for a wooden marker to illustrate the scout lines, but your fingers missed it by a few inched. Before you could lean forward again, a hand moved into your field of vision.

Neteyam picked up the marker for you.

As he extended his arm, a subtle flinch crossed his features. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck strained, the simple effort of reaching across the table obviously hurt him. But when his golden eyes turned to meet yours, the pain vanished behind a cool mask of a hardened warrior. He stared at you with an intense, unblinking focus that made your face feel incredibly hot.

The silence stretched for a beat too long. Jake cleared his throat loudly, and from the corner of the pavilion, Lo'ak let out a highly audible, mocking snicker.

You quickly tore your gaze away, your cheeks burning. “Thanks...” you muttered, looking at the map through your lashes.

“You're welcome,” Neteyam drawled, his voice low and smooth despite the sweat glistening on his brow.

You bit your lip, your cheeks still burning as you forced your voice to level to continue your report. The moment the council was dismissed, Neteyam stayed back, lingering by his father's side to converse with the elders. He was very obviously trying to avoid leaving the pavilion at the same time as you.

But you weren't going to let him escape. You walked out with your arms crossed and waited right outside the entrance, your eyes already narrowed into slits. When Neteyam finally emerged, he stopped dead in his tracks. Seeing you standing there like a warden, he took a breath and adjusted his posture, walking toward you with every ounce of military bravado he could muster, desperately trying to hide the slight limp in his stride. The red stain on his white bandage had grown wider.

“What is that?” you demanded without so much as a greeting, gesturing sharply to his torso.

Neteyam stopped two paces away, his expression carefully neutral as he looked away toward the trees. “Just a minor injury from the recent mission. It is nothing.”

“You got shot?” you pressed, stepping closer, your voice rising in genuine disbelief.

“It's a shrapnel,” he corrected quickly as if that made it all better.

“Great! An iron slug tore through your side, and you still came to the coast yesterday? You still did the heavy lifting? You still hiked miles on foot to your ikran?!”

“It was just small,” he lied smoothly, though his breathing was shallow.

“Then why is it actively bleeding?!“ your voice rose slightly.

“It just got strained yesterday, but it’s nothing serious—”

“Are you insane?!” you huffed, your anger finally boiling over. “My father died from a small wound and left my mother a widow, Neteyam! You are not thinking! You have a responsibility to this war, to your family, to your people! How can you preach to me about discipline and taking things seriously when you are out there compromising your own body for something so small?!”

Neteyam listened to your tirade, his ears pinning back slightly against his head. But he didn't flinch away from your fury, instead, he watched you with that stupidly twinkling eyes. He took a step closer, the hardened soldier completely melting away to reveal the raw, aching man underneath.

“What are you calling small? Your forgiveness? Your attention? The chance I was asking for from you? It’s not small to me, Y/N. It is everything to me... And right now, it is all that is holding me together,” he said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity.

“Must you really put yourself at risk like that?” you cried, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

He groaned, closing his eyes momenyarily, when you could no longer hold your tears back. You are so scared right now, so worried for him, it’s not even funny.

“Just let me, alright? I said I will do everything to earn the right to at least be near you again, and this is me standing by my words. Like what you told me to do,“ he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his conviction. He stepped into your space, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side. “I told you, I will do whatever it takes. I did not want to miss a single day of trying to show you that I will show up. Even if I am bleeding, even if you do not look at me, I will be there.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. The sheer, stubborn idiocy of his devotion was infuriating, but beneath the anger, that stubborn wall of ice around your heart suffered another massive, catastrophic crack.

“Well, you don't have to do all that anymore,” you said, looking down at his bleeding bandage, your tone softening into something weary. “I am back on the council now. I will be here in the forest. You don't need to fly to the coast for me.”

“It does not change anything,” Neteyam countered instantly. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, close enough for you to feel the heat of his fever, though he refrained from touching you. “Just because you are back in the pavilion does not mean I am done. I will still work for your forgiveness, Y/N. I will still do everything in my power until you can look at me and trust me the way you used to. I am not stopping.”

You looked up at him, your mouth slightly open, completely at a loss for words. You mouth opened again to retort, but before you could even speak, a sudden, frantic rustling erupted from the pavilion entrance. Lo’ak came scrambling out, his limbs flailing wildly as he tried to prevent himself from falling into the dirt.

You and Neteyam quickly turned to him, only to get surprised to see not just Lo’ak, but an entire audience: Jake, Neytiri, Ikeyni, and Ruk’e. They were all standing completely still, their expressions a mix of profound interest and varying degrees of amusement. But because Lo’ak had tripped and completely blown their cover, the privacy shattered instantly.

Ikeyni was the first to recover, clearing her throat with a loud, entirely performative cough. “Ah... Ruk'e, we must go and inspect the riders at the vanguard. Immediately.“

Neytiri smoothed down her braids, her sharp eyes twinkling as she looked anywhere but at her eldest son. “Ah, and I must find Tuk. We have... things to gather. Many things.“

Jake offered a highly unconvincing nod, clapping a hand on a thoroughly embarrassed Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Right. And I have an urgent meeting with the elders about... perimeter lines.”

“I am hungry,” Ruk’e announced flatly to the sky, ignoring the fact that he had consumed a massive breakfast less than an hour ago.

Lo’ak let out a low whistle, backing away alongside the adults. Within three seconds, the entire crowd had vanished, leaving you two alone.

You turned back to Neteyam, your ears pinning flat against your head as you glared at him, trying desperately to mask the raging blush creeping up your neck. “You need to go see the Tsahik. Right now. You are bleeding through your bandage.”

Neteyam nodded, but he didn't move. He stayed standing there, towering over you, watching your fiery exasperation with a soft, maddening look of pure adoration. You groaned, a sound of defeat tearing from your throat.

Reaching out, you firmly grabbed his wrist and began dragging him yourself toward the Tsahik’s tent. “Move, you stubborn man,” you muttered. You figured you wanted to see exactly how small this wound actually was.

When you pulled him into the warmth of the Tsahik’s tent, Mo’at didn't look even remotely surprised to see you practically hauling the clan's golden heir by his arm.

“Ah, and he returns,” Mo’at remarked dryly, setting down a bowl of poultice. “Did I not tell you last night, Neteyam, when you came home violently ill and shaking with fever, that your flesh would tear? Look at this!”

With practiced, firm hands, she unclipped the medical wrap. When the bloody fabric fell away, your breath hitched, and you winced sharply.

The wound was not small. It was an angry tear about as long as your pinky finger, stretching deep into the muscle of his side, the edges raw and weeping fresh blood from where he had strained it.

“You are a liar,” you hissed, the fear in your chest turning into a surge of anger. You reached out and forcefully pinched his shoulder. “You said it was small!”

Neteyam’s hand instantly shot up, his fingers gently trapping yours against his shoulder. His twinkling eyes locked onto yours, completely unbothered by the pinch, and he flashed a rare smile that showed his pearly whites. It was so genuine, so disarming, that the hot anger in your chest simmered down into a helpless flutter.

“There is nothing to worry about, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “I’ve had worse before.”

You merely hissed at him in response, pulling your hand back.

Mo’at wiped the blood away and applied a fresh layer of soothing poultice, wrapping the midriff with tight, clean linen. Once finished, she stood up, turning her sharp gaze directly onto you. “Y/N, I am entrusting this hard-headed man to you. He does not listen to me, to his mother, or to his father. He needs strict bed rest. That wound will never close if he keeps moving and straining himself.”

You nodded with absolute solemnity, crossing your arms. “You can trust me, Tsahik. I will personally castrate this man if he even thinks about lifting a finger.”

Mo’at let out a rare, breathy chuckle, shaking her head as she gathered her bowls and exited the tent, leaving the two of you alone.

You turned to him. “Sleep,” you hissed.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, a soft chuckle escaping him as he sank into the furs with a weary sigh, his eyes half-closed as he looked up at you through his lashes. “No need for castration... that would make you miss your babies...”

The last words were a barely audible, sleepy whisper, but the tent was so quiet that they rang like a bell in your ears. “What?!” you snapped, your entire face exploding in a violent heat.

Neteyam just smiled lazily, turning his head onto the fur pillow. “Sleeping now...”

True to your word, you made sure he took his rest. For the next week, you refused to let him leave the Tsahik’s tent unless necessary, sitting by his side, forcing him to eat, and threatening him with your dagger whenever he tried to sit up too fast.

But once his fever broke and the wound finally closed into a healthy, silver seam, he went back to waiting at your feet, and he became entirely shameless. He would bring you the sweetest fruits before morning drills, sharpen your arrow tips and hunting dagger, and sit quietly beside you during meals, completely content just to exist in the same space. He was still the same as before. There was no pushing or demanding, only working to seamlessly wove himself into your daily routines.

If you are to be asked when exactly did the remaining ice around your heart melted, you’d say it had turned into a puddle long ago. But now, as the Hometree came alive with the people singing and dancing to celebrate a turn of successful hunts, your chest was singing with a familiar hum. One you never thought you’d feel again. You stood near the outer roots, watching the dancers, when a familiar warmth bloomed at your side.

Neteyam stood beside you, wearing his formal warrior gear. He didn’t speak, but his hand hung loosely between you, his fingers inches from yours. You bit your lip, looking at his profile through your lashes, noting his sharp jawline and his beautiful patterns. It was the same image of the boy you swore to make fall in love with you. You wondered what thirteen-year-old you would have thought if she knew that this man literally bled into the dirt just to prove he wouldn't give up on you.

You let out a soft, long sigh. Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hand to intertwine your fingers with his.

Neteyam froze. His head snapping down to look at your joined hands, and when he lifted his eyes to yours, they were bright, watering. “Y/N...” he breathed, his voice trembling.

“What?” you whispered, a soft, familiar smirk finally returning to your lips. “Some would say this is the perfect time for a kiss... Unless you’re scared,” you mumbled.

He blinked, his forehead creasing for a moment before a ragged, breathless laugh escaped him. It was you who moved and tiptoed to press a soft kiss on his lips, and you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer, kissing you better. You smiled against his lips.

“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you pulled away only to murmur, and he chased your lips.

“I love you...“ he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. The sheer, unadulterated happiness radiating from him was intoxicating, and you cannot help but grin.

But the beautiful moment was violently ripped away when a deafening horn blew, shattering the festival music and the celebration.

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” The people announced.

High above, in the eastern branches of the Hometree’s canopy, a terrifying orange glow erupted. Your breath seized at your chest, a cry of panic escaping you as the people frantically ran to and fro in all directions. Neteyam moved, signaling to the nearby hunters.

“All hunters! Gather water from the river! Move!” he roared, crisp and authoritative.

The communal clearing exploded into calculated chaos. You and Neteyam sprinted toward the lower roots, organizing lines of warriors to haul water containers up the massive vines, while flyers are gathering water from the river to splash it to extinguish the fire. At first, everyone thought it was an accident, but as the smoke cleared, a familiar deep thrumming vibrated through the air.

From the clouds, the shapes of sever RDA gunships dropped into view firing blindly into the canopy.

“To the air!” Jake’s booming voice echoed.

You and Neteyam sprinted to the high roosts, connecting to your ikrans in a synchronized flash of movement and flying into the open sky where the warriors on their ikrans were already fighting fiercely. You dove through the smoke to shoot pilots and sent arrows to the exposed underbellies of gunships you happen to get close to. Within an hour, the invading gunships were spiraling into the jungle in balls of fire.

You watched the fire it caused to the forest, your chest aching with fury and grief at the sight of it.

The war party was victorious, but the destruction it brought made all of you grim. The eastern branches of Hometree were charred black, but it didn’t burn the entirety, and fortunately, no one was dead or gravely injured.

The council convened immediately beneath the glowing roots, the air thick with tension.

“It is no longer safe to keep the children and the elders here. Hometree is too big a target,“ Jake said, his face shadowed by the firelight as he leaned over the map.

“We must relocate... for the meantime,” Neytiri agreed, her voice tight with grief.

“The Hallelujah Mountains. It’s filled of magnetic interference, their metal birds wouldn’t like it very much up there,” Neteyam spoke up, placing a stone on a specific grid of the map.

Jake nodded decisively. “We’ll send scouts, then we’ll evacuate those who cannot fight immediately. The warriors will stay on the ground to secure the perimeter and prepare our counter-strike.”

The plan was drawn swiftly. Jake didn’t want to wait longer. As soon as the clan is evacuated, the party will strike back. As you ordered some Tayrangi men to help with the evacuation, Neteyam caught your arm near the edge of the pavilion, his grup firm and his eyes holding a fierce, protective spark in them.

“After... After the battle is over...” he began, his eyes blinking too many times per second as he stammered for the right words to say.

“Hm?“ you prompted.

“Would you like...“ he trailed. “To have me as your mate?” he added, his words stumbling over one another, and even in the dark, you could see how his cheeks were tinted purple.

You blinked, your heart jumping at your throat, causing it to close as your eyes stung with hot tears. “How could I ever say no to that?” you said in a hoarse voice, your hand holding his firmly.

He pulled you close. “Yes?” he asked breathlessly and you nodded. His breath audibly caught in his throat, leaning forward to kiss you and pulling you even closer to deepen his kiss.

Neteyam broke the kiss reluctantly, his forehead resting against yours for one final, desperate second as the chaos of evacuation whirled around you two. He held your face in his hands, pressing another deep kiss. “Great Mother. I love you so much...”

You chuckled, gripping his forearm. “Glad you’ve finally caught up,“ you mumbled, giving him a peck.

“I have always been here, I was just stupid,” he chuckled, his eyes caressing your face.

The tender moment shattered, though, when a loud cough echoed from the shadows. Neteyam stiffened, and you pulled back just enough to see your brother stepping into the dim light. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed at Neteyam that practically shouted an order to let you go this exact second.

Neteyam cleared his throat, his hands slowly lowering, though he kept his fingers loosely holding your hip for just a heartbeat longer before fully stepping back. You bit your lip, stopping yourself from smiling as you took Neteyam’s hand to hold it. Ruk’e looked at you with a look that would normally be accompanied with a snort.

“Mother is looking for you. Right now. She says the Tayrangi scouts need their final instructions for the eastern ridge, and you're the only one who knows the layout of the lower caves.”

You pushed your lips forward. “I'm on my way,” you said, turning to Neteyam and tiptoeing to kiss him again. You bit his lower lip before pulling away, patting his chest. “Later.“

You turned away, your tail moving behind you, its hairy tip brushing his lower abdomen. You heard his gasp and you grinned as you walked away. You brought this small pocket of joy as your ikran perched on a cliff along with the others, waiting for the signal to fight. Neteyam was several ikrans away from you, although Toruk’s big head was almost hiding him from sight. He caught your gaze, giving you a fierce, sharp nod.

The signal came not from a horn, but from the unnatural tremor of distant explosions. War cries from your people and from the warriors from various clans erupted as hundreds of ikran took to the sky.

You plunged off the ledge, diving straight into the smoke. Your ikran, holding a large boulder in its hind legs, flew over a gunship’s rotors and threw the boulder with a force that tilted the gunship before it exploded into a ball of orange flame. You banked hard, narrowly dodging a volley of gunfire directed at you.

You pulled your ikran’s reins up, pulling the string of your bow before releasing an arrow through the glass of the gunship pursuing you. You watched the vehicle spin wildly, clipping another gunship before exploding into the nearest floating mountain. A sharp war cry tore from your throat, raising your bow before flying higher.

Below, you found Neteyam, riding with the reckless bravery of Toruk Makto himself, but with the terrifying precision of Neytiri. He guided his ikran into a dive, sending arrow grenades directly onto the rotors of a Dragon Assault ship, flying upstream before the large aircraft blasted, his war cry echoing over the din of combat.

For what seemed like hours, the sky bled. Whenever you feared you couldn't find Neteyam in the swirling ikrans flying in the air, he’d appear by your side, moving perfectly synchronized with you. Every time a threat closed in on your blind spot, Neteyam’s arrow finds them. Every time gunships threatened to box him in, your own lethal accuracy puts an end to it.

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the final RDA gunship was on a slow descent in flames. This should be a victorious moment, but the sight of the burning jungle below you filled you with a grief that seized your breath. The adrenaline of the battle took hours to fade, but after securing the perimeter of the clan’s hideout, and convening with the council to speak of the next steps the party should take to completely batter the RDA, you felt Neteyam’s hand catch your forearm again.

You turned to him, your excitement bubbling in your chest despite your exhaustion. You followed him as he navigated some steep edges and climbed a few vines, wondering where exactly you two are going, but when he pulled you up on what seemed like a hidden hollow, the sight of a secluded, bioluminescent pool surprised you. The water glowed with a soft, blue light, casting shifting, watery patterns across the jagged walls.

Your mouth curled into a huge smile, turning to him. “This is beautiful...”

“Found it when I was sixteen aimlessly flying around here. I thought then that maybe this could be a place for dates with my mate,” he said, smiling at you, his face devoid of tension.

“Dates?” you echoed.

“It’s... a human thing. My parents often go on dates. Just the two of them, spending time with each other...” he explained.

You smiled, “I like that.”

His hand traveled up your forearm to hold your elbow, pulling you closer. “Good. Because I’ve always thought of bringing you in this place,” he mumbled.

You looked up at him, the soft blue light from the pool catching the warmth in his eyes. “Even back then?”

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a reverent tone that made your chest tighten pleasantly. He reached down and gently slid his fingers between yours, leading you to the edge of the water. It was you who pulled him to sink into its chilly waters. “Even when I was trying to convince myself that I had to have laser focus on my duty, to be the most competent warrior I could be for my people, you were always the exception... You were always the tilt in my world.“

He held your jaw in his hand, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on your lips. His arms wrapped around your waist, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I know you forgave me. I know you said I didn't have to keep doing... all of that. But I need to say it, ” he paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I am so sorry. I will always be sorry... For the words I threw at you, for the pain I caused, for making you feel like you had to change who you were. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”

You moved your head slightly, you nose brushing his. The raw, unshielded vulnerability in his golden eyes was breathtaking. The proud, stubborn commander of the Omatikaya was completely laid bare before you, entirely surrendered. You have only ever dreamed of that.

“Neteyam,” You said softly, cupping his jaw with both hands. He stared at you, his eyes bright and swimming with an overwhelming wave of emotion. “The girl who used to be reckless might be gone, but the woman standing in front of you loves you more than she ever did,” you whispered, a soft, tearful smile breaking across your face. “I see you, Neteyam. I see everything you've done to make up for what you did. You don't have to carry the guilt anymore. Lay it down.”

A breathless sigh escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes, leaning heavily into the palm of your hand as if a massive weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. When he opened them again, the absolute devotion burning within them made your heart skip a beat. “I love you,” he breathed, his words an unbreakable vow. “Baby, I love you so much.”

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was entirely different from the stolen moments before the battle. This was slow, deep, yet desperate. You groaned softly, your fingers tangling into his braids, he pulled you even closer until there was no space left between you. His hands moved down to your hips, gently stepping you back until you hit the velvety edge of the pool.

He pulled away to look down at your face, his large form towering over you so much now that you’re nearly lying down on the flat edge. Slowly, deliberately, he brought his kuru forward, the glowing tendrils at the tip unfurling, searching for anything to connect with. “Are you sure you want me as your husband?”

You raised a brow, “Is that a warning?”

He pressed a hard kiss on your lips. “It’s only that there is no turning back... You are mine. Forever.” he whispered conspiratorially.

You took your kuru behind you, “I’ve never been one to turn back in fear...” You met him halfway, bringing your kuru forward until the tendrils entwined in a sudden, breathtaking flash of pure energy that caused borh of you to jerk involuntarily. You watched his pupils dilate, the black almost swallowing the gold.

His world felt as though it expanded, then narrowed down to just you, while you could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat as if it were beating in your own chest. You felt the raw, overwhelming depth of his love for you, the fear he felt he drove you away from him, the desperation that ate at him when you no longer cared for him, the hope that bloomed in him when you were so worried about his small wound, and the pure, weeping joy that had consumed him when you finally held his hand at the festival.

You let out a ragged, trembling breath, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled him down into a deep, bruising kiss. Neteyam groaned softly against your lips, his arms instantly locking around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the stone as if he couldn't get you close enough. The kiss shifted from soft and tender, to the desperate hardness of a man who wanted to devour you.

His hands were everywhere on your body, unclasping your beaded top and untying your loincloth behind your tail. You chuckled in his ears when his hand on your tail tickled you, and he angled his head to press a hard kiss on your jaw, shedding your loincloth off of you. He hauled you up to the ledge before following you to hover over you, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, naked under him. The cool blue light of the secluded pool danced across his broad shoulders, making you shiver with awareness about how large of a man he actually is. He looked down at you with a hunger born from years of restraining himself.

His large hands slid down from your waist, his thumbs tracing your curves down to you thighs before firmly pressing your thighs apart. You let out a soft gasp as the cool air hit your skin, but the chill was instantly replaced by the intense heat of his body as he settled between your knees. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and searching, demanding you witness exactly how completely he belonged to you.

Slowly, he lowered himself, his calloused hands guiding your knees wider, draping your legs over his broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat as his breath fanned across the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the smooth skin of your knee, then another higher up, tracking a slow, agonizing path inward until you were trembling beneath him.

“Neteyam,” you called, panicking as you pushed him back by his shoulder.

His eyes snapped up to you, his eyes dark and dangerous, as if waiting for you to tell him no, but the heat in his eyes flustered you with a heat on your cheeks. He kissed your inner thigh again, and when his lips finally found the center of your heat, a sharp gasp escaped you, your hand squeezing his shoulder.

He pressed a gentle hand on your chest, travelling a bit sideways to cup your breast. “Lay back,“ he mumbled and you did, propping yourself up on your elbows.

His lips found you again and he groaned against your flesh, his hands wrapping securely around the back of your thighs to hold you steady as he parted you with his fingers. His tongue was warm, broad, and too deliberate, drawing upward, tasting you fully. The connection through your entwined kurus sent a jolt of unadulterated pleasure down his spine, and in turn, you could feel his own arousal spiking through the bond, heavy and demanding.

You arched your hips off the ground, your fingers digging into the thick roots beside your head. “Neteyam...” you whimpered, your head rolling back.

He grew even relentless, his pace quickening, his tongue swirling and pressing harder against your sensitive nub. Your hips bucked when his finger slid inside you, feeling uncomfortable with the slight stretch as his mouth sucked at your heat. The sensation was too noverwhelming, and the bond is only amplifying everything. You could feel his deep satisfaction at your undoing, his pride swelling as your body began to tighten around his fingers, and with a firm stroke of his tongue, you felt a powerful tremor in your body, a loud sob tearing from your throat as your thighs clamped around his head.

Neteyam held you through the tremors, swallowing your heat, his purr vibrating heavily against you until your breathing began to slow. As he dragged himself back up to hover over you, his face flushed and his lips glistening, you caught your breath. “That was insane...” you huffed.

His eyes lightened a bit, the darkness yielding to his curiosity. “Really?“

“You know how good it felt for me,” you smiled, tugging at your entwined kurus. A sudden, wicked spark flared in your chest, traveling straight through the bond to hit him. “I want to do it to you, too,” you whispered, your voice husky, your eyes locking onto his.

Neteyam blinked, a sudden wave of heat washing through his expression as his pupils dilated further. “You don’t need—”

“No,” you cut him off, your hands sliding down his muscled abdomen, until it lowered where you felt him. He breathe sharply when you felt him through his loincloth, your hand gripping the massive hardness. “I want it in my mouth, too...”

He closed his eyes for a moment before giving in with a low, defeated groan, shedding his loincloth off before rolling onto his back on the moss. You chuckled, the sound so womanly to him he felt a currently of electricity running exclusively on the margins of his body, causing his ears to pin back against his ears as he watched you rose on your knees, parting your thighs to straddle him.

His hand moved to touch you between your thighs and you jolted with a loud moan, nearly falling over if you didn’t catch yourself by propping a hand on his chest. His fingers caressed your velvety folds, gathering your fresh wetness.

“I need to concentrate, ‘Teyam...” you groaned and he chuckled. You saw him bring his fingers into his mouth.

“Sorry... You just taste so good,” he licked his lips, reaching to kiss you, but you moved your head to kiss his jaw instead.

You pressed soft kisses on his skin, contrasting his hard and heavy kisses. His hands hovered at your waist, his head falling back, letting you slide down his body. He watched you through heavy eyelids, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as you positioned yourself between his muscled thighs. You bit your lip at the sight of his length fully erect, thick, and leaking a bead of thick pre-cum at its tip.

You leaned down, your braids brushing against his thighs as you wrapped your lips around the smooth, hot head of his shaft. Neteyam’s breath hitched violently. He threw his head back against the moss, his jaw clenching so hard the cords in his neck strained as you took him into your mouth, your hands fisting and moving by instinct. Your tongue swirled around the ridge, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke him as your mouth moved.

He moaned, his hips bucking as the bond flared with a white hot intensity. Through the connection, you felt the sheer, agonizing pleasure ripping through him, the tight, desperate control he was trying to maintain as the wet warmth of your mouth drove him insane.

“Oh, baby, please, I can't—“ he gasped out, his hips lifting involuntarily off the ground as your mouth sucked him harder. He reached down, his large hands tangling into your braids.

You thought he was going to push you away, but he only held your head there with more pressure for a few more desperate seconds that his largeness almost choked you, but then he gently pulled you up, his breathing completely shattered. You groaned, frowning that he had to pull his cock out of your mouth.

He looked you in the eyes, serious and with finality. “No more. I want to come inside you.”

He hauled you up by your waist, flipping you beneath him in one fluid motion. He was completely done with waiting. His large hand pinned both your wrists above your head, his other hand holding your waist in place as he aligned his hard length against your softness, his mouth coming down to capture yours.

With a slow, heavy thrust, Neteyam began burying himself inside you, until he’d sank in entirely. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders , letting out a breathless cry, feeling your walls stretching to accommodate him. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of the fit sent an exquisite pleasure for the both of you through the bond, and it felt as though your souls were melting into one another, leaving no distinction between where you and him stand.

Neteyam paused for a second, his eyes closing as he absorbed the tight, wet heat of your walls squeezing him. A ragged groan tore from his chest before he began to move in a pace that was immediately hard, deep, and desperate, as if he was pouring into you all the pent-up energy he had left from the battle.

He drove into you with a fiercely possessive rhythm, his hips pounding against yours with a strength that had you crying out his name. Every time he pulled back, he returned deeper, marking you, claiming every inch of your body as his own. His arm wrapped under your body, while the other hand hiked your knee up to your chest, making sure you receive each of his forceful thrust.

The bond left no walls or armors to crack, both of you feeling only the pure, intoxicating love, devotion, and absolute surrender you have for each other. The tension in your lower abdomen coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable. Neteyam’s pace became frantic, his jaw locked, his eyes fixed on yours with a terrifying intensity as he felt your walls begin to tighten around him.

“Oh, baby,” he choked out, his grip on your thigh tightening.

You screamed his name as your body convulsed around him, the pleasure shattering your vision into a thousand white sparks. Your grip on him triggered his own release, and a deep, guttural roar escaped him as he thrust brutally deep into you one last time and held himself there, his body stiffening as he spilled himself completely inside you.

“Fuck, I’m seeing stars...” he groaned, collapsing against your chest, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his own chest rising and falling in ragged, exhausted gasps. You broke into a weakened laugh, your hold on him loosening up a little as you pressed soft kisses on his temple.

The weeks that followed were a blur of war council meetings, suffocating maps, and aerial patrols around the High Camp. The ongoing struggle against the RDA had left very little time for you and Neteyam to enjoy your first days together, but it’s when you’re high above the sky that everything seemed to be yours.

You banked hard to the left, your ikran letting out a shrill cry as the wind rushed past your ears. Behind you, Neteyam dipped beneath a floating vine, a wild, unburdened laugh tearing from his throat. For a few glorious hours, the shadow of the RDA did not touch you. There were no battles, no strategies, and no bloodshed. There was only the dizzying feeling of flying, the wind, and the intoxicating freedom of racing the Neteyam through the floating mountains and its hanging vines.

He pulled up right beside you, his ikran's wingtip nearly brushing yours. When he turned his head, his golden eyes were bright, his smile throwing all his typical military crispness to the wind. You flashed him a sharp, challenging smirk, diving straight through a cascading waterfall.

“Keep up!” you taunged, leaving him to chase your laughter through the mist.

By nightfall, the adrenaline gave way to the familiar craving for quiet. You returned to the hidden hollow, slipping into the bioluminescent pool. The chilly waters swirled around your waist as Neteyam hugged you sideways, his chin finding your shoulder, bending his large frame to fit himself at your side.

Every night felt different, but tonight was calmer, filled with your soft mumurs and his low, rumbling chatters as you talked for hours about nothing at all, your fingers tracing the faint, silvery marks of his scars, before the talking faded into the slow and heavy rhythm of your lovemaking.

You are a impatient woman, but you couldn’t deny your love for his deliberate, agonizing slowness sometimes, his hands anchoring your waist as he worshipped you. Every thrust was deep and strong, his lips pressed to your throat, whispering your name like a prayer until the sensations from the bond left you both breathless, tangled together in a sweating, blissful heap.

The sky was just beginning to shift from darkness to the bruised purple of pre-dawn light when you woke up, your body singing with delicious soreness and you snuggled closer to his warmth. You kissed the soft skin of his shoulder, you hand caressing his muscled chest down to his abdomen. You smiled when he stirred, pressing soft kisses on his shoulder and neck, until you reach his jaw.

“Wake up, handsome...“ you mumbled. “It’s your turn today.”

He groaned softly, pulling you closer to him. “I hate leaving you.”

You chuckled. “So dramatic, my handsome man. I will be close behind,” you said, patting his abdomen. “Quick, quick. Before they wake up.”

He grunted, hauling you on top of him effortlessly. His eyes, though sleepy, watched you darkly as his hands moved to knead your breasts. You gasped softly, your hand clutching at his bicep as you peered down at him.

“I’m still sore from last night,” you said with a little drama, pouting at him.

He bit his lip, cooing at you. “I’ll help...” his hands moved down to your waist, ready to roll you over to your back but you were quick to sit up.

“No thanks. I know it’s not really help,” you smirked, grabbing your top. “Get up, warrior. You don’t want to get caught, do you?”

Neteyam groaned, a soft smile on his face before getting up, his hand clamping on your ankle to pull you toward him. You smiled when he bent his head a little to level with you. “Kiss,“ he mumbled and you gave him your lips.

You two kissed and kissed, but when you felt him nudging you to lie on your back, your eyes snapped open, pulling away from the kiss with narrowed eyes. “Neteyam...”

He smiled, his head falling dramatically. You rushed him, watching how the sun is almost peeking through the bruised sky, and Neteyam moved as quickly as he could, stealthily slipping back into the camp, walking with a light, quiet stride, a faint smile still on his lips as he neared his family’s tent.

“Out late?”

Neteyam froze, his ears pinning flat against his head. His father stepped out from the shadow, his arms crossed. From just inside the tent flap, Neytiri stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowed at her eldest son in a way that made Neteyam’s posture instantly snap into military rigidity.

Jake sighed. “Neteyam... I've been meaning to talk to you, boy. I know you’re sort of courting Y/N. The whole clan knows it, everyone knows it, but you cannot just spend nights after nights with her to only Eywa knows where. You are both unmated. It's a small camp, people talk, and it’s not going to be a good look for her reputation.”

Neytiri stepped fully into the dim light, her tail twitching. “Just last night, when you had to sleep here, you looked like you were being sent to war instead of just holding Tuk because she’s asked to snuggle with you,” she pointed out. “You best ask for her hand from Ikeyni, son. Formally. You can’t dishonor her with this fooling around that you young people tend to engage in these days.“

Neteyam opened his mouth to speak and explain, but the look on his father’s face had him turning his head to follow Jake’s line of vision. He then saw you stepping into the clearing, completely unaware of the tribunal happening right in front of the Sully tent. You had planned to quickly slip into the yurt you shared with your mother to change your clothes and fix your hair, but you had taken the wrong turn.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

To say you looked thoroughly ravaged was an understatement. Your hair was a wild, tangled halo of loose braids, your lips were visibly swollen, and your chest was heaving from the hurried walk. You looked exactly like a woman who had spent the last hours being thoroughly fucked. Jake blinked, looking from you to his son.

Neytiri tilted her head, her gaze shifting slowly from your wild hair down to Neteyam’s deeply flushed face. She looked at her son pointedly, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Neteyam...”

Neteyam looked at you, then at his parents, his chest rising as he took a deep, steadying breath. The boyish embarrassment vanished, replaced by the fierce, unyielding pride of a man who knew exactly where he stood.

He walked over to you, completely ignoring his father’s stunned expression, and firmly wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I will personally apologize to the Olo’eykte, Mother. Because there is no need to ask for her hand,” Neteyam said, squeezing your waist a bit as he looked at his parents. “We are already mated.”

Your heart jumped into your throat, your cheeks burning.

Jake stared at his son, utterly speechless for three long seconds, before a slow, defeated smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Well... damn. Congratulations, I guess,” he said. “But you need to talk to Ikeyni about this. Immediately.”

“What is the matter at hand?” Your mother’s voice coming from your clan’s side of the camp.

You startled, pursing your lips. Neytiri watched you, the stern face for her son breaking into a soft smile as she shook her head in comical disbelief for your and Neteyam’s stubbornness.

“We have a ceremony to prepare, Ikeyni,“ Neytiri turned to your mother with a triumphant smile. “The two seemed to have finally met halfway.”

[enthusiasticharry]

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔 — 𝐀𝐔 — 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 — 𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Fem!Omega Reader x Alpha!Harry | 𝐓𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0k

In the far north, where the sea meets ice and the gods still walk unseen, a child is born beneath an impossible sun. Branded by ancient seiðr, haunted by dreams that are not her own, and bound to a prophecy whispered before she could even speak. YN has always known her life would never truly belong to her. Across the water, Harry has been raised to rule, to fight, and to become the wolf his people expect. Their marriage is meant to unite two settlements. Instead, it awakens something far older. In a world where fate is sacred, love is dangerous, and the gods never speak without demanding something in return, YN and Harry must decide whether prophecy is something that can be changed...or merely survived.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈 — Woven

... more chapters to be announced...

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒: 𝟏. This story contains adult themes and language, such as sexual scenes. If you are uncomfortable with any of those, please do not read. 𝟐. This is what I have dubbed my passion project, and I read a single book and inspired this! 𝟑. This is an omegaverse story but I have changed certain elements to fit in with more norse terminology, i.e. omega = seiðr-blood, alpha = úlfr-blood. 𝟒. This is very different than what I normally write and focuses a lot on the world building, and the norse/omegaverse terminology and ideas. 𝟓. If the is not for you I will not be offended but if this is something you might be interested in, please give it a read! 𝟔. The main thing, as always, is please enjoy my passion project! I really have loved writing and researching this!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: This story contains explicit language, sexual content, norse/omegaverse terminology and a very, very sexy viking alpha Jarl Harry with a braid!

Please let me know what you think of 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 HERE!

[neteyamthinker]

there is only you

pairings aged-up!neteyam x omatikaya/olangi!female reader

notes heavy tuk and popiti involvement (in the spreading misinformation department), mutual pining, neteyam is emotionally constipated in the beginning 🙏🏻, angst to comfort, grovelling, reader is the kindest and sweetest person in the world, olangi clan exposure, reach around rough fingering, smut (p in v), oral (f receiving)

synopsis you’ve always liked neteyam but you’ve also always known that he’s far out of your league. you know where you stand, and not once did you ever dream of having him for yourself. you know he’ll never like you back anyway... but it's one thing to know and another to hear it from him.

word count 18.8k

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The heat of the communal kitchens always lingered on your skin long after the fires were banked. By the time you finished scrubbing the heavy clay pots and ensuring all the meals are served, the communal area of Hometree was already alive with the low hum of evening chatter.

Your shoulders ached. You wiped your hands on a woven cloth, scanning the area before heading toward the lower ledges where the older kids from the longhouse usually gathered, but as you approached, a couple of the older girls deliberately shifted their weight, sprawling their legs across the woven mats to block the empty space.

“Seats are taken,” one of them muttered before they smirked at each other. It wasn't outright malice, just the casual cruelty of kids who knew you would never push back. You were the girl who did everything for everyone, you weren't going to start a fight over a spot on the floor.

You swallowed the small lump of exhaustion in your throat and turned to find a quiet corner in the shadows.

“Y/N! Over here!”

Kiri’s voice cut through the noise and you turned around to see her waving frantically from a table near the center of the clearing, surrounded by Spider, Lo’ak, a few of their hunter friends, and him. Neteyam.

Your heart did its usual, foolish flutter, smiling at her before weaving through the crowd toward them. As you drew closer, you noticed the tight seating arrangement.

To be fair, it was filled with men of particularly larger physique. There was barely enough room for Spider, let alone another Na’vi. Neteyam scanned the table and saw the thoughts forming on your your face. You’re going to politely wave Kiri off and tell her you’d eat later instead. So, without a word, Neteyam’s elbow dug sharply into Lo’ak’s ribs.

“Ow!” Lo’ak hissed, nearly dropping his roasted meat.

“Move over,” Neteyam commanded in a low, authoritative murmur, shoving his brother a full foot to the left. Lo’ak grumbled under his breath but complied anyway, leaving a perfectly cleared space right beside Neteyam.

“Oh, there, Y/N!” Kiri offered the seat with a grin.

Neteyam looked up at you with a nonchalant look, acting as if he hadn’t just practically manhandled Lo’ak away. You rounded the table and slowly folded your legs beneath you to sit on the mat beside Neteyam.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you settled into the space. The heat radiating from his side was instantaneous, a contrast to the cool evening breeze filtering through the branches.

“You're late,” he noted, his eyes scanning your face, tracking the slight smudge of soot on your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered, stupidly going mute for a moment with how close he is and before you could actually answer, he reached to his side and pulled a large leaf toward you. Usually, you’re left with a random assortment of scraps when you sit with the other kids you live with at the longhouse, but this one was piled with the sweetest, most tender cuts of roasted meat and roots, and a handful of the rare blue berries you always picked when you go out to forage.

“Kiri prepared it,” he murmured and cleared his throat, pushing the leaf into your hands.

Kiri’s ear twitched at the mention of her name and she turned to the both of you.

You smiled when your eyes locked, “Thank you, Kiri. You shouldn't have bothered...” you said cheerfully.

Her brows furrowed. “For the seat? Sure. I always ask you to eat with us, I don’t know why you also always refuse.” she pouted.

You started eating the meat on your leaf, chuckling at her sulking. The young ones at the other table still need assistance with eating sometimes, and the ones your age are not always as attentive. Your hunger and the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast didn’t really register to you until you started downing your food.

Neteyam reached over before silently pushing a small wooden cup of water toward you. You grabbed it and drank the cool water gratefully, the soothing liquid easing the tightness in your chest. As you set the wooden cup down, your fingers brushed lightly against Neteyam’s. A faint, electric warmth jumped across your skin, making your pulse spike, but you forced your eyes to stay fixed on your food.

That was just Neteyam. He was always doing things like this, paying attention to the smallest details, noticing when someone’s cup was empty, sensing when a space needed to be cleared, or when someone needs help. And that was you. You are always in need of help.

So of course, the eldest son of Toruk Makto who was bred from birth to watch over the people, to lead with a watchful eye and a steady hand is always ready to give it. This kindness extends over everyone and not really a special favor to you, because it was simply the fabric of who he was. He was just as attentive to the young hunters learning to string their first bows.

You looked up briefly, watching from the corner of your eye as he laughed at a joke Spider made, his teeth flashing in an easy air, his shoulders relaxed.

You loved him.

You had loved him for as long as you could remember, but it wasn't the kind of love that demanded possession. You didn't dare dream of standing beside him as his mate, or wrapping your songcord around his wrist in front of the whole clan. To you, Neteyam was like the great Hometree itself. Magnificent, sheltering, and belonging to everyone. You were entirely content to admire him from the periphery, to be the quiet shadow that appreciated his warmth without ever asking to burn in it. Knowing that he was safe, that he was thriving, and that he would one day be the glorious leader the Omatikaya deserved... That was enough for you.

“Hey, Y/N,“ Lo’ak suddenly spoke up, breaking you out of your thoughts. He was leaning across the table, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked between you and his older brother. “You know, if you're always this hungry, you should just hunt with us. Neteyam here can teach you how to properly take down a hexapede. He would be so eager to share his wisdom with you.”

Neteyam’s ears immediately flared, pinning back slightly against his head. He didn't look at Lo’ak, but his jaw tightened. “What are you even talking about,” he calmly said in a low voice, bringing his cup to his lips to sip.

“She works in the kitchens and the nurseries, Lo’ak,” Kiri said, crossing her arms against her chest. “She doesn't need to waste her time missing targets with you.”

“I don't miss!” Lo'ak protested, throwing his hands up.

“You missed twice yesterday,” Neteyam retorted smoothly, his tone perfectly even, though he reached out and casually grabbed another sweet root from the center platter, dropping it onto your leaf without a word.

Across the circle, Kiri rested her chin in her hands, her gaze drifting between you and Neteyam with a quiet, knowing expression. She didn't say anything, but the subtle quirk of her brow made your forehead crease in confusion. You arranged the meat, roots, and fruit properly, scanning the table for a spare leaf to cover and fold it with, only to see all their leaves scantily discarded.

You bit your lip, planning to get up and get a fresh leaf. You hadn't even made a sound, but without breaking eye contact with the hunter he was speaking to, Neteyam’s hand shot out and gently caught your wrist. His grip was warm, his thumb resting right over your pulse point.

“Leaf?” he murmured over his shoulder to you, seamlessly continuing the conversation with the hunter. With his free hand, he grabbed a clean leaf from a neighboring table and gave it to you.

Across the circle, Lo’ak stopped chewing. He looked at Neteyam, then at you, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across his face watching you begin to fold the leaf.

“Are you full or are you just bothered with what Lo’ak said?” he asked quietly as their friends began to talk and laugh loudly.

Your forehead creased, chuckling. “I am full. I am bringing this back to the kids,” you said. “They tend to get really hungry in the middle of the night.”

Neteyam watched your hands work, his eyes tracking the neat, careful way you bind the leaf. “Then we should add more,” he said, his tone telling you this was a no-brainer.

“No, there’s no need. The kids also need to learn how to make do with what’s there. Besides, the food is rationed...” you reasoned.

He huffed. “Even so. The kids need to eat... But then, it’s your decision. You’re basically the one raising them,” he said in a soft voice, staring at your side profile, but he immediately caught himself. “The clan is thankful to you for that.” he added in a flat tone, looking away to look at the mess on the table instead.

“We have sisters in the longhouse as well, I am not entirely alone in it,” you replied, finishing the bundle.

When the dinner finally wound down and the people began to disperse, laughing and slapping each other's shoulders, you stayed behind. It was muscle memory at this point. You knelt to gather the leaves, the discarded bowls, and wipe down the tables

“I swear, you're the one running this clan, Y/N,” Kiri mused, dropping to her knees beside you to stack a pile of the bowls. She shook her head, though her eyes were fond.

“Don't exaggerate, Kiri,” you laughed, leaning over to pick up a stray cup. Before your fingers could touch it, a large hand closed around it first.

You looked up. Neteyam was kneeling right there, seamlessly joining the cleanup. He didn't say anything at first, just quietly moving around the space, stacking heavy bowls and carrying them toward the washing area so you wouldn't have to. He was a warrior, built for the hunt, yet he moved through the domestic chore with a quiet, efficient grace.

“Go on ahead, Kiri,” Neteyam suddenly said, not looking up from his task. “We’ll finish up here.“

Kiri looked between the two of you, pursing her lips. “Right. I’ll get going...” she said in a singsong voice, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before wandering off.

With just the two of you left, the silence felt thick, charged with the steady hum of the forest outside. Neteyam worked quickly, ensuring you didn't have to bend down for a single heavy object. When the last mat was cleared, you turned to him, wiping your hands. “Thank you, Neteyam. Good night.”

You quickly turned to head toward the winding path that led up to the high branches, but his footsteps closely followed yours.

“I'm walking you up,“ he stated like it was a fact of the moment.

You shrugged. He often does that anyway. “Alright. But just so you know, I know my way home,” you chuckled.

“It's dark, and the higher ledges are slick from the evening dew,” he replied smoothly, his hands resting casually on his hips as he looked down at you. It was the perfect excuse, the responsible commander looking out for a clan member. He completely ignored the fact that you climbed these branches every single day of your life without a single slip. He was only glad you didn't argue.

But that was mainly because walking up the winding pathways of Hometree beside him was quite the torture you can’t refuse. The warmth of his body shielded you from the cool draft blowing through the upper canopy, and you know, that when you lay awake later, you will think about every detail of tonight like a teenage girl with a crush.

When you reached the longhouse where orphaned children are housed, the low, collective breathing of sleeping kids greeted you. There were children as young as four years old huddled together on the woven mats.

“Here we are,“ you whispered, turning to him. “Thank you.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on your face in the dim light of the bioluminescent moss.

You slipped inside, finding your spot on the floor. Almost instantly, a tiny four-year-old girl stirred, whimpering in her sleep before crawling over and burying her head against your side. Another young boy shifted, tossing his arm over your legs. You smiled softly, wrapping your arms around them to draw them close, and began to softly hum a low, soothing lullaby.

Outside the shelter, Neteyam stood still. He listened to the faint, sweet sound of your humming, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar, fierce warmth. He told himself he was just ensuring everything in the clan was sound before he left. He told himself that a warrior simply values peace in the clan. He didn’t want to acknowledge anything other than that.

A few days later, the forest was alive with the bright golden light of the afternoon. You were deep in the woods, leading a small group of the younger children on a foraging trip. Among them was Tuk, who was practically bouncing on her heels.

“And this one! What does this one do? Can we eat it? Is it poisonous? Will it turn my tongue blue like Lo'ak's when he ate those bad berries?” Tuk fired off questions without breathing, pointing at a glowing fern.

You laughed enthusiastically, kneeling down so you were at her eye level. “No, Tuk, this one isn't for eating. But see these veins? If you ever get a scrape, you can mash these leaves up and put them on the cut. It stops the stinging.”

“Whoa,” Tuk gasped, her eyes wide with wonder.

You gathered the children closer, holding up a bright, deceptively beautiful leaf. “Now, look closely at this one. See these tiny, pale hairs on the edges? Never, ever touch this. They have sharp, pin-like needles. They will stick into your skin and itch for days. Do you understand?”

The children all nodded solemnly, completely captivated by your voice.

You were so focused on their wide, curious eyes that you didn't hear the soft rustle of the brush behind you. Neteyam had just finished his patrol. His body was tired, his muscles tense from hours of scouting, and by all accounts, he should have reported straight to his father. Yet, the moment his duties were cleared, his feet had carried him straight toward the woods.

He had known Tuk was with you, as usual. He had used that exact thought to make himself comfortable with the decision. I'm just checking on my sister, he told himself, ignoring the way his heart had done a strange, eager leap the moment he saw the bright feathers of your long braids.

“Neteyam!” Tuk’s high-pitched voice suddenly rang out.

You blinked, turning around as the circle of children parted. Neteyam has already reached your flock, looking every bit the fierce warrior the kids idolized. The children instantly gasped, looking at him with awe.

“The teacher is so immerse... A palulukan could have attacked anytime,” he said in a humored voice, his lips curling in a smirk.

Your lips twisted. “And the hunter should have also known that these paths are not the paths a palulukan would take,” you playfully narrowed your eyes but you grew serious right away. “Did you come to get Tuk? We were just about to walk home, it's almost eclipse.”

Neteyam paused, his tongue catching in his throat. You were so practical and straight to the point. It was exactly the excuse he had prepared in his mind should you question his presence, but hearing you say it so plainly made his chest feel strangely hollow. He couldn't admit to you, or to himself, that Tuk was entirely secondary.

“Yeah...” he said, clearing his throat and rounding the group of children, his ears twitching slightly. “I just got back from patrol.”

“We better get back, kids,” you announced, clapping your hands together. “The skies will darken in minutes and we don’t want to be caught in the dark.”

The children obediently scrambled into a line, holding each other's hands and walking ahead of you. You and Neteyam fell into step behind them, keeping a watchful eye on the little line.

“They're so good with you,” Neteyam murmured, watching a little boy trip over a root, only for Tuk to proudly help him up. “They actually listen. When I try to tell Tuk to stay put, she completely ignores me.”

You chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that made Neteyam’s gaze snap right to you. “It is only because I speak to their curiosity and I rarely demand for their obedience. They are curious kids and they are really behave when you speak to them about what they want to know.”

Neteyam watched you as you walked. The fading sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching the amber light in your eyes. He stifled a soft smile, a sudden wave of something fierce washing over him. You were almost exactly the same as the kids you were teaching. You had grown up, yes, but that pure, undiluted light in your eyes had never faded. You were still the same curious, incredibly polite, and deeply kind girl who used to sit in the corner of his family's hut, laughing quietly with Kiri.

He found himself stepping just a little bit closer to you as the shadows of the forest lengthened, completely oblivious to the knowing pairs of eyes watching over you both from the high branches of Hometree.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The atmosphere inside Hometree felt unusually heavy. You were returning from a long day in the woods, carrying a basket of rare roots and leaves that Mo’at had explicitly requested. This was exactly what you did for the clan: anything. You don’t really have an official designation; you were simply someone who could do anything. An errand girl.

Mostly you gather fibers for the weavers and forage for the cooks, but when necessary, you could weave and cook, too. Your mornings were spent with the children, and since most of your chores were usually over before the communal dinner, you manage to help in the kitchens as well.

And now, you felt fortunate that you were tasked to the woods to gather the herbs the Tsahik is in need of, because an older hunter from the Olangi passing through the Omatikaya territory had chanced upon you and talked to you about your great aunt, Suk’tet.

It is not like you’ve ever met this lady before... Despite your mother being Olangi, you grew up in the Omatikaya; but still, your mind was occupied and weighed down by the conversation you had with the hunter.

“She is very sick, child. The fever clings to her like a shadow, and the people are afraid she will pass without any of her blood with her.”

The news left a cold ache in your chest. Already feeling deeply dispirited, you hugged the basket closer to your chest and decided to take a quiet shortcut, intending to quickly drop off the herbs and retreat to the high branches. But as you rounded the pavillion toward the back entrance, the sound of low, intense voices made you freeze in your tracks.

“…she will ground you when the burden of leadership becomes too heavy,” Mo’at’s sharp voice echoed clearly through the space.

“Y/N?”

Your breath hitched. It was Neteyam’s voice.

“Tsahik, I see that you mean well,” Neteyam continued, his tone formal but strained. “Y/N is a good woman. She cares deeply...”

“There is a but. What is it?” Neytiri’s voice cut in, smooth and unyielding.

“Mother, I… I don’t see why you cannot see what I mean,” Neteyam sighed, his frustration bleeding through his words. “You are an Olo'eyktan's mate, and you are strong. A fearsome warrior who helped Dad fight his battles. Y/N… She’s… She cannot even hunt for herself. She cannot protect herself either. If I were to choose my mate, it would be someone who is capable of protecting my children because I would be completely occupied with protecting the people.“

Your stomach dropped, a cold, sickening weight pooling in your gut. Your grip tightened so hard on the basket that the stalks of the fresh herbs began to snap under your fingers.

“She works with children right now and you can see she is good with them,” Mo’at grinded.

You heard Neteyam sigh. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Your breathing hitched. You can literally feel goosebumps raise on your skin from how cold you were feeling inside.

“You underestimate Y/N,” Neytiri replied, her voice carrying a fierce edge. “Her father was an honorable warrior of the Omatikaya, and her mother a warrior of the Olangi.”

You heard Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “And she is not them, mother,” he said flatly. “I hope you are hearing how ridiculous this is.”

“Enough,“ Mo’at commanded. “You have spoken too much, and I hear you. I will not speak of this again.”

Pressing your back against the column, you gritted your teeth, your entire body shaking as you fought back the hot tears threatening to spill over. You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, forcing yourself to stay entirely silent. A moment later, Neteyam strode out of the pavilion. His posture was rigidly stiff, his jaw clenched, his steps heavy as he walked right past your hiding spot without noticing you.

You closed your eyes and forced a ragged breath into your lungs, desperately calming your racing heart. He was right about everything. It was a ridiculous idea. You didn't even know what had possessed Mo’at and Neytiri to pitch such a far-fetched match. But understanding his logic didn't mean it didn't cut you to the absolute core. He was so utterly appalled by the very concept of you being his mate that he could barely find a kind word to soften his rejection. To him, you were completely unsuited and unimaginable.

Waiting until the burning in your throat subsided, you stepped out from the shadows and walked into the pavilion. Mo’at and Neytiri were sitting in a heavy, tense silence. Neytiri’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as you approached, her gaze searching your face, likely wondering just how long you had been standing outside.

Acting as completely normal as you could muster, you knelt and began pulling the herbs from your basket. “I have the roots you asked for, Tsahik,” you said, your voice tight but clear.

Neither of them spoke. They remained utterly silent, the weight of the air suffocating, until Mo’at uttered a simple, quiet thanks for your job. You bowed your head and left as quickly as your legs could carry you.

During dinner that night, the vibrant atmosphere of the communal area felt entirely distant. For the first time in your life, you felt exhausted. You took a seat at the lower ledges with your companions from the longhouse, instantly diving into the task of tearing up meat and mashing roots for the younger children. You didn't get a single bite onto your own leaf. You couldn't eat anyway, your throat felt entirely closed up. You just wanted the day to end so you could finally curl up in your sleeping mat and cry where no one could see you.

Across the clearing, Neteyam sat at his usual table, completely distracted. His neck craned, his eyes trained on your back. You were turned away from him, your shoulders slightly hunched as you patiently fed a few toddlers. He had been watching long enough to know that you hadn't taken a single portion for yourself.

A strange, sharp pang clawed at his chest. Neteyam knew there was no possible way you could have heard his conversation with his mother and grandmother, yet an irrational sense of fear kept pulling his gaze back to you. He tried to tell himself he had done the right thing. He knew, ever since he was a child, that he did not belong to himself. His choices weren't his own. He belonged to his parents’ expectations, his siblings’ protection, and the future of the entire Omatikaya clan.

He knew, without a doubt, that should the council choose someone they deem suited for him, that he would mate with her. For his part, he believed that he needed a fierce warrior by his side. Much like the partnership his parents had. It was the only logical choice for the people.

Yet, he knew what he felt when Mo’at had pitched the idea of you being his mate. His heart had leapt into his throat with a terrifying, fierce surge of possessiveness, a reaction he had immediately suppressed and buried under cold, harsh logic. That was impossible. How could he be so selfish?

He wanted to talk to you. He needed to hear your voice, to see that quiet, comforting smile that usually settled his mind after a long day. He felt ridiculous. Pathetic. He feels weighed down by what he said about you, by how he disparaged you to his mother and Mo’at, and yet here he is, desiring to hear your voice.

And because he is selfish when it came to you, he decided he would wait until the dinner ended, knowing you would stay behind to clean the tables, and he would help you just like he always did. That plan calmed him down a little.

But it didn’t last long. From your table across the clearing, he saw you stand up. Neteyam’s forehead creased in immediate confusion as he watched you gather five of the youngest children, gently guiding them away from the light of the fires and out of the clearing.

Without even thinking, Neteyam pushed off his mat and stood up to follow you. He was delayed, forced to weave through the crowded tables and dodge a few greeting hunters, his eyes never leaving the path you took. By the time he broke away from the crowd and stepped onto the winding ramp upwards, you were already high up in the branches, nearing the longhouse.

He climbed quietly, his long strides easily closing the distance. Just as he reached the platform of the shelter, he caught sight of you returning from the back of the longhouse, lifting a wooden basin of water.

You stopped dead in your tracks when your eyes landed on him standing in the dim light. You managed to force a small, flickering smile before continuing to walk toward the doorway.

Neteyam immediately stepped into your path, making you halt. Up close, he could see the profound exhaustion in your posture. You looked completely dispirited, your usual warmth entirely replaced by a hollow, distant look that he couldn't quite put a hand on.

“You didn’t stay until the end of the meal,” he said softly, his eyes tracking the way your body was already angled toward the entryway, as if you couldn't stand the thought of lingering for even a second.

Your lips parted slightly, your eyes flickering away, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Uh, yes. The kids are done eating, and I’m putting them to bed,” you murmured.

“You didn't eat much,” he blurted out, the words slipping past his lips before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to sound like he had been watching your every move, even though that was exactly what he had been doing.

Your forehead creased, and you looked up at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. The irony of his sudden concern was almost laughable. “I’m not that hungry,” you said quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Is there anything you need, Neteyam?”

The straightforward, practical question hung in the air. He didn't have an answer, because he didn't even know why his feet had dragged him all the way up here. “No, nothing—”

“Y/N!!!”

Milo's high-pitched, crying voice suddenly pierced the air from inside the longhouse.

Setting the basin down with a hurried splash, you immediately rushed inside, with Neteyam following close behind. Little Milo was sitting on the woven mats, tears streaming down his face as the other children frantically explained that they had been playing a reckless game of tag in the dark and he had tripped.

“How many times have I told you not to run inside in the dark?” you scolded them gently, kneeling down to inspect a small, bleeding scratch on Milo’s elbow. Neteyam quickly light the hanging firepots up. You sighed, turning toward your side of the longhouse where your baskets of healing supplies were kept. “Stay still, Milo. I'm going to get the salve.”

“Let me see,” you heard Neteyam’s deep voice resonate through the small shelter.

You paused, turning your head to see him already kneeling in the spot you vacated. He was carefully dipping his large, calloused fingers into the basin water, his touch remarkably gentle as he began to wash the dirt from the little boy's scratch. “A future hunter doesn't cry over a little scrape like this, right? You have to be brave,” Neteyam murmured, a soft, encouraging smile on his face that made Milo instantly sniffle and nod bravely.

You walked back over, your chest aching at the sight, and silently applied the herbal salve to the wound, wrapping it neatly in a strip of soft, woven cloth.

Standing up, you turned to the rest of the wide-eyed children. “All of you, wash your hands in the basin and get to your sleeping mats right now,” you commanded.

“Y/N, will you tell us a story tonight?” one of the younger girls pleaded, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

“No,” you said strictly, keeping your tone firm despite the exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. “As punishment for your rowdiness causing Milo to get hurt, there will be no story tonight.”

A collective, dramatic groan echoed through the longhouse.

You let out a soft sigh, your features softening just a fraction. “There will be a lullaby instead. Now, to bed.”

They immediately scrambled to their mats, grumbling but obedient. You turned around to face Neteyam, who was now standing by the entrance, his tall frame nearly brushing the upper beams of the longhouse as he watched you.

“Thank you for helping with Milo,” you whispered, your voice completely devoid of the playful, affectionate teasing you usually shared with him. You kept your distance, your hands clasped tightly behind your back.

He looked down at you, his golden eyes deep and swirling with unspoken words. His lips parted, his ears twitching slightly as if he were fighting the urge to reach out, to say something, anything, to bridge the immense, freezing distance that had suddenly formed between you.

“Y/N, there’s something—”

“You should definitely go now, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, using the kids as an immediate shield. “The children need to settle down, and it needs to be quiet in here. Good night.”

“I should go then,” Neteyam said softly, his voice dropping into that familiar, quiet register. He lingered by the threshold, his eyes scanning your face one last time, searching for whatever was casting that heavy shadow over your usual warmth. “Good night, Y/N.”

The moment his tall, muscular frame disappeared past the woven flap of the longhouse, the forced smile slid completely off your face. Your chest felt like it was being compressed by a great, invisible fist. You turned back to the kids, pushing the agonizing memory of his cruel words deep down into the recesses of your mind. Tonight, you couldn't afford to break.

After all, you do care deeply. That’s your defining trait.

You sat down on the woven mats, and as promised, you began to softly hum a low, soothing lullaby. The children huddled close, their breathing slowing down as sleep claimed them one by one. But as the longhouse grew quiet, the heavy silence only made the echo of his voice louder in your head.

For years, you were content to just exist in his orbit. You knew your place. You were practically just doing the scraps of everyone’s work. You were who they remember when they needed something done and didn’t want to ask their equal to do it. You do the thankless tasks while the real warriors bled for the clan.

Someone like Neteyam needed a mate who could ride into battle beside him, a woman with fire in her blood and not someone whose greatest talent was comforting crying children in the dark.

Your eyes pricked with hot tears before it spilled over. You huddled close to a sleeping child, closing your eyes and letting the darkness swallow you, wishing more than anything that you could simply disappear.

The next morning brought a shift in the wind, and with it, a strange sense of timing. You were on your way to deliver a fresh batch of woven sleeping mats to the lower ledges when one of the clan's senior scouts stopped you in the corridor.

“The Tsahik calls for you, Y/N,” he said, his face grave.

You shifted your weight on your other foot, feeling a bit of unease. “What for?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just go. It seems important. An Olangi rider came at dawn, must be about your mother’s family.”

You shifted the heavy stack of woven mats to your other hip, a cold knot of dread tightening in your stomach. “Thank you. I will go right away,” you murmured to the scout.

But you didn't drop everything, for that wasn't in your nature. You marched down to the lower ledges first, carefully laying out the fresh bedding for the families who needed them, ensuring the task was finished before you finally turned your steps toward the healing pavilion.

When you stepped past the beaded curtain, the scent of crushed leaves and dried roots filled your senses, and you saw Mo’at sitting near the central hearth, grinding paste in a heavy stone mortar.

You knelt before her, keeping your posture perfectly respectful. “Good day, Tsahik. I was told a messenger arrived. Is it about my great aunt, Suk’tet?”

Mo’at paused, her sharp eyes tilting upward as she studied your face. “Indeed, it is,” she said, her voice a low, gravelly hum. “How is it that you already know?”

“I chanced upon an Olangi hunter near the borders yesterday,” you explained softly, keeping your eyes trained on the dirt floor so she wouldn't see the lingering redness in them. “He told me of her condition.”

Mo’at nodded slowly, setting her pestle aside. “The message confirms it. The fever has gripped Suk’tet tightly. She is growing older and the spirit grows weary when left to fight in an empty home. The Olangi council sends word to us out of respect for your mother’s blood.”

You let out a quiet, heavy breath. “I should go and take care of her, Tsahik,” you said, your decision born from what you were feeling more than what you are thinking. “I am Omatikaya, but the Olangi blood is half of who I am. I want to tend to her.”

Mo’at’s eyes narrowed slightly, a quiet, knowing look swimming in their depths. “Are you certain, young one? Reconsider the children you spend your days with. They look to you for much.”

You bit your lip as your gaze lowered, feeling guilty that you hadn’t even thought of them when you decided. You will miss them all dearly. “The children have other adults who will ensure they are fed and looked after,” you replied. “But my great aunt has no one. She only has me.”

Mo’at stared at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you until she finally gave a single, slow nod. “Go then. I will arrange your travels. May the Great Mother guide your path.”

You spent the next two days privately packing your meager belongings, but true to your nature, you refused to leave your duties unfinished. You spent your mornings foraging double the usual amount of roots, wanting to leave the longhouse well-stocked before your departure.

On your final afternoon, you were walking back toward Hometree through the lower forest trails, guiding a small flock of children who were carrying tiny bundles of sweet-pods. The sun was dipping low, casting long, amber shadows through the trees, when a familiar rustle in the brush made your posture instantly stiffen.

You turned and saw Neteyam step into the clearing. His bow was slung over his shoulder, his skin still glistening with light sweat from a perimeter run. His gaze immediately locked onto you, a sudden, bright intensity flaring in his golden eyes.

You stopped and he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face. “Tuk is not with us today, Neteyam,” you stated, cutting straight to the only logical excuse he could possibly have.

Neteyam paused, his ears twitching backward slightly at the precision of your voice. “I know,” he said softly, taking a step closer.

You grimaced slightly, turning your attention to a little boy who was struggling with his bundle, adjusting the strap for him to avoid looking at Neteyam. “We are just heading back. It is nearly time for the evening meal.”

He nodded. “I’ll walk you,” he said.

You gritted your teeth, guiding the kids to walk ahead of you. “Do you think I cannot... protect these children, Neteyam?” you blurted out, your mouth getting ahead of your mind.

You saw his head rear back for a moment, shadows of surprise and something you cannot pinpoint crossing his face. “Of course, I do. You are good with these children, Y/N,” he said.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but you did look away, your brows almost touching your hairline as you gritted your teeth. Neteyam angled his head to look at you properly.

“Seriously. I do not have a single doubt that you’d protect these children to the best of your ability,” he murmured.

You lifted your brows and nodded. “Yes, I believe you, Neteyam,” you replied before stepping past him to guide the children who are stepping out of their line.

He followed after you, casually walking beside you. “We’re going on a two-week-long hunt in the western forest. Is there anything you want from there?” he asked, his hand extending half an inch as if he wanted to reach out, though he caught himself.

“Nothing I can think of right now,” you said politely. “But thank you.”

His lips parted to say something again, but one of the kids already snagged your attention. He took a deep breath through his nose. You were never really as close to him as you were with Kiri, so now he doesn’t know what else to say just to keep you standing in front of him for a few moments longer. He wanted you to tell him to be safe. He wanted you to look at him with that quiet trust that always secretly anchored his heart.

Instead, your expression was entirely vacant and he couldn’t find the warmth in your voice. He watched you walk the children up the roots leading to Hometree, and when the kids are finally under the safety of the hollowed trunk, he spoke again.

“It has been years since we last hunted in the western forest,” he said, stalling you with a conversation. “I remember it was a hundred times more perilous than this one.”

“Then it would probably be best if you report to your father now to prepare for the hunt,” you said, turning to the kids to make sure they aren’t pushing each other off the winding ramp. “I need get the kids up to the common area.”

Before he could utter another syllable, you stepped past him, your shoulder brushing the air inches from his chest. Neteyam stood frozen in the middle of the entryway, his fist clenching at his side as he watched you retreat into the winding ramp. The cold, empty hollow in his chest was growing wider, and he didn't know how to stop it.

That night at dinner, the communal area was alive with the boisterous shouting of the hunting parties preparing for the grand hunt. But Neteyam sat at their usual table in absolute silence, completely ignoring the loose banter between Lo'ak and Spider.

His eyes were trained like a predator's on the lower ledges.

He watched you sit with the young ones from the longhouse, watched you tear up meat, wipe smudges from tiny faces, and hand out portions, completely ignoring your own leaf. Once again, he hadn't seen you take a single bite all night. A deep, agonizing urge to stand up, walk over, and force you to eat burned in his gut, but the heavy expectations of his position kept him pinned to his mat.

He looked forward to the end of the meal again, his heart hammering against his ribs. He thought of coming clean, of telling you what happened with his mother and his grandmother, and everything he had said. He debated fiercely with himself. Would telling you about the matchmaking only hurt you more? You knew nothing about it, or so he thought, and explaining his rejection might just plant a seed of pain where there was none.

He didn’t know if he were only imagining things. That perhaps he was so guilty, he was imagining you pulling away because of the damning words he had uttered in the healing pavillion. He’s pretty sure you weren’t always like this. You were never dismissive, especially of him. You were always happy to talk to him. Always looking at him like he personally hung the stars in the sky.

He looked at Lo’ak who is busy eating. Everyone in the table is immersed in a conversation and... he just needed to ask.

“Lo’ak,” he called in a whisper and Lo’ak immediately turned to him.

“Oh?” Lo’ak asked, his brows furrowing at the distraction.

He swallowed, biting the inner flesh of his lips. “Do you... Do you remember what Y/N is like?” he whispered.

Lo’ak looked to the side in confusion. “Y/N...?” he repeated. “What she is like?” Lo’ak closed his eyes for a moment. “She’s just a few tables down, bro. Why are you asking that as if she’s gone or something?” he giggled.

Neteyam’s lips pulled back, baring his fangs. “Just answer the question.”

Lo’ak cleared his throat to feign seriousness. “What she is like to everyone or to you?”

Neteyam’s forehead creased. “Is there a difference?”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes. “Are you stupid?” he whispered and Neteyam stared at him in a way that made bim clamp his mouth shut for a moment. “Okay, so... She’s very kind, she’s always willing to do everything for everyone. She’s also really cute when she smiles, especially when she’s shy and she’s very—”

“What was that?” Neteyam asked, every word emphasized.

“What?” Lo’ak whisper-shouted

“Stop imagining her like that,” Neteyam replied with a scowl, his eyes once again landing on your table.

He was about to ask Lo’ak to elaborate on what he said about how you were to him, when he saw you stand up from your table. Neteyam’s shoulders instantly tensed. It was entirely too early. The main feast wasn't even halfway finished, yet you were already guiding a couple of the youngest, sleepiest children toward the shadows of entryway.

He stood up, ignoring Lo’ak’s confused calls behind him. He took three urgent strides toward the aisle, determined to catch you before you reached the winding ramp—

“Neteyam.”

Mo’at’s sharp, commanding voice followed him and Neteyam stopped, his head snapping toward his grandmother, who was gesturing heavily for him to join the circle of elder council members near the central hearth.

“The Olo'eyktan requires your calculations for the western trails,” Mo'at stated, her eyes locking onto his with an unreadable, stern look.

Neteyam looked back over his shoulder. Your shadow was just disappearing past the grand archway of the entryway, completely vanishing into the dark pathways of Hometree.

His shoulders slumped, a heavy, defeated sigh escaping his chest. He slowly turned around and walked back toward the elders' circle, suppressing the bitter frustration roaring in his blood.

He fought the urge to groan, trying to soothe the sharp ache in his chest as he sat among the strategists. He reasoned with himself that the two weeks might help him clear the cloud in his mind that’s making him imagine things. In two weeks, the air between you would be better, because he will have been in a better headspace, too.

He had no idea at all that by the time he comes back, the bed where you slept would already be stripped bare.

The next day, you helped prepare the kids for the day one last time, pressing your forehead against their small brows, swallowing down the lump in your throat. They would be looked after by the other sisters, but you cannot help but feel sad and guilty about leaving them anyway.

“The hunting party left at dawn,” Mo’at informed you as you stood before a direhorse, her voice full of meaning. “But Hito will take you there safely.” She nodded to the young scout she tasked to accompany you.

You smiled, “Thank you, Tsahik,” you mumbled, turning when you heard hurried sounds of footsteps coming toward you.

You saw Tuk running, with Kiri and Lo’ak tailing behind her. “Y/N!” she called out. “Is it true?! You are leaving?” she asked as soon as she's standing in front of you, tears wetting her cheeks.

You glanced at Kiri, sighing softly as you lowered yourself to level with her. “Only temporarily, Tuk. I have a sick aunt I need to take care of...” you explained.

“Like Ta’uri?“ she asked, referencing an elder who was gripped by a lasting fever and passed last season.

You nodded, “Yes... you can say that. She is all alone, Tuk, and I need to be there for her.

Her lips tugged downward, but she nodded anyway. “Hug Popiti for me, Y/N... it’s been so long since I last saw her,” she cried dramatically, burying her face into your hair and wrapping her small arms tightly around your neck.

You smiled, nodding as you caressed her braids. “I will, Tuk. I'll tell her you're growing into a fine huntress.”

“Don’t worry, Tuk, I can always take you to visit Y/N,” Kiri said, stepping forward to wrap her arms around both of you. Her eyes met yours over Tuk’s shoulder, filled with a quiet, intense concern. “The Olangi isn't that far by ikran.”

“Me, too. But you’ll have to let Y/N settle there first,” Lo’ak said, pausing and looking at your packed satchel. “Won’t you say goodbye to Neteyam?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You forced a small, awkward laugh, the sound hollow in your ears. “He wouldn't be back until next, next week...” you said, turning your gaze vack to Tuk. As if, you thought bitterly.

Lo’ak smirked. “Up to you,” he said in a singsong tone, biting on a piece of fruit.

The journey to the Olangi clan took two full days on the back of a sturdy direhorse, including the necessary breaks to rest and eat. But the moment the dense, claustrophobic canopy of the rainforest gave way to the endless, shimmering sea of grassland, something inside your chest broke open. The sky felt massive, an unbroken dome of brilliant blue that stretched out forever.

When you finally reached the Olangi encampment, a vast circle of beautifully woven leather tents and banners snapping in the wind, you asked for your aunt's home. A young warrior led you to a tent near the eastern edge, where the great direhorse herds grazed.

Suk’tet was lying on a bed of thick furs, her skin flushed with a stubborn fever, though her eyes were still as sharp as flint.

“S-Suk’tet?“ you called out in a small voice, stepping inside to get a better look of her.

“You shouldn't have left the forest, child,” she rasped even without opening her eyes and seeing you, her voice was weak but her tone scolding as you knelt beside her to press a cool, wet cloth to her forehead. “The Omatikaya is your home.”

“Once upon a time, this was my mother’s home, too, Auntie,” you replied softly, squeezing her frail hand. “I am Omatikaya and Olangi. My mother’s blood runs in me just as much as my father’s. I will take care of you.”

Over the next two weeks, you completely threw yourself into the ways of the plains. You missed the high branches of Hometree, but the plains were endless and you had more ground to walk on. When you’re not taking care of Suk’tet, you’re learning how to properly tend to the massive direhorses, how to harvest the tough, sun-baked roots of the plains, and how to cook the rich, heavily spiced stews that sustained the hunters through long days under the scorching sun. You worked until your muscles screamed and your hands were calloused from coarse leather reins.

“Oh, Y/N, I can never be as hardworking as you are,” Popiti said dramatically as she helped you wipe mud from a direhorse. “Surely, Tuk isn’t, too?”

You pushed your lips forward to stifle a chuckle. “Tuk is very curious. She comes with me when I forage in the woods, she loves to study the flora.”

She waved a hand. “Well, I think that’s the equivalent of what I do with you here,” she declared and grinned. “Once she visits, we’ll show her the fun stuff they don’t have back in the forest.”

You laughed softly, your heart tightening with a brief, familiar ache at the mention of Tuk's name. “She would love that, Popiti. She’d love it here.”

Before Popiti could reply, a sudden, heavy shadow fell over the two of you, accompanied by the smug, smooth chuckle that had quickly become the bane of your existence over the last ten days.

“Rinsing a direhorse's hocks is a hunter’s duty, forest girl. You're going to scrub the hide raw if you keep using that gentle touch.”

You closed your eyes for a brief, exhausting second before turning around. Standing there, leaning casually against the wooden post of the horse pen with a stalk of sweet grass jutting out from his smirk, was Ziklan. The moment you had arrived in the camp, the hunter had seemingly made it his life's mission to insert himself into every single chore you attempted.

“I am doing just fine,” you said, your voice dripping with sweet, deliberate politeness as you wrung out your woven cloth. “And I didn't ask for your critique.”

“You never ask,” Ziklan countered, stepping into the muddy pen. Without waiting for your permission, he took the heavy wooden bucket from your hands and poured a fresh splash of clean water over the direhorse's flank. “But don’t worry, it is my duty as a generous clan member to ensure you don't accidentally get kicked into the dirt.”

“I have handled direhorses before,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“In the thick trees, maybe,” Ziklan scoffed playfully. He reached out, his hand flashing quickly to pluck a stray bit of dried grass out of your braided hair before you could swat his hand away. “Out here, they run like the wind, Y/N. You have to be firmer with them. Like this.” He slapped the beast’s flank with a loud, firm thud, and the direhorse let out a contented snort, settling under his touch.

Your face crumpled in disgust and Popiti fell in a fit of laughter. “He has a point, Y/N. Ziklan is the best rider in our clan. If you want to learn how to properly race across the ridges, you should let him teach you.”

“I am here to take care of my great aunt, not to race,” you muttered. Ziklan was helpful, you couldn't deny that, but he was just so incredibly annoying. He never left you alone.

“Suk’tet is sleeping,” Ziklan noted, handing the empty bucket back to you, his fingers deliberately lingering against yours for a brief second. “Which means you are free. Come to the ridge so I can teach you.”

“No, thank you. I have roots to prepare for tonight's stew,” you said, turning on your heel and walking out of the pen.

“I’'ll gather them for you!” Ziklan called out behind you, his laugh echoing.

You shook your head, walking back toward Suk’tet's tent. Ziklan's relentless attention was exhausting, but in a strange way, it was the only thing keeping you grounded. He didn't look at you like you were a fragile caretaker who needed protection. Somehow, it eases the burn brought by Neteyam’s rejection.

By the end of the second week, Suk’tet’s fever had finally broken completely, leaving her weak but fiercely demanding her usual herbal tea. You were standing near the eastern edge of the camp, helping Popiti sort through a basket of dried grass for the hearth, when a high-pitched, familiar shriek suddenly echoed paces away. You turned around, seeing Tuk running toward you, her high-pitched voice calling your name excitedly.

Your face instantly split into a wide, genuine smile, the heavy weight that had settled in your chest for weeks suddenly lifting. “Tuk!” you cried out, dropping your basket and jogging toward her.

Popiti chased after you. “Tuk!!” she screeched excitedly.

Tuk tackled you into a fierce, rib-crushing hug. “I missed you so much! Everyone does! Look at your clothes, you look so beautiful!” she cheered, pulling back to inspect your sleek Olangi leathers.

“I missed you too, little one,” you laughed.

Tuk turned to Popiti, hugging her like they are both grown women who had just reunited. “Oh, sweet dear, it has been so long!” Tuk said, wiping an imaginary drop of tear on her cheek.

“Indeed, it is! I would have prepared an afternoon tea for us, my dear, if only I know you’ll be visiting!” Popiti replied, wiping her cheek, too.

You chuckled at their antics, clearing your throat. “I think, I can do something about that,” you narrowed your eyes playfully, and then turning to Tuk seriously. “Where is your sister?”

You craned your neck to look at where she came from, your smile slowly fading as the blood in your veins turned to absolute ice. Standing beside the massive flank of an ikran was not Kiri.

It was Neteyam.

He fixed something on his saddle while his eyes were locked entirely onto you as he approached. He was still strapped into his heavy hunting harness, dark grease from the forest canopy smudging his collarbone and a quiver of heavy arrows rattling against his back. He looked like he just got back from the hunt, pushed his ikran to its absolute limit, and flown straight here without washing the grit from his skin.

You stood up slowly, your brows furrowed a little. It was glaringly obvious that he had rushed here, and equally obvious that he was completely blindsided to actually find you standing in the muddy horse pens instead of being safely back at Hometree. He was looking at you as if you had stolen something from him.

His gaze raked over you, taking in your sun-kissed skin, the sleek, fitted leathers that hugged your frame, and the way your long braids moved freely in the breeze and his lips parted a fraction of an inch. His head tilted.

“They told me you left the forest,” he said, his voice raspy. He stepped closer, his jaw tight.

“My great aunt is sick,” you replied, keeping your chin lifted despite the sudden, erratic skipping of your heart. “She has a stubborn fever. I came here to nurse her, and I will stay until she is well.”

His intense golden eyes locked onto yours with a scrutiny so fierce and unblinking that you suddenly found it impossible to look him in the face. You shifted your gaze to the dirt, your skin prickling under the weight of his attention.

Tuk, entirely oblivious to the thick tension vibrating between the two of you, stepped up and beamed at Popiti. “To be honest, I didn't even know we were flying out here today! Neteyam just arrived from the long hunt and I told him you left the village, and well... here we are! I guess Neteyam misses you just as much as the rest of us do.”

Neteyam instantly snapped his gaze away, clearing his throat roughly as a deep, unmistakable purple flush crept up the sides of his neck and flooded his ears. He clamped a massive hand over the top of Tuk’s head, effectively muffling her next words while trying to look anywhere but at you.

Your own cheeks flared. Desperate for an escape from the suffocating awkwardness, you blurted out the first hospitable thing you could think of. “I... I will go prepare some tea for you two. We can eat some of the dried honey biscuits, too.”

But just as you spun on your heel to head toward the tents, a familiar, melodic whistle echoed from the edge of the ridge. Ziklan strolled into the clearing, a casual smirk plastered across his face.

“You know, forest girl, if I hadn't gone home to eat and sleep, and had just waited on the ridges for you to show up, I would have died of old age by now,” Ziklan teased, slinging a long arm over the wooden fence post. “You are completely heartless.”

“I never promised you anything, Ziklan,” you sighed, casting him a dry look. “I distinctly remember telling you I wasn't going.”

Neteyam’s head snapped toward the intruder. His flustered, embarrassed frame vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a rigid, towering warrior who clearly did not appreciate this stranger invading your personal space. His eyes narrowed to slits, tracking Ziklan’s movements with a cold, territorial glare that practically screamed his desire to physically shove the man a three-mile distance away from you.

Ziklan, however, possessed an incredibly bold streak and absolutely zero sense of self-preservation. Sensing the heavy gaze, he turned his grin directly onto Neteyam.

“Neteyam te Suli?” Ziklan asked, his tone shifting into one of genuine, deep-seated respect.

Neteyam gave a single, stiff nod. He extended his forearm in the formal warrior's greeting. Ziklan clasped it firmly, but Neteyam’s fingers locked around the man's wrist with a grip that was entirely too tight, his knuckles white under his blue skin.

“What brings a legendary warrior such as yourself to our lands, Neteyam?” Ziklan asked, seemingly unfazed by the bone-crushing grip.

Neteyam’s jaw pulsed, his teeth grinding together before he directly uttered, “Y/N.”

“Y/N?” Ziklan echoed, blinking in surprise before looking between the two of you. “Ah, yes! This forest girl. Well, she has been a savior for her aunt. Suk’tet has been practically bedridden since the turning of the season, but just two days ago, Y/N had her sitting up and taking the air. We finally brought her out to see the sun today. Right, Y/N?”

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed further, the muscle in his cheek twitching. Objectively, he knew he should be grateful. He should be glad that you had found someone kind, someone helpful who made your grueling chores easier in a foreign clan. But as he watched Ziklan stand comfortably close to you, Neteyam couldn't find a single drop of gratitude in his chest. He felt like a complete fraud, an awful, bitter weight settling deep in his stomach.

When Neteyam offered nothing but a freezing silence, you took it as his usual indifference toward your life outside of his family's circle. Why should he care about what you’re doing out here anyway? Swallowing the lump of disappointment in your throat, you placed your hands on Tuk and Popiti’s small shoulders.

“Let’s find a good spot for our gathering,” you urged.

“Can Neteyam join our tea party, Y/N?” Tuk asked, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes.

Popiti immediately leaned in, shielding her mouth with a hand as she whispered loudly to Tuk, “I highly suggest we do not bring boys into our sacred circle. They ruin the gossip.”

“But Neteyam will be entirely alone,” Tuk whispered back urgently. "Y/N is his only friend here, and I think he really, really wants to hang out with her. We can even invite Ziklan to balance it out! They can act as our personal guards.”

“Fine, I will ask him,” Popiti relented.

Within seconds, Popiti had scampered over to pitch the idea to Ziklan, while Tuk tugged relentlessly on Neteyam’s hand. Ziklan didn't need to be asked twice. “An afternoon tea with Y/N? Count me in,” he grinned, sending a playful wink your way.

You leveled him with a completely deadpan expression.

“I’ll even help you stoke the hearth and brew the leaves,” Ziklan offered smoothly. “Our guests can just sit back and relax. Popiti, why don't you guide the young warrior's sister to the shade near the weaving tents?”

“Or,” Neteyam interrupted, his deep voice slicing through Ziklan’s easy hospitality, “I can be the one to help Y/N. Besides, I have been meaning to learn how the Olangi prepare their blends. You know these plains better than I ever could, Ziklan. It makes more sense for you to ensure the children stay safe near the perimeter.”

Ziklan’s lips parted, his mind visibly grinding through the flawless logic of the suggestion. He looked at Neteyam’s towering, unmoving frame, then back to the girls, and finally nodded, completely sold. “Right. You're completely right about that, my friend. Let's go, girls!” With a sweeping gesture, he guided a giggling Tuk and an eager Popiti away toward the center of the camp.

The silence that settled over the horse pen was instantaneous and deafening. You stood by the wooden bucket, deliberately avoiding Neteyam’s gaze.

“I don't really need any help,” you muttered, picking up the woven basket of dried tea roots.

“I want to learn,” Neteyam said softly, his tone losing every ounce of its earlier authority. “Show me how it is done.”

You pursed your lips, letting out a small sigh as you shrugged and began walking toward the communal kitchens. Neteyam fell into step right beside you, his massive strides falling perfectly into rhythm with your smaller ones.

As you began sorting the dried roots, washing them in a clay basin, Neteyam hovered close, his eyes quietly cataloging every tiny detail that had changed about you over the last two weeks. Heck, he was extremely detailed on it he even tracked the small scratch on your thumb.

“How are you?” he asked quietly.

“I am fine,” you replied, keeping your eyes trained on the knife in your hand. “My aunt is resting. She is doing much better than when I first arrived.”

“I am glad,” Neteyam murmured, his voice softening into something raw and incredibly intimate. “Nobody ever stays sick for long on your watch. You are better than most of the trained healers in the pavilion. I think it is because you actually care deeply for the souls of those you tend to.”

Your fingers froze over the clay basin. You care deeply. Those words again.

A sudden, sharp sting of memory sliced through your chest. The memory of his cruel, careless words about your lack of strength, your inability to hunt or protect, your unfitness to stand beside a future leader. You gritted your teeth, forcing the pain down as you arranged the honeyed biscuits, a clay pot, and clay cups onto a heavy wooden serving tray.

Before you could lift it, Neteyam’s large hands slid beneath the wood, effortlessly taking the weight from you. He didn't say another word, silently carrying the tray as you scanned the ridge to see where Ziklan had taken the girls.

“Y/N! Over here!” Ziklan’s voice boomed from a shaded knoll near a cluster of vibrant banners. He waved an arm, a massive smile on his face.

“Is he always like that?” Neteyam murmured.

You glanced up at him with your brows furrowed. “He is a good man,” you murmured, felt a sudden urge to defend the hunter. “He has helped me more than anyone else since I got here.”

Neteyam stared at you, his eyes tracking the small, genuine smile that graced your lips. A bitter, suffocating knot tightened in his throat. He felt like a monster. An awful, selfish person who couldn't even find it in himself to be happy that you had found comfort and safety in a strange place. He tried to imagine how Kiri would react, knowing his sister would be overjoyed for you. But he wasn't Kiri. He knew exactly why his blood boiled at the sight of Ziklan, and the realization terrified him.

“Finally!” Popiti clapped happily as Neteyam carefully set the heavy tray down on a woven mat.

The next hour passed in a blur of lighthearted chatter. Popiti and Tuk ran the entire conversation, practically putting on a theatrical performance about their tragic separation, while Ziklan laughed loudly, entirely missing the subtle, icy cues Neteyam kept throwing his way. It was blindingly obvious to Neteyam that Ziklan was completely infatuated with you, and the hunter didn't have the slightest bit of shame about showing it.

“I wish we could see each other every single sunrise, Popiti,” Tuk declared dramatically, clutching her chest and wiping a fake tear from her cheek. “But the cruel distance separates our souls!”

Ziklan snorted into his tea, thoroughly entertained by their antics.

“You can see each other whenever you want,” Neteyam spoke up suddenly, his voice steady as he looked at his little sister. “I will fly you here myself.”

“Seriously?!” Tuk squealed, jumping up.

Popiti immediately nudged her with an elbow. “Manners,” she whispered fiercely, before turning a highly formal, respectful gaze toward Neteyam. “That would be most grand, respected warrior. You are incredibly gracious to offer such a thing.” Popiti then turned to you, speaking as if she were a wise elder rather than a child. “Y/N, you have a very thoughtful friend. Perhaps we should allow him to join our future gatherings.”

“I would like that very much,” Neteyam replied, offering a low, respectful bow of his head before taking a slow sip from his small clay cup.

“Hey, what about me?” Ziklan chimed in, tossing a seed at Popiti.

“You have tracking duties for the Olo'eyktan, Ziklan,” Popiti said dismissively, waving a hand. “You cannot always be lounging around with the ladies.”

And just like that, the girls unknowingly laid a path that Neteyam walked with relentless, calculated devotion.

Every single morning for the next moon, the heavy thrum of ikran wings would signal Neteyam’s arrival. He always brought Tuk, but the moment her feet hit the dirt, Neteyam would vanish into the background of your daily life, transforming into a silent force of labor.

He brought rare forest herbs for Suk’tet that he specifically asked Mo’at’s expertise on. He brought prime cuts of fresh hexapede and various forest fruits from his morning hunts, quietly handing them off to the camp cooks for you and your aunt. One afternoon, while you were away by the river, He spent three hours under the scorching sun patching the worn, weather-beaten outer hide of your aunt's tent, his massive hands skillfully weaving the thick woven walls until the structure was completely windproof.

He wanted to make things easy for you here. He didn’t want to think of you wanting for anything.

By the end of the second month, Suk’tet had completely recuperated. She was back on the back of a direhorse, back in the elders’ social circles and was finally able to join the rituals. But you lingered on the plains, wishing to see her all the way through it, making sure she is completely fine. You had grown genuinely close to Ziklan, finding a comfortable, easy friendship in his loud, unfiltered nature.

One afternoon, Neteyam had just finished thatching your aunt’s roof when he found the two of you out on the southern ridge. Ziklan was standing directly behind you, his hands adjusting your grip on a heavy shortbow, his chest practically pressed against your back as he guided your aiming arm toward a distant target.

Neteyam froze at the edge ridge, his eyes narrowing into slits. He wanted to act normal. He wanted to be the stoic, composed future leader the council raised him to be, but looking at you encaged in another man's arms, hearing your bright, unburdened laughter ring across the plains is unleashing something ugly in him.

He couldn't do it anymore. He admitted it to himself fully, the truth crushing his chest: he loved you. He felt for you more than words could ever express, and the raw, green jealousy raging in his blood was a monster he could no longer tame. He hated that Ziklan could openly admire you and be with you. At the same time, Neteyam hated himself for being entirely, unforgivably selfish.

He had spent his entire life suppressing his own desires for the good of the clan and had never done a single thing purely for himself... And right now, he knew that if he didn't start being selfish, he would lose you forever.

“She's a natural sharpshooter, this one!” Ziklan joked loudly, catching sight of the towering his frame standing like a statue in the brush. “I might just have to convince her to stay here.”

You gathered your practice arrows beforr walking up to Neteyam, entirely oblivious of the storm brewing in his dark eyes, and pointed toward the eastern tents. “Popiti and Tuk are over by the weaving mats. Tuk has been waiting for you.”

“You are learning archery?” he asked, his voice rough.

Your adrenaline was making it hard for you to wipe the smile off your face, turning to him with a breathless, excited smile and his gaze softened into something so intense, so vulnerable. A warm golden light of the sun was shining on you so specifically, it felt as though Eywa herself had drawn a golden line toward you, pointing you to him. He reached out without thinking, wiping the sweat off your neck and moving a strand of hair that’s sticking to your skin.

A soft, nervous giggle bubbled out of you before you could stop it. You quickly swatted his hand away, stepping back as a sudden, violent heat flared under your skin where his fingers had grazed you. You cleared your throat quickly.

“I wish only to learn so I can hunt... so I can protect myself and the children when we forage,” you said, your heart hammering against your chest. “I need to know how to protect them from danger. The children follow me everywhere in the forest.”

His brows furrowed. “There is no need for that, Y/N,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a firm, protective register. “Our clan has many hunters and warriors. It is our duty to handle the sustenance and protection of the people.”

Your lips pressed into a hard, rigid line. The lingering warmth vanished, replaced by a sudden wave of old anger. You tilted your head up, staring directly into his amber eyes. “You really don't even remember your own words, do you?”

Neteyam blinked, his brow furrowing. “My own words?”

“Yes,” you spat, the softness entirely gone from your voice as months of suppressed hurt finally broke through the surface. “You didn’t really think I heard you tell your mother and the Tsahik that I couldn't even hunt for my own food or protect my own life, did you? You asked how someone like me could ever protect the children of a future Olo'eyktan. I don't disagree with you on that, Neteyam. I know I am not a warrior. It is your right to choose a mate who fits your grand vision of a leader, and it is also my right to choose mine.

You stepped closer, your voice entirely cold.

“But you should know... I never wanted to be your mate anyway. I never even thought of it,” you said. “I wish you well in your pursuit of a perfect, strong warrior mate, Neteyam. Truly.”

You swept past him, your shoulder brushing his arm as you marched toward where Popiti and Tuk are. Neteyam didn't follow. He stood entirely paralyzed, heavily burdened by the sheer weight of reality. He had no defense. He had said those exact things. He believed them to be logical amd right at the time, even though the words had tasted like ash in his mouth the moment they left his lips. It had never felt right.

You had heard it all. You had carried his stupidity, his arrogance, and his cruelty in silence for months, and yet, you were still too kind to allow him to be comfortable around you.

He felt his chest hollow out completely. You didn’t even want him. He had spoken so cruelly, spent months agonizing over duty and pride, while you hadn't even considered him a choice. But he had, and it all felt so comical he knew his Mo’at and his mother would laugh at the fact. How dare he reject the idea of you, when it was he who was heads over heels for you this entire time?

It was always you. Since you were children running through the high branches, he had never truly looked at another girl. When he was weary from the endless pressures of being the perfect heir, your quiet laughter was the only thing that lifted the weight from his shoulders. You grounded him. You always had. Like always, Mo'at had been right and he had been completely, utterly blind.

Later that night, back at Hometree, Neteyam sat near the low embers of a secluded fire, a skin of strong, fermented wine gripped tightly in his hand. Lo'ak sat across from him, silently tearing into a piece of dried meat.

“I love her, Lo'ak,” Neteyam whispered into the darkness, the confession tearing out of his throat for the very first time. “I love her so much.”

Lo'ak didn't even pause his chewing. “Tell me something new.”

Neteyam snapped his head up, his eyes wide. “How did you know?”

Lo'ak rolled his eyes, letting out a dry snort. “Because I have functioning eyes? And a shred of common sense? Kiri has a million friends in this village, but growing up, you were always completely centered on Y/N. You were always about what Y/N would like and need. I know you try to be there for everyone in the clan, but you would drop a council meeting with Dad if Y/N ever needed a basket carried or a path cleared. You’ve had it bad since we were kids.”

Neteyam lowered his head into his hands, a ragged breath escaping him. “I... I always just thought I wanted to make things convenient for her. She spends every waking hour making life easy for everyone else in this village. She cares so deeply for the old and the small, and she never stops to think if anyone is looking out for her. I never stopped to think why my urge to protect and provide was so violently strong for her, and her alone.”

A hot, stinging moisture flooded his eyes, blurring his vision until a heavy tear escaped, tracking down his nose. He angrily wiped it away with the back of his hand, pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets to stop the trembling.

“What the fuck, bro...” Lo'ak mumbled, his voice dropping into a rare moment of genuine sympathy. “She really got you bad...” he looked at Neteyam. “But well, why are you crying? Y/N likes you, too, I know that! I see it. And I also know that Y/N knows you care for her. She knows who you are.”

“I hurt her, Lo'ak,” Neteyam choked out, his voice thick with unspent grief. “I hurt her so deeply.”

“How? Is this about you flying to the Olangi camp every single day?” Lo'ak asked, a worried smirk on his face. “Because everyone knows you're not pulling a four-hour round trip just so Tuk can play hand-clapping games with Popiti.”

“No... before that,” Neteyam whispered, staring into the dying flames. “Mo’at and Mother talked to me moons ago. They suggested Y/N to be my betrothed. And instead of listening to my heart, I let my pride and my narrow view of what a leader ‘needs’ take over. I said cruel, unforgivable things about her strength. And she heard every single word.”

Neteyam’s grip tightened on the flask until his claws dug into the wood. “And the worst part, Lo'ak? She was still so kind. She carried that pain in silence, allowing me to exist comfortably around her, never throwing it in my face until today when I finally pushed her past her limits. She must have been in such agonizing discomfort every time I forced my way into her space... and she never said a word.”

Lo'ak breathe sharply through his teeth, shaking his head. “Stupidity... Eywa practically dropped your destiny right into your lap and you kicked it off a cliff. What’s your plan now?”

“I don't want to keep showing up if my presence genuinely makes her miserable,” Neteyam said, his chest constricting tightly as the image of Ziklan holding your bow arm flashed vividly behind his eyelids. “But I also cannot let her think I am giving up. I can't let her fall for someone else.”

Lo'ak let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. “So... you're just gonna keep using Tuk and Popiti as shields to force your way back into her life, huh?”

Neteyam didn't answer. He knew he should be ashamed. He knew he had no right to be territorial, but the sheer terror of a life without you overrode every ounce of his ingrained honor. He would keep showing up.

But his master plan exploded directly in his face the very next morning.

When Neteyam marched back into the clearing after his dawn patrol, the first thing he saw was Tuk and Popiti sitting on the high woven platform outside his family's kelku, giggling uncontrollably as they played a frantic hand-clapping game.

Neteyam stopped dead in his tracks, his heart stopping. “Popiti?” he called out, stepping closer to ensure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

The young girl snapped her head around, beaming. “Hello, Neteyam!”

“We don't need to fly all the way to the plains anymore, Neteyam!” Tuk cheered, jumping up and down on the mats. “Popiti and her mother traveled through the night to be with Norm and her sister! There is a huge possibility they are moving to the forest permanently. Isn't that amazing?!”

Neteyam stared at the two girls, a loud, high-pitched ringing filling his ears as his gaze volleyed between them. His throat went completely dry. “Is... is Y/N back?”

Popiti’s smile faded into a serious, knowing look, and she shook her head slowly. “No. She won't be coming back to the forest, I think. Ziklan has officially started courting her. They will be mated soon, and that means babies also.” Popiti nodded sagely, as if she were an expert on the matter. “Y/N is going to stay with the Olangi forever.”

Neteyam’s heart dropped straight into his stomach, a physical sensation of icy dread washing over him. At the moment, his mind can’t even differentiate between being hunted by a starving palulukan in the dead of night and the fact Popiti was talking about. His mind spun out of control as he imagined the future.

“Y/N can't do that!” Tuk shouted, her face twisting into a fierce scowl, mirroring exactly what he was feeling. “She belongs to us! She is Omatikaya!”

“Well, once she binds her spirit to Ziklan, she becomes Olangi. That is how things are. Right, Neteyam?” Popiti asked, looking up at him for confirmation.

Tuk looked up at her big brother, giant tears overflowing her lower lids. Neteyam forced his shaking knees to bend, dropping down to eye level with the two young girls. He reached out, placing his massive hand tenderly over Tuk’s head.

“It doesn't work like that, Tuk. Popiti,” Neteyam said, his voice incredibly calm but carrying a desperate weight. “Y/N is both Omatikaya and Olangi. Her mother's blood and her father's blood make her who she is. A mate will not change anything. She will always belong to both.”

Tuk sniffled loudly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “But will she ever come home? I miss her being here so much, Neteyam... I pray with Mo'at for her aunt's health every single night just so she can come back to us.”

Neteyam lowered his eyes to the woven floorboards, his chest aching so severely he could barely draw breath. “She will come back... if her heart wishes it so, Tuk.”

“Will her heart ever wish it?” the little girl whispered.

Neteyam’s gaze remained locked on the ground. “We will see...”

The universe, it seemed, was determined to strip away every last bit of his time. Later that afternoon, Neteyam was summoned to the high council, a gathering led far more by the sharp, unyielding gaze of his grandmother, Mo'at, than by his father.

As soon as he took his seat, the elders began discussing the formal arrangements for his future betrothal selection. His jaw slackened. Looking at the completely blank, deliberate expression on his grandmother’s face, he knew instantly that this entire timeline had been forced forward by her hand. She was trying to lock him into his duties.

“Which is why,” Mo'at said, her sharp voice echoing off the woven walls as she looked directly at him, “I expect you to cease these endless, frivolous flights to only Eywa knows where. Stay here, Neteyam. Act like a true leader who prioritizes his people.”

Neteyam’s shoulders slumped, a profound, hollow numbness spreading through his limbs as he heard the incredibly loud this is your choice tone from Mo’at. Every single avenue was closing. Popiti was in the forest, stripping away his excuse to fly to the plains, and the council was locking him into a cage of duty.

He watched his grandmother walk away toward the healing pavilion, and before his brain could register the danger, his feet began to move. He followed her. He pushed past the beaded curtains of the pavilion, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was going to tell her. He was going to call off the selection.

“Tsahik,” he barked out, stopping her in the center of the quiet structure. “I am trying to win Y/N's heart. I need the betrothal selection to stop. I will not choose anyone else.”

Mo'at slowly turned around, her face completely expressionless, though her eyes held a deep curiosity. “Do you remember the exact words you had spoken in this exact room months ago?”

“I remember what I said, Tsahik,” Neteyam intercepted, his voice cracking with emotion. “I will remember my own stupidity for as long as I draw breath.”

“Then you must understand that Y/N will never forget it either,” Mo'at replied coldly.

“I am going to try anyway,” Neteyam vowed, stepping closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I will never give up on her. I was too blind to see the gift Eywa had placed directly in front of me. I was so consumed by the weight of the leadership, so obsessed with being the perfect leader, that I ignored the only voice that has ever kept me whole. I thought a leader only protects through the bow. But Y/N... Y/N holds the very soul of our people. She heals the old, she guides the young, she binds the broken pieces of this clan together. No one is better than her, Grandmother, not even I. I am not even her equal, but I will spend every sunrise trying to be worthy of her. Even if it goes against the council.”

Mo'at stared at her grandson, a flicker of profound awe breaking through her tight-lipped facade. The boy had finally grown into a man who understood that his heart must be louder than his mind.

“Very well,” she said softly, turning back to her herbs. “Do what you must do.”

The very next morning, the moment his dawn patrol was ovr, Neteyam pushed his ikran into a sprint across the sky, flying straight back to the Olangi encampment.

Neteyam was a perfectionist by nature. He was a boy who prided himself on being pristine, composed, and unshakeable. But today, the toll of his sleepless nights and absolute terror was laid bare for everyone to see. His ears were pinned flat against his head, his tail hung low and twitching with anxiety, and the regal posture he usually carried was completely fractured by fear.

The moment his boots hit the dirt, his shoulders squared automatically as his eyes locked onto Ziklan. Thank Eywa, you were nowhere in sight.

Ziklan noticed him immediately, stepping away from the herd with a curt, surprised nod. “Neteyam? If you're looking for Popiti, she and her mother left for the forest days ago.”

Neteyam swallowed hard, forcing his raging jealousy down into the pit of his stomach. He looked at the Olangi tracker, forcing himself to speak with a raw, stripping honesty that cost him every ounce of his pride.

“I know,” Neteyam said, his voice steady but thick. “I did not come for the girl. I came for Y/N.”

Ziklan froze, his lips parting in genuine surprise.

“Ziklan,” he called out. “I want to thank you," Neteyam continued, his golden eyes unblinking. “I want to thank you for doing what I was too cowardly and foolish to do. You saw Y/N’s worth instantly... You proudly showed her your admiration and made her feel safe when I did nothing but bring her grief. I respect you for that, Ziklan.”

Ziklan blinked, his eyes awkwardly looking everywhere but at Neteyam. “Y-You’re welcome? I mean, Y/N is a great woman. What’s not to like?” he giggled.

Neteyam looked at him with an easy smile. “But if you must know... I am here to win her back. And I will go through you, or anyone else in this clan, if I have to.”

Ziklan went entirely pale for a fraction of a second, staring at the massive Omatikaya warrior before he suddenly burst into a flustered, stammering laugh. He reached out, nervously patting Neteyam’s massive shoulder. “Whoa, whoa, wait! Hold your ikran, warrior! There is absolutely no need to go through anyone. I am not... courting Y/N.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched. “You are not?”

“No,” Ziklan chuckled, shaking his head. “Look, I like her. Any man with eyes would. She’s beautiful and fierce. But... well, I also have eyes in my head, Neteyam. I've watched you endure a four-hour round trip every single day just to carry her water buckets. I know a desperate man when I see one,” he grinned. “I am glad to know that you are a man of immense honor. Most guys with your rank would have pulled status and thrown their weight around to clear me out of the way, but you came to me directly. I respect that. Don't mind if I steal that move for my own future courting.“ Ziklan smirked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder toward the communal kitchens. “She's over there. Go get her. Good luck!”

The sun was barely over the horizon, casting long, sharp shadows across the dirt as Neteyam walked toward the outdoor kitchens. He spotted you instantly, laughing softly with a group of Olangi women as you prepped roots for the morning stew.

The moment the other women noticed the towering Omatikaya heir standing at the edge of the shade, their conversations died into astounded whispers. You turned around, your breath catching in your throat as your face instantly twisted into a hard, defensive scowl.

Why was he here? You thought you had finally broken him days before. You had once again spent the entire night crying into your furs, furious at yourself for still caring, furious that his face was the only thing you saw when you closed your eyes. You deliberately turned your back on him, picking up your knife and focusing entirely on the vegetables.

An hour passed. You worked until your fingers were stained with juice, completely ignoring the edge of the clearing. You assumed he had finally taken the hint and flown away, but when you finally turned around to carry a basket to the fire, you froze.

He hadn't moved an inch. He was still standing exactly where you left him, his massive hands tucked nervously behind his back, his entire posture vibrating with a fragile, desperate tension. He was waiting for you.

You tried to march past him, but Neteyam stepped directly into your path, his tail dragging in the dirt, his ears completely flattened in a posture of total surrender.

“Please...” he whispered, his voice cracking, entirely dry. “Y/N, please just allow me to speak. Then I will leave if you command it.”

You raised your eyes, forcing them to remain cold, indifferent, and dead to the world. But the sheer vulnerability in his golden gaze made your throat tighten.

“I am an idiot, Y/N,” Neteyam said, the words rushing out of him like a floodgate opening. “When I said those cruel, unfeeling things to Mo’at and my mother, I had convinced myself they were right. I thought that to be a leader, to be a protector, I needed a mate who mirrored my mother’s strength, someone who knew how to kill and hunt. I had such a pathetic, narrow view of strength that I failed to see that you are the one holding the actual future of our people in your hands.”

He took a ragged breath, stepping closer, though his hands remained down.

“No one knows the children better than you. No one has held the hands of our dying elders with more grace than you. I am completely ashamed that I ever deemed you unequal to the title of a leader's mate, when the truth is... I am not equal to you. I was too blinded by my own arrogance to see that the only person lacking true strength in that room... was me.” Neteyam took a deliberate step back, physically granting you the space to breathe. “I do not ask for your forgiveness today. Or even tomorrow. But I swear to you, by the Great Mother, I will spend every single sunrise for the rest of my life proving to you that I can be a man worthy of standing by your side.”

His words hung heavily in the crisp, cool morning air. He stared at you, desperate, begging for any sign that the ice in your chest had thawed. But the memory of the tears you had shed over him was too fresh, the wound too deep. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you soften.

Keeping your face entirely flat, your voice cut through his lingering hope like a sheet of ice. “Are you done?”

Neteyam’s ears twitched with a faint, visible pang of grief. He swallowed hard, his tail lowering. “Yes.”

“Okay, then move.”

You didn't wait for him to fully step aside, you pushed right past his shoulder, your basket tightly gripped in your hands. Neteyam didn't try to stop you again. He simply stood in the center of the camp, watching your retreating back, his chest hollowed out by the brutal realization that words would never be enough to fix the wreckage he had caused.

You marched straight down to the riverbank, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you refused to look back. Your hands were shaking so hard you could barely loop the leather straps of the massive communal waterskins over your arms. You braced your knees, preparing to haul the immense weight back up the ridge, when a massive hand suddenly gripped the leather straps, effortlessly lifting the weight completely out of your grasp.

You snapped your head up, a sharp scowl flaring on your face. “I told you to move.”

“I did move,” he murmured, his voice incredibly soft, his eyes downcast to the riverbed so he didn't look like he was challenging your authority. Without an ounce of strain, he swung the massive, heavy waterskins over his broad shoulders, a weight that would have made your knees buckle instantly. “But I cannot let you carry this.”

You could hear the faint, underlying rumble of frustration in his throat, not at you, but at the fact that anyone in this camp had allowed you to haul such a ridiculous weight by yourself.

“Do you do this every day?” he asked, his lips thinning into a tight line as he looked at the steep ridge trail.

“I don't need your help,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “But if you are going to insist on stealing my chores, the least you can do is do it in absolute silence.”

Neteyam bit his lower lip, turning his head away to stifle the sudden, breathless smile that threatened to break across his face. Hello there, little fire. He had never seen this side of you. You were always so gentle, so soft-spoken, and kind. He had never seen your eyes flash with such fierce, blinding spirit, and the fact that it was directed entirely at him made his blood sing.

For the next weeks, Neteyam turned the Olangi camp into his personal proving ground.

He completely outworked you. Every single time your fingers so much as brushed against a tool, a knife for chopping vegetables, a basket of heavy laundry, a broom for the tent mats, Neteyam would materialize from the shadows, silently and gently prying it from your hands. It was driving you entirely insane. You wanted to ignore him, you wanted to freeze him out, but it is impossible to ignore a towering warrior who is literally completing your entire daily checklist while you are forced to sit on the sidelines with your arms crossed.

The Olangi clan watched the entire spectacle with utter fascination. Elders would sit outside their tents, whispering in amusement as they watched the proud, decorated heir of Toruk Makto skinning vegetables, scrubbing blackened cooking pots until they shined, and carrying logs that usually required two men, all for one furious forest girl. They knew he was courting you, but given the permanent scowl on your face, they all collectively agreed he must have committed a crime of historic proportions.

He would touch down the exact moment his morning patrol ended and refuse to leave until the communal dinners were finished. He wouldn't even sit with the Olangi to eat, he would wait by the washing basins, tracking your movements until you approached with a dirty dish, only to grab it first. He would have tied you to a support beam before he ever let you scrub grease in the kitchens again.

By the middle of the second month, you sat between Suk’tet’s legs while she braided your hair. She was completely healed, her strength entirely restored, her eyes as sharp as ever.

“You have been far from the jungle for too long, child,” she said softly, her fingers weaving the leather ties into your hair. “As much as my old heart loves your presence, I know this endless sky is not the home you grew up in. You have made good friends here... but everything you have ever known is the forest. The Hometree. Your father’s people.”

A quiet ache settled in your chest. It was true. You missed the canopy. “Back at Hometree... I do not have a biological family left, Auntie,” you muttered, turning to face her. “Here, I have you. But... I do miss the children. The little ones I told you about.”

Suk’tet smiled warmly, cupping your cheek with a calloused hand. “You are a beautiful soul, Y/N. Everywhere your feet tread, people learn to love you. They cling to you and build a home around you. You barely knew me, yet you nursed an old woman back from the grave.”

You smiled back, your eyes crinkling. “You are blood of my blood, Suk’tet. I would do it again, though I prefer you stay healthy.”

She let out a dry chuckle, clearing her throat as her eyes turned mischievous. “The son of Toruk Makto... he is your lover?”

Your face erupted into a furious, flustered scowl. “No!” you insisted, though the sudden, violent racing of your pulse gave you away instantly.

Suk’tet simply scoffed, a knowing smirk on her lips. “I see.”

You packed your meager belongings that very afternoon. Ziklan, ever the loyal friend, insisted on guiding you back to the Omatikaya boundaries, a trek that took two full days on the backs of the swift direhorses.

You had absolutely no idea the level of absolute chaos your sudden departure had caused Neteyam.

When he had arrived at the plains two days ago only to leard that you had left with Ziklan, his mind had shattered. He had spent forty-eight hours flying over the forest canopy, terrified that you weren't coming back to the forest at all, that you were fleeing from him forever.

The moment your direhorses broke through the dense foliage into the Omatikaya clearing, a crowd of scouts was already assembled, already mounted on direhorses. Neteyam was at the front.

“Y/N!” his voice broke, his shoulders slumping in a wave of relief so massive it looked as though he might collapse. He was moving toward you before your mount had even come to a full stop.

Before you could even slide off the saddle, Neteyam’s arms were around your waist, pulling you down into a fierce, crushing hug that buried his face into the crook of your neck. The surrounding scouts watched with wide, wondering eyes.

You pressed a firm palm against his hard chest, pushing back until he reluctantly peeled himself off you, though his hands lingered on your waist.

“Ziklan,” Neteyam greeted, turning a sharp but respectful nod toward the Olangi hunter. “Your journey took too long.”

Ziklan raised his hands in the air, a massive, unbothered grin on his face. “Hey, don't shoot the messenger, warrior, as they say.”

Neteyam let out a low huff, and you immediately leveled him with a sharp glare. “The journey always takes two days, Neteyam.”

Neteyam quickly cleared his throat, “Of course,” he nodded without a fight before turning back to Ziklan. “You should stay for supper, Ziklan.”

Before you could force Ziklan to say yes, a chorus of high-pitched shrieks echoed from the Hometree’s entryway. A dozen children from the nursery came tearing down the dirt path, their little feet flying as they chanted your name. Your face split into a brilliant, breathless smile. You dropped to your knees, throwing your arms wide as the kids tackled you into the dirt, their little hands clutching at your clothes, nuzzling their faces against yours.

Neteyam watched with a soft, incredibly tender smile. They had missed you terribly. The entire village had.

That evening, the kitchens prepared a feast that felt more like a celebration for a returning warrior than an errand girl. The older cooks completely barred you from the hearth, shoving you into a seat and telling you to just rest and be served for once. You spent the night sharing stories of the plains, while Tuk and Popiti sat close, Tuk beaming with absolute joy that your heart had chosen to return home. Mo'at herself greeted you with a warm touch to your shoulder, asking after Suk'tet with a look that told you she knew exactly what had been happening on those plains.

The moment the feast concluded and the crowds began to disperse, Neteyam stayed behind to gather the trash. You stayed too, slipping into your familiar routine. A few of the older kitchen women lingered, scrubbing the large pots, their eyes darting between you and the towering boy across the room.

“Y/N,” one of them whispered loudly, leaning over the counter with a massive grin. “Is it true? Did Neteyam really fly to the plains every single sunrise for two moons just to watch you chop roots?”

“Is he your lover?” another chimed in, nudging your ribs.

“Or is he still courting you?”

Your face flushed a violent, burning purple. “No! None of that,” you stammered, frantically scrubbing a leaf plate. “He was only flying out so Tuk could play with Popiti.”

The older woman let out a loud huff. “Oh, please! Popiti has been living in the forest for over a moon now, and Neteyam didn't fly Tuk to the plains a single time before you left. He only had wings when you were out there, child.”

You denied everything until your throat was dry, but the denial was entirely futile. If Neteyam had stolen your chores on the plains, he doubled his efforts now that you were back on his home turf.

He began waking up before the first light of dawn, hauling waterskin after waterskin up from the river to fill the kitchen reservoirs before you even opened your eyes, completely eliminating your morning lifting routine. When you went to prep vegetables, he was already there, moving in a silent, perfect rhythm beside you. The head cooks just watched the two of you with silent amusement, never asking questions.

One afternoon, you returned to your sleeping mat after a long day in the forest with the children and found a beautiful, custom-made quiver resting on your furs. Inside were a dozen hunting arrows, each one perfectly balanced, featuring a unique and intricate fletching of bright blue and silver fibers. You bit your lip, your fingers tracing the soft feathers. You knew the handiwork instantly. The sheer, relentless devotion of the gesture finally chipped away the last of the icy armor around your heart. You couldn't even remember why you were supposed to be angry anymore.

The next morning, during the meal prep, Neteyam silently slid into the seat beside you, reaching for a basket of unpeeled roots.

“Why are you doing this, Neteyam?” you asked quietly, your voice losing its sharp edge entirely. “You are a warrior. You shouldn't be wasting your hours on meager kitchen labor or crafting arrows for a novice.”

Neteyam stopped his knife. He turned his head, his amber eyes completely bare, stripping away every ounce of his warrior pride as he looked at you.

“I told you before, Y/N... I was completely blind,” he said, his voice dropping into a deep, resonant chest tone. “I was so consumed by the council’s beliefs on how a leader must fight that I completely forgot how a leader must care for his people. I hunt, and I scout, and I bleed for this clan, but you have been the one keeping them together since we were children. You are so much more noble, so much stronger, and far more vital to the survival of the Omatikaya than I will ever be. This clan has a hundred hunters and warrior. But there is only one you. For them... and for me.”

He took a sharp breath, his fingers trembling slightly against the wooden table.

“I know you will not believe me, but when my grandmother first suggested you as my betrothed... I wanted it so desperately that the intensity of my own selfishness terrified me. In my panic, I tried to hide behind duty. In my immense stupidity, I failed to realize that the best decision I could ever make for our people was to follow my heart. A leader protects the people, Y/N... but it is you who teaches them who they are. I cannot live a life without you.”

Your heart hammered so violently against your ribs you felt completely breathless. You stared at him, your throat tight, before quickly looking down at the half-chopped fruit in your lap.

“I...” you whispered, your lips puckering slightly as you peered up through your eyelashes. “Well... I was just going to say that I want to be your friend again. I am tired of being annoyed at you...”

Neteyam’s entire face lit up, a brilliant, breathtaking smile tearing across his lips as he bit his lower lip to keep from shouting. “Then I will be the greatest... friend this world has ever seen,” he vowed softly. “I promise. I won't mess up again.”

You shrugged, a small chuckle escaping you. “None of us are perfect, Neteyam. We make mistakes. To be fair... I was mean to you, too, over the last two moons.”

He let out a rough, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “It doesn't matter. I deserved every single bit of it.”

“Agreed,” you murmured, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

His eyes danced with light. “Can I... can I sit at your table for dinner tonight?”

“My table?” you asked, raising a brow. “The nursery children sit there. They are incredibly rowdy.”

“I don't care,” Neteyam said instantly, his posture softening. “I can help you feed them.”

That night, the older members of the clan watched as Neteyam sat at the children's table, completely buried under a mountain of toddlers.

The kids were entirely oblivious to his fierce warrior reputation, the only thing that’s important is that they can climb on his massive frame like a Hometree branch, and having him at their table was an absolute fun time. Two small toddlers were hanging off his shoulders, another was pulling on his ear, and Neteyam didn't care in the slightest. He spent the entire meal helping you cut up meat and wipe messy faces, so focused on the task that by the time the kids were full, neither of you had touched your own food.

You looked down at his leaf plate, which was still piled high with untouched food, and let out a bright laugh. Neteyam grinned back, finally taking a bite, only to nearly choke when a two-year-old suddenly tackled his neck from behind.

“Alright, alright, we should let him eat,” you chuckled, gently prying the toddler off his back. The little girl immediately flopped into your lap, yawning hugely before snuggling her head against your chest. You tickled her nose, angling your head to look down at her sleepy face. “Always so sleepy when your belly is full, aren't you?”

The child let out a soft grunt, and you heard Neteyam let out a low, deep chuckle beside you.

Up on the leader's dais, Neytiri and Mo'at watched the scene unfold, exchanging a silent, amused look, shaking their heads in unison. If the boy had only listened to them the first time, this path would have been infinitely easier, but by choosing the long, painful route, he had managed to show you a depth of devotion that words alone could never have conquered.

The weeks that followed blurred into a seamless routine. You were together almost every waking hour, except when he's on border patrols or you're on your lessons with the children.

Meanwhile, Tuk and Popiti became a permanent fixture of teasing, constantly trailing behind you like two tiny, blue shadow-demons intent on destroying your sanity.

“I think you should have seven babies,” Tuk announced one afternoon, skipping backward ahead of you while balancing a basket of berries on her head. “Three boys to hunt with Neteyam, three girls to be with you, and one extra to just run around and be loud with us.”

“What?” you sputtered, nearly tripping over a stray root. “Tuk, please. I am just trying to sort these medical leaves, don’t be silly.”

Popiti leaned in, her eyes flashing as she mischievously smirked. “Seven is an uneven number, Tuk. Highly impractical for horse formations. I suggest eight. Four pairs. And the binding ceremony must happen before the next high moon, otherwise, the gossip in the weaving tents will go stale, and my mother says stale gossip is a sin.”

“I am right here,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “And gossip? What gossip?”

“Just something we’re working on,” Tuk chirped, completely unbothered. “We're just helping! You two are not going the way Mom said you’re going so someone has to do the logistics.”

Before you could threaten to assign them both to communal pot-scrubbing duty for a month, a trio of older kitchen women intercepted you near the drying racks. They looked at you with their arms crossed and their expressions a mixture of intense maternal scrutiny and absolute glee.

“Ah, finally you are back,” the elder called out, a sharp smirk cutting across her wrinkled face. “Y/N, come here. We need you to settle a wager before we throw these two little birds into the river.”

You stopped, raising an eyebrow. “A wager?”

The older woman gestured dramatically toward Tuk and Popiti, who were suddenly looking very innocent. “These two have been running from the nursery to the looms telling everyone who will listen that Neteyam has already built you a formal three-room kelku on the high branches, that he has personally wrestled a palulukan to make your wedding leathers, and that you have secretly agreed to move the entire Olangi direhorse herd into the middle of our hunting grounds.”

You felt the blood rush to your ears so fast they practically vibrated. All of those are ridiculous. “What?”

“Oh, it gets better,” another elder chuckled, leaning over a basket of sweet roots. “Tuk swore to the Tsahik this morning that you and her brother already shared the first mating bond under the stars, and that Neteyam cried tears of joy for three hours straight afterward.”

“I did not say three hours!” Tuk shouted defensively, her face flushing. “I said two! And he didlook like he was going to cry when I saw him earlier today!”

“Tuk! Popiti!” you gasped, your voice cracking as you looked between the girls and the highly entertained elders. “Neteyam has not built a kelku, he has not wrestled a palulukan, and he absolutely, under no circumstances, cried for two hours! There is no mating ceremony, and the direhorse herd is staying exactly where it is!”

The older woman let out a theatrical sigh, shaking her head as she handed a couple of iridescent rocks to the woman next to her. “A pity. I lost five beads on the palulukan. But you cannot blame us for checking, child. The future Olo'eyktan has been walking around looking all lovesick for moons now. We had to verify the misinformation before Mo'at started scheduling the clan dance.”

“Go play in the mud, you two,” you muttered, swatting at the girls' shoulders as they giggled and sprinted off toward the river. You turned back to the smirking elders, utterly exhausted. “Please tell me Neteyam hasn't heard any of this.”

The woman just winked. “Oh, he heard the part about the crying. Lo'ak made sure of it.”

You nearly choked, your eyes closing in frustration, mostly because you were desperately trying to pretend that the moment of him saying he couldn't live without you never happened. But you also know that the tension between you was growing heavy. You couldn’t completely go back to what you two used to be. Things have now shifted into something thick, dark, and predatory.

One time, you caught him watching you from across the training clearing. His golder eyes were dark, heavy, and burning with a fierce heat as they tracked the curve of your waist. When he noticed you catching him, he simply raised a slow, challenging brow before turning back to his bow. That wasn’t the first time you caught him looking at you with that same look and he’s not exactly shy about it at all.

“Focus,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing the tip of your ear. “Draw the string back to your jaw.”

He stood directly behind you, his massive chest framing your back, his large, warm hands resting firmly on your hips to adjust your stance. He pulled your hips back slightly, aligning your spine against his hard frame, and you completely forgot how to draw air into your lungs.

You tried to focus on the woven target tied to a distant three, swinging in the air to simulate a moving target. You swallowed hard, pulling the heavy string back until your knuckles grazed your cheek. You held your breath, tracking the swinging target through the dappled sunlight, and released.

The arrow cut through the air before embedding itself dead-center in the moving bullseye.

You shrieked in absolute delight, your jaw dropping. Without thinking, you spun around and jumped directly into Neteyam’s arms, laughing hysterically against his shoulder as you jumped on the soles of your feet.

“Hell yeah!” Neteyam cheered as he caught you effortlessly, his massive arms locking around your lower back, lifting your feet off the ground as he twirled around, his deep laugh rumbling directly into your chest.

“You are capable of anything, Y/N,” he murmured against your jaw, his grip tightening until you were flush against him. “You always have been.”

You leaned back slightly but you didn't pull away completely, your eyes locking onto his lips, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tilted your head a fraction of an inch closer as your wide, golden eyes peered up at him. That tiny, deliberate movement was all the permission his starved soul needed.

Neteyam’s breath hitched, a low, desperate sound tearing from the back of his throat as he closed the remaining distance. His lips crashed into yours with the force of a breaking dam.

It wasn was heavy, consuming, and desperate right away, carrying the weight of a year's worth of unspoken longing. One of his massive hands slid up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your braids to hold you firmly against him, while his other hand clamped around your waist, crushing your frame entirely against his. He kissed you like a starving man who had finally found the only thing capable of keeping him alive, pouring every ounce of his soul into the pressure of his mouth.

When his teeth gently caught your tongue and sucked, deep and demanding, a soft whimper escaped you. You pulled back just an inch, your eyes wide and your face burning with a scandalized, breathless laugh.

“Neteyam!” you whispered-shouted, looking around the empty canopy.

He bit his lower lip, his amber eyes glowing with joy. “Sorry...” he mumbled, though his smirk told a completely different story. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours and pressing a hard kiss against your lips. “I love you, Y/N. So much. I love you so much.”

You stared up at him, your lips tingling, wet and swollen from his kisses. Giving in completely, you stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him back down for another.

Now that the threshold had been crossed, the forest became a beautiful, dangerous paradise of stolen moments.

It started on an afternoon in the deep brush, where you were supposed to be gathering red fire-ferns for the healing pavilion. Neteyam had volunteered to ‘guard’ you, which apparently meant standing entirely too close and distracting you every time you reached for a stem.

“You missed one,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, heavy register.

You looked down at the perfectly bare patch of earth. “Neteyam, there is literally nothing there but dirt.”

“I was talking about this,” he countered smoothly. Before you could call him out on his terrible tracking logic, his large hand was already pulling you sharply into the thick, shadows of the broad-leafed ferns.

He pinned your lower back against the damp trunk of a massive tree, his mouth dropping onto yours with a sudden, breathless hunger. You pulled him closer by his hunting harness, your quiet gasps for air completely muffled by the bruising rhythm of his lips. By the time he let you go, your basket was half-empty and your lips had a telltale crimson.

Two days later, the tension followed you up to the shadow of the ikran roost. You were wrapping a fresh leather strap around the chest piece of his riding gear, trying to focus while his golden eyes tracked your every movement.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, pulling the knot tight. “People are watching from the lower ledges.”

“No, they aren't,” Neteyam whispered back, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips.

You stepped back, biting your lip with a feigned fear and his hand shot out to grab your wrists, gently but unyieldingly pinning them against the wall, stepping into your space until his hard chest completely crowded you out. He leaned down, his tail wrapping firmly around your ankle to anchor you in place.

“Neteyam, someone might land an ikran,” you whispered-shouted, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“Then they land,” he mumbled playfully against your jaw before his mouth caught yours again. He sucked on your lower lip, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your wrists until you stopped resisting and melted completely into the wall behind you.

But the true madness always happened long after the village had gone to sleep.

You met in the highest branches of Hometree, far above the sleeping tiers where the night air was still and cool. The moss beneath you glowed with a soft, pulsing blue light, casting an ethereal shimmer over Neteyam’s bare chest as he pulled you into his lap.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck, his teeth gently nipping the sensitive skin right above your collarbone.

You chuckled. “I just tried Popiti’s root sap,” you mumbled, a soft shiver running down your spine as his long fingers traced a burning path up your inner thigh. You reached up, your fingers tangling into the thick beads of his queue. “If the kids wake up and find my mat empty, I am blaming you entirely.”

Neteyam huffed a laugh against your lips, “Tuk and Popiti had spread more gossips among their flock. They really believed I wrestled a palulukan for you, I have their approval.”

You burst into a quiet, breathless laugh against his mouth, the sound immediately cut off as he pulled you down into a deep, consuming kiss that left both of you completely lost in the dark canopy.

Tonight was no different. The sky was decorated with thousands of stars but the distant waterfalls glowing with a soft, ethereal light was your main view as you sat nestled comfortably between Neteyam’s long legs, your back resting securely against his broad chest as the two of you shared a sweet fruit.

“I have a confession,” Neteyam murmured, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “When Popiti moved to the village and ended my excuses to fly to the plains... I genuinely thought my world had ended. And then that little demon doubled down by telling me Ziklan was going to make you his mate.” He let out a low, fake gasp, imitating Popiti's high voice: “And they'll be mated soon, and that means babies also!”

You burst into a loud, echoing laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “She completely misinterpreted our friendship.”

“She did,” Neteyam muttered, his lips trailing down to press a warm, lingering kiss against the side of your neck. “But those words echoed in my mind every single day, even after Ziklan told me he wasn't courting you. I was losing my mind.”

“Told you? Did you confront him?" you asked, craning your neck to give his lips more room against your skin.

“Sort of...“ He whispered, his hands sliding beneath your top to rest against the warm skin of your ribs. “I told Tuk you would come home when your heart wished it... but in my head, I was already drafting an entire list of arguments to drag you back if you choose not to.”

“Such as?” you teased, your breath hitching as his fingers began to trace slow, deliberate circles upward.

“Like... ‘if you never come home, what about the children?’” he murmured against your ear, making you laugh even harder.

“Neteyam, you sound like I left you to be a single father,” you snorted, closing your eyes as his lips traced a burning path down the length of your neck to your collarbone.

“It felt like it, too,“ he chuckled. “The kids ask for you the second I take them into the brush.”

His mouth found yours again, cutting off your reply with a deep, heavy kiss that stole the remaining air from your lungs. His hands slid down to your hips, his fingers slipping beneath your loincloth, his calloused thumb finding your center through the thin fabric.

A sharp, needy whimper vibrated in your throat as your hips bucked automatically against his hand.

“You are so wet already...“ Neteyam growled against your lips, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register.

His long fingers caressed your slit, humming when he found you really slick. He parted your velvety folds to expose your burning heat, inserting two fingers in one, deep stroke, making you moan loudly against his mouth as he anchored your hip with his other hand. His thumb pressed firmly against your clit, moving in a frantic, relentless rhythm that had you shaking within seconds.

He pulled his mouth away, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his head lowered in your chest, his teeth gently nipping at your skin while his fingers worked your pussy into absolute madness. You stifled your moans, your hand grabbing his large forearm, your head falling back against his shoulder.

The combination of his fingers stretching you inside, his other hand kneading your breast, and his mouth sucking at your pebbled tip had your mind splintering. The terrifying thrill of anyone seeing both of you here added to your pleasure.

“Neteyam—” you cried out, your fingers locking into his braids as your body tightened into a violent, shuddering climax.

You shook in his arms, your walls clamping rhythmically around his fingers as he held you tightly through the storm, kissing you hard as you fell weak against him. You are literally forced out of your body by the shattering pleasure he has given you that when his hands moved with a purposeful hunger to turn your body around in his lap, you feel like a twig that had separated from a bark, hanging loosely but holding on for dear life.

His large hand held your other thigh to make you straddle him. His hand caressed its way up your back, clamping on your nape as his lips came crashing down on yours. You kissed him back, holding tight onto his shoulders. He kissed his way down to your breasts, sucking and biting before he lowered you down on the flat and wide surface of the branch.

He adjusted between your legs, fitting his large body between them until your felt his mouth on your warmth. He laid his tongue flat, licking your slit before sucking at your sensitive nub.

“Oh, Neteyam!” you moaned before biting your lip, your hips bucking away from the stimulation of his tongue’s pressure on your clit, urging a release from you that he ultimately got.

You felt a warm liquid gush out of you and his tongue licked you clean as he untied your loincloth around your tail. He let out a low chuckle when you bucked away from his mouth again, kissing your inner thigh and squeezing the other. He hovered over you as he reached behind him to shed his own loincloth.

You bit your lip as you watched him, spreading your legs for him as you watched his loincloth peel away. His hand held your thigh to spread it wider, his other hand holding his cock that you are currently eyeing. It wasn't your first time seeing it... but it still daunts you.

You licked your lips wet, reaching out to wrap your fingers around it. He let go of it to let you have your way with him, groaning as you twisted your fingers softly around this girth. You smiled, watching him tremble as his hold on your thigh tightened from the agonizing stimulation, but after a while of allowing you to play with him, he pushed you thigh back, your foot resting flat on his bicep.

He looked at you, his dark eyes grazing your naked form, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He lowered himself down a little, his large arm circling around your torso, his hand holding you by your nape. “I love you so much,” he mumbled, kissing you.

He guided the wide head of his shaft to your wamrth, pushing against your defenses. He was breathing heavily, and you can tell he wanted to close his eyes by the time he successfully slid the head into your warmth, but that he's fighting it.

His other hand lowered down to cup your butt cheek, helping him guide himself better as he sinks down into your tight walls. The girth was immense and you're barely breathing, feeling like someone's trying to insert a rod into you that which does not belong there. He was so thick and large and you feel every inch of him in you.

“You're so big...” you mewled, panicking a little.

He hushed you softly, kissing your lips. “You can take it all, baby...” he mumbled, his hand reaching out to softly rub your clit just as he was sinking in.

He kisses your neck to amp the distractions, taking you away from the immense fullness in your pussy, making you moan in absolute pleasure. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth and the next thing he did explained why: he pushed the remaining length into you in one go, and a loud, strangled moan tore from your throat.

Your eyes widened, your inner walls stretching to their absolute limits around his immense thickness, a sensation of pure, suffocating fullness locking your hips in place.

“Fuck, baby, you are so tight...” he groaned his forehead resting against yours as his thumb found your clit again, gently rubbing the bundle of nerves to ease the stretch.

His mouth claimed your mouth again, kissing you thoroughly, sucking at your tongue. The moment your body adjusted, he began to move. He started with slow, agonizingly deep pulls, bottoming out against your core before picking up a frantic, relentless pace. The branch beneath you moved softly with the rhythm of his thrusts. Neteyam buried his face in your neck, his deep, guttural grunts vibrating against your skin as he forcefully pounded into you.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, your mind completely vacant of anything but the white-hot electricity of his body moving inside yours, moaning his name when the tension snapped completely.

Neteyam let out a loud groan into the night air as he came inside you, his entire body going rigid as he buried his face in your braids, holding you so tightly against his chest it felt as though he wanted to fuse your spirits permanently. You rode the wave of his release, your own body shattering into a blinding climax that left both of you completely spent, tangled together on the high, mossy branch.

Long after the heat had cooled, Neteyam remained hovering over you, his fingers gently stroking your cheek as he pulled the leather ties from your hair, letting your braids fall loose against the bark.

“Please, don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered into the quiet dark, his eyes soft and filled with a peace you had never seen in him.

You let out a soft, tired chuckle, wrapping your arms securely around his neck. “I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to. My heart is entirely trapped here,” you mumbled. “With the children and all.“ you added, pursing your lips.

His head lifted, his eyes playfully narrowed. “Uh-huh?”

You let your head fall down the moss. “And with you... Maybe one-fourth of it...”

Neteyam stifled a smile, his eyes alight. He bent down to press a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose. “I guess I can’t fight those littles all at once... Not when they are always one jump at my neck away from choking me.”

[neteiam]

HOW ABOUT I DO THIS...

after hearing whispers of a strange rumor, you and your childhood friend decided to see if it was true.

warnings : (18+ MDNI), neteyam x omatikaya fem!reader, mature themes, explicit s3xual content, strong language, y/n’s like “we cant do this 🥺”, aphrodisiac, theyre both curious, pet names, praise knk, slight queue play, dirty talk, light degredation, neteyam’s a little mean and pervy :((, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), edging knk, overstimulation, “just the tip, ok?”, smut (p in v), filthy S3XXX 👅

a/n : hi yall! this was shorter than usual brcause I was soooo busy this week, I had to sneak in some writing time cuz youre all precious to me 🥺 this was my first request, and Im about to eat this up 🤭 mwahps, thank u sm for the requests, and im so sorry it’s short 💔💔

wc : 6k (no proofread)

“What are you talking about?”

Neteyam looked at you as you waved your hands around to explain the situation, having just stepped back into the village from a patrol only to be bombarded by your gossip.

“I told you already, apparently, it feels amazing!” you beamed, bouncing on your feet as you dragged him deeper into the shadows of the cave, where you crouched on the ground and uncovered a hidden leaf package.

“But… that’s for mates only, Y/n, and we’re not even mated.”

He watched with a raised eyebrow as you untied the leaves with a grin, his confusion turning into suspicion. He had heard whispers of this substance before during clan gatherings, remembering that the elders called it Tseyli.

“Don’t be such a killjoy, I’m going to pinch you.”

It was renowned among the clans for sending a strong wave of warmth throughout the body, but it was strictly reserved for mated pairs.

He probably would’ve remembered the exact reason why it was taboo for single people if he hadn’t fallen asleep right in the middle of his grandmother lessons.

“Here, I’m going to put it on you first—”

Neteyam’s hand shot out, blocking your slick fingers away from his torso. “Woah? Why do I have to go first?” he asked, his brow furrowing in disgust as he eyed the plum-colored gel coating your palm.

You smacked his arm with your free hand before leaning in to grab his ear, whispering, “Because I don’t know what the side effects are, you have to be the test subject.”

“But I didn’t even wanna try this, why am I thrown on the spot?” he scowled, crossing his arms and glaring down his nose at you.

You let out a sigh, scraping the purple gel back onto the broad leaf. “Fine then, I’m just gonna go find Lo’ak and see if he wants to do it.”

“Alright alright! Give that,” he mumbled, catching your forearm to pull you back down before taking the leaf from your hands. You smirked as he settled onto the cave floor, your laughter bouncing off the cold stone walls.

Truth was, he was already against trying something not meant for him, but the idea of you trying this stuff with his little brother didn’t sit right with him at all.

As much as possible, whatever this strange gel did to a body, he wanted to be the one who experienced it first before letting his loved ones deal with the consequences.

If something dangerous were to happen, he would be able to sleep it off knowing the burden fell on him rather than his siblings.

And of course, it counted that he wanted to test the safety limits himself before letting you put a single drop of it on your own skin.

You hugged your knees to your chest, watching him scoop a dollop of the Tseyli onto his palm while scowling at the sticky texture. He looked up at you with a pout, asking, “How do I even apply this, where’s it supposed to go?”

“Hand it,” you sighed, scooping the cold gel back onto your own palm and gesturing for him to lean back. He propped himself up on his hands, watching you slide between his spread legs to prepare the application.

“Y/n, what if they found out we used that?”

“Relax, no one will know!” you grinned, “I think I’m supposed to start by putting it on your stomach—”

“You think? You’rr not even sure?!” his lips flattened into a straight line, causing you to snort at his anxiety. “Relax, my brave warrior, if you happen to turn into some kind of forest monster, I have my dagger with me.”

“I cannot believe you would actually wound me with that.”

“Yeah I would and besides, it’s literally your fault anyway, you would know what this stuff does if it weren’t for your lazy ass sleeping through your lessons.”

He looked away as your palms made contact with his skin, his breath hitching at the sensation. “I’m not lazy, I was just exhausted from tracking all morning.”

“Whatever you say,” you teased, slapping his belly before moving your hands in a spiral to spread the substance across his chest and up his arms. “Is it cold? My friend said it’s supposed to transition from cold to hot.”

“Yeah, I’m freezing.”

You pinched his skin, prompting a hiss from him. “I don’t appreciate the attitude while I’m doing you a favor.”

He began complaining that you were just drowning his torso in the gel, making you scold him to stop squirming and be patient.

You couldn’t stop the grin from returning to your face, remembering how thrilled you were when your friend secretly gifted you her extra supply after trading with the visiting traders.

She had warned you that it was meant for mates to heighten their connection, but since neither of you had a mate, it felt like the perfect experiment to try with your best friend.

To improve your connection, too, right?

Reaching behind your back, you pulled your queue forward, recalling the final step of the instructions. Your friend had mentioned that once the torso was fully covered, you had to let the very tips of your neural tendrils touch the gel to spark the reaction.

And when it did, Neteyam’s eyes blew wide as the glowing filaments at the end of your hair brushed against his skin, causing the gel to ripple with an iridescent light.

His jaw dropped, clamping a hand around your wrist to pull you away, making you glare at him as you snapped, “Um that actually hurts, let go.”

He didn’t release you, his gaze dropping to his legs as he squeezed his eyes shut, the warnings of his grandmother clicking into place.

Now he knew why this was reserved solely for mates.

“Y/n, stop. This is not for us.”

You scoffed at his expression, tossing your braid back over your shoulder with a huff. “Why are you backing out now? Is a little warmth scaring the future leader already?”

When he didn’t laugh, you kept teasing, leaning closer to poke his chest. “Aww, poor baby, is it suddenly difficult to be near me? Do you need to run back home to your mother—”

“Yeah.”

Your jaw dropped at his interruption. “Pardon? Which of those questions were you actually answering to?” you asked, scratching your neck before wiping the leftover residue onto your own thighs.

“It doesn’t matter, we need to clean this off and leave right now,” he said, his voice dropping as his breathing turned shallow.

You yanked his arm back, “Calm down, you have to at least tell me what it feels like so I can document it in my discoveries.”

He stared at you for a moment, his golden eyes darkening under the dim cave light as his chest heaved against the sensation. “You really want to know what it’s doing to me?”

“Yes, obviously, that’s the whole point of this, skxawng.”

“Fine, give me your hand,” he commanded, extending his palm. You cautiously placed your hand in his, raising an eyebrow in confusion before he added, “Now close your eyes.”

“What… are you serious right now? Bruh,” you muttered, but you complied too, shutting your eyes and letting him blindly guide your hand forward as you trusted his grip.

He didn’t hesitate, dragging your open palm straight down his stomach until your fingers pressed flat against his hard cock. Your eyes flew open when you felt how stiff he was under your hand.

His length throbbed hard against your palm, the heat from the gel making his skin burn. You looked down and realized his hand was pressing yours onto the bulge straining in his loincloth.

The leftover gel you had wiped on your own thighs started to feel warm too, sending a heat spreading across your skin.

“What…” you breathed out, but you didn’t pull your hand away. He kept your palm pressed there, breathing hard while his cock twitched under your touch. The Tseyli was working faster than either of you expected.

“See?” Neteyam whispered as he leaned in close. His grip tightened around your hand, keeping your palm pressed against his hard cock. “It forces these feelings, y/n, and right now every part of me wants to take you right here in the cave. Tell me if you still think this is a game.”

You gulped under his gaze and looked away. He squeezed your hand again, forcing your palm to rub along his throbbing length, a groan slipped from his throat, making your ears perk up.

You sat up straighter on your feet, now fully aware of how you sat between his spread thighs. The gel on your own thighs grew warmer, and you could feel yourself getting wet just from touching him. “I… what do you want me to do?” you asked.

His jaw tightened, “Maybe next time learn what you’re dragging people into. Stop letting your curiosity get the better of your judgment, not everyone is going to be there to pull you out when it goes wrong.”

“I’m sorry…” you whispered, eyes dropping to the floor.

He released your hand and started to stand up. You frowned, heart dropping at his negative mood. “Where are you going?” you asked, voice full of shame for forcing him into this.

“To the village. Where else?”

“There’s no way you’re going out like... that,” you said and pointed at the obvious bulge in his loincloth. Neteyam scoffed and looked down at you sitting on the cave floor.

The sight of you looking up at him with wide eyes made the gel on his skin burn hotter. He pointed at the Tseyli covering his torso. “It’s fine. I can jerk off later when I wash this off,” he muttered.

You bit your lip and thought for a moment before looking back up at him. “I… I can help you,” you offered, scratching your neck nervously. Neteyam gulped, his cock twitching visibly at your words.

“Help me with what?” he asked, crossing his arms as he stared down at you. “Umm, your boner?”

“How? You don’t even know how to use your mouth properly,” You sighed and tugged on his arm, trying to pull him back down. “Then teach me. Isn’t that what you’re good at?”

He let you pull him down to the ground again, his eyes locked onto yours. “Are you serious?” he asked while taking your hand and intertwining your fingers together.

“Yes. Like you said, it’s my fault. If I hadn’t pulled you aside and let my curiosity take over, you wouldn’t be dealing with this,” you frowned, looking down at your joined hands.

“I told you it’s fine. I don’t want to do something you don’t want.”

“I want it!” you exclaimed, then cleared your throat and straightened your back. You squeezed his hand tighter. “I mean, I don’t mind it... Just accept the offer already.”

Neteyam stayed quiet for a few seconds, studying your face. “You really want to help me with this?” he asked, looking at your neck.

“Yes, I do. Show me how. I want to make it better for you.”

Oh, Neteyam was a great teacher, alright.

He told you not to kneel between his thighs but to stay beside him instead and to keep your loincloth on, that way he could easily set the fabric aside and reach your pussy while you bobbed your head on his cock.

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your ass back against his hand. Your moans came out shameless around his cock as you sucked him deeper. Neteyam watched every move you made, eyes half-lidded while you pleasured him.

You leaned over him and took his hard length into your mouth, licking along the edges first. Neteyam slipped his fingers between your thighs and started flicking your clit. You hummed around his cock every time he rubbed you faster, the vibrations making him grian.

He pushed two fingers inside your soaked pussy and pumped them. “Oh fuck. Yeah, just like that,” he whispered and raised his knee, spreading his thighs wider. You played with the rest of his length that you couldn’t fit in your mouth, stroking him with your hand while sucking hard on the head.

The wet sounds of your mouth and his fingers filled the cave. You were dripping all over his hand, pussy clenching every time he curled his fingers inside you. Neteyam thrust his hips up, feeding you more of his cock as pleasure built in both of you.

You pulled off his cock for a second to catch your breath. “Am I doing good?” you asked, seeking for praises, still stroking him fast with your slick hand. “You’re doing so fucking great, baby. Don’t stop until I say so,” he said, rubbing your clit faster while his fingers kept fucking into you.

You dove back down, taking him deeper into your warm mouth. Your tongue swirled around the head as you moaned loudly. Neteyam’s free hand tangled in your hair, guiding you while his own hips bucked up.

He added another finger, stretching your pussy open as you rode his hand. “You’re so wet… I thought I’m supposed to be rhe only one affected here,” he teased making you whine around his length, sucking harder as the gel kept the heat burning between you.

Neteyam’s cock throbbed in your mouth, leaking more precum onto your tongue. You stroked the base faster, twisting your hand while bobbing your head. Both of you moved together, lost in giving and taking pleasure at the same time.

In no time, you both came hard. Neteyam spilled into your mouth while your pussy clenched tight around his fingers. You kept bobbing your head slowly, sucking him through his orgasm as he fingered you gently to help you ride out your own pleasure.

“I’m close,” he said, fingers speeding up inside you. Your own orgasm built fast from his touch, thighs shaking as you moaned loudly around his cock. The cave echoed with your shared sounds of need while you helped each other chase release.

He watched your hips shake against his hand before he finally loosened his grip on your hair. You pulled off his cock with a wet pop, a string of liquid still connecting your lips to his tip, you leaned back down to lick up the rest of his release, cleaning him.

Neteyam stared at your dripping pussy between his fingers. Your cheeks burned as he brought those fingers to his mouth and licked your cum off them slowly.

“Neteyam…” you whimpered, eyes half-lidded while you bit your lip at the sight.

He sat up on his knees after tasting you. “Lay down,” he ordered. You obeyed right away and laid back on the cool cave floor. He spread your thighs wide, licked his lips, and dropped a thick string of saliva onto your pussy.

Without warning, he dragged his tongue across your clit and sucked it between his lips. You gasped and rolled your eyes back as he shook his head against your sensitive folds. He pushed his tongue inside your entrance next, licking up every drop of your cum while moaning at your taste.

Neteyam pulled back after a while and wiped his mouth. He leaned in and kissed you deeply before you could even speak. You pulled his head closer yourself, shoving your tongue into his mouth to taste yourself on him.

You broke the kiss for air and watched him lean back, he pushed his loincloth aside and wrapped his hand around his hard cock, stroking it roughly while staring at your spread body.

Your hand moved down on its own, putting back your loincloth on its place before you began rubbing your clit through it, watching him jerk off.

Neteyam chuckled at the sight. “Too sensitive to touch it directly?” he asked. You nodded shyly and spread your thighs even wider for him. He moved closer and pressed the bare head of his cock against your covered clit.

“Oh, Neteyam… That’s not allowed,” you gasped, heat rushing to your face. He started thrusting his cock along your pussy through the thin fabric. “Don’t worry, I’ll just do this...”

“F-fine…” You rolled your hips up to meet his movements despite your words. “No penetration, okay? These moments are saved for our future mate,” you reminded him weakly.

“Yeah yeah. I remember,” Neteyam said as he kept rubbing his wet cock against your soaked loincloth.

He grabbed his cock and smacked it hard on your clit through the fabric. You whimpered loudly, fingers slapping at the ground. “You’re so big, Neteyam. I never expected that,” you breathed out, words spilling before you could stop them.

“Yeah? How come?” he asked, still smacking his heavy cock on your throbbing clit. Your loincloth grew darker with your wetness. “It’s just… you act like such a coward sometimes, not wanting to try things with me. So I assumed you were... small,” you said.

Neteyam chuckled and shook his head. He lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder and rubbed along your thigh. “Well, I’ve always told you it’s terrible to assume things. You never listen to my advice, just like when we were kids. You always got into trouble with Lo’ak because you refused to listen.”

“Sorry,” you whined, raising your hips to chase more friction. He pressed his cock harder against your covered pussy.

“Speaking of Lo’ak… what would’ve happened if you used the gel on him instead? Would you have offered to help him too, like the good girl you are?”

You shook your head quickly. “No no. I would not. I would’ve probably left him to deal with it himself,” you said.

“That’s very selfish of you, baby,” Neteyam said with a grin. He rubbed his cock over your clit through the wet fabric, making you moan louder. “You would leave my litte brother aching with blue balls while you skipped around the village?”

“I guess so… fuckkk,” you whimpered, submissive under his words and touch. Neteyam kept grinding against you, hroaning as he watched you fall apart for him.

“Do you feel how hard it is?” Neteyam asked with a smirk as he watched your face. You closed your eyes and threw your head back. “Yes… I can feel it,” you moaned.

You licked your fingers, then reached down to pinch the leaking tip of his cock. Neteyam groaned and thrust forward hard against your clit.

You swatted his hand away from his length and took over, gliding his bare cock along your covered pussy so the head rubbed on your clit. He helped by holding both of your thighs, keeping you open while matching your pace.

You hissed in pleasure, head falling back as the thought of him fucking you through the thin loincloth made you even wetter. Your pussy had soaked the fabric, creating a dark wet spot that stuck to your swollen clit.

“Oh… wait,” you muttered and finally pushed your loincloth aside in frustration. Neteyam licked his lips at the sight of your bare pussy, contradicting what you said earlier. You guided his cock back to your exposed folds, sliding his cock up and down your slick skin.

He leaned in and pushed two fingers into your mouth. You sucked them wet with your saliva until he pulled them out and used that wetness to stroke himself. Your hips lifted as he pressed his length back against your pussy and started sliding it slowly at first.

After a few strokes he sped up, thrusting faster along your bare folds. The pleasure became too much and you pulled your loincloth back over your pussy.

Neteyam shook his head with a smile at how cute you looked trying to hide again. He kept thrusting against the wet fabric anyway, never breaking his pace.

“How does it feel? Good?” he asked in that deep voice. “Yes… it feels so good. Keep going, ’teyam,” you whined, biting your lip hard. He gripped your thighs tighter and kept pushing his bare cock against the fabric, the wet sounds growing louder.

You watched him stare down at where his cock rubbed you. The thought that he might be imagining his future mate instead of you as he fucks your pussy, made jealousy twist in your chest. You lifted your loincloth aside again so his cock slid directly against your dripping folds.

Neteyam looked up at your face and slowed his thrusts. “Why did you stop?” you asked, breathing fast. “What’s wrong?” he replied, brushing the fallen hair behind your ear. Your tail curled tightly around his calf without you realizing.

“Nothing. Keep going, please,” you said, trying to hide the jealousy in your voice. He studied your face for a moment before picking up the pace again. His thick cock glided up and down your wet pussy, the head bumping your clit with every stroke while you fought the urge to pull the loincloth back once more.

Neteyam noticed the way your eyes kept flicking between his face and where his cock rubbed against you. He slowed his thrusts, dragging his thick length along your soaked folds. You stared up at him, chest tight with the need to have all of his attention on you and only you.

He leaned down closer, golden eyes locked onto yours. Without a word he captured your mouth in a deep kiss, tongue sliding against yours to quiet every thought swirling in your head. You moaned into the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you pulled him even closer.

Your hips rolled up to meet his slower movements, chasing the heat of his bare cock against your pussy. The kiss turned sloppy, your tongue pushing back against his while whimpers escaped you. Neteyam groaned, one hand cupping your breast from your top to keep you right there with him.

You kissed him harder, obsessed with the taste of him and the way his body pressed against yours. Every slow glide of his cock along your wet folds made you wetter, your pussy clenching around nothing as you tried to pull him impossibly closer.

He broke the kiss to breathe, forehead resting against yours while he kept rocking between your thighs. “Stay with me,” he whispered against your lips before kissing you again.

You nodded into the kiss, fingers threading into his braids as you lost yourself in him. Your legs tightened around him, holding on like you never wanted to let go while he continued the teasing thrusts against your aching pussy.

You pulled away from the kiss and leaned in to suck on his neck. You marked him hard on his sensitive spot, making his thrusts stutter against your pussy. Neteyam groaned when you finished, the fresh hickey clear on his skin as you admired it with a satisfied grin.

You looked down again at the sight of his thick cock gliding along your soaked folds. You bit your lip and grabbed his length, pressing it roughly against your pussy. You tested the waters by sliding the tip down to your entrance, gasping before pulling him back out.

“Do not force it,” Neteyam reassured you while pinching your thighs gently. You whimpered and propped yourself up on one elbow, squeezing his bicep as you stared at him. You nodded, watching as he rubbed his cock back along your wet folds and smacked the head against your clit.

You threw your head back with a moan, rolling your hips to meet every slap. His big cock felt hot against you, making your pussy throb with need. Your eyes widened when his entire cock accidentally pushed inside you for a moment before he pulled out fast.

“Neteyam! You cannot do that!” you gasped, sitting up quickly. “I’m sorry, it slipped… My cock slides in so nicely, baby,” he said, eyes closed as he kept rubbing against your entrance.

You licked your lips as frustration and want mixes inside you, you stared at where his cock was pushig against your pussy.

“Baby…” Neteyam called. You looked up at him and moaned when his hand started massaging your breast, thumb brushing over your hard nipple. “Maybe I should just stick it inside?” he asked.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, even though your body clearly wanted it. “No, you shouldn’t,” you answered.

He gulped, studying your face while his cock continued sliding through your slick folds. You kept letting him rub you bare even after all your warnings.

“Relax... like you said earlier, no one will know, ma,” he reminded you of your words with a grin, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance again. Your thighs trembled around him as you fought the strong urge to pull him inside you.

You wanted to feel it again.

The way his thick cock had slid into you so easily for that one second made your pussy clench with need. Your hips shifted, trying to bring him back to your entrance even as your mouth kept saying no.

“Y/n…”

Neteyam kept rubbing the head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, teasing your entrance with every pass. “We cannot,” you whispered, but your legs stayed spread wide for him.

Memories from your childhood flashed in your mind, the two of you running around the village together, him always scolding you and Lo’ak for getting into trouble while promising to protect you.

You reached down and held his cock, pressing it harder against your dripping hole before pulling it away again. “It’s not right, Neteyam. You have a future mate waiting,” you said. Still your fingers lingered, stroking his length as fresh slick coated him.

He groaned, jaw clenched tight while he fought to keep control. “You keep saying that, but your pussy is weeping for me,” he muttered, sliding his cock through your folds faster.

His hips jerked when the tip caught your entrance again, pushing in just the head before he forced himself to pull back out.

You whimpered at the loss, thighs shaking around him. “You always told me to be careful… nnow you’re against me doing that,” you breathed, eyes fixed on where his cock rested against your pussy. Your hand guided him back, letting the head stretch your entrance once more before you stopped yourself.

Neteyam’s breathing grew ragged, sweat beaded on his chest as he held your thighs open. “Fuck, y/n. You’re killing me,” he groaned loud, rubbing his cock faster along your clit.

Every slow grind made you wetter, the tip nudging your hole again and again while he struggled not to thrust all the way inside.

You bit your lip hard, fighting the overwhelming urge to lift your hips and take him deeper. “We should stop,” you whispered, but your hand kept stroking him, smearing your slick all over his length.

Neteyam leaned down and kissed your neck, hips moving in shallow thrusts that teased your entrance without fully entering.

The tension between you grew thicker with every passing second. Neteyam, who promised to be patient with you, clashed with the desperate need to have you wrapped around him now. His hands trembled on your thighs as he kept fighting for control, cock throbbing against your soaked pussy.

“How about I do this… just five thrusts inside, baby? Please…” Neteyam begged desperarely. His cock rested right against your entrance, the thick head already stretching you open. You stared up at him, heart pounding hard while your pussy clenched with need.

You shook your head even as your hips lifted on their own, trying to pull him inside. “We cannot, Neteyam. We promised when we were kids that we would wait for the right person,” you whispered. Still your hand stayed wrapped around his length, holding him in place instead of pushing him away.

He leaned down closer, forehead pressed to yours. “It’s just five. I’ll pull out after. I swear.”

“...Okay, go ahead, just five.”

He groaned when you finally agreed, hips twitching forward so the head slipped in a little deeper. The stretch felt so good that your walls fluttered around him, sucking him in further before you forced yourself to stay still.

Your mind raced with memories of the two of you growing up together, he had always been the responsible one, the golden son looking out for you. “Y-You’re supposed to save this for your mate,” you said, voice breaking as you felt him throb inside you. Yet your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, ankles locking behind his back.

Neteyam whimpered, fighting every instinct to slam all the way in. “Please, y/n… forget about that future shit…” he begged again, breath hot against your neck. He pushed forward slowly, sinking another inch into your tight heat before stopping with a shaky breath.

You moaned loud, eyes rolling back at how full you felt already. “Only five… and you pull out,” you repeated, he nodded, eyes filled with lust as he gripped your thighs tighter.

He gave the first slow thrust, burying himself deeper inside your soaked pussy. You gasped loudly, nails digging into his shoulders at the intense stretch. He pulled back and pushed in again, counting every movement while his cock dragged perfectly along your walls.

The second thrust came a little harder, making your breasts bounce with the force. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, trying to keep control. Your pussy sucked him greedily, wet sounds filling the cave as he gave you the third deep thrust.

By the fourth thrust your hips started meeting his, chasing the pleasure despite everything you had said. Neteyam’s jaw clenched tight, sweat dripping down his chest while he fought not to go faster. The fifth thrust pushed him all the way to the hilt, his cock buried inside you as both of you moaned together.

“T-That’s five already,” you gasped, covering your face with both hands. You didn’t want him to see how badly you needed more than just those five thrusts. Your pussy kept clenching around his cock, begging for everything he could give you.

“Do you want me to pull out?” Neteyam asked, he started flicking your swollen clit with his finger, making you gasp and squirm beneath your palm. You peeked through your fingers and saw him staring down at you with starving eyes.

He gently pulled your hands away from your face and wiped the tears you didn’t even realize had fallen. “Answer me, y/n,” he said while slowing the flicks on your clit. His other hand moved up to massage your breast, brushing over your nipple as he waited.

You frowned up at him, frustrated that he was making you decide when he knew how indecisive you had always been. “You have to… eventually…” your voice trailed off, Neteyam stayed quiet, watching you because he could tell there was more you weren’t saying.

“But I… I really want it, Neteyam,” you admitted, voice shaking with need. Your hips rolled up against him on their own, trying to take him deeper even as you spoke. He groaned, cock twitching hard inside your tight walls while he fought to stay still.

The tension hung thick in the air between you. Neteyam leaned down closer, lips brushing your ear. “Then tell me... Do you want to do this properly or not?” he whispered, pinching your nipple.

Your pussy fluttered around him again, betraying every word of hesitation that left your mouth. “I… fuck me,” you whispered.

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, pulled back almost all the way before slamming his thick cock back inside your pussy in one hard thrust. You cried out, back arching off the cave floor as he filled you. “That’s my good girl,” he hissed, starting a deep pace. “Finally admitting what this needy little pussy wants.”

You moaned loudly, nails digging into his shoulders while your walls squeezed tight around him. Every thrust made wet sounds echo through the cave as he fucked you exactly how you needed.

Neteyam gripped your thighs and pushed them wider apart. “Look at you taking my cock so well. So tight for me,” he praised, hips snapping forward. You whimpered helplessly beneath him as pleasure flooded your body. “Yes… ‘teyam, please,” you begged.

He leaned down and bit your neck, leaving a mark. “You love it? I’m sure you do, you needy girl,” he murmured against your skin.

His cock dragged perfectly along your walls with every thrust, hitting deep inside you. You nodded fast, moaning louder with each word he gave you.

Neteyam picked up the pace, pounding into you with long strokes. “Oh, you’re doing so good… been waiting so long to feel you like this,” he groaned, one hand moving down to rub your clit in tight circles.

Your thighs shook around him, pussy clenching hard as you got closer to the edge. “Thank… thank you,” you whimpered, lost in the feeling of being full of him.

He kissed you messily, tongue claiming your mouth while he kept fucking you deep. “Cum on my cock, baby. Let me feel how much you need me,” he ordered against your lips.

You cried out into the kiss, body tightening as your orgasm crashed over you hard. Your walls spasmed around his dick, milking him while he kept thrusting through it.

Neteyam groaned deeply, hips stuttering as he chased his own release. “That’s it. You’re so perfect… so beautiful,” he moaned.

He buried himself to the hilt and came hard, filling you with hot pulses of his cum while holding you close. You clung to him, still trembling from the intensity as he kept whispering praises against your neck.

It was long forgotten that the whole situation had actually sparked from the lingering effects of the Tseyli.

A few days later, Neteyam’s subtke possessiveness toward you didn’t go unnoticed, at least not by his siblings. Whenever they asked to pull you aside for a quick chat, he’ll let them go, sure, but he would always find some random chore to awkwardly wander over and just stand nearby, breaking his usual demeanor.

Whenever Spider asked you to accompany him to the abandoned human battlefield, Neteyam would freeze up, clumsily dropping whatever hunting gear he was holding before stammering out that he was coming along too, claiming he needed to check the perimeter while stepping right between you and the human boy.

Even whenever Lo’ak came to fetch you at your family’s kelku to pull you away for a quick hangout, Neteyam would stop talking, his smile cracking into a tense stare as he glided into the conversation, grabbing your hand just a little tighter than usual to pull you to his side before his brother could even make a move.

When he also found out the village elders had begun gossiping about a potential future match for you and Lo’ak because you were apparently seen blushing around him, he was scowling all the way back from the forest.

The hilarious thing was, yes, you had been blushing, but not for the reasons the clan thought; you were simply turning red from embarassment, remembering how Neteyam had blurted out that you’d end up bonding with his younger brother if you weren’t careful with that gel.

Neteyam, misreading Lo’ak’s innocent intentions and totally overthinking the village rumors, was visibly brooding, his tail swishing with irritation as he tried to bottle up his panic while you remained oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“Y/n!”

Tuk shouted your name the moment you finally arrived back from your gathering trip, the surrounding clan members welcoming you with warm embraces to celebrate your safe return.

Kiri gently pulled Tuk aside and threw herself into your arms next, making you chuckle as you patted her cheeks, your eyes drifting over her shoulder to gaze upon Neteyam, who was standing a few paces back with his arms tightly crossed and a stare locked onto you.

You smiled at the sight of him, but before he could move, the two younger boys pushed Kiri out of the way, and Spider threw his weight onto your back. “Hey! Get down! You!” you yelled, glaring over your shoulder as the human laughed, raising his fist in the air like a flying superhero.

“Hey bro! My turn!” Lo’ak yelled, shoving Spider away before pulling you into a tight hug.

You smiled awkwardly, feeling the burning laser-beam intensity of Neteyam’s golden eyes fixated directly on the two of you.

You wrapped your arm around Lo’ak’s waist and patted his back, intending to push him away after a second, but the crowd began making teasing noises to egg the two of you on.

Neteyam’s patience snapped; he rolled his eyes, marched right forward, and unceremoniously clapped a hand right on top of his younger brother’s head, plucking him away from you.

“That’s enough. Do you seriously miss her that much? Let her breathe.”

You shyly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, watching with a racing heart as Neteyam stood right in front of you, his posture softening as he offered his srms out to you. “What about me?” he pouted.

You laughed out loud before throwing both of your arms around his neck, pulling him in close. His large hands rested around your waist, hoisting you right off your feet to spin you around in a circle.

As he set you down, he threw a glare over your shoulder at Lo’ak and Spider, who just shared a knowing look and raised their eyebrows at his uncharacteristic show of possessiveness.

You pulled back slightly from the embrace but kept your hands looped behind his neck, rising up on your tiptoes to press your lips right against his blue cheek, causing your people to gasp and giggle at the scene.

Neteyam’s golden eyes widened in shock, his face flushing a flustered color as he looked down at you smiling up at him.

He shook his head, a posotive grin breaking through his expression as he reached up to pinch your cheeks apart. “And what exactly was that for?”

“So you don’t have to be so clumsy and jealous anymore.”

taglist : @k----a27s @babymi1ne

© neteiam - any form of stealing is hereby strictly prohibited.

[neteiam]

RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP

you’re the only girl in your circle who hasn’t done it yet… what are best friends for if not to help you find out exactly what you’re missing?

warnings : (18+ MDNI), neteyam x omatikaya fem!reader, mature themes, explicit s3xual content, strong language, jealousy, pet names, getting addicted to eo 🤪, both reader (whos LOWKEnuinely problematic) & neteyam are horrrnyyyyyy, praise knk, light degradation, marking, rubbing through loincloths, dry hmping, oral (f receiving), light choking, overstimulation, size knk, riding, spoon s3x, doin IT while smns in the room, tsaheylu while cracking 😳, many smut (P in V), etc…

a/n : I see all ur requests (keep em piling up 🤭), i have to say, yall are SO CREATIVE. ill be working through them one by one. pls take note that my acc is solely dedicated to sharing my neteyam drafts, to clarify: i dont write for other characters. i also wont write threesomes or cheating, additional boundaries are tba. w/ that being said, thank uu sm for taking the time to send ur ideas. it genuinely means a lot that ud want me to write something for u 🥺

wc : 16k (no proofread)

You have always accepted that boys your age don’t like you enough to court you, long before you even learned how to pull back a bow.

Having crushes here and there was normal, and even though some of them flirted back, it always ended the same way with them never truly choosing or committing to you.

Call yourself desperate, but how could you not be when all of your friends have already chosen their mates, leaving you left behind?

They would pull you into hangouts, and you’d always find yourself scowling because you had no idea what they were talking about. It felt as if they were speaking a foreign language, especially since you couldn’t get any of the details whenever they visualized their moments together with their mates.

All you could do was zone out every time they brought up their relationships, listening to them giggle, sighing during the overviews of their dates, groaning whenever their topics got even more ambiguous.

There were even times when they pushed your patience to its limit, convincing you to come along for a swim at the river. You always agreed, thinking it’d just be another day spent with your friends, only to let out a groan the moment you realized they had invited their boyfriends too.

Like right now.

it felt like a slap in the face because they knew better than anyone how awful your luck had been when it came to finding someone, yet they always seemed to pull this on you. Still, you couldn’t exactly call them insensitive when they insisted they were only trying to make sure you weren’t left all alone.

It was frustrating since your best friend, Neteyam, spent most of his time away from the village on patrols and scouting missions. As much as you hated to admit it, the girls were right about one thing, if they didn’t drag you along, you’d probably end up sitting alone with no one to keep you company.

And you definitely didn’t want that.

“And then tonight, Re’kitan and I will go to the Tree of Souls… you know what happens beneath the glowing tendrils, right?” Kxira giggled, her fingers cupping her boyfriend’s jaw to pull his lips back to hers.

The girls laughed along, but your forehead only wrinkled at the sight tht was taking on you. What you were witnessing felt obscene, with your friend soaking in the river right beside a man, letting him touch her like that in broad daylight.

“Girl… you’re a wild woman, letting the Greatmother witness such things,” Meya teased with a shake of her head.

“Out of everyone here, I believed you would understand me,” Kxira pouted, leaning back against Re’kitan as he washed the water down her spine. “You mated with Tritxo just last week, when your blood ran hot during the season… so who’s really the wild one?”

Meya’s mate bit his lip, “She is wild. It’s sexy.”

“Darling, don’t expose me!”

So much for not wanting me to feel left out, you thought bitterly, sitting there physically while your mind detached from the conversation.

Eytsing grinned, splashing the water with her tail. “Meya, tell me what it feels like! I think Awngìn and I will do it soon… he has just been so busy with the tasks, we can never seem to find alone time lately.”

“It’s beyond words, sister. Everything becomes clear the moment your queues twine together and you see him through the Greatmother’s eyes. You feel the beat of his heart, the rush of his thoughts, and how deeply he wants you. It’s like your spirits are walking in the same body, and the warmth of it never truly leaves your blood… Ever since we mated, we just stopped arguing.”

You watched as Meya pulled Tritxo into a deep kiss, her cheeks rising as she smiled against his lips. You didn’t fail to notice the way they lingered after breaking apart, staring into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity before you forced yourself to look away.

There’a no way you had just been subjected to that.

“I cannot wait to finally claim Awngìn as my own! The day he returns from the hunt, I’m dragging him straight into the deep forest to taste him until he forgets his own name,” Eytsing giggled the girls broke into laughter.

“As if you two haven’t already been doing exactly that,” Meya teased, splashing water om her way.

“If you’re already acting like an unchained animal in the bushes, what more when your kurus are connected?” Kxira rolled her eyes, she hissed when Re’kitan accidentally pressed a thumb into an aching spot on her shoulder. “Watch your grip, babe.”

“My bad…” Re’kitan kissed her shoulder.

Eytsing only grinned wider, leaning her chin on her knees as she watched the ripples in the river. “It’s different now though, the tension is driving us mad… he looks at me during the evening meals like he wants to tear my loincloth off right there in front of the Olo’eyktan.”

“Awngìn has always been impatient,” Tritxo chimed in from behind Meya as he caressed his hands over his mate’s hips. “A hunter who starves for his woman always catches the best prey. I’m sure he will give you a good bonding night, Eytsing.”

“What about you, Y/n?”

You glared at Kxira, your chest tightening. “I don’t know. What about me?” You crossed your arms, the water splashing around you. “I don’t have anythjng! A mate or whatever! I don’t even have a boy who wants to court me because every time I try, it always ends the same way with oh, I’m not ready, oh, I only see you as a sister, oh, I was just being kind, I didn’t think you’d fall. It’s exhausting!”

“Oh, dear… you will find the right one soon!”

“You don’t have to rush it… just wait for the right season.”

“The Greatmother sees you!”

Of course they would say things like that, their pity only damaging your ego further. It wasn’t even about rushing; even if you wanted to, you couldn’t force someone to want you the way you wanted them to.

You had already stopped whispering prayers to Eywa after the fourth time a boy broke your heart, giving up hope that someone would ever step forward to claim your soul, or that you would ever experience the things your friends so happily shared.

Recognizing the sudden drop in your mood, Meya cleared her throat, “Eytsing, speaking of… the village has been too quiet without the main party around.”

“Tell me about it,” Eytsing pouted. “I miss my boyfriend so much my chest hurts… it’s so unfair that he gets to fly around the mountains while I’m stuck here waiting.”

Your hands sink beneath the surface to grip the river rocks. Your fingers traced the hard edges of the stone, opposite to the way Tritxo’s thumbs were drswing slow circles into Meya’s waist, or the way Re’kitan leaned down to rest his chin against Kxira’s damp shoulder.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, the hollow ache in your own stomach widening as you witnessed the instinctual gravity pulling the couples together.

“That reminds me, when exactly do they even come back?”

Eytsing leaned on the rocks. “Awngìn didn’t tell me anything before they flew out, he was too busy packing his gear…”

Then pairs of yellow eyesnmoved across the water, all locking onto you. You raised an eyebrow, your ears twitching. “What?”

“When are they coming back?”

“How am I supposed to know, genius,” You muttered, rolling your eyes as you leaned back against a larger boulder as well.

“C’mon, you’re attached to the hip with their team leader, Neteyam,” Kxira pointed out, a smirk playing on her lips.

“That doesn’t mean I have the right to know their scouting schedule,” you said, splashing a wave of water toward her direction.

“Looks like we’ll just have to wait for the horns to tell us they’re back then,” Meya sighed, her fingers playing with Tritxo’s braid.

“Whatever, the longer the hunt takes, the more goods they offer to the clan anyway,” Kxira shrugged, resting her head back against Re’kitan’s chest.

Re’kitan’s gaze went over to you. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask… how did you and Neteyam even click? He’s like usually swallowed up by his duties or training with the elders but he somehow always finds time to track you down.”

“We’ve known each other since we were small nodes on the same branch. My mom is away trading with the neighbouring clans, father would drag me along when he visited Neteyam’s family to share the evening fire. That’s how I bonded with the Sullys, i guess.”

The others nodded, their ears perking up, “That’s something. To walk so closely alongside the chief’s bloodline!”

“What does it feel like?”

“What does what feel like?” You crossed your arms under the water. “Being close with Neteyam! Isn’t he rigid with you? He carries himself with such manners whenever he walks through the village. I cannot picture anyone actually having fun with him.”

You shrugged, “He’s simply himself. You guys view him that way because he’s carrying his weight well, he has the reputation of a future leader to uphold after all.”

“Is he still without a mate?” Kxira asked, her eyes twinkling. The question hit you, ears pinning flat against your skull, and your tail ceased its swaying beneath the surface. Every single one of them was staring at you again, leaning in.

“Why are you guys looking at me like that? I don’t know,” you muttered, pulling your knees tighter against your chest, wishing the water would just swallow the ache growing in your throat.

“Oh, Y/n, you’re better than that! You literally spend half your suns tucked away in his shadow. Surely you’ve noticed if any of the females have caught his eye. Hasn’t he mentioned anyone while you two are whispering by the fires? Not even a word on who he might choose to walk before Eywa with?”

“Why would we speak about such things?”

“I find that hard to believe,” Tritxo chuckles, tightening his grip around Meya’s waist. “A warrior at his peak, carrying the weight of the clan on his shoulders... he must have a hunger in his blood. If he’s not talking about women to his closest friend, he’s either a metal made of stone, or he’s hiding it very well.”

“Can we kindly not speak of him right now? It feels wrong to dissect his life behind his back,” you frowned, looking down at the water.

“We’re only speaking the truth, sister,” Kxira smirked, resting her chin back on Re’kitan’s shoulder. “If he’s still walking alone out there, he’s for the people to see. If you want to take your shot with the future Olo’eyktan, you better do it before the next hunt, or someone else will claim him.”

A few suns later, the blast of the hunting horns jolted the community awake. The men had returned from the eastern canyons. You found yourself pushing past the gathering crowds as they flooded the ground to welcome the party home.

Your eyes went over the incoming ikran and the goods they carried, searching through the sea of broad shoulders and braided hair for a glimpse of one specific warrior.

“Y/n!”

You turned your head at the sound of your name, a grin creeping onto your lips as Neteyam broke through the crowd toward you. You raised a hand to wave, but before you could even say a greeting, he lunged forward, pulling you into a headlock.

“Hey!” you gasped, reaching up to pinch his exposed waist, but his quick reflexes kicked in, he dodged away before your fingers could even brush his skin. “You demon.”

“Where my hug at?” he asked, opening his arms wide. You launched your weight forward, catching him off guard. He lost his footing, his tail flailing for balance before you both went crashing down onto the soft grass.

“Get off me, lady,” he groaned, you pinched his striped cheeks with a smirk before finally scrambling off him. Standing up, you offered him your hand to help him up, but the moment his fingers wrapped around yours, he yanked you right back down into the dirt.

Before you could even yell, Neteyam was already on his feet, vaulting toward his ikran. “The first one to our spot gets their request granted by the loser!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“You— skxawng!” you hissed, pushing yourself up from the grass and letting out a whistle to call your own mount.

Your laughters sung across the open air as the wind whipped against your face, the thrill of the chase burning in your veins. Cornering him near a jagged rock formation, you leaned into your ikran’s flank, guiding its massive wing to clip against the side of his banshee.

Neteyam’s mount let out a startled screech, veering slightly off course and forcing him to pull the reins to stabilize their flight. Seizing the moment, you dug your knees in and urged your ikran forward, rocketing past him and diving straight toward the secluded cliffside that marked your spot.

The moment your ikran’s leather wings touched down, you slipped out of the saddle and ran a hand down her smooth snout. “Good girl out there,” you kissed her skin, a grin breaking across your face as the silhouette of your friend’s arrival blocked out the sun.

He landed his mount beside yours, instead of stomping over to you, he stepped to the front of his ikran, checking its body for any signs of injury from the mid-air collision you had just pulled off.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Don’t be so dramatic, man. I’m not an unchained woman, I wouldn’t wound him.”

Neteyam clicked his tongue, his tall frame blocking out the view of the valley as he stood over you. “You cheated, lady.”

“Nope!” You popped the syllable, tilting your chin up and leaning right into his space. “You’re simply a loser.”

“That was cheating. You startled my mount on purpose.”

“That’s called strategy! And a clear weakness on your end for not anticipating what I could pull!” With a toss of your hair, you turned your back on him, folding your hands behind you as you strolled toward the edge of your cliffside spot, skipping.

Neteyam let out a chuckle, trailing just a step behind you. “I didn’t know you were hiding such foul moves.”

“Perhaps, but they’re the exact reason you lost!” You threw a smirk over your shoulder before turning around. “What did you say again? ‘The first one to our spot gets their request granted by the loser.’ What now, warrior?”

Neteyam let out a laugh and sank onto the grass, leaning his back against the wide trunk of the ancient tree you two had claimed as your own. “Name it then, lady.”

You smirked, tapping your chin in a show of thinking before letting yourself settle down on the grass to his left. You left a gap between your hips, a lingering habit from days of feeling like an outsider to affection, but he didn’t let the space live.

He reached out, his large hand wrapping around your waist to yank you close to his side. A shared laughed bubbled between you as your shoulders collided, the warmth of him seeping straight into your skin.

“I think I might keep this request for future purposes…” you said, winking at him. “Y’know… for when you’re finally the leader. I could use it to make the whole village work for me for a whole cycle! I’ll have the weavers craft all my garments so I never have to touch a loom again, the hunters can bring me the rarest cuts from the deep forest, OR I can just have the communal cooks serve me hand and foot.” You flashed him an exaggerated grin.

Neteyam rolled his eyes, “I would do all of that for you for free. You don’t need a royal decree, nor do I need my father’s title to spoil you.”

“I’m not spoiled!” You gasped, shoving his shoulder with your hand. “Whatever you say, pretty,” he murmured, his tail lashing against yours in the grass.

The two of you spent the entire afternoon tucked away on that cliffside, watching the sky bleed into bruised purples and deep oranges. It felt so nice to just talk after a week apart.

He walked you through every detail of his mission, leaning back as he described getting cornered by a pack of viperwolves. He puffed out his chest, bragging about how his superior strength saved his skin then admitting that he didnt actually fight them off, but rather scrambled up a rock face like a startled hexapede.

You had traded the talk for village gossip, your thighs were draped across his lap as you had guided his hand on your inner thighs, arguing that since his surprise race forced you to sprint and mount your ikran without stretching, your muscles were aching to the bone. He hadn’t even protested, and did what you asked.

With your back resting comfortably against the massive stone beside the huge tree, Neteyam rested his right elbow on his knee while his left hand massaged the tense muscles of your thigh.

“I’m telling you, she was looking at him during the dinner,” you continued, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “She has taken a liking to him. A man who’s literally twice her age!”

Neteyam’s hand paused on your leg, his eyes widening as a genuine gasp escaped him. “Seriously? He has grandchildren training with the younglings!”

“I know! And I think the communal cook has taken a liking to her too. I mean, can you blame him? His mate left his hammock for another hunter last-last season. I guess he hasn’t been receiving any attention since he’s like an elder now.”

“Still… it’s strange to me,” Neteyam mumbled, a frown tugging at his brow. His thumb pressed a little deeper into the tight muscle of your thigh, making you sigh at the pressure. “The gap between their cycles is literally the span of our entire lives, Y/n.”

“It’s whatever. It’s her life anyway,” you shrugged, leaning your head back against the stone. “She’s old enough to choose her own path. And to be honest… if I were desperate enough, I’d probably do the same.”

Neteyam’s hand went still on your leg, he looked up at you, his ears twitching forward. “You’d bind yourself to a man twice your age?”

“Yes! Would you not?”

“Why would I?” He rolled his eyes, looking away from your gaze. He looked offended that you could even conceive of him doing such a thing.

“That’s why your life is so boring, Neteyam. No thrill.”

“I’m simply saying that I have no intention of ever sharing a hammock with someone who has seen the same number of eclipses as my parents.”

You scoffed, letting out a loud laugh. “That’s not what I meant! See? You’re just proving my point. Why did your mind leap to your mother and father the moment ‘twice your age’ is even mentioned?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” he argued, his eyebrows furrowing as his ears flattened. “I don’t see why anyone would pursue an elder when there are plenty of unmated people our age.”

“Because older people are mature and they can provide without struggle. I actually don’t see the problem,” you teased, a wicked grin spreading across your face. You crossed your arms, leaning closer to whisper. “In fact, I’d go after your father!”

Neteyam yanked his hand away from your inner thigh, snapping his arms across his broad chest as he glared at you, you burst into a fit of giggles at his reaction.

“He’s a happily mated man, lady. Dont even let your mind wander there,” he warned. “I’m kidding!” You smacked his bicep before grabbing his large hand and dragging it right back onto your aching thigh. “Do you think so lowly of me? I’m not that desperate!”

His hand settled back against your skin, but his fingers tightened. “Many haven’t found their one in our generation, Y/n… you don’t need to look backward. I mean… unless older men are your preference, then I won’t stand in your way… but I just— I-I don’t know.”

You let out a chuckle, but it withered into a frown. He was right, there were plenty of unmated people your age in the clan. You knew their names, their faces, and how their laughter sounded when they turned you down. If any of them actually wanted you, they would’ve stepped forward seasons ago.

Your gaze drifted down to the grass, your voice trailing off. “You’re acting like you don’t know my history among the men of this village, Neteyam…”

“Sorry,” he whispered, his voice dropping into that raspy voice reserved only for you. “That’s not what I meant.”

The silence that followed was filled only with the sound of forest insects as the first bioluminescent veins began to wake up across the surrounding leaves.

He moved beside you, sliding closer until his chest was pressing flat against your shoulder, both of you now resting your backs against the cool stone, your legs still on his lap. His thumb began to move in smooth strokes against your thigh, apology written in his palm as he watched your lips pull into a pout.

“I know how they’ve treated your heart,” he began, his golden eyes fixed on you, refusing to let you look away. “They were stupid, Y/n. Every single one of them. They’re blind to what’s standing right in front of them.”

You swallowed hard, that ache rising in your throat as the memory of your friends’ pity back at the river flashed through your mind. You stared down at his large, blue hand on your thighs, your fingers twitching with an urge to lace themselves through his, just to feel that bond Meya had gushed about.

A wave of heat rushed up your neck as Neteyam’s tail found yours beneath the grass, wrapping itself in a tight spiral around your own.

“Don’t let their blindness make you think you must settle for an elder, or anyone who doesn’t see you. For the right person won’t tell you his spirit is unready. He won’t treat your affection like a burden. And he certainly won’t touch your skin for days only to claim he treats his sister the same way… that’s disgusting.”

A chuckle escaped you. Hearing him list the exact nonsense those boys had pulled made you realize just how foolish it was that your heart had broken over them in the first place.

“...I know you hate it when the others tell you not to rush your path... I know you’re not rushing, you’ve been too patient with those boys, Y/n. But as your friend, I only want the best for you, and I believe Eywa will provide when the time is right. I don’t want you to give your trust to someone’s sweet tongue, only for him to reveal his true colors once he got what he wanted.”

“Really now?”

“Really. If that ever happened, he’ll taste his own blood on the wind,” Neteyam hissed. You let out another laugh, rolling your eyes at his statement. “You’re just so violent, aren’t you?”

“Only to those who deserve the strike.”

“Enough about me,” you sighed, shoving his shoulder to break the mood. “I don’t want to waste our time talking about them. What about you?”

Neteyam tilted his head, his ears twitching as he looked down at you. “I obviously don’t wanna waste my time on those too.”

“I meant… well— how do I say this…” You trailed off, looking away. You swallowed hard, running your tongue over your lip before your eyes drifted down to his hand. His fingers were still touching the lines against your skin. Just below his palm, your tails were still entwined, making you bite the inside of your cheek to fight off a smile.

“Tell me,” he whispered as he noticed your hesitation. You looked back up, meeting the gaze of his sparkling eyes. “It’s just that… my friends and I were talking about you a few days back by the river.”

“What were you saying about me?”

“It’s…” You scrunched your nose, you wanted to hear his answer, but you didn’t wanna cross a line. “quite personal. You don’t have to answer if it makes you uneasy. I just… perhaps a part of me wants to know too, because lately, I feel like there are parts of you I barely know.”

“Hm?”

“So… do you have anyone? Like… any women in the village you desire, or maybe men?”

Neteyam blinked, the forest around you seemed to fall silent since he didn’t say a word, his eyes searching your face, trying to read the motive hidden behind your words.

“Sorry… I knew it was a weird question,” you mumbled.

At your sudden bashfulness, a devastatingly gorgeous smile began to tug at the corner of his lips. The tension in his shoulders melted away as he leaned his head down toward yours, his breath fanning across your cheek. You instinctively tilted your face back, your heart beating fast as you tried to maintain a safe distance.

“Why do you ask? Are you looking to clear the field for yourself, or are you just hunting for more gossip to bring back to your friends?”

You scoffed, trying to swallow down the heat rising to your face, but the way his chest was so close to yours made it a losing battle. “I’m doing neither,” you said, forcing your eyes to stay locked onto his, even as your chest tightened. “It was just a question. You don’t have to get all… self-satisfied about it.”

“Me? Self-satisfied?”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to regain your composure. “Yes. Mhm. Look at you, I only asked because everyone in the village talks about the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son and then I realized there that I actually have no idea what your tastes are. Or if you even have them.”

“My tastes,” he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue. He let his eyes drop to your lips for a heartbeat before looking back up to your eyes. “And what do you think they are, y/n?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” You gave his shoulder a nudge, though you didn’t move his hand away from your leg. “Stop answering my questions with more questions. It’s annoying. Just tell me if there’s someone during all those long missions, or if your head is just filled with responsibilities.”

Neteyam grinned, his shoulders shaking against yours. He looked away for a second, watching the bioluminescent moss on the tree trunk glow brighter as the darkness deepened, before his gaze settled back on you.

“No one on the hunt. And no one in the village either. My mind is usually too loud for that kind of distraction.” He paused as he watched the way your breath hitched. “But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to what’s right in front of me.”

“What that mean?”

Neteyam only hummed, an attractive sound that vibrated against your shoulder. He didn’t give you the satisfaction of a straightforward answer. He tilted his head back against the stone, his eyes tracking the waving trees above.

“I mean exactly what I said,” he whispered, his thumb resuming that stroke against your inner thigh. “Those boys… they have eyes, but they don’t see. They look at the sky, they look at the tracks on the ground, but they miss the most obvious things.”

“Neteyam, be direct,” you warned, glaring at him.

“You wanted to know my tastes, lady. I’m telling you. I value someone who has fire. Someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge, who can mount an ikran even when their muscles ache, and who doesn’t mind sitting on the moss to talk about the village fools with me.”

Your heart did a flip. He was describing you, or at least, everything you had done today, but he was keeping it just broad enough that you couldnt technically call him out on it without sounding delusional.

“That’s still vague,” you said, crossing your arms and puffing out your chest to mask how fast your heart was beating. “You’re just describing a dedicated person...”

“Maybe you’re right. I do want a dedicated woman. One who makes me forget about my responsibilities for a whole day just by laughing. A woman who’s just so beautiful it makes you wonder why men aren’t fighting over her,”

Your heartbeat stopped for a second, chest rising and falling against his shoulder, but he didn’t break eye contact. “Y’know… I watched those boys walk away from her seasons ago and thought, how stupid must an individual be to turn his back on a grand prize like that? To look at that woman, of all people, and see nothing?”

He smiled, his gaze dropping to your lips again. He had basically admitted it, yet he still hadn’t given you a name, leaving you suspended in the heat of his words.

“But as you said,” Neteyam grinned, his tail giving yours a squeeze beneath the grass, “perhaps you just don’t know my heart as well as you think.”

Your jaw tightened as you tried to process what he had just admitted. Your brain was scrambling, trying to find a clever retort, anything to keep your cool. But with his fingers still pressed against your skin, the words died in your throat.

“You’re infuriating. If you have something to say, just say it. Don’t hide behind those words.”

Neteyam’s grin widened, showing you his fangs. He loved this. He loved when you fought back, when you didn’t just faint into his arms like half the other girls in the clan.

“I’m not hiding,” He chuckled, then his hand slid upward from your thigh, his large palm resting against your hip, his thumb hooking into the strap of your loincloth.

“But if you want a name so badly,” he whispered, “why don’t you tell me whose name you want to hear?”

“...What about… Lläna?” you asked, gulping as you watched his face for any sign. “She’s one of the entertainers. She can make many lose their breath from laughing too much.”

“I may not be part of that ‘many’ if that’s the case,” he said. He lifted his hand, his fingers tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheeks.

You swallowed the flutter in your chest, scrambling for another name to throw his way. “Maybe Neyza? She’s a warrior, she never gives up even though her whole body is already aching from the hunt. She’s very dedicated.”

“She’s a fierce one, but her stubbornness belongs on the training grounds.”

“Then… what about Sa’eyla?” you pressed. “She crafts the most beautiful pieces in the clan, and everyone says her voice can soothe an angry thanator.”

“Sa’eyla’s songs are for the gatherings,” Neteyam grinned as he watched you struggle. You clicked your tongue, frustrated by how he was shutting down every option while keeping his focus pinned on you.

“You’re being too difficult. What about Txewì then? She’s—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You’re running out of names, y/n.”

He leaned in, his nose almost brushing yours, closing off the rest of the forest until it was just the two of you in the bioluminescent glow.

“Why won’t you ask about yourself?” he whispered, “Why do you keep offering me to everyone else, when yours is the only name I want to hear?”

One thing led to another, and you found yourself biting down hard on your lower lip, trying to silence any sound as his lips pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

The heat of his mouth oh so intoxicating sent a wave straight down your spine. He stirred his weight, pinning you gently as one of his strong arms braced against the smooth stone behind you for balance.

His other hand slid lower, the side of his hand close against the heat between your thighs, dangerously close to your sore core, sending your thoughts into a panting spin.

He pulled back from your neck, an uneven breath leaving him as his right hand retreated from your thighs. His hand slid up your torso until he was cradling your jaw, angling your face up to force your eyes to meet his.

With his left arm still resting behind your back, on the stone, he swallowed hard, his chest heaving against yours. His thumb moved, dragging across your lower lip to part them.

He tracked the slow drag of his thumb before locking his eyes back onto yours. He drank in the sight of you staring up at him, your expression consumed by a blend of deep devotion with starving desire.

Unable to hold back for another second, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.

You hummed against his lips, rubbing your thighs together. You lifted your right arm to rest on his shoulder, while your left hand wandered, walking its path from the curve of his neck down to the center of his chest.

His hands slid down your arms to grip your waist, lifting you near him. The movement made you gasp as he slipped his tongue past your parted lips to tangle with yours. A moan escaped your throat when he groaned into your mouth, the sound shuddering against your chest.

Your thighs rubbed together, looking for any kind of brush to lessen the ache between them. His large hand moved down from your stomach, sliding past the edge of your hips to cup your pussy right through the fabric of your loincloth. You bit your lip hard, hips rolling against his palm.

You pulled away from the kiss, head rolling back as you adjusted your posture. You scooted into a proper seat against the stone, widened your thighs to give him better access. His fingers began sliding up and down against the damp cloth, making you whine.

You gulped as you rolled your hips in circles, lifting them to move more freely. You wrapped both arms around his shoulders, hiding your face in his neck as his fingers slid under your loincloth and rubbed your pussy. He circled your clit with his fingers, making you moan against his skin.

“Oh, keep going… ’teyam,” you whimpered beside his ear, rolling your hips in an eager circle to match the heavy lean of his weight.

You felt two of his thick fingers parting your wet skin, stretching you wide before his thumb made a dragging swipe right across your throbbing clit. Neteyam let out a grunt, a grin tugging at his lips as he bit his own down, watching the way your body melted around his touch, leaving his fingers slick and dripping with your heat.

“What do I get in return?” he murmured, watching your hips move. “Just… let this be my request,” you moaned against his neck, sinking your teeth into his skin to swallow the loud noise.

Neteyam snickered, his thumb striking over your sensitive peak once more. “Hmm… I would do this for free though, baby.”

Neteyam grinned at how you tried to keep quiet, even though he could hear every moan right by his ear. He lifted your head by your hair with his left hand, capturing your lips in another deep kiss and swallowing your sounds. His tongue tangled with yours as his fingers kept rubbing your wet pussy.

He opened one eye to see your thighs trying to close around his hand. He pulled his fingers away for a second, using his leg to keep yours open before diving back in. You arched your back when he sped up, then slowed down again, making you lose your breath. You gasped against his mouth and pulled away to watch his fingers pleasure you.

“Lift it, pretty,” he said in that deep voice. You bit your lip and did what he asked, lifting your top and massaging your left breast while he licked the other.

He kept eye contact with you as he sucked on your nipple, tongue swirling around it. You threw your head back against the stone, moaning loudly. His fingers never stopped rubbing your pussy, making you wetter with every stroke.

Your eyes rolled back every time he teased your entrance before returning to your clit. He pulled away from your chest and took your left hand from it, sucking on your fingers, he settled so he could reach your tits better.

He let out a wince when he felt you palming his cock through his loincloth. He looked down at your hand before you pulled away. “S-Sorry…” you stuttered.

Neteyam scoffed and grabbed your hand, pressing it back on his hard cock. He used your palm to stroke himself through the fabric. “Faster, Y/n,” he hissed, eyes closing as you did what he asked.

He returned his fingers to your pussy, rubbing your clit while his other hand caressed your hair. He went back to sucking on your breasts, humming against your skin. He was trying not to make too much noise, wanting to hear you more than himself.

He couldn’t believe what was happening. You were touching his hard cock, and he was fingering your wet pussy.

It was so arousing to do something like this together.

So this was what the other girls in the clan were always whispering about, giggling over their hut when the elders weren’t looking.

No wonder they spoke about it like it was the greatest gift from Eywa, because the heat pooling in your lower stomach was unlike any hunt or flight you had ever experienced.

“You close?” Neteyam whispered against your ear before biting your earlobe. You sighed, nodding fast. “Mhmm… please, right there.”

You whined when he pulled his fingers away from you. You bit your lip as you watched him stretch his arms before sitting up straighter against the tree. He patted his lap. “C’mere.”

You crawled over him shakily, straddling his legs, your hands rested on his chest to help you balance. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer, making you sit right on his hard cock before kissing you impatiently.

Both of you moaned into the kiss as he started thrusting up against your tewng. You met his movements by grinding back down on his hard on. Your hands moved idly, going from his chest to his shoulders, then pulling his hair and lightly choking his neck.

Neteyam groaned into your mouth, hands squeezing your ass as he kept grinding up against you. “You feel so good. Keep moving like that,”

“You’re so… so hard,” You whimpered, rolling your hips faster, feeling how hard he was through the fabric.

He pulled away from the kiss to look at you. “And you’re so wet. I can hear it,” You blushed but kept grinding on him, needing more friction. “Neteyam… please. I need you.”

He kissed your neck, sucking on your skin while his hands guided your hips. “I know, babygirl. I need you too. But let me feel you like this first…”

You whined loudly, head falling back as you kept riding his clothed cock. Neteyam pulled away from your neck to watch both of your hips moving together. He licked his lips, hs brow creased deeply as he stared down at you grinding on him.

His hand tickled your skin as it moved from your stomach up to cup your breasts. He lifted your top higher so he could hold your bouncing tits properly. He squeezed them gently, making you moan louder as you rode his hard cock even harder.

Neteyam groaned softly, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “You look so good like this, princess. Riding me so beautifully,” You whimpered, hips rolling faster against him. “it… feels so good.”

His hands moved up to your breasts, squeezing and pinching the sensitive peaks while you continued to move on top of him. His own hips thrust up to meet your downward pressure, driving his clothed cock harder against your throbbing core.

“Oh.. just like that,” Neteyam rasped into your ear, his voice rough and strained. He tightened his grip on your chest as he surged against you again, whispering, “This is what those morons missed out on.”

You moaned his name again, hands gripping his shoulders for support. The friction was driving you crazy, making you grind down harder. Neteyam watched your face, biting his lips. “You’re so gorgeous, fuck.”

His hand slid down from your nipples, his fingers curling to roll his knuckles over your clit through the fabric. You threw your head back against his shoulder, gasping out a breathless, “I’m so close…”

“Mhm, we’re gonna cum in our clothes?” Neteyam teased, before he slid his palm up and down your waist, drawing a line down to your ass before delivering a smack, making you cry out uncontrollably as the slap sent you right over the edge.

You came right into your loincloth, collapsing forward to lean against his collarbone as your body trembled through the intense orgasm. Neteyam kept his grip tight, squeezing and letting his palm collide against your ass as his own release hit him, his hips thrusting up slowly one last time to press his hard length against your pulsing core.

The day concluded with the two of you resting within each other’s embrace that night, the heat of the moment never crossing past the boundary of humping each other dry. There was still that shy distance between friends that kept both of you from initiating anything far more intimate.

That was exactly why you made the asinine decision to avoid him throughout the next week.

You simply couldn’t take it anymore.

Every single time you caught a glimpse of him, your heart would thump so hard against your chest, feeling like it was trying to rip itself right out of your ribs.

And just seeing him laugh across the camp was enough to make you feel like you were melting, your knees weakening so badly that you had to actively avoid him at all costs during the nightly dinner gatherings.

It only made things worse that your friends were actively pushing you toward him, and after everything that had happened at your spot, you couldn’t help but see him as a different person, and definitely not just a friend anymore.

Ever since that night, you began noticing his features in a way you never had before, caught up in how handsome he really was. It made you wonder how he had never courted anyone or even had a girlfriend before this.

You knew he was popular with the girls in your clan, heck, even the boys. You had always thought you were privileged to be his closest friend, getting a lot of his attention for free and never having to work for his affection the way everyone else did.

Every single time he returned from his duty, he always brought back reserved goods just for you. Whether it was the sweetest fruit or a smooth bead for your hair, he always made sure you got the best pieces before anyone else could even ask.

You only mentioned it once, about wanting a specific type of shell for your top that could only be acquired when the Tlalim clan came to trade. Yet, right after his very next hunt, he walked up and handed them to you, having gone out of his way to look for it himself.

You felt ashamed realizing that while he gave you the world, the only thing you ever really gave him in return was your endless clan gossip. He would sit there for hours, listening to you ramble, content just to have your full attention.

That’s why you found yourself hiding in your kelku, skipping your weaving lessons just to make something for him on your own. Neteyam had complained a few days ago about growing taller, mentioning that his loincloths were starting to feel too short and uncomfortably tight around his hips.

As you measured out the fabrics, your face suddenly flushed a deep, burning indigo, a breath catching in your throat as your mind replayed what happened in your spot.

Just remembering how you had literally ridden his hard on to a screaming climax, with nothing but your loincloths separating your bare skin from his, made a wave of embarassment wash over you. You squeezed your eyes shut against the memory, feeling shy for showing wildness to your best friend.

He was really big, though…

A fact that made your stomach flip. You hadnt actually seen it, but you had definitely felt that, the thickness pressing through his fabric every time his hips had thrust up into yours.

“—Y/n!”

Your thoughts were cut off by a loud voice calling out from just outside your hut. You scrambled to hide your weaving tools beneath the blanket, standing up to pull back the entrance curtain only to find all your friends standing there. Before you could even ask, your eyes widened as they glared right at you, shoving past your shoulders to let themselves inside.

“Hey!” you snapped, pulling the curtain shut tight as you turned to watch them start snooping around your space. “What’s going on?”

They looked back at you in bewilderment, hands on their hips as one of them scoffed, “I don’t know, Y/n! Are you hiding something from us?”

“Pardon me?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms defensively against their sudden interrogation.

“You heard us,” Kxira sighed, tossing her braids over her shoulder as she stopped pacing your small living space. “You’ve been ghosting us, skipping the weaving circles, slipping away before the evening fires are even lit.. you’ve been hiding in here like you’re harboring some scandalous secret!”

Eytsing stepped forward, grinning as she peeked toward your bed hammock. “Are you sick? Or are you just avoiding a certain son? Because just so you know, your fine warrior has been looking for you!”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of him looking for you but you forced your expression to remain blank. “I’ve just been tired. The hunting season has been long.”

“Well, your resting days are officially over,” Meya declared, marching over to grab you by your wrists and pulling you toward the exit. “The communal dinner is already beginning, and Eywa knows you’re not spending another night brooding in the dark. You’re coming with us right now.”

“I’m not hungry—”

“We don’t care if you eat or not, you’re coming for the company!” she interrupted, a grin spreading across her face as she leaned in close. “The Tsahik just welcomed visitors from the Tayrangi clan who have arrived for a celebration. Their ikran riders are legendary, Y/n. And the warriors— we’re going to introduce you to them.”

The others giggled, already pushing you out past the woven curtain into the evening air. Your stomach twisted into an anxious knot. The last thing you wanted was to be paraded in front of strangers from the coast, especially when Neteyam would undoubtedly be sitting at the head of the gathering, watching your every move.

It was indeed packed with people, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and sweet woodsmoke. The sounds of drums thumped against your chest, matching the beat of your own heart as children dodged through the crowd, laughing and running around.

“We’ll be back, girl! You sit your pretty ass right there and we’re gonna go get you some food!”

You quickly reached out, grabbing at her hands before she could scatter into the crowd. “Wait let me come with—”

Kxira caught you by the shoulder, using her weight to push you back down onto the carved wooden log. “No way. You’ll save us a seat!” With a wink, she and the rest of the girls dissolved into the crowd, leaving you stranded in the open.

You let out a loud groan, pulling your knees tight to your chest to keep from being ntoiced by the passing people. Every time a warrior with tattoos of their clan walked by, you looked down at your hands, terrified your friends would actually drag one of them over.

But it wasnt the strangers making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Across the campfire, sitting among the clan elders, was Neteyam.

He was listening to an older Tayrangi rider, nodding along and gesturing as he spoke. He wore his riding visor pushed up, his cummerbund snug against his waist, and his armguards and armbands gripping his muscular limbs, making him look more like a seasoned warrior than you could ever find words to describe.

It made him look so commanding, and it was so hot.

Afraid he’d catch you staring, you wrenched your eyes away and buried your face against your legs, resting your head on your knees. You could no longer deny the effect he had on you.

“Hey, woman.”

You looked up to find an unfamiliar male leaning over you, he smiled down at you, the gesture so confident that you found yourself flashing a polite smile back. “Hi.”

“Such a cute girl to be sitting all by herself,” he grinned, gesturing with a flick of his tail toward the empty space beside you on the log. “May I?”

You shifted to the left to give him room. “Ah, sure, my friends just went to get some food and I was about to go look for them, so...”

He sat down anyway, “That’d be a shame for I’d love the chance to get to know a beauty like you.”

You let out a nervous laugh, the blunt flattery making you break eye contact as you scanned the clearing for your friends. You really had no desire to continue the conversation, but you didn’t wanna seem rude to a visiting warrior.

“The name’s Atan,” he said, leaning in. “Yours?”

“Uhh, Y/n.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Thanks...” you mumbled, your throat tightening under his intense gaze, though you kept your eyes trained on the dirt to avoid encouraging him further.

“You don’t seem to talk much,” Atan mentioned, his voice dropping as he reached out to brush a stray braid behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin. You flinched away from his touch, your ears flattening backward in warning.

“Uh—”

“Sister!”

You both looked up at the call, spotting a trio of Omatikaya girls marching toward your log with smug grins. You didnt bother waving, your brow furrowing as they stopped right in front of you, their eyes darting between you and Atan. He leaned back with a smirk, resting his elbows on his knees as his eyes darted between you and the newcomers.

“We just wanted to say congratulations!” Fhey’ri squealed, clapping her hands together while the two behind her chuckled and nudged each other’s shoulders.

“For… what?”

“For securing another warrior so quickly! I mean, last week we saw you trailing behind Ze’ni, Virran, then Neteyam, and now you’re already ensnaring the visitors. You must really know how to pull them in… you should teach us. Anyway, y/n, just so if you ever get bored of this one too, make sure you pass him down to us.”

“Keep my name out of your mouth before you embarass yourselves,” you sat up, stepping right into her space with your tail lashing behind you, Fhey’ri tilted her head with a venomous smile.

“Oh, we didn’t mean to offend you, sister,” Fhey’ri purred, taking a step forward to match your height. “We just admire how... generous you are with your time, spending it so freely with every man who looks your way, even if you cannot seem to keep any of them for long.”

You let out a scoff, crossing your arms as you looked down your nose at her. “Are you done?”

The girl behind Fhey’ri stepped up, her eyes glaring as she tried to defend her friend. “You think you’re so above us just because the Olo’eyktan’s son throws you a scrap of attention? Neteyam’s just being polite, Y/n. A future leader must be kind to the less fortunate of the clan.”

“If being ‘less fortunate’ means I don’t have to resort to pathetic gossip just to get a man to notice my existence, then I wear it proudly,” you said as you leaned in closer.

Fhey’ri smile dropped as she hissed, “You think you’re so smart? everyone sees what you’re doing. You’re just a distraction.”

“Why? Are you distracted? If so then my bad,” you shot back, a grin playing on your lips as you gestured toward the open clearing. “The feast is that way. Go find a man who’s blind enough to tolerate your annoying screeches.”

“Excuse me?!” Fhey’ri barked. Behind you, Atan didn’t say a word, captivated by the exchange as he watched you put the girls in their place with an amused smile.

“You heard me,” you replied, you didn’t back down an inch, standing tall as you held her gaze.

”You speak boldly for someone who has accomplished nothing,” the girl on her left spat, trying to salvage their pride by sneering at your attire. “you hide away in your kelku while the rest of us contribute to the clan.”

“If you came over here hoping to make me look pathetic in front of our guest, you’ve failed. You only succeeded in showing him how insecure the Omatikaya women can be.”

Fhey’ri eyes twitched, her fingers shaking like she wanted to hit you, however the crowd was too thick and the elders were too close for her to throw a tantrum without consequences.

“What’s with this commotion?”

You looked to the side to see Neteyam approaching, his steps carrying a weight as his tail swayed behind him, his brow furrowing in irritation. Fhey’ri took a step back from you, turning toward him with a gasp that made your ears twitch in disgust.

“N-Neteyam! Y/n is being so cruel!” she wailed, putting on an act as she gestured at you. “My friends and I were just trying to greet her, but she started attacking us out of nowhere and saying the most horrible things—”

Before she could finish her lie, you surged and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her forward so hard she stumbled toward you. But before you could land a blow, Neteyam stepped between you both, his broad chest blocking your view as his strong hands gripped your wrists to stop the fight.

You looked up at him with a scowl, your chest heaving with adrenaline as he gave you a look that told you to stop. You swatted his arms away from you, refusing to be handled, before throwing one last lethal glare over his shoulder at the trembling girl.

“Tell them to fuck off,” you commanded Neteyam in a whisper, shoving past his side to make sure he knew you weren’t asking. Neteyam didnt hesitate, turning his gaze back toward the trio.

“Everyone, to the feast,” he ordered. The authority in his tone broke their remaining confidence, forcing Fhey’ri and her minions to scurry away into the crowd, rolling their eyes in an attempt to save whatever dignity they had left.

From behind you, a man let out a sigh, breaking the sudden quiet. “Finally, that’s over. You girls were acting like you were in heat.”

You had forgotten that the Tayrangi man was even sitting there, but Neteyam’s attention snapped to him, his eyes glaring. “Brother, why didn’t you bother stopping the fight between the women of my clan?”

Atan just chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the log with an arrogant shrug. “I was just minding my business with this chick until those girls started fighting over me, like. I cannot believe my popularity follows me even into the forest.”

“Are you serious? You didn’t even step in like the warrior you claim to be?” Neteyam challenged, taking a step forward and using his height to tower over the visitor, feeling your hand wrapping around his wrist.

“Big brother, c’mon. Those are arguments between girls and I have no power over their tongues,” Atan stated, smirking. “You should know what they say, let the women lead. I was just doing what a gentleman is supposed to do.”

“If you were a gentleman, you would’ve protected the woman you were conversing with instead of watching her be attacked for your own amusement.”

“Neteyam,” you called, stepping up and shaking your head at him to put an end to it before he started a diplomatic incident, prompting him to finally take a tense step back from the boy.

He was following you deep into the forest as you walked away from the scene, a sulk written all over your face. Your friends had probably left you alone on purpose to give you space with that Tayrangi guy, probably oblivious to the fact that some girls had come over just to cause trouble.

You had no idea why you had suddenly grabbed her hair like that, pulling it so harshly, if Neteyam hadn’t stopped you, the girl would’ve probably ended up bald by now.

As you stormed through the brush, Neteyam was following closely behind and scolding you nonstop for your actions. He kept lecturing you about how you shouldn’t have put your hands on a fellow clan member, and that your outburst had startled the people.

“Y/n, c’mon. Talk to me.”

“Stop following me,” you snapped, throwing a glaring look over your shoulder as you pushed past the giant ferns.

“At least let me accompany you back to your place so I know you’re safe.”

“Just get back to your duties, Neteyam, I’m clearly not in the mood after dealing with those freaks,” you stated, picking up your speed while your tail swayed in frustration. “If you stay here, we’re just gonna keep fighting. I don’t wanna hear another word about how I’m in the wrong.”

“We’re not fighting, lady,” he sighed, his ears twitching as he matched your fast pace. “The peace of the festival has been interrupted over some argument, a weaver of the Omatikaya should hold more grace than to attack someone in public.”

“Oh? So now I’m lacking grace because I refused to let them humiliate me?” you hissed, stopping in your tracks and spinning around to face him, stomping your foot hard against the damp moss. “Maybe you should just go back and comfort her instead, since she clearly matches your perfect standards of how a woman should act!”

Neteyam hissed lowly, “This has nothing to do with her, Y/n.”

“It has everything to do with her!” you yelled, your voice echoing through the trees as your warfreak tendencies flared up. “She was watching my every move, talking about how close you and I have been!”

“She talks too much, everyone knows this, but you pulling her hair just makes it look like her words actually have power over you.”

“Or maybe you actually believe those rumors too!” you shot back, the toxic thought spilling out before you could stop it as you stepped right into his space. “Maybe that’s why you’re scolding me so much, Neteyam, because you think I’m indeed a whore who just throws herself at every visitor who smiles at her!”

“Don’t say that,” he commanded. He took a step closer, his tall frame shadowing yours. “You know exactly how I view you, Y/n, I’m simply telling you how your actions out there—”

“I don’t care about the others, Neteyam, I care about the fact that you assumed I was the one causing a scene!” you cut him off, your voice cracking with an upset as you shoved his shoulder with your hand. “You didn’t even see how she cornered me, you just saw me striking someone and decided I was a problem that needed to be managed!”

“Y/n—”

“Why do you even care so much about what happened back there? Huh?!” you yelled, your chest heaving as you glared up at him.

“Why?” Neteyam retorted, stepping so close his breath brushed against yours, his demeanor shattering as his tail lashed behind him. “I care because you were sitting there letting him touch your hair, letting him whisper in your ear, and you just smiled right back at him like it was nothing!”

“Atan was just talking to me! Unlike you, who only ever comes around to lecture me like a child!” you screamed back, your hands balling into fists as you refused to take a single step back from his tall frame. “You have no right to dictate who I sit with, Neteyam, you do not own me!”

“Really?” Neteyam let out a bitter laugh. “He stood there and did nothing while someone tried to tear you down.”

“And what were you doing, Neteyam?” you shot back, shoving a hand against his chest. “You only stepped in to stop me, not her. you saw a girl who had to be restrained, so don’t stand there pretending you’re any better than him!”

“I’m better than him because I care about you!” he shouted, making you hiss. “Then why are you acting like this, Neteyam?!”

“I’m jealous of him!”

You froze, your brows pulling together as his words settled over you. “Jealous?” you repeated in disbelief. “Why in Eywa’s name would you be jealous of him?”

“Because I love you!”

“And I love you too!” The words escaped before you could stop them, torn straight from your chest. Your eyes widened the moment they left your lips, your breath catching as the silence between you became deafening.

His mouth was left agaped as he stared down at you, his eyes dropping to track the movement of your lips as he couldnt quite process the sound. He couldn’t utter a single word after hearing the exact phrase that had just slipped from your mouth, a faint “Huh.” escaping his throat.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up right now, Neteyam,” you snapped, your brows knitting together as you jabbed a finger against his chest. “You’re making my blood boil. You know exactly what happened between us at our spot. If that wasn’t enough to tell you how I really feel, then I don’t know what ever will.”

His lips parted, ready to answer, but no words came. He swallowed hard, his chest rising like his own heartbeat had lodged itself in his throat. You let out a shaky breath and looked aside. “Leave. I suggest you leave now... before I say something I cannot take back.”

“Say it again.”

“I said leave!” You shoved at his chest, forcing him back a step. Before you could pull away, his hand closed around your forearm, stopping you in place as his eyes searched for yours.

“Say that you love me,” he whispered. “Again.”

Your jaw fell open, your eyes widening in disbelief at his request. “Are you serious?” you snapped. “Don’t be so ridiculous. I’ve never been more furious with you.”

“Im completely serious,” he begged, his grip on your forearm sliding down until his fingers slid into the spaces between yours, locking your hands together. He stepped back into your space, biting his lips and gulping under the gaze of you. “I need to hear them from your lips.”

“I’m not saying anything to you while you’re acting like a stubborn man,” you hissed, your tail whipping behind you as you tried to yank your hand back from his tight grasp.

Your heart was beating so loud that you were sure he could hear it, the shift from a heated argument to this intense closeness making your head spin as a deep indigo blush crept up your neck.

Neteyam didn’t move, using his free hand to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb resting right over your cheekbone to lessen the tension bleeding out of you. “I’m sorry. I’m acting this way because I’ve been losing my mind for weeks without you… Just say it, please?”

Your jaw tightened as you looked up at him, your earlier facade crumbling under the weight of his vulnerability. You saw the slight quiver of his ears, the way his chest rumbled, and you realized that the future leader of the Omatikaya was trembling right in front of you over a handful of words.

“I… love you,” you said, the words spilling out in an exasperated breath. You didn’t look away from his gaze. “I love you, skxawng. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. Is that enough for your massive ego? Do you need me to shout it to the forest?”

A beautiful laugh broke from his throat, all the tension leaving his broad shoulders. You let out a chuckle at how silly he looked, you bit your lower lip, heart soaring at the sight of him smiling so widely just for you.

“Will you really do that?” he teased, eyes shining with affection as he nudged your shoulder with his palm.

“Oh, I will!” You turned toward the thick brush and cupped your hands around your mouth, shouting into the valley at the top of your lungs. “I love you, Neteyam! Everyone, I’m in love with this annoying man beside me, and I want him all for myself—”

Before you could finish your wild confession, his large hands slid down to grip your waist. You let out a surprised gasp as his lips captured yours, swallowing your laughter in a deep kiss. Your fingers found his neck, holding on as he lifted you off your feet and pulled you flush against his warm chest.

He spun you around under the glowing trees, both of your tails tangling together in a spiral as laughter bubbled between your lips. You finally pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air as you slapped his shoulder. “Put me down, skxawng!”

You found yourself smiling far more often after that, the heaviness that had clung to your heart over the past few weeks finally lifting. There was no more taking the longer paths around the village or pretending not to notice him whenever your eyes met.

The girls in your circle noticed the change, nudging your shoulders whenever you caught yourself smiling for no reason or staring blankly at the loom with flushed cheeks.

The evenings became your favorite part of the day again. Whenever you sat together during communal meals, his tail would find yours beneath the grass, curling around it while he casually told you about the day’s patrols, difficult hunts, or whatever dumb thing one of the younger warriors had done.

Even your spot felt different now. You still draped your legs across his lap while rambling about the latest village gossip, but now his hand would settle naturally against your hip, his thumb stroking slow circles as he listened to every word you had to say.

Making out was often all you could do together now, neither of you ever feeling like you had enough of each other’s lips, or enough of the addictive way your bare skins pressed so hungrily against one another.

He would pin you against the cool stone, his mouth ghosting from your lip down to the sensitive skin of your neck just to hear the sounds you made. Your voice had become music to his ears, a melody that drove him crazy and made his discipline disintegrate whenever you whispered his name against his skin.

It had gotten to the point where the two of you, especially Neteyam, would wake up craving each other after dreaming of what more could be.

The erotic dreams would leave his skin hot and sweating, his loincloth straining against the heavy ache of his desire, while his heart drummed tightly in his chest within the quiet of his family’s hut. His mind was completely consumed by the vivid memory of your hands sliding across his chest, fueling a desperate need to finally bridge the gap between you.

The boundary of only humping dry was beginning to feel like a sweet torture, and every morning he opened his eyes, the hunger in his blood only demanded more of your bare skin. He could still feel the way your body had moved against his, the way you had moaned his name, and it made his cock throb every single time.

Neteyam sat up in his hammock, breathing hard as he ran a hand through his braids. He looked around to make sure no one in his family was awake before slipping out quietly. The forest was still dark, but he knew exactly where he was going.

He needed to see you.

He moved through the trees until he reached your home, he hesitated for a moment outside, ears twitching as he listened for any sound, before he slipped inside and found you sleeping.

You stirred when he knelt beside your hammock, eyes fluttering open. “’teyam?” you whispered, voice sleepy. He leaned down and kissed you softly. “Sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I needed to see you.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes before clasping his face with your palms. “It’s late, baby...”

Neteyam climbed into the hammock with you, pulling you into his arms. “I missed you. I keep dreaming about you. About us.”

You blushed, hiding your face against his chest. “You shouldn’t be here. If my parents find out…” You bite your lip before turning your head to see your parents wrapped in each other in their own hammock, exhausted from the expedition.

Neteyam held you tighter against his chest, his lips pressing a kiss onto the top of your head. “I know. But I cannot stay away, not when I want you this badly.”

Before you could answer, his large hand closed over yours, guiding your palm down the center of his stomach until your fingers rested directly against the throbbing hardness straining against his loincloth.

A blush rushed to your cheeks as your eyes drifted down. There he was, hard and straining against the fabric, and right over his heat was the very token you had painstakingly hand-sewn with your own fingers just a week ago. Knowing your handmade gift was framing his arousal made you rub your thighs.

Your nose scrunched in fluster as you licked your dry lips, the heat and thickness of him burning right through the fabric into your palm. Your fingers curled, giving a squeeze around the rigid length of him.

Neteyam’s breath caught in his throat, a moan escaping his lips as his grip on your waist tightened so hard his fingernails dug into your hip.

His hands slid down your skin, squeezing your ass. You whimpered softly, pressing closer to him and hiding your face in his neck. “Neteyam… what if they wake up?” He lifted your head to kiss your lips sloppily. You tried to hide your moans, nervous because your parents had high-hearing ears. “Let’s play the quiet game then?”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I can be quiet…” you murmured, looking up at him as you took his hand and placed it directly over your top.

Neteyam leaned down, pressing a peck over your breast before sliding his lips up to lick the sensitive skin of your neck, making you whimper. His boner grew even harder against your thigh at the thought of you losing control, unable to handle your own noises out here.

“Only if you want to, ofcourse…”

You whimpered, nodding against his chest. You laid on your back, putting your leg on his lap as you opened your legs wide, guiding his hand below as you kissed his lips. His fingers cupped your pussy, letting the loincloth press against your wetness as his fingers slid up and down to make you even wetter than you already were.

You opened your legs wider, rolling your hips slowly against his fingers as he teased both your core and tits. You pressed your lips into a straight line to keep from making sounds. You looked down to watch his fingers moving in circles on the fabric you were wearing.

Neteyam leaned his head to your hair, pressing a kiss before he dove into your ear, sucking on your earlobe since it had always been your sensitive spot. He skimmed his tongue down to your collarbone, grinning when he felt your fingers scratching on his biceps as he fastened the pace of his fingers.

He slipped under your loincloth, rubbing your cunt slowly. “So wet already,” he whispered. “Who’s this for?” You moaned quietly, hips rolling against his hand. “For you…”

Neteyam pushed two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly. “That’s my good girl. So tight around my fingers.” You bit your lip to stay quiet, thighs shaking. “Neteyam… feels so good.”

He kept fingering you, thumb rubbing your clit while he kissed your neck. “I want to make you cum, baby. Want to hear those pretty sounds.”

“Please… go on.”

He didn’t stop just then, he kept moving his fingers faster, whispering praises against your skin. “So beautiful… and needy.”

You were gasping for air as you neared your orgasm, lips drawing blood as you tried to contain your noises. You were afraid your parents might wake up at any moment and see your legs spread wide for the most respected warrior of the clan who kept fingering you.

“You like this? The thought of your parents hearing your noises and the wetness of your little cunt? It’s so wet, baby. I can hear it all the way,” he whispered.

You gulped, hiding your face in his neck before biting his skin to muffle your moans. Your nails dug into his biceps as he quickened then slowed his pace to tease your release.

“Fuck… ’teyam. C’mon, I’ll kick you here,” you whimpered. He chuckled and let you cum with a muffled moan against his skin. You clenched around his fingers as your body trembled. Neteyam kept moving his fingers through your orgasm before pulling them out.

He lifted your head from his neck and let you lick your release from his fingers. You were still shaking as you weakly wrapped your hands around his wrist to hold his hand in place. You licked your own cum off his fingers hungrily.

Neteyam groaned deep in his chest at the sight of you licking your own cum from his fingers. He pulled his fingers away with a hint of jealousy before holding your jaw to pull you into a wet kiss, letting him taste the blood. He pushed his tongue in to dance with yours, tasting your cum on your tongue that had been on his fingers.

His hands moved to your legs, turning you to face him and wrapping your leg around his waist. He pressed his clothes cock against your thighs. He held his cock, lifting his loincloth before rubbing the tip against your cunt.

He was teasing your entrance with slow thrusts but not letting it go inside your hole just yet. You were humming against his lips in the kiss, pulling tight on his braid as you rolled your hips in circles against his tip. He let the tip slip in for a second to tease you, making you squeak before he pulled it out again.

You pulled away from the kiss and bit his lower lip to scowl at him, sending him a glare. He licked his lip before stealing another peck from your lips. He looked down, rubbing his sensitive tip that felt like it was about to explode if it didn’t enter your pussy and feel your tight walls around it.

“Turn around for me, baby.”

You nodded and turned on the hammock. You felt him press a kiss to your shoulder before he groaned when you rubbed your ass against his pulsing cock.

Neteyam’s hands gripped your hips tightly as he pulled your lower body against his. He was breathing next to your ear, wanting more of you.

You could feel every inch of his length as he began to slide his cock between your inner thighs, using the tightness of your skin to pleasure himself. The movement forced his hardness to slide right against your swollen pussy with every push, making you open your mouth to let out small gasps as you felt the thickness of his size.

You whimpered, pushing back against him. “Neteyam… please…” He groaned, rubbing his cock along your wet folds without pushing inside. “I hear you. Let me do this first…”

He kept grinding against you, tip brushing your entrance over and over. Both of you were whimpering to each other, bodies moving together in desperation. The risk of your parents waking up only made everything feel more captivating.

Neteyam whispered against your ear. “You feel so good, Y/n. So wet for me…”

You moaned softly, pushing back harder against him. “I want you inside me…” Neteyam groaned but kept teasing, not giving in yet. “Let me prepare your body first, okay?”

He whispered against your ear before taking hold of your thigh, lifting it up so he could thrust against your pussy. He shifted so his cock could rub your clit, making you fold your knees and hold them as you watched his cock sliding against your cunt, letting him hold it again while you push your top to tease your nipples.

You turned your head to pull him into a kiss, then pulled away again to watch how he was thrusting against your skin. It was just like in the forest and the days before this, but now it was bare.

Before, you two couldn’t then get enough of each other, so you ended up fucking through your loincloths.

Now there was nothing between you.

Neteyam leaned down to capture your nipple with his lips, moving his tongue to wet it, making you arch your back as the feeling of his cock and mouth on your body made you even more aroused.

He returned to your neck, whispering in your ear. “I’m going to put it in now, baby… you want that?” You nodded frantically, begging him. “Yes… please, ’t-teyam. I need you inside me.”

He pushed the tip of his cock against your entrance, rubbing it up and down your wet folds. You whimpered, trying to stay quiet because your parents were sleeping just a few meters away.

Neteyam whimpered, still teasing your entrance. “Fuck… you’re soo wet...” You rolled your hips, trying to get him to push inside. “Please… I cannot wait anymore. Fuck me, Neteyam.”

He finally pushed the head of his cock inside you slowly, stretching you open. You gasped, biting your lip hard to keep from moaning too loudly. Neteyam stayed still for a moment, breathing hard against your neck. “Oh, that’s good… you’re so tight.”

You forced your palm flat over your mouth to smother your moans, your hips trembling as you tried to adjust to his size. “Move… please,” you whimpered against your own skin.

He began thrusting into you, pacing his movements to keep the friction from growing too loud. The mesh of the hammock swayed heavily with the momentum of his weight, causing the tight rope binding to creak against the bamboo post.

The sudden noise made you both instantly freeze in place, your breath catching in your throat as you strained your ears to listen if your parents had stirred awake.

As you lay there paralyzed with fear, the panic made your swollen pussy clench tightly around his cock, forcing a moan to catch deep in Neteyam’s throat.

He kept moving, slow and deep, whispering in your ear. “You’re so perfect, y/n. You’re hugigng me tight…” You moaned quietly. “Harder… but be quiet, damn it…”

He thrust a little faster, still trying to stay silent. You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you perfectly. Neteyam groaned softly, burying his face in your neck. “I… fuck… y/n.”

You rolled your hips to meet his thrusts, both of you moving together clumsily. The hammock swayed with your movements. You bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loudly. “Neteyam, it’s so... Don’t stop.”

He kept thrusting, one hand on your hip while the other braced against the hammock. “Don’t clench too hard—” You whimpered, clenching around him harder. “Faster… please. I need more.”

Neteyam sped up, still careful not to wake your parents. You were both attempting to hide the gasps, trying to stay quiet while chasing pleasure. “You feel so good, Y/n. I could stay inside you forever.”

You moaned softly, pulling him closer by his hips. “I want you deeper… please, Neteyam.” He thrust harder, lifting your leg to the air, hitting that perfect spot inside you. Both of you were lost in each other, and it was overwhelming.

You couldn’t contain the pleasure, your hand dropping flat onto the floor to balance yourself as you used the leverage to thrust your hips straight back against his length. Your other hand remained clamped over your mouth, hiding the moans tearing from your throat.

Neteyam chuckled, pulling you back onto the hammock and sliding out of your wet cunt, making you let out a whine at the abrupt loss of his cock. Before you could complain, he sank down onto his knees on the floor, burying his face between your thighs and wrapping his lips around your throbbing clit to make you gasp.

You hooked one leg securely over his broad shoulder while the other braced against the floor, gripping the tight ropes of the hammock as you rode his face. His tongue flicked over your sensitive core, driving you wild with the waves of heat pooling in your body.

In a haze of desperation, you locked your fingers into his hair and pushed his head deeper into your pussy, suffocating him against your soaking heat, but he didn’t care an inch, for he would gladly die right there in your cunt.

“G-Gonna comee…” you mumbled, throwing your head back to surrender to his touch, but he suddenly pulled away from your clit, pressing a teasing parting peck right over the peak that made you scoff.

“This… fuck,” you breathed out as he pulled you to your feet, swapping places with you so that his tall frame now occupied the center of the hammock. You stepped over him, holding his jaw to press your lips against his as his large palms cupped your breasts, his thumbs sliding beneath your accessories to pinch and roll your sensitive tips.

You sighed into the kiss, dragging your body against his, your knees curling up while your fingernails dug into the muscles of his shoulders and neck. He squeezed your ass before slapping it, your torso against him as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his fangs grazing your lower lip.

Pulling away to catch your breath, you turned your back to him and ground your ass right against his face, making him swallow hard at the blatant invitation. His hands brushed over your hips, grasping the skin before pulling your cheeks wide to drink in the sight of your dripping pussy.

He leaned in and dragged his hot tongue over your entrance, making your thighs shake as you reached back to grip his thick braids for support. You widened your stance to give him more access, rolling your hips in tight circles against his mouth to gather every ounce of friction his tongue could offer.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream, looking over your shoulder to watch him devour your wetness in the dim light of the kelku.

You were unable to stay still, so you spun back around and lifted one leg, pushing his head down. He leaned down as his mouth found your clit once again, driving you right over the edge. “Oh… fuck… I love that, Neteyam,” you muttered, your toes curling at the pleasure of his tongue on your pussy.

He looked up at you while licking, “Mhm? I love this too… it tastes so good. You taste delicious.” He spoke while sucking your pussy, making you feel the vibration of his voice right on your folds. You opened your mouth to let out your breaths as you watched him lick your wetness.

You reached blindly behind your back to grab your own queue, watching its tendrils at the tip light up, glowing with a hunger for a connection. Your body knew exactly what it wanted, who it wanted, and why.

Your fingers sank into Neteyam’s hair, caressing his head as his mouth remained buried between your thighs. He let out a whimper against your wet skin when your hands slipped down to enclose around his kuru, letting it rest over his shoulder now. The contrast of your touch made him look up, his eyes dark with blown-out pupils.

Grasping his jaw, you squeezed his cheeks, lifting your thighs away from his face just enough to lean down and catch his lips in a soaking kiss.

You moaned aloud as his large hands gripped your ass, lifting your leg high over his shoulder once more to expose you completely. He broke the kiss, peppering a messy smooch along the corners of your mouth before diving back down.

Your breath was cut as his tongue swept over your throbbing clit, his gaze locked onto the sight of his own saliva slicking your slippery skin while his fingers parted your lips wide.

Tritxo wasn’t lying; Neteyam really did have a hunger running through his blood. You could feel it in the press of his hands and the way his eyes devoured you.

You gasped when he practically made out with your clit, flicking his tongue on it and making you shake, unable to hold your weight properly.

He noticed this and leaned back, rubbing his fingers on your cunt before he laid on the hammock, patting his thighs.

You bit your lip before climbing back into your sleeping hammock, straddling his legs. You leaned in seductively, smirking in the kiss as you opened one eye to find his cock, making him almost close his legs together at the touch. He whimpered when you held his cock and teased the tip on your entrance.

You pulled away from the kiss before sitting up straight to guide his cock throbbing for your pussy once again. At last, you hissed as you slid down easily on his cock, you began thrusting down on his size to chase your release since you hadn’t cum yet after the long session.

Neteyam watched you fuck yourself stupid on his cock. He lifted his head to glance at your parents who were still sleeping soundly before his lust-filled eyes returned to you. You dropped your hands on his chest as he leaned up to capture your lips.

“Look,” His hand went to your skin just above your pussy. “You see this? I can feel myself right through your skin,” he smiled at your shy expression as you looked down at your belly, slowing your thrusts to see the faint bump on your stomach from his cock inside you.

You grinned before speeding up your pace on him. You lifted his hand to your breasts, holding it tight against your skin while his other hand went to your hair and tucked it behind your ears. He leaned in to peck your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your neck, and your collarbone, avoiding your lips.

You left your neck open for access as you looked up at the ceiling of your hut, jumping up and down on his cock. You felt his mouth clamp on your neck, licking your skin as you held him there. His mouth moved to your nipples again while his hands found your ass and squeezed it tight.

You placed your hand over his queue where it rested on his shoulder before grabbing your own, tilting his head up. When he gave you a nod of approval, you both slowed the thrusts of your hips. You watched, mesmerized, as the glowing tendrils of your braid flashed, reaching out to twist and wrap tightly around one another, locking you together.

Neteyam let out a broken sigh at the impact of the bond. It wasn’t just the tight, pulsing heat of your walls squeezing his cock anymore, now, your unadulterated pleasure was flooding into his nervous system through the connection.

Just as Meya had told you, everything became beautifully clear the exact second you were connected. You could feel th racing jump of his heartbeat as if it were your own. You could hear his raw thoughts, and the dizzying realization of just how deeply in love with you he was.

It was a rush, two souls walking in the very same body. Your chest tightened, your heart skipping a lot of beat at the weight of what this meant: you were now bound to this person for the rest of your life.

And it was Neteyam.

You licked your lips before pulling him away from your neck and resting your head on his collarbone, delivering lazy thrusts on his cock.

Neteyam felt your tiredness through the bond and laid back down again, moving his legs so he could thrust up into your pussy. He held your back and hair as he began thrusting up into you, the new angle making you wrap your arms around his neck as you let him take control.

You moaned right next to his ear, moaning as fast as his thrusts. Your pussy clenched down on his cock as you pulled his jaw down for a kiss.

A synchronized gasp tore from both of your throats as a blinding shockwave of pure pleasure detonated through the bond. The sensation struck like liquid lightning, shooting straight up your spines and blinding your vision into a haze of bioluminescent light.

Your bodies locked up in unison, the neural feedback loop amplifying your shared ecstasy until it was almost too much to bear. Neteyam buried his face into the crook of your neck with a groan, his fingers digging into your hips.

Sooner, you didn’t get the chance to warn him but he knew you were close because you couldn’t stop clenching around his cock.

You came around him so he slowed his thrusts, not wanting to overstimulate you, but still chasing his own release. Neteyam kept moving inside you, breathing hard against your neck. “You feel so good, baby. You get so tight when you cum.”

He then came inside your pussy from your desperate clenching, his heavy release filling your tight walls as his body shuddered with the force of his orgasm.

“Shit, Neteyam…” you breathed out, leaning back to admire his features, his bioluminescent dots flaring a light, indigo from the recent pleasure his body had just released.

You pressed grateful kisses over his cheeks before leaning your head down against his shoulder, your fingers stroking shapes over the skin of his chest.

You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling, a sudden wave of heat rushing to your face as you grew conscious of the situation. You had actually just mated with him, had sex, got your cunt eaten out while your parents were sleeping just nearby, and to make your head spin even faster, his cock was still buried deep inside you, pulsating along your throbbing walls.

Neteyam caught the tail end of your thoughts through the bond. He bit his lip, a smile breaking through his shock as he reached up to pat your back, pulling you close.

He couldn’t believe it either.

He knew he lacked experience in these things, but he was far from clueless. A spike of irritation flared in his chest, not at you, but at himself. He couldn’t believe his brain had short-circuited so bad that he had ended up mating with you here, in such an unromantic place, instead of giving you the proper ritual you deserved.

You grinned at his thoughts and leaned up to press a tender kiss against his cheek. Your lips lingered against his warm skin for a long moment, comforting him before you slowly pulled back.

You swallowed hard as your eyes locked onto his. The intensity in his gaze was magnetic, holding you so much that it felt like you couldn’t tear yourself away even if you tried.

Neteyam’s gaze drifted down from your eyes to your lips, staying there for a second before rising back up. In the golden depths of his eyes, you could see a faint, desperate flicker of hope, mirrored by the rapid burst of his heart.

Magnetically drawn together, you both began to lean in, closing the distance in a slow motion. It was intimate. In that second before your lips finally met, everything about Neteyam, the warmth radiating off his skin, the gentle slack of his jaw, the affection in his eyes, felt like the very definition of love.

You both pulled away before chuckling, his chest rumbling with a satisfied sound. “That was… I’m speechless, my love,” he whispered, covering his eyes with his forearm in disbelief as his other arm wrapped around your waist, cradling your head securely against his chest.

You laughed along with him, leaning back once more to look up at his face. “Do you think… they heard us?”

Neteyam moved his arm from his face, a wicked smirk spreading across his lips as he shook his head. “I’m sure they did, baby. You weren’t exactly quiet, just like you said you wouldn’t be able to be quiet.”

You pouted your lip, letting out a hiss at his teasing. “You were louder,” you retorted, and to put him in his place, you clenched the tight walls of your pussy around his buried cock.

The sudden squeeze made Neteyam utter a startled whimper, a gasp escaping his throat before he covered his mouth with his hand, his golden eyes widening in shock at how loud he had just been.

You giggled at his panicked expression, pulling his hand away from his lips so you could lean up and kiss him. He kissed you back, the pace slowing down into a deep, tender embrace that was overflowing with the romance between two best friends who had finally become everything more.

Pulling back, Neteyam rested his forehead against yours, a smile tugging at his lips. “...I have to tell my baby brother that my biggest advice will be to ruin the friendship.”

You giggled, shaking your head as his large hand came up to cup your jaw. He gently pulled you back in for another kiss before you murmured against his lips,

“Tell him not to wait as long as we did.”

taglist - @k----a27s

© neteiam - any form of stealing is hereby strictly prohibited.

[kombuchaaaaa]

Reading a fic and accidentally swiping out and losing your spot has to be the biggest mood killer out there.

It’s even worse when you haven’t hearted the fic yet and the feed refreshes so it’s gone forever.

[neteiam]

IT’S YOU

having strict parents meant watching in silence as your lover was about to become someone else’s mate.

warnings : (18+ MDNI), neteyam x omatikaya fem!reader, mature themes, explicit s3xual content, strong language, angst, mutual pining (yearning), forbidden love, arranged pair, jealousy, risk of getting caught, reader is complicated!!!, neteyam is vv desperate that he cries :((, wayyy too much begging, depression, getting drunk, injury, intimate s3x (if u close ur eyes), MANYY smut (P in V), dirty talk, pet names, praise knk, light degradation, dry hmping, hair pulling, spanking, oral (f & m receiving), face sitting, missionary, doggy style, creampie, breeding, tsaheylu while cracking 🤪, etc… (imsorry)

a/n : I was listening to never lose me and when cardi b’s part came on where she says “pussy so good, make him do what I say” i js thought alright thats exactly how this plot is being formed mwehehe. can u believe i sctually have to write the things I wanna read ¿ like why cant it just exist already… also, im accepting requests please dont be shy, i need ideas 😞 there might be errors 🫩 quick question! what pet names make u melt when u read em ¿? I realized I tend to rely heavily on “baby” because it’s my personal fav , but I obv dont want it to get repetitive for yall hehe so... lmk what other terms of endearment u love so I can mix things up 🤭

wc : 20k (no proofread)

Since the day you were born, your life had already been planned for you. The future envisioned for you always outweighed the one you imagined for yourself.

Watching your friends live by the saying, “You Only Live Once,” was all you could do.

At least, that was what your parents expected of you.

They aren’t strict or anything, in fact they loved you. They loved you in the only way they knew how: through control.

But in their eyes, they werent being cruel, and were just preparing you for the life Eywa intended.

You were told not to rush through life. Taught not to seek a mate too soon, not to entertain the attention of boys just yet, and to devote yourself to the Tsahìk’s teachings.

Right now, it felt very far away as your body lay on the soft grass, breathing heavily after the intense orgasm Neteyam had just given you. His strong arms were wrapped around your waist from behind, spooning you as he pressed kisses behind your ear.

You squeezed his hand that rested on your waist in which he squeezed back. You turned onto your back and looked up at him. He leaned down and met your eyes before you pulled him into a deep kiss, arms wrapping around his neck.

You both sighed into the kiss. When you pulled away, he tried to lean in again but you placed a finger on his lips, stopping him. “...Neteyam,” you whispered, looking away while your arms stayed around his neck.

He hummed, before pulling you back into another kiss, and when he pulled away, he brushed the hair from your face gently. “I missed you, baby…”

You didn’t respond and just let him hold you even though you knew you shouldn’t. You had already ended things with him weeks ago. You told him it was over. Yet here you were again, letting him touch you like you still belonged to him.

You had heard the elders talking about pairing one of the huntresses in the clan with the Olo’eyktan’s first son for the upcoming mating ceremony in the next moons.

It hurt more than you wanted to admit.

That was why you gave Neteyam that stupid excuse, telling him you wanted a break because you had fallen out of love.

After all, it wasn’t as if your relationship was anywhere near actual mating; the two of you were strictly forbidden. Hell, you could get yourself killed if your parents ever found out that you hadn’t been a virgin for a long time, all because you had been secretly dating Neteyam.

At first, he didn’t believe you. He even laughed and said it wasn’t a good prank. But your face told him you were serious. The pain in his eyes that day still stayed with you.

After that, you started distancing yourself from him. You worked more with the elders knowing he couldn’t approach you easily when others were around.

But Neteyam kept coming back to you anyway. He would get himself injured on purpose just to have a reason to see you. Every visit was supposed to be quick and professional, but most nights ended with him fucking you senseless, your soul feeling like it was leaving your body.

Even though you kept telling him to stop being foolish, and warning him about the danger of getting caught, he never listened. He just refused to believe you really fallen out of love with him, not when his heart was still so ready to tear down the stars and give you everything you thought was impossible.

“You must stop this, sneaking me out into the forest like this… I told you that I—”

Neteyam cuts you off by pulling you into another sloppy kiss. He moved on top of you again, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he rubbed his cock against your pussy. You pulled away from the kiss and pushed his chest, sitting up.

“I said stop.”

Neteyam’s eyebrows knitted together in pain as he looked at you. You had to turn your face away because seeing him like that made your chest hurt too much. “I’m sorry… I don’t know what I did wrong. Why are you doing this, baby?” he whispered, reaching for your hands on your lap.

You swatted his hand away and grabbed your loincloth, fastening it around your waist. “I’ve told you already... I don’t feel the same anymore. It’s as simple as that.”

Neteyam sat up beside you, pulling on his own, his eyes never leaving your face. “I don’t believe you, not even a little,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “Please... tell me what’s happening. I’ll fix it, I’ll do anything you ask of me, just talk to me. You may tell me any lie, but don’t ask me to believe that your love has simply vanished…”

You fixed your hair and top with shaking hands then turned toward the village. But before you could walk away, he grabbed your wrist. When you looked at him angrily, he let go reluctantly, eyes dropping to the ground with trembling lips.

“Why won’t you tell me anything?” Neteyam asked, his voice thick with emotion as he stared at you. “We were whole before this... we never even fought, and I made sure to give you every piece of me that I could… whatever burden you’re carrying… let me bear it with you. Please.”

He stared at your back as you breathed, listening to every word he said. “What part of ‘I fell out of love’ do you not understand, Neteyam?” you replied. “We’re simply not meant to walk the same path. There’s a far better match for you out there—”

“I don’t want anyone else,” he cut in, raising his deep voice. “I only want you…”

You finally turned to face him, biting your lip hard. “Well, I don’t.” Your eyes met his golden ones, now glistening with unshed tears.

He looked like you had just stabbed him, his ears pinned back and his tail stopped moving completely. “Don’t say that… please,” he whispered, stepping closer to you. “You’re lying to me... I know you are. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Believe whatever you wish but you must stop coming to me. Stop sneaking into my hut. Stop… everything!”

Neteyam frowned. “I love you, y/n…”

You felt tears burning hot behind your eyes once again. You desperately wanted to tell him everything, about your endless worries, what you had overheard, and how you’d wanna be in his arms again. But the words remained heavily stuck in your throat, refusing to come out.

“I have to go. Do not follow me.”

You knew both of you had no real say in whatever the council decided for your futures. You told yourself you were doing both of you a favor, even if it was breaking you inside.

It wasn’t long before Neteyam found out about his own arranged mating. He sat through the meeting, nodding along to everything they said, but his mind was elsewhere. He was connecting the dots, realizing this was probably why you suddenly ended things with him.

After it ended, he left as fast as he could and went straight to look for you. He was lucky to find you alone. When you heard a footsteps, you already knew it was him, so you kept your back turned and continued wiping the jars.

“Is that it? You’re letting me go just because I’m to be arranged with another?”

You sighed, placing the jar down a little too hard against the wood before turning to face him, looking him straight in the eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Why not? Do you really think we could go somewhere from this?”

Neteyam furrowed his brows and stepped even closer, braids swinging, his tall frame towering over you as his ears pinned back. “So you’re just going to throw me away? Throw us away? Just like that?”

“What else can I do?!” you shouted. “What can you do?! The Council of Elders has already spoken. You cannot defy them!”

“I can,” he stated, his golden eyes blazing. “And I will. If that’s the only hurdle between us, I’ll stand before them and end this arrangement myself.”

Your eyes widened i shock, you opened your mouth, but the breath caught in your throat, forcing yourself to speak. “…If you do that, you’ll never see my face or hear my voice again, Neteyam. I mean every word.”

You watched his eyes widen as he looked away, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, “What do you want me to do then? Just force myself into this? You know how much my heart belongs to you. Why won’t you let me fight for us?”

You turned your back to him completely, refusing to let him see the pain on your face. “There’s nothing left to fight for. This was bound to happen sooner or later anyway... I’ve been disobeying my parents for far too long already.”

Neteyam stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you from behind. He buried his face in your neck, whimpering as he breathed in your scent. “Please… do not do this. It hurts, baby. It really hurts.”

You swallowed hard, your eye twitching as you felt the warmth of his tears burning against your neck. You pried his hands from around your waist and turned back around to face him. “Go. You must meet the girl. And wipe those tears away.” You snapped your gaze aside, utterly unable to keep looking at his expression.

“I—”

You clenched your jaw and pushed him to the entrance. “Just go, Neteyam. Please. Stop making this any harder.”

It felt like your heart was disintegrating into a thousand pieces as you watched him walk away. His shoulders were slumped, his posture broken, looking like he had to drag the entire weight of the world just to take a single step away from you.

The two of you kept your distance from each other, against your will. He knew very well how much you still wanted him, just like you knew how badly he still craved you.

You later found out that the woman he was arranged to mate with was Reyna’lin. She was one of the best huntresses in the clan, beautiful, amd talented. You weren’t surprised she was chosen.

You often saw them together around the village, walking side by side, talking and getting to know each other. Sometimes they went deeper into the forest together.

However, his gaze always found you, even when you tried to hide. You looked for him too, only to make sure you could avoid him.

Right now, you were talking with the sky-traders who had just returned. And from the corner of your eye, you saw them together. She was holding onto his biceps, pulling him toward the offerings while smiling brightly. She looked perfect beside him, there was no doubt she was one of the most beautiful girls in the clan.

Visiting Mo’at more often for extra lessons helped distract you from thinking about him. You knew there was a possibility something was forming between Neteyam and Reyna’lin. You wouldn’t even blame her for he’s a good man. Majority of the girls in the clan would feel their knees weaken every time he walked by and smiled at them politely.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a female voice called from outside. “Is anybody here?”

You wiped your hands on a cloth and opened the curtain. Your eyes widened when your eyes landed at Reyna’lin and Neteyam standing there. “Good day,” she said, flipping her hair while squeezing his arm. “My boyfriend thought climbing a tree without looking was a good idea. Now he’s injured. Mo’at told us to go here, so I guess you’ll have to do it. Can you make it fast?”

You opened the curtain wider. “Ah— yes, come in.” For a second, time felt like it slowed down when your eyes met Neteyam’s. You quickly looked away. “Just lay him on the mattress then you can go.

Reyna’lin raised an eyebrow at you. “I’m not leaving my boyfriend here. Why can’t I stay while you treat him?” She crossed her arms.

You waved your hands. “We cannot show the herbs to anyone. It’s not safe for the wound if someone stays inside during treatment.”

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Are you saying I carry dirt on me?”

“No! I’m only saying it’s safer this way. If he got injured from climbing trees, the wound might be serious.” You gulped.

Reyna’lin was about to argue again when Neteyam spoke up. “Reyna’lin, just go. It’s already hurting.”

She rolled her eyes, walked back to him, and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be back, okay?” She patted his shoulder before leaving.

You gulped again, ignoring the ache in your chest after seeing that. You nodded at her as she walked out. Then you approached Neteyam. “Where’s your wound?” He pointed at his chest, you examined it and saw it was a deep open wound, probably from tree bark.

You took your premade herbs and sat on the mattress beside him, keeping a respectful distance. Theb began wiping the wound with a clean cloth, making him hiss from the sudden contact.

Even after almost a week of silence, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

As you applied the herb, he bit his tongue to hold back a groan. You remembered the old days when you would scold him for getting injured so often. Back then your kelku was filled with banters and laughter when you were alone together, now it’s filled wit silence.

Neteyam took his time examining your face. He watched how your eyebrows moved when you focused on his wound, how your nose scrunched when you pressed the cloth against his skin, and how you bit your lip or gulped often.

He just couldn’t stop admiring you.

A strand of hair fell onto your face, so he reached out and tucked it behind your ear. You looked up at him and leaned in closer. His eyes widened, gaze dropping to your lips as he started leaning in too.

Just when he thought you were about to kiss him, you pulled away and grabbed the bowl behind him. His ears fell back in embarrassment. He mumbled, “...Sorry,” and bowed his head.

Your heart skipped a beat when he finally spoke after staying quiet since Reyna’lin left. You nodded your head, feeling heat rise up your neck from being so close to him.

Then, for some reason, you were glad you had finished treating his wound, wrapping the bandage tightly around his chest to cover the open cut.

You patted his forearms out of habit, like you always did when treating him. You ignored what you just did even though he noticed it too.

You stood up and went to your jars, then approached him again as he sat up. “Here. apply this every evening,” you instructed, placing the jar in his hands. “The paste will draw out heat from the wound and keep the flesh clean while new skin forms beneath it. If you neglect it, the cut will heal poorly and leave a thicker scar.”

He looked at the jar in your hand, then back up at your eyes. You gulped when your gazes met. “I will not.”

You flinched at his response. “Come again?”

“You heard me. I. will. not.”

“That’s not a suggestion, Neteyam. You must. The flesh won’t mend as it should otherwise.” You pressed your eyebrows together, not liking his stubbornness.

“Then let your own hands tend to it. Surely you wouldn’t leave your patient to dress his own wound. What if I were to do it poorly?”

You scoffed at his attempt and pressed your tongue against your teeth. “Then you’ll have only yourself to blame. Or have Reyna’lin tend to it. Surely she would not mind helping her boyfriend. I’ll be far too occupied once the others return from patrol anyway.”

Neteyam stepped closer, pushing the jar against your chest until your back hit the counter. “And I said no. Either you tend to it yourself or I shall let the wound remain open. If it scars, then so be it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Did you do this on purpose as well? Injure yourself again just to trouble me?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Perchance I did. Is it working?”

“If you won’t take it, Neteyam, then stop wasting both my time and yours.”

He still refused to take the jar from your hand. “I would never call seeing you a waste of time, Y/n. I won’t let anyone tend to my wound. Not even my grandmother. If these hands are to heal me, I want them to be yours.”

You felt yourself getting pissed. “You cannot be this stubborn. Just apply the herb yourself. Why must you make this so difficult?”

He took another step toward you, leaving barely any space between your bodies. “Because I want you to… If you refuse, then I shall tell grandmother that my healer has neglected my wound.”

A humorless grin spread across your face. “Are you threatening me?”

“If that’s what it takes to see you…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then yes.”

You shook your head. “Stop this, Neteyam.”

His body pressed against yours, trapping you against the counter. He brought his mouth close to your ear, whispering. “I miss you so much, Y/n. Do you not miss me too?”

You bit your lip hard, trying not to moan when you felt his hard cock pressing against you through his loincloth. His hands moved down to your ass, squeezing gently while his fingers brushed your tail.

He sucked on your earlobe, knowing exactly how sensitive you were there. “Tell me you don’t miss my touch. Tell me you don’t miss me.”

Your thighs rubbed together, breathing getting heavier. “N-Neteyam…” you groaned, pulling on his hair to try and push him away. But your body arched toward him instead, wanting him closer.

He kept whispering against your ear, hands still on your ass. “Let me take care of you again, baby. Let me make you feel good like before, please…”

You were about to give in completely when you heard footsteps outside. Reyna’lin’s voice carried through the air as she bid farewell to her friends and headed toward your hut. You pushed Neteyam away, heart racing. “Move.”

Reyna’lin escorted him back to his family that night. She even gave you looks, implicitly telling you not to make any move on him.

You felt sick to your stomach, really.

-

You let out a hiss when the heavy grinding rock slipped, striking your finger instead of the medicinal leaves you were supposed to be crushing. Grimacing, you brought the finger to your lips, blowing over the throbbing skin, only to hear a sigh from a woman standing just behind you.

“Sorry, Tsahìk,” you murmured, ducking your head in apology.

Mo’at stepped forward, placing a hand upon your shoulder. “One whose thoughts wander far beyond the forest shouldn’t be tending to the wounds within it.”

You gave her a small, sheepish smile, leaning into her comforting touch. “It won’t happen again.”

She gently adjusted the lace at the collar of your top before speaking, “The clan gathers by the hearth in celebration while you stay here. Leave the returning warriors to the hands of the other healers for a time.”

“I insist. I want to help.”

“Your thoughts are elsewhere.“

You assured her it was nothing more than a simple lack of rest. Though she didn’t look convinced, she gave your shoulder a parting squeeze and urged you to find your sleeping mat the moment the opportunity arose.

But before you could slip away, your friends caught you by the arms, dragging you right into the village. The great communal campfire crackled, a group of young hunters had gathered right across from you, their laughter booming over the sparks.

“What about you, y/n?” your friend, Ayrein, asked from your right, her eyes gleaming as she pointed toward the young men laughing in front of you. “What do you think of those guys? Aren’t they handsome?” She nudged your side playfully.

Your eye twitched, “Uhhh…”

Ayrein let out an exaggerated groan. “There she is... Teyanä, I told you she’d dodge the question again.”

The two began arguing over their little bet, each insisting they had predicted your answer correctly and wagering tonight’s dinner as if you weren’t sitting right in front of them.

“I guess they’re.. okay,” you said, glancing toward the group of young men. Both of them looked at you, waiting for more, but you just shrugged your shoulders. “…That’s it.”

“That’s it?!”

“Don’t be boring, y/n,” Ayrein shook your shoulder and turned your head so you would look at the boys. “Just look at them! The finest warriors in the clan, and every one of them is unmated. They keep us safe, bring back our food, and you’re seriously telling me not a single one has caught your eye? Look again, they’re all fine!”

However, your gaze went to the side where you saw Neteyam talking to the children, smiling down at them as he gave them meat.

Your heart skipped at the sight. You had always known how naturally children gravitated toward him. Perhaps it was because he was the eldest, or the kindness simply came as easily to him as breathing. Watching him make them laugh warmed your heart in ways you wished it no longer could.

“...Really fine,” you mumbled.

Ayrein covered her mouth to hide a giggle while Teyanä simply pouted, reaching over to steal a piece of roasted meat from her leaf-plate. “By the way, Tey,” Ayrein said between bites, “why aren’t ya with your hunter?”

Teyanä brushed a long braid over her shoulder, “He said we’re going out into the forest tonight. He has been planning something since sunrise and told me to just be ready.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Teyanä giggled, a deep blush rising on her blue skin. “I’m already prepared, sister. I believe we’re going to mate tonight. I told him I’m in my heat cycle, so I expect he’s going to do something about it.”

“Ma Eywa! Seriously?! Right in front of Y/n too?!” Ayrein glared at her, making a sound of mock disgust before wrapping an arm around you to pull you into a protective hug. “Ignore her. She’s a disgrace.”

Teyanä crossed her arms, a sly smirk playing on her lips. “Do not act so innocent, Ayrein. As if you didn’t just return from the brush of a male’s tongue between your thighs before you walked over here.”

“Hey! No vulgar words in front of Y/n!” Ayrein warned. You chuckled. “It’s alright, Ayrein.”

They looked at each other, before Teyanä finally broke the silence. “No offense, Y/n, but are you really not going to seek a mate anytime soon?”

Ayrein’s smirk faded into a frown, and she nudged your arm gently with her shoulder. “Yeah... Are your parents still... y’know?”

You offered them a small smile and looked on the dancing fire. “I suppose so. I just... I don’t see myself pursuing anyone right now. It’s not that my parents would forbid it, they would just rather I wait.”

“But do you want to? You’re already of age!”

You let out a sigh, your gaze drifting toward the group of young warriors sitting nearby, laughing as they stole food from one another’s plates. “I don’t mind the idea. I just don’t think any of the men you keep trying to pair me with are the ones I would choose.”

“Then go for my brother!” Ayrein said, making you and Teyanä exchange a glance before she continued with a wide grin, “He’s one of the clan’s cooks and I believe he prepared the very meat you’re eating right now, so if you choose him, he will surely keep your bowl full of it.”

You felt a drop of sweat at the suggestion, murmuring, “I don’t believe that’s a wise choice, Ayrein... I’m older than him.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a huff. “Yeahvlike a year! He’s mature, skilled, and gentle, and the more I think on it, the more I see how well your spirits would match.”

Teyanä whistled, nudging your side. “This is the first time I’ve ever heard her offering her own blood to anyone. Ayrein, why the change of heart?”

Ayrein rolled her eyes, scoffing, “It’s just that the other young women here are too entitled, and my brother is one of a kind... he’s exactly the kind of man who could win you over, Y/n.” she winked.

The next day, Ayrein introduced you to her big brother, whose name is Eykxan. You were familiar with him as one of the cooks, but you weren’t really used to talking to boys since your parents didn’t recommend it. However, this guy immediately took an interest in you.

As Ayrein had said, he started giving you food. Every time he saw you, he offered you one of the meals before anyone else could get skme. He also let you taste his new dishes first, letting you try them before the others.

Eykxan was very gentle with you. He always made sure to give you what you wanted and looked for. He told you that before he courted you, he would first court your parents for their permission to take you as his mate.

You just kept nodding and giving him a warm smile, making him flush every time. He was actually serious about it. After two weeks, he already got your father’s approval for always bringing your family early dinners.

Your mother, however, didn’t share everyone else’s opinion of him. During meals, she would always send you looks whenever he sat too close, telling you not to encourage his attention.

Not that you ever did.

The very thought of someone trying to win your heart left a bitter taste in your mouth, for it had belonged to Neteyam long before Eykxan entered your life.

That only made the guilt worse as you hated thinking about him while another man was openly pursuing you, especially when Neteyam himself was meant to be spoken for.

Although Eykxan seemed determined to earn your affection. Every time he came to visit, he arrived with freshly picked flowers in hand, offering them with the same proud smile feeling that each and every gift brought him one step closer to your heart.

Yet every time you looked at them, you found yourself frowning instead. A good thing is that he remembered that you liked flowers, but never that you disliked seeing them plucked from where they bloomed.

Someone else knew how much you hated that.

You remembered the day Neteyam laughed when you told him you disliked picking real flowers because they withered too quickly and you hated stripping the forest of its living beauty. He had only smiled, calling you adorable that night.

Then the very next day, he returned with a bouquet of flowers woven from fabeics. Holding it out to you with that smile, he scratched the back of his neck and said, “You told me you didn’t like real flowers, baby. But you never said anything about woven ones.”

You forced a smile though, not wanting to hurt Eykxan’s feelings. “Thank you, Eykxan.”

“Of course, darling,” he said before grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it. You smiled awkwardly and pulled your hand back, placing the flowers on the grass.

“By the way, you should ease in with the... names. And the touching as well. My mother isn’t fond of either. I hope you understand.” You offered him a polite smile.

“I do understand,” Eykxan let out a chuckle. “But y/n, we’re alone. Surely you don’t think I would disrespect you.” His hand rested against your waist. “I’m only trying to make you feel comfortable, I would never do such a thing.”

Your eye twitched. “And I said no. I don’y like it when... you do that.”

He looked at you before withdrawing his hand. “Of course.” He smiled, “My bad. Thought we had grown close enough for something as harmless as that.”

A knot formed in your stomach. “Sorry.”

“Yknow, Y/n… we should—”

“Eykxan.”

Before he could finish his sentence, a voice called out from behind you. You both turned your heads to the source.

Your heart dropped when you saw Neteyam standing there. The boy beside you quickly sat up and bowed respectfully. “Sir!”

Neteyam looked at him with a serious expression. “The kitchens are short-handed and the evening meal begins soon. Tell me, what excuse am I supposed to give the Olo’eyktan for your absence?”

Eykxan looked nervous. “I’m sorry… I just—”

Neteyam cut him off. “Go.” He pointed toward the village, telling him to leave. Eykxan didn’t even glance at you before walking away fast.

When he left, you sighed then picked up the flowers and were about to leave too. Before you could take a step, Neteyam grabbed your wrist, you turned around, heart beating fast when your eyes met his.

“Are you okay?”

You pulled your wrist away and gave him a small smile. “Yes.”

Neteyam stepped closer. “He was making you uncomfortable.”

You shook your head. “No, he wasn’t, Neteyam. He just gave me flowers.”

His gaze fell on the flowers in your hand. He scoffed, braids swinging as he moved even closer. “Yeah? Are you trying to convince yourself?”

You frowned. “What are you implying?”

Neteyam tilted his head. “I’m implying how you dislike freshly picked flowers. That your tail lashes aggressively when you grow uneasy, and your left eye twitches every time you lie. Just as it is doing now.”

You looked away. “You don’t know me.”

Neteyam grinned. “I do. Far better than he ever will.”

You stepped back. “Just leave me alone, Neteyam. I refuse to see you—” Before you could finish, he gently pushed you against the tree and pulled you into a kiss. You stumbled into him, swallowing your words.

His hand held your jaw as he deepened the kiss. When his other hand moved to your waist, you gasped, giving him the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth. You felt his smirk against your lips when your hands moved to his biceps instead of pushing him away.

You pulled away first, keeping your head lowered as you stared at the floor with a deep frown, whispering, “We shouldn’t be doing this…”

Neteyam refused to step back, his warmth remaining flush against yours as he asked, “Why?”

You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze as you murmured, “Reyna’lin might see us, and I… I don’t wish to bring another woman such misery.” You tried to unwrap your arms from his shoulders, but his hands held yours in place, “Then don’t bring it upon me either.”

“What?”

You looked up at him with furrowed brows as he leaned in to press a kiss against your cheek, his breath trembling as he whispered, “Don’t make me miserable too… I cannot endure this life without you.”

“Oh, Neteyam…” You held his cheeks, he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. He pulled you into another kiss hands moved from your waist down to your ass, squeezing and making you hiss.

You kissed him back just as hard, fingers tangling in his braids and pulling him tighter. The jealousy from knowing someone else could be having this made you kiss him even more possessively.

Neteyam groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist before he pulled back to breathe, his chest heaving as he gasped, “I cannot stop thinking about you…”

You bit your lip, gulping hard as you stared up at him, “And what would your future mate think of this?”

Neteyam shook his head fast, ears pinning back as his golden eyes started to water, desperate to convince you as he choked out, “She’s not my future mate. I’ll never give her or anyone else that part of me... it’s all yours to keep.”

You looked away fromn his face, swallowing the lump in your throat as you whispered, “Don’t say that…”

“Please... Don’t push me away again.”

You felt your own eyes sting, heart dropping when you heard him sniffle. You didn’t like seeing Neteyam cry. Groaning in frustration, you pulled him back into a kiss. “You’re so irresponsible.”

Neteyam brought your face closer and kissed you, starting slow until you parted your lips. He responded by placing a hand on your leg and throwing it over his hip.

Your mouths were wet and slippery as he humped against you. You tightened your arms around his shoulders, pulling his hair for support as you could feel his hard cock bulging and rutting against your pussy desperately.

He whimpered into your mouth, hands sliding under you to squeeze your thighs. “May I taste you, baby?”

You hummed against his lips, too weak to resist. He dropped to his knees, looking up at you before biting his lip when his eyes fell on you rubbing your thighs together.

He looked up at you again with that pleading gaze, asking you to open your legs for him, so you did. His heart thumped louder than before. He was trying hard to keep himself together, not wanting to rush this moment with you.

He pushed your loincloth aside and examined your wet pussy, swiping his tongue across it before letting his fingers rub your clit in circles. You sighed, throwing your head back against the tree as your hand found its way to his braid.

He buried his face between your thighs and began devouring your pussy. “Fuck… missed you so much.”

Your hand tightened against his braids, moaning loudly. “Neteyam… oh fuckkk.”

His fingers pressed against your folds, rubbing your clit in slow circles again, then slid his tongue inside you. He looked up at you from between your thighs with teary eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

You whimpered. “Fuck… fuck me.”

He groaned and pushed two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly. “Shit… you want that?”

You nodded fast, thighs shaking. “Yes— hurry. I’m so close.”

Neteyam kept sucking and fingering you, making sure you felt every inch of his fingers and the way his lips wrapped around your pussy. “Fuck— Neteyam—”

Your eyes rolled back when you came on his tongue. Right then, he didn’t stop. He kept licking through your orgasm, making you whimper. “So hot and beautiful..”

You were shaking, pulling his hair, but still letting him lick you. “Noo, it’s….” He looked up at you with desperate eyes, lips shiny with your wetness. “Let me do it again. I missed making you feel good.”

You just sighed happily and gave in, legs trembling as he licked you thoroughly. You knew how much he loved eating you out and making you cum with his tongue, as every time you were together, he would always find a way to give you pleasure.

He was certain he could last a whole week without cumming if it meant he could eat you out from time to time.

When he noticed your legs shaking, he held your other leg and let it rest on his shoulder. Now you were fully riding his face, rolling your hips onto his tongue as he lapped at your juices.

“So wet… All this for me, right?”

You threw your head back against the tree, moaning shamelessly. “Mhmm yes…” He brought you to another orgasm, making him groan loudly against your pussy, addicted to your taste. And when you couldn’t take his tongue anymore, you removed your leg from his shoulder and pulled him up by his hair, kissing him hard and tasting yourself on his tongue.

Your pussy was still clenching and throbbing from the orgasm. You wrapped your arms around his neck as your tongue fought for dominance. He submitted to you, whimpering into your mouth as you pulled harder on his braid.

You pulled away, biting his lip while keeping your eyes on his half-lidded ones. Your lips moved down to lick his jaw, sucking on it gently. He whimpered, hands restless on your waist as you kissed your way to his ears.

When he felt your tail lashibg slowly against his legs, he reached for it and caressed it up and down. You sucked on his earlobe, making him sigh. Your hips swayed as your tail did, his own tail curling from your presence alone.

You pulled away and squeezed his cheeks. He smiled down at you. “I missed you, y/n…”

You whispered seductively against his lips. “Need you to fuck me.” You pulled his chin closer and kissed him before pushing his head to your neck so he could suck on your skin. You brought your hair to the side and turned your back to him, giving him more access while grinding your ass against him.

Neteyam groaned, licking your shoulder and grinding back against your ass, he held your waist. “Yeah? Need me to do what?” His hands guided your hips toward his aching cock.

You felt his hard length sliding against your ass. “Fuck me…” you begged before letting yourself fall onto the grass on all fours. He went down with you, squeezing your ass with both hands before smacking it hard, you hissed from the sting.

“Gonna let me fuck you raw in this forest while your new suitor prepares the clan’s feast?” he teased, making you whimper. He slid your loincloth aside and teased his tip against your hole. “He isn’t my suitor, Neteyam. We’re not together… I don’t even like—”

Your words were cut off when he licked your back, making your back arch from the sudden touch. You let your head fall onto the grass, hands fisting tightly in it. Your hips raised and rolled against his tip as his fingers rubbed your pussy.

You felt his lips pressing directly against the sensitive skin of your tail. Involuntary pleasure shot straight up your spine, causing your tail to twitch and brush eagerly against his face before you could even think to stop it. He let out a smug chuckle, “Glad to know you’re still hung up on me.”

Hot flush rushed to your cheeks as you scoffed furiously. “And are you not?” you fired back, glaring up at him from where you lay, your tail delivering a slap right against his bare chest.

“Oh, y/n… I know you know the answer to that.” He finally pushed his cock inside you slowly, watching how you took him. He threw his head back when he bottomed out, thrusting slowly to let you adjust.

Even though you had done this many times before, you still couldn’t get used to his size.

He was long and thick, fitting inside you perfectly. It felt like his cock and your pussy were made for each other. You clenched around his girth when the thought of belonging to each other crossed your mind.

Neteyam watched you thrust your hips back onto his shaft, taking your own pleasure when he wouldn’t move. He chuckled and leaned down to kiss your back. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and held your hips, thrusting deep into you.

You moaned louder when he pulled your hair, making your head tilt back. He kissed your cheek. “Oh Neteyam… so big…” Your legs trembled under you as his legs straddled yours.

“Nothing to feel sorry for. I know it’s big.”

You bit your lip at his arrogance, clenching around his cock as he groaned, biting his own lip to hold back another sound while keeping his hand gripped hard on your hip, and your hair.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, “missed being inside you like this.”

You moaned uncontrollably, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts while whispering, “Neteyam… faster.”

He leaned over your back, pulling his hand away from your hair and reaching down to slide beneath your top accessories, lifting the piece to bare your breasts to the cool air while his palm massaged the soft weight of one breast, squeezing before rolling your nipple between his fingers.

You let out a gasp, your back arching into his touch as his other hand reached around to find your clit, his thumb rubbing it in tight, wet circles that had you weeping into the grass.

“Do you feel how wet you are?” he murmured, his thumb pinning your clit with pressure to make your thighs tremble before he increased the pace of his hips.

You nodded fast, whimpering a desperate yes against the dirt as he groaned again, thrusting faster while your nipples hardened under his rough fingers.

​“Want you to remember this feeling, okay? Remember exactly how you feel right now,” he said, hips driving relentlessly into you, holding you right on the edge of breaking.

You couldn’t stop the clenches around his cock, moaning his name endlessly as he buried himself deep inside you over and over. His breathing filled your ear, he then pulled his fingers from your nipple, pressing his broad palm flat against your lower back to guide your hips, his gaze locked downward as he watched himself sliding in and out of your soaking core.

“I feel so hot... everything hurts, please just fill me up…” you begged, the double stimulation of his cock filling you and his fingers working your clit making your vision blur.

You were utterly undone, his name spilling from your lips because your brain couldn’t process anything else. The universe narrowed down to this forest, the heavy weight of him, and his length rutting into you.

Neteyam groaned, his hand tightening on your hip as he slowed his thrusts to savour the tight pull of your walls, whispering, “Don’t say that, baby, or I’ll cum too fast… I don’t wanna finish yet.”

“Push deeper...”

“Kiss me…” he breathed, and you turned your head around, fisting your fingers into his braided hair to pull him down into a breathless kiss that he moaned into. “I don’t wanna stop…” he cried out against your lips, his grip on your hips tightening securely before your next words shattered his control.

“Fuck me like you missed me, Neteyam.”

Neteyam let out a loud, uncharacteristic cry, his hips snapping forward against you as he confessed, “I did miss you, so fucking much,” his thrusts turning wild and deep.

You were both breathing heavily, your bodies moving together as the risk of being heard in the forest made the friction feel bunch times more intense.

“Neteyam… I’m close again,” you moaned, and he rubbed your clit faster, demanding, “Come for me, let me feel you,” until you groaned, clenching hard around him as you came.

Neteyam bit his lip again, thrusting through your orgasm while his thumb kept heavily vibrating against your overstimulated clit, gasping, “Oh, shit… you’re squeezing me so tight, I’m g-going to cum too.”

You pushed back against him, whining, “Do it inside me,” until he collapsed against you with a trembling breath, his fingers digging into your hips as the last of his heat spilled inside you.

He leaned down to press his forehead against your back, his tail loosely uncurled on its own, letting you feel the frantic beating of his heart against your skin.

The bioluminescence on his whole body flared bright, glowing in sync with yours as you two shared the orgasm, the friction of his body leaving you done while your whimpers were swallowed by the humid night air.

When he finally moved to pull out, the slick liquid pooled down your thighs, making you shiver at the sudden loss of his cock inside you while you hissed in place, your tail curling when you felt his fingers push the cum back into your pussy.

You sighed as your top accessories fell back into place, covering your flushed chest. He then caught your jaw, tilting your head up to press a lingering kiss to your lips while murmuring sweet words to you, both of you staying like that for a moment before you finally collapsed into the grass, breathing hard.

He lay beside you, pressing gentle kisses to your cheeks until your breathing finally regained. The moment you sat up, he did the same, his worried eyes never leaving your face. He watched as you reached for your discarded loincloth, he took a hold of your forearm before you could stand. “Let me help you.”

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you gathered your things. “It’s alright,” you whispered. “I’ll take care of myself.”

“Y/n, please. Let me make this up to you. Let me fight for us…” His shoulders fell, before standing to adjust his loincloth around his hips, dragging a hand across his face, wiping away the tears he had failed to hide.

“Neteyam, clean yourself up.”

“Forgive me, baby...” he whispered, guilt can be heard in his voice, he’s regretting how everything had unfolded, pulling you into a sex session right after the guy who obviously had feelings for you just left, and especially after you had tried so hard to push him away.

You turned back to him, cupping his cheeks with both hands. Pressing a gentle kiss on his cheeks, you lingered for only a heartbeat before letting your hands fall away, the faint smile on your face disappearing.

“I’ll leave first. Follow after me... and don’t let yourself get caught, okay?”

-

After that, the two of you returned to pretending the other didn’t exist. It was easier that way anyway. At least, it kept suspicious eyes away from the truth the two of you had worked so hard to hide.

By the time you got home, your family had already begun the evening meal. It wasn’t long before Eykxan arrived at your family’s place as well, sending you an apology for leaving you alone in the forest.

Your mother scowled, questioning why the two of you had been alone in the first place, then turned to Eykxan and asked why he had left a lady on her own.

He mentioned having duties to attend to and couldn’t escort you back himself, though he insisted he had left you in the care of a trustworthy man. Your mother’s expression didn’t change, nearly growing angry at the thought of you being left alone with another male, until you intervened to calm her.

You assured her that everything had been perfectly fine, explaining that the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son had personally accompanied you safely back to the heart of the village.

As you inspected your pouches for any danages, the curtain was suddenly thrown back wherein an energetic voice pierced the atmosphere.

“You’re blooming, Y/n!”

You snapped your head toward the entrance, watching your friends stroll in with a trader’s bag slung over their shoulder.

“Did my brother finally make his move on you?” Ayrein teased, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “I mean, not that I would wanna hear the details of how he—”

“No, Ayrein,” you cut, shutting down the topic. The last thing your heart could handle right now was discussing men. You pointed a finger at the bundle in her hands. “What’s that?”

“We only hope we’re not disturbing you, but the sky-traders arrived at the outer camp earlier, and we managed to get some supplies for you.” Teyanä said, stepping forward and pointing to the bag.

“They arrived?!” you gasped.

“...Yes?” Ayrein blinked, exchanging a confused look with Teyanä. “Did you not hear the horns blowing across the canopy?”

“No!” Panic flared in your chest as you wiped your stained hands frantically on a cloth. “I didn’t hear anything. I needed to trade something to them before they packed up and headed back to the base.”

Teyanä sets the heavy woven bag down on your mat with a thud. “Well, you better hurry if it’s that urgent. They usually only stay by the lower platforms for a few hours to trade medicine and tools with the warriors.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You had been so completely lost in the memory of… him.

You cursed under your breath, quickening your pace toward the lower forest platforms where the late sky-traders usually set up camp.

Occasionally, you bowed your head to the passing elders who acknowledged your presence with nods, though your mind remained completely preoccupied.

Your eyes drifted down toward the Tlalim airships, where several people stood talking with the others and examining the newly brought offerings.

Taking another step forward, your heart suddenly dropped as your eyes widened at the sight unfolding just a short distance away.

Huh…

You spotted Neteyam’s broad back as he placed a beaded necklace around Reyna’lin’s neck, her hands resting on his biceps as she smiled up at him. The moment her gaze clashed with yours, her smirk widened maliciously as she stepped closer into his space, her body disappearing behind his large frame.

From your angle, all you could see was her head tilting and leaning deeply into his, making it look exactly like they were sharing something intimate that you wouldn’t even dare name.

Nausea surged through you, forcing you to avert your eyes instantly as you spun on your heel, abandoning the trading tents to head back toward your kelku.

You swallowed hard against the lump in your throat, your pulse throbbing painfully against your skin as you practically sprinted away from the scene.

You completely forgot about the items you had intended to trade, the vivid image of Reyna’lin’s triumphant grin before she leaned into Neteyam burned into your mind.

Hoeever, you tried to tell yourself you had no right to feel this shattered, especially since the council had already decreed their future together as leaders of the clan.

Yet, your heart still ached, ruined by the memory of his desperate confessions in the forest only days prior.

He had held you oh so tight, whispering about his undying love and how desperately he missed you, but now it all felt like a sickening lie.

You had never wanted to think of Neteyam this way, but the harsh reality staring you in the face proved he was likely just after your body.

The realization cut deeper than any physical wound, leaving you entirely hollowed out as you retreated into the shadows of the village.

“Oh my! Why are you crying, Y/n?!” Ayrein gasped, her eyes widening as she took in your flushed nose and trembling lips.

“I… I didn’t see them,” you lied, wiping away the hot tears you hadn’t even realized were falling until she pointed them out.

“It must’ve been that important for you to be crying over missing them,” Teyanä noted, crossing her arms before offering a reassuring shrug. “Don’t worry, they return by the next moon.”

Don’t worry…

It was the phrase you kept repeating to yourself like a hollow mantra, though it did nothing to stop the heavy grumpiness that took over you for the rest of the weeks. You intentionally pulled away from the village life, determined to avoid drawing any sort of interaction from anyone around you.

Your mornings were consumed by helping Mo’at prepare the winter poultices. You successfully avoided Neteyam, and whenever your paths did cross near the communal fires, you made sure your gaze never lingered on his face for more than a millisecond.

While avoiding most people had been easy, Eykxan had practically integrated himself into your daily life.

He constantly brought early meals to your family, laughed along with your father’s jokes, and brought fine fabrics for your beloved mother to gain her favor. He also saved the best cuts of roasted meat specifically for you, making sure your bowl was full before anyone else’s.

Eykxan had been there during the weeks when you were drained, noticing your sour mood and constantly bringing you flowers alongside neatly leaf-wrapped meals.

You wouldn’t really admit, but having an accompanist was exactly what you needed to silence the aching noise of heartbreak inside your chest.

You were currently sitting by the lower riverbanks, scrubbing the sticky residue of crushed herbs from your wooden medicine bowls. Then a shadow suddenly fell over you as the person slid down onto the mossy rock, its fingers brushing your jaw to tilt your face up.

Your entire body went rigid as you slapped his hand away with irritation, “Eykxan… you startled me.”

“You wouldn’t be so jumpy if you actually welcomed my presence, pretty,” he replied, shrugging with a grin that made your eye twitch before he let out a low chuckle.

He attempted to flirtatiously invite you to a secret meeting spot in the forest, claiming it is both of your spot away from the noise of the village. When you point out that you don’t actually share a spot tofether, he got a bit clumsy with his words before giving up and promising to just come and get you later.

You informed your friends that you wouldn’t be able to join them for dinner because Eykxan had asked you to meet him. They just giggled at your explanation, then began swarming you to help you get ready instead.

Soon enough, you were on your way into the forest with your hair unbraided, your friends had put in colorful decorations and hairpins to brighten your strands.

He had indeed come to you to fetch you, presenting you with yet another flower alongside a leaf-wrapped bundle of your favorite food. Throughout the entire walk, he made sure to guide your steps, keeping his hand resting against your waist.

You finally arrived at a secluded clearing near the lake that he claimed as your shared spot, even though you had never been here with him before. You simply ignored the comment as he spread a mat over the grass, taking a seat beside him as the two of you began to talk, slowly getting to know one another.

The conversation went from village gossip to your personal life, his questions gradually becoming more invasive as the twilight deepened around the lake.

“I mean, I’ve been courting you for almost two months now, Y/n, the least you could do is tell me about your past experiences. Surely a beauty like you had suitors.” he said, leaning back on his arms.

“I told you the answer already.”

“There’s just no way you don’t. Your parents are incredibly easy to please, especialy your father! Just tell me who else walked into your life and had him giving his blessing to court you in just a matter of weeks? I literally charmed him,” he grinned to himself, making you look at him offended.

“What did you say?”

“I said it’s easy to trick your father, it’s just your mother that’s stopping me from going full out on you. She’s so unnecessarily strict like? As if I’m going to impregnate you the second we’re alone. No offense, y/n, but how pathetic it is that she won’t let you be with the finest cook of the clan unless you sneak out,” he rolled his eyes.

“That’s because she cares about me, Eykxan. And you’re not courting me. I never gave you permission to,” you said, sitting up straight before he matched your stance, his expression hardening.

“What do you mean? I’ve been giving you a taste of what it feels like to be fed by the best in the clan. I have done nothing but show you the kind of life you’ll have as my mate. No other man can give you that, y/n.”

“You… never asked me to.”

“I don’t have to, that’s expected. The things I did for you, do you want me to count them?”

“Eykxan, please—”

He raised a hand, ticking his fingers one by one in your face. “One, I mend your father’s hunting gear, a difficult task for a weapon that was about to fail him by the way, yet I did everything to fix it. Two, I give your mother the rarest weaving fabrics, the ones you would never obtain easily unless the sky-traders came and you offered your own blood, you should know I have my connections. Three, I prepare the most exquisite meals specifically for your bowl, ensuring your whole family eats like royalty... Do you know how many women in this village wish they had someone like me providing for them every day? What even is courting for you?”

He leaned into your face, prompting you to scramble up from the mat, though he rose just as fast to loom over you. “Eykxan, I appreciate everything you do for us, you know that. I’ve always told you how grateful I am, but that’s not you courting me because I haven’t given you permission.”

“Your father did. He explicitly told me that he would be the happiest to have me as his son-in-law,” he said, stepping closer until you were forced to take a step back.

You moved uncomfortably at his suffocating closeness. “That’s… my father. My mother didn’t agree to anything, nor does she know about this. I didn’t even know your intentions were like this—”

He scoffed, “Are you serious? You’re telling me I made all those sacrifices of risking getting caught reserving the best meat and neglecting my own kitchen duties just for a woman who claims she did not know? You must be completely stupid to think a male of my status does all that for free!” He suddenly shoved your shoulder, the force making you stumble hard against the massive tree trunk behind you.

“Eykxan, t-that’s not—”

“You know what I learned while humbling myself to feed you and your family, Y/n? I learned that you’re nothing but a selfish, ungrateful woman who’s hungry for attention,” he stated, his gaze dropping to your lips as he stepped into your space, his hand caging you against the tree.

You swallowed hard, your left eye twitching as his eyebrows furrowed, your heart stuttering at the sudden toxicity rolling off him.

“Just so you know, I turned down two of the finest women who wished to court me this season. All because I chose to be loyal and waste my time on you. And yet you play the victim, refusing to let me get a single taste of what I’ve rightfully earned.”

You flinched violently when his hand clamped around your wrist like a vice. “E-Eykxan, I demand— it hurts—”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, princess. It doesn’t hurt,” he dismissed sharply, tightening his grip as he leaned in until his breath hit your cheek. “Yoi’re the one hurting me. You won’t even let me touch you, acting like you’re too innocent for the best male in your circle. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to cater to you while you give me nothing in return? You’re going to start showing me the respect I deserve, starting right now.”

“Let go... please,” you whispered, tears of frustration stinging your eyes as you tried to pull away, but he only pressed his weight heavier against your body.

“She said let go.”

His body went stiff, jaw tightening as he turned his head toward the darkness where Neteyam stepped into the moonlight, his yellow eyes pinned onto Eykxan’s hand around your bruised wrist. He removed his hand and knees from you, making you release the breath you were holding.

Eykxan chuckled, raising his hands and facing him, blocking you from the elder son. “Don’t worry, my girl and I were just doing—”

“Did you not hear what she said?”

“Huh?”

“She said let go.”

Eykxan shifted his weight, still shielding you away from the warrior. “Sir, I don’t think you understand, she and I agreed to meet here, her father already gave me his—”

Before he could finish the sentence, Neteyam moved with the lethal speed of a viper. He stepped into Eykxan’s personal space, his hand clamping around the front of Eykxan’s neck with enough force to cut off his breath instantly, slamming him back against the tree, making you gasp.

“I do not care what her father said,” Neteyam hissed, his face inches from Eykxan’s as his ears pinned flat against his head in pure aggression. “If someone tells you to stop, you stop. If I see your face near her again, I’ll personally ensure you never step foot in the communal kitchens again. Now, get out of my sight before I forget my position.”

You covered your mouth, watching the boy sprint back toward the village while clutching his throat. You let your knees collapse down the grass, letting out a breath, the release of tension making you give out.

Neteyam was by your side by then, dropping to his knees and grasping your shoulders. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Wiping the cold sweat from your forehead, you forced yourself up and shoved his arms away. You turned to walk back to the village, but he stepped into your path, blocking your escape. Your gaze snapped up to his, your pulse still racing. “Move.”

He shook his head, looking down at your troubled face with deep concern. You inhaled and tried to step around him, but he matched your movement, making you glare at him in pure frustration.

“Didnt you hear what I said—”

“I’m not moving until you speak to me.”

“There’s nothing for us to speak about,” you stated, twisting your arm to break his touch.

“There is. The fact that you have cast me aside for months… what’s the meaning of that?”

You let out a harsh scoff, your hair swinging over your shoulder. “Maybe the fact that you’re to be spoken for, and I refuse to stand between a future Olo’eyktan and his chosen woman?”

“What are you saying?” He raised an eyebrow, and his clueless expression only fueled your anger. “Stop tormenting me,” you snapped, attempting to push past him only to collide directly with his broad chest. “I said stop—”

“You always do this, you close yourself off and tell me nothing. How am I supposed to fix us if you won’t even let me—”

“There’s no us, Neteyam! Understand that. There’s no us now, nor will there be in the future. Everything we had, I left in the past along with your empty promises, so I suggest you—”

He seized your arm again, desperation bleeding into his features. “Why must you make things so difficult for us?”

Your eyes widened at his words, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you stepped into his space, your voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You mean, why must you always be the perfect son?”

His jaw slackened, his pupils contracting as the words hit him. He blinked, his mouth opening and closing before he could barely utter, “...What?”

“I believed you, Neteyam. When you swore you would fight for us, I trusted you. I never forced your hand because I believed you would protect our dream.”

Tears finally spilled over your eyelashes, your bioluminescent dots flaring in the dim forest light. He stood frozen, swallowing hard as he let you pour out your agony.

“y/n…”

“...I doubt you know how deeply ashamed I feel whenever our people praise your devotion as her suitor.” The suppressed rage of the past months finally broke free, spilling out of you unchecked.

His eyes widened in horror as the weight of your words crashed down on him, but before he could speak, you pressed on.

“When you told me you dreamed of mating with me under the Tree of Souls and raising a family... you have no idea the joy that brought me.”

He stood completely paralyzed, his heart shattering into pieces as he watched the tears stream down your face. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to wipe away your sorrow and hold you against his chest, but your next words anchored him to the spot.

“The day you pulled me away from that starving creature and looked me in the eyes, my soul knew yours before my mind ever could. I saw my future there. I saw my husband... the father of my children. I knew that vision by heart, that’s why I risked a lot.

Every dream I ever dared to have had you in it. Every prayer I whispered to Eywa carried your name. I loved you long before I ever found the courage to say it aloud, and even before I knew your name.

But you’re just sooo perfect, aren’t you? So perfect that I kept wondering what someone like you ever saw in someone like me. I suppose that’s why I could never understand how we fit together. I should’ve known there was always going to be something wrong.

You’re the man every child looks up to. The one who never disappoints his father. You carry the weight of your clan so proudly, yet the moment it’s us standing before you, you set me down first.”

You didn’t fail to notice the way he swallowed hard, his eyes trembling as tears gathered along his lash line. His lips had flattened into a tight line, fighting to keep his composure, yet you couldn’t waste this moment without telling him what had been haunting your mind.

“You’re the finest warrior Omatikaya has ever known. But when it comes to us... You’re nothing more than a coward, Neteyam.”

Finally, you sniffled, turning your head away as your trembling lips pressed together. You wiped your tears, refusing to look at him. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the tears you knew were already slipping down his cheeks because of the words you had just spoken.

You never imagined you would say them to him. Not before, and certainly not now. If there was ever a future where those words left your lips again, you hoped it would never come.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, but his hand clamped around yours, pulling more tears from your eyes. “Let go, please..."

“You won’t give me a chance to talk?”

“No. I have a trial with the Tsahik at dawn and I must rest. If you have words to say, swallow them for I’m no longer listening.”

“Please... you know our ways better than anyone. I cannot— I must not—”

You whirled around, wrenching your wrist from his grasp. “When you spoke to Eykxan and told him that when someone says to stop, you stop. So now, I’m telling you this: Stop approaching me. Stop looking for a past that’s dead. From this sun down, Neteyam… we are nothing but strangers.”

Sleep didn’t come easily after that.

You spent the entire night muffling your sobs against your sleeping mat, your chest tightening as you struggled to catch your breath, tears streaming endlessly until you were exhausted from weeping.

The next morning, Mo’at noticed the way your eyes were swollen and heavy, but she made no remark on that state.

On the other hand, Neteyam was no better. She didn’t fail to see the lack of motivation in her grandson. But he still moved with that lifeless gait during his regular perimeter patrols, flying his ikran on scouting missions and checking the borders for any signs of the sky people, doing it all with no rests, tiring his banshee.

It was obvious to the Tsahik that he was desperately seeking extra duties and more duties to keep his hands occupied.

Whenever he returned from the dangerous hunts, he would hand the heavy tools and gathered goods over to the village cooks, giving a polite bow to the elders before retreating right back to his tasks.

Lo’ak had to constantly shake his older brother awake, as Neteyam no longer resembled the Olo’eyktan’s proud first son. He stopped smiling, barely touching his meals, and his mind wandered so badly during patrols that the other people with him literally had to yank him out of the path of a charging viperwolf.

His skin looked dull, the bioluminescent dots on his body barely glowing in the dark, and his tail trailed limply along the ground, while his ears drooped to express his misery.

Neteyam had been sinking into a place so dark that even hope struggled to reach him, your words from that night in the forest echoing louder than anything else, along with all the ones he never had the chance to say.

Your teary stained face haunted his thoughts, tormenting him from the moment he woke up until he tried to sleep. Your voice replayed in his mind, each word striking him just as painfully as it had the night you said them.

Reyna’lin practically had to force him out of his state, dragging him across the village grounds while leaning closely into his arm as she rattled on about their plans for the day. She tried her absolutw best to cheer him up, bringing him along to gather resources and whispering sweet things, but every single attempt failed.

He just allowed her to drag him along through the high forest canopy, following her across the massive branches to hunt and test his skills once again, yet no amount of physical distraction could fill the void inside him.

He went through each day like a puppet, for no duty nor pastime could soothe his aching heart the way your presence once did.

“You’ve been lazing around…”

Reyna’lin said, rubbing her hands on Neteyam’s lap. He just looked down from the tree, the two of them sitting 50 ft above the ground on one of the thick branches.

Reyna’lin held his cheeks, caressing them. “Would you ever tell me what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours?” Neteyam nodded, not really listening to her words, his mind was somewhere else.

She leaned up and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, trying to get some reaction from her future mate. He didn’t pull away, nor did he lean into it. His body stayed numb as his eyes stared blankly past her shoulder.

Reyna’lin straddled his legs, taking his hands and placing them on her waist. She held his jaw and turned his head so she could kiss his neck. Neteyam’s hands just rested there, not moving at all.

His heart felt like it was breaking again. His ears stayed pinned back, tail not moving. His eyes were half-lidded, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep. He could barely hear her whispering seductively in his ear, her breath hot against his skin.

She guided his left hand up to the side of her breast, humping slowly against his leg, looking for any friction as she kissed his neck again. Neteyam stayed completely still, not responding to any of her touches.

Reyna’lin kept going, pressing her body closer and whispering more desperate things into his ear as she tried to force a spark from him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her hands tangling into his braids, sighing and begging his body to acknowledge her.

He just let his head fall back against the tree, staring up through the canopy at the distant stars with unblinking eyes. His hands remained limp where she had placed them, refusing to grip her, refusing to push her away, detached from the skin-to-skin contact.

Her movements grew more desperate until the whole lack of warmth from him became too loud to ignore. Slowing down, she pulled back from his neck and cupped his jaw, leaning in to finally connect her lips to his.

He could feel her warm breath brushing across his skin, causing his eye to twitch, but just before their lips could meet, she stopped herself. Pulling back to examine his face, she saw what he was trying so hard to hide.

She let out a low groan of frustration, shifting so she was simply sitting between his legs rather than straddling him, her hands dropping heavily into her own lap. She watched as a tear spilled over his eyelashes and rolled down his cheek, He looked away into the dark canopy as he sniffled to himself.

“Just spit it out, Neteyam.”

-

Weeks later, you managed to stay far away from both males after that night, as the ordeal had took the soul right out of you. The news of the incident traveled its way to the Olo’eyktan’s ears, and he immediately sent Eykxan out on a grueling, solitary hunt so he could reflect on the gravity of what he had done.

Your friends also found out what happened, and a devastated Ayrein went down to her knees to bow before you and your parents, sobbing as she begged for your forgiveness. She felt responsible for the mess, since she was the one who had insisted on pairing you up with her brother.

Relief washed over you when Jake decided to keep the issue confidential between your two families, making sure rhat no gossip would ruin anyone’s standing. You didn’t want to bring shame upon his family, especially since your best friend was only trying to help you experience life beyond your family’s expectaions.

“I told you it’s alright, please don’t drown in your guilt,” you murmured, chuckling as you tried to pull away from her tight embrace.

She shook her head, her hands still trembling against your shoulders as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. “No, y/n, I have all of you to thank for being so merciful… for not demanding my brother be locked away in the dungeons or shamed before the clan! You’re far too considerate, and you truly deserve nothing less than a proud warrior who gives you everything!”

Teyanä suddenly stepped forward and pinched Ayrein’s skin to silence her, her own tail flicking with sharp annoyance. “Hey, stop speaking of mates right now! That’s the exact reason why y/n was almost harassed! I now understand why auntie was so against this pairing from the very beginning!”

Ayrein pulled back, resting her hands on your shoulders as her eyes searched yours. “I’m just really glad that Neteyam was there to come to your rescue. I cant even imagine what could’ve happened otherwise…” she murmured with a deep frown.

You swallowed hard against a dry throat at the very mention of his name, a wave of heavy realization washing over you. You were grateful too, but you realized that you hadn’t even gotten to properly thank him that night, giving him nothing but a cold shoulder and harsh words when he was desperately just trying to communicate with you.

A sense of shame settled in your chest, knowing he always seemed to appear right when you needed saving, yet whenever he asked for just a moment of your time, you couldnt give it.

“Me too, y/n. we’re both so sorry for forcing you into this whole mess,” Teyanä sighed, stepping closer to pat the top of your head.

You shook your head, wanting to ease their guilt. “Id admit, a part of me had been curious to see what would happen if he kept this up. But there was another part that just knew something was off about him. Sorry, sister, for my soul didn’t see him.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, y/n,” Ayrein interrupted, squeezing your shoulders. “It’s all my fault for not taking the time to ask how you two were doing, I just assumed the best and thought my… brother was conducting a proper courting. I must apologize as well for making so many inappropriate jokes, I definitely made you uncomfortable.”

Your friends made sure you forgot all your negative thoughts, dragging you along with them down to the river for a swim. The water was cold, feeling incredible as the three of you sat with your backs to the rushing falls, letting the heavy pressure of the cascading water give you a free massage.

They even left their boyfriends behind for the time being, abandoning their usual day in a life just so they could protect your peace and hang out with you for the next few weeks.

Mo’at also made sure to avoid overworking you, going noticeably easy on you during your recent training sessions to give your spirit time to heal. She purposely assigned you lighter tasks, allowing you to focus on guiding the younger apprentices while she took full charge of leading the daily rituals for the clan.

You bid farewell to the young girls, sending them out after they hugged, and thanked you for the lessons today. Your heart felt full of warmth from their pure cuteness, bringing a genuine smile to your face.

You then began cleaning the Tsahik’s hut, clearing the tables and mats the children had used for the class before picking up the leftover materials to store them away safely.

Humming while washing the wooden cups and bowls was your usual hobby, but the melody died down when a rush of heavy, panicked footsteps echoed right outside the entrance.

“C’mon!”

“Over there!”

You dropped your cleaning cloth and yanked open the curtain, stepping back to let the frantic warriors carry someone inside. There were too many of them crowding around, blocking your view of the injured hunter as they rushed toward the medical mats.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, approaching the group as they laid the body down onto the soft mattress. The warrior closest to you turned, out of breath as he explained, “We need Tsahik… he fell from a very dangerous height.”

“Who is—”

Your voice caught as your eyes finally tracked down to the unconscious male covered in cuts and bruises, your lungs seizing up when you realized it was none other than Neteyam.

You shoved the males out of your way, kneeling beside him to look at his wounds while demanding a report. “What happened?!”

“W-We were assigned to the afternoon patrol at the high cliffs, but we didn’t realize he had drank some of the heavy ceremonial wine from today’s ritual,” the lead warrior admitted guiltily, his tail twitching.

“We only caught the scent of it once we were high up, and before we could ask, he fainted, lost his balance, startled his ikran, and plummeted straight down.”

You let out a gasp, your heart hammering against your ribs as you scrambled up to gather your emergency herbs. One of them added, “It was fortunate that he landed directly on the huge leaves… it absorbed the momentum and saved his life…”

“Fortunate?!” A hiss ripped from your throat, your ears pinning flat against your head as you glared at the reckless patrol team. “Get out of here! Go find Tsahik!” you snarled, enraged that they hadn’t even bothered to check on their fellow warrior before taking to the sky, knowing damn well he could’ve died if those giant canopy leaves hadn’t caught his fall.

When all of the warriors finally left, you pressed your palm against Neteyam’s forehead and then his neck, checking for his temperature. You turned his palm upward, placing your fingers on the thumb side of his wrist to gauge his pulse, counting the rhythm of his heartbeat.

You let out a sigh when you realized his vitals were stable, turning away to sit on the floor and begin grinding the healing herbs together. Your hands suddenly froze when a painful groan cut through the room, causing you to look back over your shoulder.

He began to sob, bringing a trembling hand up to clutch his head before shifting his entire forearm to cover his eyes. You felt the ache in your chest at the rare sight of him breaking down, his broad shoulders shaking with every ragged breath.

“Y/n…”

Your heart dropped at the vulnerable sound of him calling out your name beneath his arm. Quickly finishing the herbal paste, you crawled back over and sat beside him, gently reaching down to rub his tear-stained cheek. “Shhh…”

He didn’t take his arm off his face, sobbing even louder than before as he gasped for air. “I… I need to see y/n… Please bring me to her…” Your eyes widened, his body tensing up when you tried to pull his arm away. “Hey,” you whispered.

“Don’t— Don’t touch me, please… I don’t want anyone touching me but her,” he choked out, entirely blind to his surroundings.

“Neteyam, I’m here…” you said, finally prying his arm away from his face. He squinted hard against the light, his swollen yellow eyes blinking rapidly until they locked onto your worried face and the deep frown on your lips.

A smile broke through his tears before he abruptly bolted upright, startling you. “Y-you have to lay down before you hurt yourself—”

Neteyam threw himself onto your lap, crashing onto his knees right in front of you as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, burying his face against your skin to inhale your scent. He kept weeping against you, throwing you shock as you watched him ignore his fresh wounds just to jail you in his embrace.

“Y/n, forgive me please!” he cried out, squeezing you tighter against his chest. Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard. “Stop it… you have to lay down!” You desperately tried to peel his arms off your waist, scrambling to your feet the second you broke his grip, but he immediately shifted and wrapped his arms around your thighs instead.

“Please… talk to me…” he begged, his ears pinning completely flat against his head in sheer desperation as he locked his hold around your legs. Your tail lashed violently from side to side in frustration. “Hey! Stand up right now—”

He didn’t listen, dragging his heavily bruised body forward across the mat, nearly causing you to stumble before you caught your weight. He looked pathetic, completely broken down by grief as he clutched the fabric of your loincloth, burying his wet face directly into your lap while his broad shoulders shook.

“I can’t do it… I can’t live without you— I’m so sorry... I’m a coward, you were right... I’m such a coward man.”

“You need to calm down! Your wounds are terrible, you’re not sober, and Mo’at might walk in at any moment!” you pleaded, placing your hands over his trembling shoulders to push him back. Instead, he pulled your hands down, gripping your wrists with a strength to press your palms flat against his wet cheeks before forcing himself to look up at you.

He was begging so hard he could barely catch his breath. “Let her see. I don’t care anymore. Y/n... I cannot do this, I cannot sleep… every time I close my eyes, I just hear you yelling at me and I see the look on your face.”

Your heart twisted in your chest, the anger you had carried for days now smothered by a wave of pure sorrow.

Your warrior was a mess.

You forced yourself to look away from his gaze, your eyes darting anxiously toward the entrance of the pod as you waited for the Tsahik to return.

“Please… look at me...” he whispered, “I’ll crawl through the mud for you, y/n. Just please don’t look at me like I’m nothing to you…”

“What’s going on here?”

Your eyes went to the entrance as Mo’at pulled back the curtain, her gaze taking in the sight of you gripping Neteyam’s cheeks while he’s on his knees before you. He didn’t even look back at his grandmother, ignoring her presence as he waited for you to meet his eyes again.

“He—uhm…” You swallowed hard, the words dying in your throat as you struggled to find an explanation before she stepped closer, then took her grandson’s arms away from your thighs and forced his weak body down onto the medical mattress.

“Hand me the herbs.”

Your feet stuttered over the woven mats as you retrieved the wooden bowl you had been mixing earlier, avoiding Neteyam’s longing eyes. “Sorry…” you mumbled, hands trembling, giving the remedy.

“You will tell me what’s happening here, y/n,” Mo’at spoke, her eyes locking onto you as she began to assess his injuries. “Why was my grandson on his knees?”

You inhaled, looking down at your lap as you prepared to speak, but Neteyam cut in before you could even form a syllable. “I’m in love with her.”

Your eyes widened, snapping up to look at him as he stared right back at you. His skin twitched in pain as Mo’at applied the stinging herbal paste to his wounds, but he didn’t care, making your heart beat fast in your chest as he continued.

“I have longed for y/n for so long, and I cannot… I will not walk the path with anyone else, grandmother,” Neteyam whimpered, he refused to break eye contact with you.

“Y/n?”

Finding it incredibly difficult to speak under the weight of her presence, you cleared your dry throat. “We… we were walking together in secret before, but I took matters into my own hands and severed our relationship so that… he could fulfill his duty to the clan,” you whispered, a hot blush of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks as you confessed your forbidden love to the highest authority.

“Y/n, I—”

Neteyam opened his mouth to protest, but he was suddenly pinched by Mo’at, forcing him to shut up as she looked up at you. “And how does all of that make you feel?”

“What… what do you mean, Tsahik?”

“Do you want him to fulfill his duty to the clan?” she asked directly, the blunt question making your chest tighten as you looked down at the woven mats, entirely unwilling to give a straight answer while Neteyam sat right there, desperately waiting for your words.

“It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I... wouldn’t wish for him to do such a thing... though I cannot exactly deny that I wouldn’t be opposed to the possibility of wanting him to. But should that ever happen, I’d wish that it be of his own choosing, rather than the consequence of any wish I may... or may not... have held.”

Neteyam tilted his head, his ears twitching in confusion as he tried to understand your words. His bruised brow knitted together as he looked from you to his grandmother, wonderjng whether the wine had finally gone to his head because not a single sentence you uttered seemed to make sense anymore.

Mo’at let out a hum, her eyes softening as she soon realized and saw right through your protective walls while her grandson remained baffled.

“What do you mean—” Neteyam began, before he was cut off by a hard smack from Mo’at.

“You brought this upon yourself, child, you knew very well that you had a patrol this afternoon, yet you allowed yourself to get drunk,” she scolded, “What kind of warrior are you behaving like, and what would your father say if he saw you right now? You had best be glad I ordered your patrol members to keep this foolishness away from Jake or you would be facing much worse than my medicine.”

He winced, scratching the back of his neck as he muttered an apology and looked down at his lap, thoroughly ashamed to be getting lectured like a child right in front of you.

Both of your hearts were still thumping wildly against your chest. Is this it? Out of all the people in the clan who could’ve discovered the secret between the two of you, it had to be the Tsahik herself.

Later that night, Mo’at instructed you to stay and watch over Neteyam, who had fallen into a deep, heavy sleep mostly due to the effects of the wine, informing you that she had urgent business elsewhere in the camp.

Before she could step out, you asked her to keep your secret safe, and she gave you a nod, saying that your truth was not hers to tell before patting your shoulder.

Left alone with your racing thoughts, you sat just outside the entrance, peeling the fibrous veins from a basket of medicinal leaves to keep your hands from shaking.

“Hey.”

You snapped your head up from your work, not having heard a single footstep approach, only to find Reyna’lin standing before you with a wave and a smile. “Is Neteyam inside?” she asked, her fingers pointing toward the curtained entrance.

You straightened your posture, a tight knot forming in your body as you gave her a nod. “Yes, he’s asleep though, but you may go inside.”

She nodded and went inside, leaving you alone with your thoughts again, as a pit formed in your stomach.

Of course she would visit her future mate.

Check on him.

Make sure he was alright.

You shook your head, swallowing the bitterness that threatened to surface. Out of everything, you refused to resent her for worrying about the man who was, by all accounts, meant to become her husband, even if a part of you still wondered whether Neteyam’s heart belonged to you too.

You let the frown stay on your face though as you resumed peeling the leaves and putting them in the bowl for tomorrow’s children’s lesson.

“Y/n?”

You looked up and saw her leaning against the wood before she approached and sat down beside you, purposely bumping your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I suppose we haven’t had a proper meeting. I was such a bitch for some reason, so… sorry for that,” she said, pointing to herself with a grin.

You nodded. “It’s alright. I didn’t really... mind.”

“Well, that’s good to know, because next week me and Neteyam are to be mated under the Tree of Souls, before Eywa…” her voice trailed off as she looked at you. She saw the way you swallowed hard.

Then she burst into laughter.

You looked at her, confused. “What?” Reyna’lin wiped her eyes, still smiling. “I’m kidding! We’re absolutely not gonna be mated!”

Your eyes widened. “...What?”

“Oh please, cut it out, girl. I know you have a thing for him. Not even a thing, let’s be real. Who knows, you could be carrying his child already for how many times he has sneaked you out and fucked you!”

Rhe free way she spoke had a hot blush burning purple across your cheeks, your mind racing as you wondered how she could possibly know any of that. Did he actually tell her that?

“There’s no life growing inside me! We didn’t even mate.”

“Yet!”

Seeing your stunned silence, she finally let out a sigh, clearing her throat as she leaned her head dangerously close to yours. You instinctively flinched away, but she only gave a knowing smirk.

“He told me. Everything.”

-

“Just spit it out, Neteyam.”

He didn’t look at her, keeping his head turned away. He inhaled a deep breath, letting another tear slip down his cheek before he finally spoke. “I’m already in love with someone else.”

He expected her to gasp or slap him across the face evem but she only stared at him. “It’s the healer girl, isn’t it?” she asked, making Neteyam snap his gaze toward her.

“She isn’t just some healer; her name is y/n, and she saved my life. She’s the love of my life, so I cannot do this, and I absolutely won’t.”

He braced himself for her to scream and run straight to his parents to ruin his reputation, but insteaf, he watched her stand up, then flinching when she suddenly clapped her hands together and let out a cheer.

A massive, satisfied smirk spread across her face as she let out a happy groan, throwing her hands in the air “Greatmother, thank you!” she exclaimed, bouncing excitedly on her feet.

Neteyam blinked, “...huh?”

She rolled her eyes at him, her smirk only growing wider. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it has been acting like some lovesick maiden? Man, I’ve been waiting for weeks for you to finally grow a spine and refuse this arrangement.”

Hs was stunned. “...you’re not mad at me?”

Reyna’lin scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she asked why she would be mad. “Unlike you, I’m not some girl born with privilege, meaning I cannot just walk up to the council of elders and tell them ‘hell nah’ without bringing shame upon my family. I needed your ass to do it for me, ‘coz you have the bloodline.”

“Sorry…”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Why are you apologizing for loving this girl?”

“I’m not apologizing for loving her, I’m apologizing for wasting your time.”

“Oh then, apology accepted!” she grinned, though her expression changed when she noticed he was still frowning deeply. “What are your plans then? Isn‘t that chick expected to be with someone else now? She could’ve already fallen for the cook before your jealous ass interrupted their so-called date.”

“That wasn’t a date, he was harassing her,” he said, “And I… I don’t want that. I don’t want her to fall for someone else… I want her to keep thinking about me, even after I return to Eywa… I don’t want her to fulfill our dream with someone else…” he cried out pitifully.

-

“—And I stared at him with wholeee disgust, I didn’t know the mighty warrior could get any more pathethic than that!”

You stared at her in pure shock, your mind spinning as you tried to process the wildly unexpected story she was telling.

“Oh by the way, sooo sorry too for almost initiating sex with him,” Reyna’lin said, giggled. “I was getting so bummed out that he wasn’t doing anything with that position of his! I had to rile him up… and you too, heh.” She winked at you. “Remember the day when the sky-traders were here? I made it look like I was leaning in to kiss him, when in reality I blew on his eyes because he was glaring like he was angry at me. We cannot let the elders see that, right?”

She laughed. “and before you panic, I threatened him to put the necklace on me.”

You stared at her, jaw slack as your mind scrambled to piece together the whirlwind of information. Reyna’lin leaned back, looking satisfied with herself. She was really talkative... you found yourself struggling to keep up with the pace of her words, your mind chasing after the details as she spoke far too fast for a mind already burdened with heartache to fully comprehend.

“I’m gonna be honest with you… I can’t imagine the depression I put you through! I mean, your man was in deep, girl. He must love that pussy of yours so much to not even give this huntress a chance to prove herself! I’m kidding by the way if you couldn’t tell.”

Earlier that day, you had fallen asleep on the woven floor mats that night, collapsing from exhaustion after changing his bindings and watching the rise and fall of his chest.

As the early morning light began to filter, you woke to the sensation of a large hand stroking your hair. You opened your eyes, and looked up to find Neteyam staring down at you with a stupid smile plastered across his face.

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as your ears twitched in relief. “You’re awake…” you whispered.

“I am,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from sleep.

You nodded before standing up to tend to your morning routine. After washing your face with fresh water, you popped a crisp mint-leaf into your mouth, chewing on it to freshen your breath before gathering the freshly crushed herbs from yesterday. Settling yourself back down on the mat beside him, you caught sight of his wide grin. “Why are you… smiling like that?”

“Because I missed you. So much.”

The confession made your lips pout, a hot flush rising to your cheeks as you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You peeled away his old dressings to reapply the cool herb paste onto his wound.

Even though he knew his injuries were tko sensitive, he couldn’t bring himself to look away, his golden eyes tracking your movements as you worked over him.

You were so focused, your expression oh so serious, and the sight of your dedication only made his smile grow. Finally, as if overwhelmed by his own affection, he forced his gaze away, looking down and burying his face in one hand to hide the deep purple blush spreading across his cheeks.

When you finally finished tying the clean cloth, you patted his forearm. “All done,” you murmured, preparing to stand up.

Before you could even rise to your feet, Neteyam’s hand shot out. He caught you by the wrist, pulling you back down to the mats with a gentle tug. Before you could gasp, his hand traveled up your jaw, and he pulled your lips down to meet his.

A whine escaped your throat against his mouth, your tail curling, but you didnt pull away. Instead, you melted into him, kissing him back with a matching hunger born from the weeks you had spent apart.

His grip around your waist tightened, his large fingers digging into your skin as his other hand guided your captive wrist up to his shoulder, prompting you to drape your arms securely around his neck. He tilted his head, deepening the embrace, and you could feel the vibrations of his purr against your lips as you both smiled into the kiss.

Neteyam let out a groan when he tasted the fresh sting of a mint on your tongue. He caressed the smooth skin of your hip while your hand migrated to his cheek, pulling him closer, desperate to lose yourself in his warmth.

“Oh, Eywa.”

You tore yourself away, eyes widening in sheer horror as your gaze collided directly with Mo’at, who stood at the entrance carrying a heavy foraging basket.

Panicking, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over your own tail as you rushed to take the basket from her hands to help her carry it inside. Your throat swallowed hard, your chest tight with the terrifying knowledge that the Tsahik had just caught you thoroughly mouthing her grandson.

Neteyam who was unbothered, bit his lip to hide his amusement, his tail flicking happily as he watched you nervously move around his grandmother.

Mo’at didnt say a word as she let you take the heavy basket from her arms. She stared at your clumsy actions with an arched eyebrow. Walking past you to check the shelf where the children’s lesson herbs were stored. “I trust the medicine was applied to the wound, and not just... swallowed?”

Your ears pinned flat against your head, a deep purple blush exploding across your neck. “I—yes. The poultice is fresh. He’s bandaged too.”

Neteyam let out a muffle chuckle, trying desperately to look innocent as he adjusted his blanket. He flonched when his grandmother turned a glare in his direction.

“And you. The Greatmother granted you a second chance at life, not a license to exhaust yourself before your ribs have even knit back together. Lie down before you bleed through those fresh linens.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

Mo’at sighed, shaking her head as she began sorting through the basket you had set down. “The camp is already waking. Go, y/n. Wash the mortar and pestle, and prepare the courtyard for the youth, we’ll do the lesson there. We’ll not speak of what your mouth was busy with. Keep your mind on the healing arts today.”

“Noted. Thank you, Tsahik,” you squeaked out, bowing before you grabbed the dirty wooden tools and bolted out, your heart still racing.

As you stepped outside to the washing station, a familiar giggle made you freeze. Reyna’lin was leaning against a nearby tree trunk, idly braiding a piece of twine, a massive smirk on her face.

“Well well well,” She purred, strolling over to you with a swing in her step. “Judging by how your face is, I’m guessing you either saw a ghost... or the mighty warrior finally used his mouth for something other than crying.”

“It’s not what you think it is…” you stammered, your ears burning as you tried to focus on washing the residual herb paste from the wooden bowl. She just rolled her eyes, letting out a scoff. “Also… why are you even out here so early?” you asked.

“I came to get your man since we’re supposed to have training class together this morning,” she explained, casually tossing her braid over her shoulder. “But I completely forgot the idiot almost died thats why he’s cooped up in there!!!”

Over the following weeks, Neteyam’s strength returned, his wounds finally knitting together under your devotion until he was once again whole. He walked into the sacred council big tent, stabding at his side was Reyna’lin. Together, they turned down the arranged mating match, fulfilling the exact defiance Reyna’lin had desperately needed from him to save her own family.

The elders gasped in surprise, demanding to know who could possibly replace the match they had so chosen.

Before Neteyam could even open his mouth, Reyna’lin boldly stepped forward, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into the light. “My heart belongs elsewhere, my people. In fact, I introduce to you, y/n—my cute mate!”

You froze, your tail going completely stiff while your ears raised, the elders gasped. Neteyam’s head snapped toward her so fast his braids swung, murderous glare at Reyna’lin that could have pierced thr Great Leonopteryx.

Catching his deadly look, she quickly cleared her throat, clearing her hands with an innocent grin. “Ah—apologies, I mean his! She’s his girlfriend. My bad you guys!”

When you finally found a moment alone with Neteyam, away from the eyes of the clan, he looked down at you, examining the details of your face. He told you that he wanted to court you properly this time. Even when you insisted that he didn’t need to prove himself anymore, that your heart was already his, he remained too persistent though.

He took your hands, his eyes locking onto yours as he murmured that he would pursue you every single day, no matter what you said.

And he kept his word.

Knowing how much you disliked real flowers, always preferring to leave the living flowers untouched or saved purely for healing, he got creative. He would spend hours weaving artificial blossoms out of dried reeds, supple leather cords, and fibers, shaping your favorite medicinal plants into a permanent bouquet that would never wither.

If you so much as whispered a craving, even those rare fruit that only grew at the dangerous summits of the Hallelujah Mountains, he wouldn’t rest until it was in your hand, even if it meant flying through turbulent winds just to capture a taste you’d only mentioned yesterday.

He had become an inseparable part of your family dynamic too, perhaps too much. It wasn’t uncommon to walk into the family tent and find them arguing over who got to keep his company…

Your father was usually showing him the intricacies of a new weapon design, while your mother had him sitting knee-to-knee with her, teaching him the finer points of weaving. He didn’t mind at all, he had even taken it upon himself to craft the both of you a matching loincloths.

you often found yourself having to “steal” your own boyfriend away from your parents, who treated him more like their favorite child than a suitor.

Even when the day ended and you were long asleep beside him, his care didn’t cease. You’d wake up to find your kit transformed as he would spend his night re-wrapping the worn leather grips of your tools so they wouldn’t blister your palms.

And whenever the traders arrived, he was always the first at the stalls with you. He ignored the weapons and the pelts, his eyes instead scanning the wares for rare beads or iridescent shells that would catch the light just right against your skin.

It was really full of love.

For the first time, you both had the permisssion of your families to see each other freely. There was no more hiding in the shadows, no more burying your affection away from the people’s eyes.

You could finally sit across the campfire, lock eyes across the crowded circle, and share a longing look before ducking your heads with matching smiles.

Best of all, you could finally hold each other close, free of that old, bitter anxiety, knowing you didnt have to tear yourselves apart the second someone walked through the curtain.

You let out a ringing laugh as Neteyam nearly slipped right off his ikran when you suddenly swooped your own mount right over his head, startling it. He let out a booming shout of laughter that echoed through the open air before diving after you, pushing his to fly faster to chase you down.

Laughing breathlessly, you guided yours toward the highest, most secluded cliffside, landing gracefully and scrambling down from the saddle. A squeal escaped your lips when you heard the heavy thud of his own mount landing right behind yours, Neteyam giving chase across the rocky plateau.

Just as you thought you were going to escape, his large hand shot out and caught the very tip of your tail. You let out a playful hiss, spinning around on your heel to face him, in which he hissed lowly in return.

You both froze, biting your lips as you simply looked at each other, the rush of the wind howling around you. You let out a giggle, looking down with deeply flushed purple cheeks before stepping closer into his space. Reaching up, you looped your arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

You both let out a contented sigh against each other’s lips. Every single time you kissed him, it felt like the world around you was calming down, the howling winds of the cliffs fading into a murmur. Neither of you could fail to smile into the intimacy.

Slowly, you pulled away to breathe, resting your forehead against his as your eyes closed, simply soaking yourself in the reassuring beat of his heart. You opened your eyes and gave him a sly grin before leaning in again. Just when he thought you were going to capture his lips, you sank down to your knees on the grass. Your hands slid down the blue skin of his as you went down slowly.

Neteyam looked down at you, eyss blown wide and hungry as you gazed up at him from below. He leaned over, his large hands caressing your cheeks before his long striped fingers brushed against your lips.

You parted them, darting your tongue out to lick his thumb before drawing the two of his fingers into your mouth. A muffled moan vibrated in your throat as your tongue swirled around them.

He swallowed hard, a purr rumbling in his chest while his tail curled on its own. You wrapped your hands around his wrist, guiding his fingers deeper in your mouth making you gag. When you pulled his hand free, you let your tongue roll over every inch of his damp skin, your eyes never leaving his blown-out gaze.

You reached for the edge of his loincloth, tugging it slightly for a permission. A chuckle escaped his throat as he lifted it for you. Your breath hitched as you came face to face with his cock. Grinning up at him, you leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to the very tip.

Your hands wrapped around it, stroking him up and down. He let out a whimper, his hand burying into your hair for support. He threw his head back, his ears pinning flat against his hair.

“Stop teasing, please…”

You bit your lip from him moaning and swiped your tongue across his tip, licking away the slick bead of pre-cum leaking out from him. You guided your tongue down the underside to wet him completely before finally taking him deep into your mouth.

Your cheeks hollowed around him as you sucked, your eyes locked on his face. Neteyam moaned at the sight of you, his hand in your hair guiding the bob of your head on his shaft. “Taking it so well… can you still fit it all?”

“Mhm… it got bigger, baby,” you mumbled around him. The vibration of your voice made him let out a hiss. He looked down, watching your tail wagging behind you, your ears twitching with satisfaction.

Just before the movement could push him over the edge, he let out a desperate groan and pulled your head away. He couldn’t risk spending himself just yet, especially since you haven’t come first.

Sitting down on the grass to meet your height, he cupped your jaw and pulled you into a deep kiss. His chest heaved against yours as he breathed you in, using the collision of your lips to ground himself and soothe the aching throb of his cock.

“Baby…” he breathed against your skin, pulling back to rest his head against your shoulder. You let out a hum as you felt his calloused fingers slide beneath the edge of your top. A shiver ran down your spine as his thumb brushed over your bare chest, his touch hot as he began to tease your nipple, making your tail curl in responsr.

“I wanna try something that we haven’t done before.”

“What is it, pretty boy?”

Neteyam looked up at you, cheeks flushed. “I want… I want you to sit on my face. If that’s okay?” You blinked, surprised by his request. Your face heated up fast as you processed what he just said.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna suffocate you with my… weight.” Neteyam shook his head, hands resting on your thighs. “I’m sure. And you won’t.”

You bit your lip. “What if I hurt you?”

He squeezed your skin and leaned up to peck your lips. “Again, you won’t.”

You hesitated for another second before moving up his body. You positioned yourself over his chest, thighs on either side of his head. Neteyam untied your loincloth before looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Baby… I’m not sure about this. I don’t think I can behave.”

He smiled softly. “Trust me, okay? If you’rr okay with it, then it’ll be fine. I got you.”

You nodded before lowering yourself, not putting your full weight on him yet. “Tell me if it’s too much?” Neteyam nodded, hands holding your thighs. “I will. Just sit, please.”

You finally lowered yourself onto his face. Neteyam immediately held your thighs firmly and started licking your pussy, moaning against you. You gasped, hands gripping his hair as pleasure shot through you. “Oh… Neteyam…”

He held your thighs tighter, tongue moving eagerly. You tried to keep some of your weight off him, but he pulled you down harder. “Don’t hold back,” he mumbled against your pussy. “I want all of you. Suffocate me if you may.”

Neteyam knew he was losing it.

From the way your lips sucked him down had already left him hard and aching against his loincloth, but now that he’s tasting you again pushed him straight over the edge. He was practically mindless with need, his hips humping the air as he starved in your inner thighs.

You moaned louder, hips starting to roll against his face. Neteyam groaned, eyes rolling back as he tasted you. “So good… that’s right, use me.” You were breathing hard, trying not to crush him but losing control from how good his tongue felt.

He licked you hungrily, sucking on your clit while pushing his tongue inside you. “You’re so wet, baby...”

You grabbed his braids tighter. “Neteyam… fuck.”

He kept sucking and licking, still addicted to your taste. You were shaking, rolling your hips faster on his face. “Neteyam… I’m close.” He groaned against you, eyes rolling back again. “Go on… let me taste you.”

You came hard with a loud moan, thighs trembling around his head. Neteyam moaned too, drinking every drop as his eyes rolled back. “Oh shit…” You squeaked, quickly lifting yourself off him before falling onto the grass beside him.

Neteyam sat up and moved on top of you, pulling you into a kiss. You wrapped your legs around his hips and your arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. Your back arched against his chest as you both moaned into each other’s mouths.

You pulled away from the kiss, gazing up at him with almost heart eyes. Neteyam smiled down at you, and cupped your cheeks. Your jaw dropped, heart stopping for a moment as you had a feeling of wgat will happen.

“Y/n…” he mumbled, his voice cracking with an emotion so raw it made your chest ache. “Not once did I ever regret chasing after you. Everything that I did, I would do it again, a thousand times over.”

You smiled, your heart swelling to the point of tears. “Neteyam…”

“I’ve always known... ever since we were children, I knew that the woman I wanted to lead and raise this clan with was you. The day I saved you, I also knew. It’s you that I want for the rest of my days, y/n. I’ll choose you over and over again, in this life and the next.”

You couldnt bring yourself to utter a word. Neteyam noticed the tears slipping down your cheeks and used the pad of his thumb to wipe your wet eyes. “I know we always dreamed of mating beneath the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Souls, and I promise you, I’ll still take you there no matter how much you want. We’ll stand before the Greatmother and give her a show of our romance.”

You laughed and his eyes burned into yours, his hand traveled down to the base of his neck, carefully bringing his braided queue forward. “But I cannot wait another night to bind my soul to yours... Will you please let me choose you? Right now?”

“...Yes. We’ll do it again and again and again and… again,” Your heart hammered against your ribs as you brought your own in front, your hands trembling as you both looked at it. When the neural tendrils of your queues met, blooming and wrapping around each other, a violent gasp left both of your lips.

You felt the agonizing pain he went through when he thought he’d lose you, the pride he felt standing up to the elders, and the warmth of how consumed by you he was.

Neteyam groaned, the intensity of the bond sending a massive shriving through his long frame. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his unreleased length pressed against you, holding you so close like he wanted to press you directly into his skin.

He pulled away from your neck the moment you murmured for him to, his heavy breaths fanning over your skin. Reaching up, you cupped his high cheekbones, guiding his face down to capture his lips in another lingering kiss.

When you finally parted, you stayed close, your eyes tracing the breathtaking pattern of the bioluminescent dots glowing across his skin, pulsing in sync with his racing heart.

“I’m so in love with you, Neteyam.”

His breath hitched, his chest rising beneath your touch. “I—I’m soooo much in love with you more… y/n.”

You could feel his love flowing through your bond. You pulled each other back in, dissolving into a heated making-out session. He didn’t wanna pull away from your lips for even a second, his hands gripping you as your kisses were the very air he needed to breathe.

He guided his cock down, teasing the sensitive entrance of your heat. The sudden touch made you let out a breathless moan into his mouth. Pulling back from the kiss, you locked your arms around his broad shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “Put it in…”

He didn’t make you wait, sinking his hips in, he guided himself inside you. The slick warmth from your recent release combined with his own made the entering smooth, his thick length stretching you open completely.

Heat coursed through your shared bond the exact moment you were filled. Neteyam froze, holding himself perfectly still to let you adjust to his size. “Y/n…”

You could feel how much he wanted to move but was holding back for you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Move, Neteyam… I need you.” He groaned and started thrusting, “You feel so good, baby. So warm around me.”

You moaned, hands running down his back as he moved inside you. He kissed your neck, breathing against your skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”

You tilted your head to give him more access, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Me too… missed feeling you like this.”

“Missed you more…” He kept his pace slow and deep, making sure you felt every inch. “You’re so tight.. I love it so much.”

“R-Right there…” Your back arched as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Neteyam groaned, burying his face in your neck again. “Right there? Does that feel good?”

You nodded, moaning his name. “Yesss… don’t stop.”

He lifted his head to look at you, eyes soft even as he kept thrusting. “I won’t. I love being inside you. Especially right now… I can feel almost everythng.”

You pulled him down for a kiss, tongues sliding together slowly. Neteyam broke the kiss to rest his forehead against yours again. “I missed you so damn much… I just really hope I won’t ever wake up from this dream.”

You bit your lip. “I don’t wanna wake up as well if that’s the case.”

Neteyam kept his weight balanced over you, chest pressed against yours as he moved inside you. His breath was hot against your ear with every slow thrust.

You moaned loudly, arms wrapped around his back. His golden eyes stayed locked on yours, darkening with heat as he watched your face. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, voice rough. “I cannot believe I get to have you. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever gazed upon.”

You blushed hard, cheeks turning deep purple as he kept praising you. “Neteyam…”

He grinned, still thrusting. “I’m the luckiest man alive. Getting to be inside you like this, feeling you clench around me… it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You whimpered louder, legs tightening around his waist. Neteyam kissed your neck, still whispering against your skin. “I don’t know hwo many times I have to say this but you’re so perfect… I could stay like this forever with you.”

Your hands moved up to his face, pulling him down for a kiss. He kissed you deeply, hips still rolling slowly. You whined into his mouth. “Neteyam… I’m close again.”

He groaned, picking up the pace just a little. “Okay, baby. Let me feel you come around me. You look so pretty when you do, y’know.” You blushed even harder, moaning his name as the orgasm washed over you.

Neteyam kept moving through your orgasm, chasing his own release. His thrusts became deeper and a little faster as he kissed your face. “Fuckkk baby… you’re squeezing me so tight.”

Yor legs wrapped around his waist as you took every thrusts he gave you. Neteyam groaned against your neck, breathing hard. “I-I’m so close, y/n…”

You held onto his shoulders, nails digging in. “Go on, Nteeyam. I want to feel you.”

He whimpered, hips snapping harder as he got closer. “I’m going to fill you up. Going to cum so deep inside you. You want that?”

You kissed his neck, whispering against his skin. “Do it. I want it all. ​W-wanna be swelled with your children...” you cried out softly, your back arching up into his. “Wanna carry your life inside me, please...”

“F-Fuck...” He whimpered, thrusting deep one last time before he came hard. His body shook as he filled you, moaning your name against your shoulder.

A synchronized moan tore from both of your lips as your walls suddenly clamped tight, pulsing and clenching around him as you felt him cum inside you.

You heard his racing pulse, felt the thud of his heart, your minds bled into one another as you knew his thoughts, felt the devotion consuming his mind as he completely lost himself to you.

He stayed buried deep inside you, his breaths hot over your neck as the aftershocks of his release slowly calmed down. Sinking his weight over you, his large arms wrapped around you, pulling you so close against his chest.

“Forgive me, yawne…” he whispered into your shoulder.

You let out a tired chuckle, your fingers tangling into the beads of his braids. “I can feel you, Neteyam. You feel guilty?”

He seallowed, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, queues still connected. “I do. I feel like we spend so much of our time in heat... I don’t want you to think I only see you for this. I mean—”

Your heart swelled at his adorableness, pulling back to look into his eyes, you cupped his cheek, letting your thumb trace his high cheekbone. “But I love this with you, Neteyam,” you whispered softly, your thoughts bleeding straight through him that he could feel the truth of it. “It makes me feel so beautifully close to you. Especially now, knowing our souls are tied.”

“Did you mean that, too?” he asked. “When you talked about... yknow...” He couldn’tbeven finish the sentence, a dark flush spreading across his face as you laughed at how flustered he was.

“About having your kids?” you teased, your smirk widening. You caught his jaw, pecking his hot cheek affectionately. “Of course. I meant every word, baby. You’re the only one I want to bear children for.”

He smiled, pressing a peck to your jawline while still holding you beside him. “I see you, y/n.”

“I see you, too.”

© neteiam - any form of stealing is hereby strictly prohibited.

[neteyamthinker]

home to you

pairings aged-up neteyam x omatikaya!mom reader

notes secret baby, second chance romance, mentions of contraceptives, cutest toddler in the world (neteyam’s fictional babies are always the cutest), grovelling, jealous and yearning neteyam as per usual🙏🏻, neteyam creating his own problems by overthinking, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving), [no, she’s not mated]

synopsis the war against the sky people had taken everything from neteyam. he never thought he’d had the chance to be with you again... but now that he’s back, he’s willing to everything to get you back. there’s only one hiccup... you are mated and a mother now.

word count 22.5k

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You stared at Neteyam, your arms crossed and your trembling hands brushing the cold away from your skin as you desperately tried to catch the gaze he refused to give you.

“Neteyam, we don’t really need to end this,” you pleaded, your voice cracking under the weight of impending abandonment. “I can wait for you, however long, I will be just here. I can even visit you in Awa’atlu and be with you, I can—”

“Do you think war is a game?“ he cut you off, his voice sharp and cold. He snapped his head toward you, his golden eyes narrowed into a hard, unfeeling look. “And visit me how? The RDA kills anyone on sight these days, so how do you think you can fly to Awa’atlu and not be killed?”

He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, fighting with every ounce of his strength to keep his face from crumpling. Seeing you stand there, so small, so frightened, and so utterly devastated by his sudden cruelty, was tearing his soul apart. I love you. I love you so much, his mind screamed. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and tell you he was just joking, that he was not really mad, but he had to do this, for you. So he could live with himself knowing that what could happen to him in the war will not hurt you as much as it would if he allowed you to hope.

He needed you to hate him. He needed you to move on and let go of him. He did not want you to wait for nothing if he ended up dead in the war, because the thought of you wasting your youth mourning a ghost was a fate worse than Eywa's judgment.

So, he delivered the final blow, letting the venom drip from his tongue.

“And who's to say I won't meet a Metkayina woman I would want to actually mate and settle down with?” He said, watching you rear your head back as if you had been slapped. “We’re not... that serious, Y/N. Surely you know that? You're not really thinking that I would like to keep you knowing that there is more to life than here, do you?”

Your breath hitched, staggering a step backward, the words striking you like a physical blow to the gut. Hot tears pooled in your eyes, blurring the silhouette of the man you had given your heart to.

“Why are you being so mean?” You let out a breathless, desperate laugh, trying to play it off as a misunderstanding, but the illusion shattered as the first tear spilled over your cheek.

Neteyam didn't respond. He balled his hands into tight fists, his claws digging painfully into his palms to stop himself from reaching for you. I love you so much, baby. I love you so much.

“Do you mean that?” you asked in a small, fragile voice when he didn’t respond. Your lower lip quivered, and the sight nearly brought him to his knees.

He swallowed the lump of what seemed like obsidian blade in his throat, forcing his voice an octave deeper to mask the tremble threating to expose him. “Yeah. It’s common sense.“

You nodded slowly, the harsh truth settling deep into your bones. Reaching deep down for whatever pride you had left, you managed to form a smile onto your face.

“Then... have a good life... and I wish you well,” you said, your voice breaking entirely on the final words. “I love you... so much. Even if yours was not real, mine is, Neteyam.”

Before he could break, you turned on your heel and walked away. He watched your shoulders slumped, shaking with violent, silent sobs. The moment you rounded the thick roots of Hometree, out of his sight, you broke into a desperate run, fleeing into the dark alcoves of Hometree with no idea where you were going.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The rhythmic sound of your pestle grinding against the mortar filled the healing pavilion. The air was thick with the sharp, clean scent of crushed roots and soothing eucalyptus leaves.

But the quiet was soon disrupted by the sound of urgent footsteps, too light to belong to an adult, and you knew what was to come.

“Ma? Ma!“

A tiny, high-pitched voice echoed outside, making your lips twist in a smile. You stopped your grinding and lifted your head up to give your son your whole attention, immediately seeing his small and chubby form bound into the pavillion. He was clutching his Toruk plaything.

You raised a brow at him as you watched him heave, knowing he ran his way up here from only Eywa knows where. “Where were you, Ervo?”

“Mama, Toruk Makto is back! My friends... My friends... I saw him!” he jumped on the soles of his feet, showing the Toruk toy right up to your face. “Toruk is this big!” the boy chirped, his round, golden eyes wide with pure, innocent excitement.

You smiled, lifting a hand to cup his small face. “Were you so excited?” you asked. “Did you see Toruk Makto, too?”

Your son nodded enthusiastically, making his little toy dive-bomb into a pile of uncounted herbs. To him, Jake Sully was a legendary figure from the stories told around the communal fires, a hero who came from the stars. He was excited about the idea that his favorite hero once lived in this Hometree, so now you could barely comprehend his joy about Toruk Makto finally being home, sleeping under the very same canopy as him.

He plopped down to sit in front of you. “With his family!” he said. “He.. He has a big son.”

Your fingers froze just as you were reaching for the covered bowl of his fruit snacks. Your head tilted, hardening your resolve and grabbing the bowl for your son. “Now, you need to eat fruits. Toruk Makto doesn’t like kids who don’t eat healthy food.”

The boy eagerly grabbed the bowl and started munching on the cut up fruits. You grabbed a soft woven cloth to wipe his sweat off with it. At twenty-two, you were now far from the girl left weeping in the roots of the forest. You had survived the worst from the clan, the whispered gossips, and the subtle shunning due to your unique situation.

Of course, there are single mothers in the clan, too, but all of them were simply widowed by war. None of them were an unmated, nineteen-year-old girl whose child was fathered by an unnamed man. But your people were nothing but progressive, and so you were not really openly disrespected, but you knew that Mo’at’s choice to make you her tsakarem was met by a strong opposition by the council.

You watched your son eat, hoping against hope that the son he was talking about was Lo’ak. The Great War had ended weeks ago and peace was supposedly returning to Eywa’eveng, but until this exact moment, the reality of what that meant hadn't truly pierced the quiet bubble you had built for yourself and your son.

You didn't know if he was among them. For all you knew, he had stayed true to his word. Perhaps he had long since met a Metkayina woman he would actually take as a mate and not simply... play with. Perhaps she was someone proud, strong, and perfectly suited for the firstborn son of Toruk Makto, completely different from the girl he discarded three years ago.

A sudden, sharp rush of resentment and old bitterness flared up in your chest, hot and wicked. You shouldn't care. You had braved everything alone and raised a beautiful, thriving boy without a single piece of help from the man who broke you. You had sworn you would never feel a damn thing for him again.

But as you turned your head to look back at your son, who was currently making small noises as he made his Toruk toy fly, your heart clenched. The boy was growing more and more into the exact likeness of his father every single day. From the curve of his brow and nose down to the way he smiled.

It was probably a fate worst than being shunned by Eywa. Forgetting and moving forward are not for you, not when you carried and are raising a child you share with who you are supposed to forget. And the fact that those things must be so easy for him, knowing that he had discarded everything that could possibly hold him back, pisses you off at least once a day.

You convinced yourself he was not among his family who came back, or that if he did come back, it was only to show his Metkayina mate to the people. And then he will go back to where he belongs, and your son would remain yours and yours alone.

The truth did not come from the announcements for the returning warriors, it came from the idle, buzzing gossip of the clan as you made your way up the winding pathways toward your kelku later that evening. Two weavers were sitting near the common walkways, their hands busy with fiber, their voices carrying easily through the humid air.

“...and Neteyam, oh, I remember when he left. Every girl I know was upset,” one groaned, leaning in. “He’s a great warrior, they say he fought fiercely at the vanguard. I’m so glad he’s back now... and unmated still!”

“Truly? No Metkayina woman caught his eye?” the other replied, sounding surprised. “I saw him, he is so handsome... and even much bigger than he was when he left. Many must have tried.”

You forced your feet to keep moving, your grip tightening around your sleeping son that the boy let out a confused whimper. You rubbed his back, “I’m sorry, my love,” you cradled his head and he purred.

The gossip words swirled in your mind still, unleashing a chaotic storm of conflicting emotions.

A bitter, venomous part of you felt a sickening sense of vindication to know that he is unmated. Good, you thought sharply. It serves him right. He had shattered you on the pretext of finding someone better, only to return with nothing but himself. But beneath that spite lay a far heavier dread. If he was unmated, he had no anchor elsewhere. He was going to stay.

You put your son down on his cot, caressing his small head. You laid his Toruk toy beside him, smiling when you remembered his earlier excitement. You would withdraw for this night completely, choosing not to join the communal dinner and eating a quiet meal of cold roasted roots and fish, but you knew this won’t be sustainable in the long run if you would keep skipping the communal meals.

Hometree was massive, you could very much use it as a shield to not cross paths with Neteyam as much as possible. You didn't need to sit at the tables or mingle in the open clearings; you could just slip down to the communal kitchens, gather your meals, and retreat back to the safety of the healing pavilion.

​And that was exactly what you did the next day.

You arrived at the kitchens at its busiest. Huge clay pots simmered over open flames, filling the air with the rich, savory scent of roasted meats and sweet, starchy roots.

“Busy day?” you asked Marla, watching all the cooks around her moving like they do during feasts.

Marla turned to you, her kind, crinkling eyes smiling immediately at the sight of you. “A welcoming feast for the Sullys,” she told you, her smile huge and meaningful.

Years ago, before the world broke apart for you, Neteyam used to practically live in this corner of Hometree, constantly bothering and begging Marla to bake your favorite wild-berry pie when he was still courting you. You and Neteyam had been a constant fixture in her kitchen, teasing her and stealing scraps until she chased you out with a wooden ladle.

Because of that closeness, Marla was likely the only soul in the entire village who truly knew the timeline, the only one who suspected that Neteyam was the father of your boy.

​But she had never whispered a single word to anyone. She had kept your secret fiercely, protecting you from the brunt of the clan's judgment when you were only nineteen and terrified.

​As the other cooks distracted themselves with the massive platters of meat, Marla stepped up to you. “Are you alright?” she reached out, her calloused hands that had spent a lifetime feeding the Omatikaya gently squeezing yours.

You smiled, playfully scowling at her. “Of course, Marla,” you said.

She sighed. “He is back. I saw him,” she said in a small voice.

You shook your head. “It means nothing to me anymore, Marla,” you assured her, chuckling. “I am a mother now and my son is the only thing I care about. Which is the reason I’m here... I’m getting his breakfast. And mine...” you bit your lip.

The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “Not joining the communal meals like last night?”

You pushed your lips forward. “I’m busy... at the pavillion,” you said.

“Hm,” she mused, pulling away to get a heavy wooden tray, arranging a generous portion of food and right in the center, putting two large, perfectly baked slices of the very same berry pie, your son Ervo’s absolute favorite. “There is a feast tonight, but I’ll have your food delivered for lunch and dinner, too. Keep that boy of yours fed.” she murmured softly, giving you a knowing, gentle nod.

You smiled and nodded, swallowing a lump on your throat. “Thank you, Marla... For always helping me.”

She huffed a snort through her nose. “I watched you grow up, watched you brave what none could have survived. It is the least I can do.”

With the heavy wooden tray carefully balanced in your arms, you made your way back through the quieter upper branches of Hometree. When you stepped back into the cool shade of the healing pavilion, the tension in your shoulders finally began to bleed away.

Ervo was exactly where you left him, sitting cross-legged on a large woven mat. He was completely absorbed in his own world, flying his little reed Toruk toy over a pile of smooth river stones he had arranged to look like mountains.

Ervo’s ears perked up instantly as soon as you laid the tray down, his eyes widening as he spotted the two large, vibrant slices of wild-berry pie on the dish. He gasped, dropping his toy immediately, his tail giving a happy, rhythmic thwap against the woven floor. “Pie!”

“Pie after your meat and roots,” you corrected gently, tapping the tip of his nose with a smile.

You sat down cross-legged in front of him, carefully cutting up the roasted meat into small, manageable pieces. He ate eagerly, his small hands grasping the wooden bowl, his cheeks puffing out as he munched. But midway through the meal, a chorus of small voices echoed from the pavilion's entrance.

Three young children peeked inside, laughing and holding small woven balls. “Ervo? Come play! We are finding the big beetles today!”

Ervo practically vibrated in excitement. He nearly choked on his fruit, his little tail tapping the floor in a frantic, desperate rhythm. He began to scramble to his feet, ready to bolt toward his friends.

“Son, you can’t play after you’ve just eaten,” you said, your voice firm but gentle as you caught him by his waist. “You need to let your food settle in your belly.” You playfully tapped his round, full belly, and he let out a bright, tickled chuckle.

He slumped back down onto your lap, pouting slightly as his friends waved and promised to wait for him near the lower roots. He held his small waterskin with both of his little hands, taking a big gulp. “I need to stay?” he asked, blinking up at you with wide, pleading golden eyes.

You nodded, taking the spoon to feed him a bite of the sweet berry pie. “Yes. You must stay until Mama says it is time.”

“Okay...” he mumbled, pointing at the pie. “Pie?“

You chuckled and hugged him, kissing his cheek. “And because you are a sweet and remarkably obedient boy, here you are...” you took the plate and fed him.

He sat patiently, swinging his legs and chattering to you about the giant beetles his friends had promised to find. When enough time had finally passed, you wiped his sticky face with a damp cloth, kissed his forehead, and sent him off. He spent almost the entire day running wild under the massive canopy, his distant, joyful laughter occasionally drifting up to the pavilion.

By midday, the heat of the forest had settled into a heavy, hummed stillness. You were deep in your work, sorting dried herbs and organizing small clay vials of medicine, when the heavy beaded curtain at the entrance rustled.

You looked up, your posture instantly straightening as Mo’at stepped into the pavilion.

The Tsahik moved with a timeless, regal grace, her sharp eyes sweeping over the quiet room before finally landing on you. Mo’at was one of the few people who had fiercely shielded you from the clan’s harsh judgments three years ago. When the council of elders had deemed your situation immoral. Mo’at had silenced them all. She had ignored their protests, stubborn and unyielding, and had chosen you to be her tsakarem.

For some reason, she had always acted as though your situation was entirely normal. She had never once asked you who the father was, nor had she ever looked at you with anything less than absolute pride.

“You are working hard,” Mo’at spoke, walking over to your table, her long fingers brushing over the herbs you had just sorted.

“There is much to prepare for the returning warriors, Tsahik,” you replied, dipping your head. “Many have old wounds from the sea that need checking.”

Mo’at hummed. “The forest is changing,” she said. “The wind brings back what was once thought lost to the tide. Some trees bend in the storm, and some roots hold fast, hidden deep beneath the ground where no one can see them.”

You looked up at her, a sudden apprehension in your eyes. Your hands slowed over the mortar. “The clan is rejoicing their return. It is a good change.”

Her eyes, clouded with age, locked onto yours. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips, “The Great Mother does not weave a thread without purpose, child,” Mo'at murmured. “A seed planted in secrecy still bears the unmistakable fruit of the tree it came from. The eyes of the clan may be blind to the truth, but blood always recognizes the stride of her own blood.”

Your breath hitched toward completely, your heart hammering violently against your ribs, a cold sweat breaking out across your palms.

“The boy is strong,” Mo'at continued softly, her hand reaching for yours to squeeze it with an immense, grounding warmth before she began to turn away. “He has your fierce spirit, but do not hide in the shadows forever, Tsakarem.”

You were profoundly grateful that Ervo had spent the entire afternoon running wild with the other children that by the time the distant sounds of the feast began to echo through the branches, he bounded into the healing pavilion, his little eyelids already heavy, entirely spent from the day's excitement.

“Ma…” he mumbled, dragging his feet as he leaned his small, warm body heavily against a soft woven pillow on the floor. “The big feast has started.”

You smiled, caressing his small head and his eyes fluttered shut.

“The big feast… Toruk Makto…”

He didn't even finish his sentence before his breathing deepened into a profound, undisturbed sleep. You quietly let out a breath, fixing everything to finally wrap the day up. Gently, you scooped his small, solid form into your arms, cradling his head against your shoulder as you carried him up to your kelku. You silently thanked Eywa that his exhaustion spared you from making up elaborate excuses for why you can’t attend the feast and you also wouldn't have to explain to a heartbroken two-year-old why he couldn't go see his legendary hero tonight.

Meanwhile, at the high dais, Neteyam sat rigidly to the right of his father. His family was seated with Tarsem who is at the center of the table, wearing the heavy, ornate mantle of the Olo'eyktan. Jake and Tarsem were deep in low, serious conversation about the integration of the returning warriors, but Neteyam’s attention was entirely fractured. His golden eyes restlessly combed through the crowded rows of tables, scanning every face, every laughing group, every shadow cast by the great fire.

He saw childhood friends, old sparring partners, and familiar faces of the Omatikaya. But none of them held the features that had been branded onto the back of his eyelids for three agonizing years. Every time he had closed his eyes, he sees you. When everybody thought he was going to die, it was your memory that got him crawling back to life. It was your face that kept his heart beating.

He had spent the entire day fighting the desperate urge to walk straight into the healing pavillion, refusing to ambush you considering how he left things between you two. He was hoping against hope. He had hurt you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you would welcome him with anger or indifference, but he can work against that.

He would beg and work for your forgiveness.

Now, as the feast drew to a close without a single glimpse of you, a hollow disappointment settled deep in his chest. He thought about finally going to the healing pavilion tomorrow. To talk to you and tell you that he survived the last three years on your memories. That he lived because he wanted to get back to you.

The following morning, however, the clan's future demanded attention. The council convened in the high longhouse, the atmosphere dense and formal.

Tarsem stood before the elders, his posture proud but his shoulders carrying a visible, heavy weariness. He unclasped the ceremonial ornaments from his chest, placing them on the woven mat before Jake and Mo'at.

“The war has kept me from my family for far too long,” Tarsem announced, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion. “My mate and my child have sacrificed enough. With Toruk Makto returning, I wish to step down from the leadership to focus entirely on my family. I am formally asking Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan to succeed me as Olo'eyktan.”

Neteyam stared at the older warrior, the air in his lungs has long turned to ice. He had no idea Tarsem was even mated. He looked at the weary, determined lines on the leader's face, and then the realization hit him like a physical blow. You were the official tsakarem of the clan. The future Tsahik. Traditionally, the Olo'eyktan and the Tsahik walked hand-in-hand, their paths intertwined to lead the people.

But the Olo’eyktan could also mate the tsakarem who has not yet succeeded the Tsahik.

If Tarsem was stepping down to be with his family... A sickening, hollow sensation opened up in Neteyam's stomach. It felt as though a direhorse had kicked him squarely in the sternum. He could barely register the rest of the council's murmurs.

The thought of you mated to another man, the thought of you bearing Tarsem's child, giving someone else the love he had so brutally discarded, made him feel utterly empty. He managed to offer a strained, tight nod to the council, muttering that he would take time to consider the immense responsibility, before abruptly excusing himself.

His feet moved without his permission, operating on pure, desperate instinct until he found himself near the clearing just outside the healing pavilion.

And there you were.

You were only a few paces away, navigating the path with a hurried grace, balancing a small wooden drying rack stacked with freshly gathered herbs against your hip. Neteyam stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. You had grown even more beautiful, your expression guarded and fiercely mature. Yet, you were entirely unchanged.

His heart kicked against his chest, his whole body charging with a sudden, violent spark of electricity, as though for the first time in years, his heart remembered how to work. A recognition that his soul belonged exactly where you stood.

Then, his gaze flicked down. A small boy was tailing closely behind you, his little feet skipping to keep up with your brisk pace.

Neteyam’s heart plummeted into a dark, bottomless abyss.

“Mama, look!” the boy chirped. The high-pitched, innocent voice sent an unexplainable, agonizing warmth straight through Neteyam’s chest.

Mama.

The reality solidified, crushing him. You were a mother. You belonged to Tarsem. Neteyam watched from the shadows as you stopped your hurried pace, bending down to see whatever the little boy was pointing at on the forest floor.

“Glowing bug!” the boy shouted, his entire little body vibrating with pure, unadulterated excitement.

A soft, melodic chuckle escaped your lips. To Neteyam, it sounded like the distant, beautiful chiming of bells, a sound he had been starving to hear. His chest ached as you reached out, gently ruffling the boy’s dark hair.

“Yes, my love,” you told the child, your voice softening into a gentle warmth you still possessed. “Do not touch it. It is irritable during daylight.”

The boy tilted his head, his wide golden eyes blinking up at you. “Because it can't glow?”

A genuine laugh broke from your chest this time, bright and clear.

Hidden behind the foliage, Neteyam found a faint, involuntary chuckle slipping past his own lips. The question was so innocent, so entirely pure. The boy shared your exact expressions, the same inquisitive tilt of the head. He was beautiful. He was everything Neteyam had ever dreamed of having with you during those quiet nights before the war took everything away.

He watched you hold the boy’s hand, your fingers laced securely with his small ones as you guided him into the healing pavillion. The beaded curtain fell shut behind you, cutting off his view, but the image remained scorched into his mind.

It was confirmed. You were mated to Tarsem, and you two have a child together.

Grief and jealousy seized Neteyam’s heart, squeezing it until he could barely breathe. Tarsem had everything he had ever wanted, everything he had dreamed of during those freezing nights by the ocean. Everything he had bled and fought for over the last three years was now in the hands of another man. Neteyam had never moved on from you, but he understood that you did. After all, he had hurt you. He had sliced your heart open right before he left, and he couldn't blame you if you did what he had wanted you to do and did everything in your power to erase him from your mind.

For weeks, you thought you had managed to completely avoid him, using the labyrinth of Hometree in your favor to avoid crossing paths with him. What you didn’t know, though, was that Neteyam spends at least an hour a day watching your son play with his little friends whenever he’s at the training grounds.

And come nights, he would stand where he stood on the day he saw you for the first time in years. He felt absolutely immoral for coveting a brother’s wife, but he would stand here to willingly welcome the Great Mother’s wrath should she find it righteous to strike him down, but he couldn’t keep himself away from you. And your child, for that matter.

He had successfully assimilated back into the warrior ranks, his name wildly popular among the younger hunters and the children, even to your little boy, who often overheard the older kids whispering about the mighty son of Toruk Makto.

One afternoon, Neteyam was standing near the edge of the clearing by the warrior paths, leaning lightly against a massive root as he watched your son and his friends loudly play a game a few yards away. Suddenly, a stray kick sent their small, tightly woven ball flying wildly off course. It tumbled across some ground roots, rolling over the moss before finally bumping directly against Neteyam’s foot.

He blinked, looking down before he bent to scoop up the lightweight toy.

A moment later, the sound of tiny, rapid footsteps approached. Ervo came bounding over to retrieve it, but he skidded to a sharp halt when he looked up and realized exactly who was holding his toy.

The little boy froze, his round, deeply familiar eyes wide. Slowly, Ervo brought his small hand up to his mouth, nervously nibbling on his thumb as he peered up at the towering warrior. A wave of natural apprehension and deep shyness washed over his little face, his ears twitching back slightly as he evaluated the large, chiseled stranger.

Neteyam looked down at the boy, feeling his chest suddenly expand with an unexplainable, fierce warmth the moment their eyes met. Up close, the resemblance was almost dizzying, but somehow, the boy looked strangely familiar but not you familiar... But Tuk familiar.

He softened his posture completely, making himself look as unthreatening as possible. Feeling the gentle shift in the his energy, Ervo smiled just a little bit, still nibbling on his thumb.

The tiny grin was Neteyam's undoing, he suddenly felt too weak. The boy was too cute. His own lips, usually set in a serious line these days, threatened to break into a massive smile for the boy.

“This yours?” Neteyam asked, his deep voice dropping to a soft, rumbling purr as he showed the ball in his open palm.

The boy nodded quickly, his courage returning. “My ball...”

Neteyam lowered himself onto his hunches, his long legs folding smoothly so he could level his eyes with the boy. He didn't want to tower over him like a scary monster.

“What’s your name?” Neteyam asked gently.

“Ervo,” the boy said in a small but clear voice. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking into Neteyam’s eyes. Then, with a sudden flash of bravery, he tilted his head. “You?” he asked courageously, treating Neteyam less like a formidable warrior and more like an age peer he simply wanted to be friends with.

Neteyam’s golden eyes lit up instantly. A genuine, breathy laugh escaped him, and a huge smile cut through his lips, transforming his hardened features. It made the boy smile, feeling a little more comfortable.

“Neteyam,” he said.

“‘Teyam...” Ervo echoed, trying out the syllables, his voice small and endearing. He pointed a small finger at the toy. “My ball?”

“Here,” Neteyam murmured, carefully placing the woven sphere back into Ervo's tiny, waiting hands.

“Thank you...” Ervo said politely. He turned on his heel to head back to the game, but after a few paces, he stopped. He looked back at Neteyam one last time, offering a bright, lingering smile before running off to rejoin his friends.

Neteyam remained on his haunches for a long time, watching the boy's retreating form, his hand still feeling the faint, lingering warmth of where the boy's fingers had brushed his own.

You have no idea about all of these. Apparently, more interesting things happen to your son daily that literally coming face-to-face with Neteyam is just one of the ordinary moments. He told you more about the beetles he observed with his friends more than the prior fact. So, you remained blissfully unaware, thinking that you were successfully living a life where your path has never cross with Neteyam.

You had spent three years scrubbing his face from your memories, teaching your heart to go numb at the mere thought of him. You convinced yourself that if you ever came face-to-face with him, you wouldn't feel a damn thing.

Then, one afternoon, the universe finally caught up to you

You left the pavillion to get Ervo for lunch, catching him sitting in a patch of dappled sunlight in their playground, completely absorbed in watching a line of colorful bugs march across a fallen log. His back was turned to the pathway. You smiled as you rounded a corner, but then your breath trapped itself in your throat.

You saw Neteyam approaching.

He was walking toward your son, his head tilted to the side with a small smile plastered on his face. He looked intensely curious about what Ervo was doing, drawn to the boy by some invisible force.

Panic, sharp and blinding, pierced your chest.

“Ervo,” you called out to your son, causing the boy to lift his head up.

Neteyam stopped dead in his tracks, his own head snapping up at the same time your son did that it looked almost comical. His golden eyes locked onto yours for the first time in three years. And you, who did the stupid thing of forgetting, was not prepared for all the changes at all that your heart jumped to your throat.

He had grown impossibly taller, his frame wider and heavily muscled from years of brutal warfare. His jawline was more chiseled, his handsome face bearing the subtle, hardened maturity of a man who had long outgrown the twenty-one-year-old who had left you behind.

“Mama?”

Your eyes immediately darted back to your son, fortunately taking your focus away from Neteyam. Ervo scrambled to his feet, leaving his bugs behind. “It’s time for lunch and you didn’t come back to the pavilion,” you said in a very motherly voice that reminded Neteyam of how Neytiri sometimes uses her Mom voice.

Ervo laughed and ran toward you, his little body crashing against your thigh. “I saw bugs!”

You bent, lifting him into your embrace and rubbing his back. You held him like a shield, your posture rigid and defensive as you lifted your sharp, icy glare on the man before you.

Neteyam was standing frozen, watching you hold the child, and the fierce, battle-hardened warrior seemed to dissolve. Every hard edge of his chiseled face turned incredibly soft and gentle. His ears drooped slightly, and his eyes swam with something profound and unspeakable. The coldness with which he treated and looked at you three years was gone, replace with the desperation of a man who was drowning.

“Y/N—” he breathed, his voice low and carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid apologies.

You didn't let him start anything, though. Clutching Ervo tighter against your chest, you turned your back on him, refusing to let him speak another syllable. You walked briskly back into the safety of the healing pavilion, your heart racing violently against your ribs.

That night, the cold wind offered no relief from the heat building inside Neteyam's mind. Deep in sleep, he got dragged backward by a subconscious that refused to let him forget the taste of you. In his dream, he was back in the hidden cave deep in the woods.

The air was thick with the scent of moss, rain, and the intoxicating, sweet musk of your skin. He was buried inside you, his knees spreading your thighs wide as he pounded into you relentlessly. It was a searing, glorious ache. His large hands came up to frame your jaw, fingers digging into your braids to anchor you as he leaned down, kissing you hard, bruisingly deep, drinking in your frantic gasps.

The cave was alive with the raw, animalistic sound of your bodies. The wet, sliding heat, your breathless cries, and his own low groans vibrating against your chest.

You threw your head back, the muscles of your throat straining as you clutched at his broad back, your fingernails digging tracks into his skin. Your moans were hoarse now, stripped raw after the breathless screams he had driven out of you.

“Neteyam...” you cried out, your hips arching up to meet his punishing, deep thrusts, begging for the release that was coiling tight between you.

He leaned down, catching your slick, parted mouth in another heavy kiss, breathing your name back into your lungs. “Oh, baby...” he choked, his chest heaving as he reached up to tenderly stroke the sheen of sweat off your forehead, his thumb tracing your cheek even as his lower body maintained its relentless, demanding pace.

You cried out again, a desperate sound of pure pleasure, pulling him down by his neck with a fierce strength that demanded all of him... And then Neteyam jolted awake with a violent gasp, nearly losing his balance and falling off his hammock.

He sat up abruptly, chasing his breath as if he had just run a marathon, his skin slick with sweat. He squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his hand up to roughly massage the bridge of his nose. He fought the overwhelming, agonizing urge to let out a loud, frustrated groan, catching himself just in time to ensure he wouldn't wake his family.

Breathing heavily through his nose, his hand slid down his torso, grabbing his crotch. His cock was punishingly hard, straining painfully against his loincloth, throbbing with the memory of you. He squeezed himself tightly through the fabric, trying to ease the agonizing ache, but the phantom sensation of your tight, wet heat wrapping around him was too vivid, too real. Like the many other dreams in the sea.

He knew it was wrong. He was literally committing a sin, lusting over a woman mated to another man. For Eywa's sake, he was a warrior, a future leader, and he was losing his mind over you, like he had when he was a boy. Yes, memories of you had been the only thing that got him through the lonely, brutal years of the war, keeping his relationship with his own hand extremely intimate during long nights on the battlefield, but it is wrong now.

Yet, as he sat there in the dark, his pulse hammering in his ears, it didn't truly feel like a mistake.

It was just that... you were so much more beautiful up close than any fleeting glimpse he had caught of you over the past weeks. He had looked into your eyes, smelled your scent, seen the fierce, maternal beauty radiating from you, and now his body was paying the price for that proximity.

Unable to bear the suffocating confinement of the hammock any longer, Neteyam quietly swung his long legs over the edge. He stood up noiselessly, his tail twitching with restless tension as he slipped out into the cool night air, knowing he would have to find a secluded spot in the forest to take care of his hard-on before the madness consumed him entirely.

Days after that, while you were at the pavilion and your son was having his afternoon nap in his cot beside you, the heavy beaded curtain at the entrance rustled, making you look up nonchalantly, expecting an apprentice or a hunter.

But your face instantly hardened when you saw Neteyam standing in the entryway. You stopped mid-motion, your hand freezing over the mortar where you were grinding a fresh poultice.

“I got... cut,“ he mumbled, his voice low and tentative.

You raised a brow, your jaw clenching as you looked him up and down. You didn't want him here, but as the tsakarem, you couldn't turn away someone seeking care. “Let me see,” you said coldly, jerking your head toward the seat in front of you.

He walked over and sat down, but as he did, you saw his golden eyes immediately glance toward the side, curiously tracking the small, sleeping form of your son in the cot. Your chest tightened. You purposefully extended your hand, reaching for a tall stack of drying leaves and shifting a woven basket to deliberately block his view of the boy.

When he finally held out his hand, you inspected the injury. The cut wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but it definitely required a proper disinfectant, the kind of minor scratch he could have easily treated on his own with some river water and basic sap. Both of you knew he had come here just to see you.

In fact, Neteyam prepared for days just to be able to do this.

You took his hand impersonally, your grip firm and strictly professional. Despite your coldness, Neteyam bit his lower lip, completely distracted by the sudden, overwhelming sensation of your soft hands touching his skin for the first time in three long years. A jolt of pure electricity ran up his arm, but he stayed still as you worked on the wound in absolute silence.

The quiet in the pavilion grew heavy, suffocating him. He couldn't take it anymore.

“You’ve... made a good life for yourself,” he began softly, his eyes fixed on your lowered face as you carefully applied a cool, crushed herb paste to the cut.

You completely ignored him, your expression blank as you reached for a clean strip of woven cloth.

“You have a beautiful boy...” he added after the silence stretched, his voice thick with a strange emotion.

You stopped. Your hands went completely still on his wrist, and you slowly lifted your head to look up at him, your sharp eyes piercing straight through his chest.

“Can we keep the silence?” you asked, your voice a flat, dangerous whisper. “My son’s a light sleeper.”

Neteyam blinked, the rejection hitting him like a physical blow. He immediately nodded, his ears drooping slightly as he looked back down at your hands wrapping the cloth around his palm. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

His chest tightened until it felt like a vice was crushing his lungs. Sitting this close to you, he wanted to say so much more. He wanted to scream the truth. He wanted to throw himself at your feet, to kneel on the floor and apologize until his voice gave out for the horrible lies he had told you before he left. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to press his face into your neck and tell you how much he loves you. That he had never stopped loving you for a single second. His heart, his body, and his soul had never known another woman, and they never would.

Even now that you are mated.

But as he watched you expertly tie off the bandage with detached efficiency, reality crashed over him.

He knew it would be wrong to even try to be friends with you now. You were a mated woman. You were a mother. He had absolutely no place in your life anymore, and he had no right to disturb the peace you had built. Every time he remembered that fact, it felt like his insides were being violently wrung out. It was a constant, living nightmare, made worse by the fact that seeing Tarsem around the village brought the agonizing jealousy back to the surface every single day.

He was so deeply envious of Tarsem. It should have been him. He was supposed to be your mate. He was supposed to be the father of your beautiful child, coming home to you after a long hunt. But he had sacrificed all of it for a war he wasn't even sure he'd survive.

I hope it's fucking worth it, he thought bitterly to himself later that night.

He lay completely awake in his hammock, staring up at the dark canopy of Hometree, unable to sleep as the image of your little boy filled his mind. The child was so small, so incredibly fragile, but Neteyam knew without a doubt that the little boy held your entire heart. A soft, involuntary warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of him. Ervo.  Remembering how peaceful the boy looked while having his nap, a faint smile touched Neteyam's lips in the dark.

You could have been mine, he thought with a heavy, suffocating grief settling over him like a boulder as he closed his eyes.

As he drifted to sleep, the weight of his emotions faded into a blinding, golden warmth.

In the dream, the sky above was a brilliant, cloudless blue, and the heat of the sun baked into his skin. He wasn't a warrior burdened by the future of a clan; he was just a boy, resting his head comfortably in your lap as the water lapped gently against the riverbank.

This was the sanctuary his mind always built for him.

It was the exact same dream that had saved his life on the blood-soaked sea. When the bullet had torn through his chest, when his breathing had rattled and his pulse had slowed to a terrifying flutter, his family had been screaming. The healers had been desperately pressing against his wound, fighting the tide of his fading life. But in his mind, he had felt no fear.

In his mind, he had only felt you.

You leaned down over him, your dark hair catching the light of the sun, casting a soft shadow over his face. Your expression wasn't cold or defensive like it was these days, it was full of that fierce, consuming love that used to belong entirely to him. Gently, you cupped his face with both of your hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp line of his jaw before you leaned down to kiss his lips softly.

Even in the depths of his sleep, the phantom sweetness of your touch made his lips curve into a faint, relaxed smile.

You pulled back just an inch, a soft, melodic chuckle vibrating in your chest at the sight of his grin. You ran a hand through his braids, your voice a gentle purr that seemed to echo from the very heart of the forest.

“‘Teyam... wake up,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his temple. “Wake up.”

Neteyam’s eyes snapped open.

The golden river and the warmth of the sun vanished instantly, shattered by the dark, cool reality of the woven ceiling above his hammock. He sat up abruptly, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His hand flew instinctively to his chest, his large fingers pressing hard against the thick, raised scar tissue right over his chest that he could conveniently cover with his chest knife sheath.

Your kelku were branches away, and you were wrapped in the arms of another man, but his lips still tingled with the memory of the dream.

He slid his hands over his face, letting out a long, ragged breath into the empty darkness of his quarters. Dreams of you always visited him whenever he slept with a heavy heart. It was a cruel mercy, a replaying loop of a life he had thrown away. Yet, as he stared out into the quiet shadows of Hometree, he knew those dreams were the only reason he was still breathing.

It was his mind’s instinctive way of giving him a reason to hold on, a desperate, stubborn tether keeping his soul anchored to the earth, simply because he couldn't bear to leave a world where you still existed. He prepared for the morning patrol, going about it as enthusiastically as he could, and when he got back, he was told that the high council wpuld convene once more in the longhouse.

The elders sat in a wide semicircle, their faces solemn, while Tarsem stood at the center. Neteyam took his place near his father, his eyes fixed firmly on the table, refusing to look at Tarsem so he wouldn’t and couldn’t picture out what-could-have-beens.

Tarsem cleared his throat, his deep voice commanding the room's attention. “Elders, Toruk Makto, Tsahik,” he began, bowing his head respectfully to each. “We have spent over a moon organizing the integration of our returning warriors, ensuring our borders are secure. The Omatikaya are strong. But as I stated before, the war has kept me from my duties at home for far too long. I must officially request to step down from my duties as Olo’eyktan so that I may leave and focus entirely on making up for lost time with my mate and child.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched so hard he thought he’d break his teeth. Hearing it out loud again felt like a fresh blade twisting in his ribs. His mate. His child. He closed his eyes, forcing down the violent surge of envy that threatened to choke him.

One of the elders, an old weaver named Okan, nodded slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of his staff. “The council understands, Tarsem. A leader’s heart must be whole to lead, and yours has been divided by the sea for many moons. You have done well by our people. I wholeheartedly support your decision, and should the council follow suit, you could fly to your family as soon as we grant your request.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched, snapping backward. Fly?

He blinked, his mind faltering as the word echoed in the quiet longhouse. He raised his head, staring at Tarsem in utter confusion. “Fly?” Neteyam interrupted, his voice cracking slightly before he hardened it. “Olo'eyktan... your mate and child are here. In Hometree.”

The entire council went completely still.

The elders blinked at him. Jake shifted in his seat, a furrow forming between his brows. Even Mo’at slowly lifted her sharp, clouded gaze, her expression unreadable as she stared at her grandson.

Tarsem turned around slowly, looking at Neteyam as if the young warrior had been struck by a stray arrow to the head. “What are you talking about, Neteyam?” Tarsem asked, a small, baffled frown crossing his features. “My mate and daughter are with her clan, the Tayrangi. They have been waiting for my return by the Eastern cliffs since the sky people's vanguard fell.”

Neteyam felt the blood drain from his face. The air in his lungs turned to pure frost. He sat frozen, his fingers digging into his knees.

“Who...?” Neteyam choked out, his throat working desperately to find words. “Then... Y/N? You are not... mated to Y/N?”

Tarsem let out a sudden, startled chuckle, shaking his head. “No. Y/N is not my mate. Why would you think that?”

Neteyam’s heart leaped violently into his throat, hitting his ribs with a force that made his breath hitch. A weakened, shuddering gasp escaped his lips. He felt so suddenly lightheaded he would have fallen right onto his face if he weren't already sitting. She isn't his. She isn't mated to anyone. “But... she is the Tsakarem,” he stammered, his mind racing, trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his assumptions.

“And she will make a fine Tsahik one day,” Tarsem countered gently, his eyes softening with amusement. “But that won’t be enough reason to make Y/N mate with anyone. She is a strong woman, Neteyam. She answers to no man's timeline.”

“She... she is unmated?” Neteyam asked again, his voice dropping to a desperate, trembling whisper, completely exposed before the entire council. He didn't care. He needed to hear it. He needed the world to stop spinning.

Elder Okan sighed, his voice carrying the familiar, slightly judgmental tone of the older generation. “She did get pregnant sometime three years ago, yes. But she refused to name the father. No one in the village knows.”

“Because it is unimportant,” Mo’at’s sharp, commanding voice cut through the longhouse like a whip, silencing the elder immediately. She leaned forward, her knowing, amber eyes locking directly onto Neteyam’s pale, trembling form. Her gaze was heavy, loaded with the exact same truth she had leveled at you the day before. “Y/N can raise Ervo all on her own. She is a strong woman, as Tarsem said. She needs no unnamed ghost to claim what is hers.”

“Indeed, Tsahik,” Tarsem agreed, bowing his head.

Got pregnant sometime three years ago...

The words rang in Neteyam’s ears, expanding into a deafening sound that drowned out the rest of the council meeting. Three years ago.

Ervo.

The boy’s small, chubby face flashed in his mind. The round, golden eyes. The shy, familiar little smile that reminded him of Tuk. The way his ears twitched. The strange, unexplainable warmth that had flooded Neteyam's entire chest when their eyes met and when he saw the little boy’s smile. He had thought of his strange resemblance to Tuk, but truly, it had been a resemblance to him.

The boy was his.

Tarsem’s voice brought him back. “Neteyam, as I was saying—”

“What is needed?“ he cut him off.

Tarsem’s lips parted, his eyes volleying in confusion. “That you consider accepting my request to—”

“I accept anything,” he said in a firm voice. Heck, after today, he could build a freaking Hometree using sand.

“Are you sure?” Jake asked, turning to him with furrowed brows.

Neytiri also looked at him with concern. “Son, this is a matter of great consequence. You need to plenty of time to think.”

“Plenty of time is not something we have the luxury of right now. Tarsem needs to be with his family,” he said. And I need to be with my own, he thought.

His parents nodded. As soon as the council wrapped the meeting up, he practically threw himself out of the council longhouse, his long legs eating up the woven pathways as he sprinted toward the upper branches.

He burst into the healing pavilion, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. But the pavilion was empty. The small cot where Ervo usually napped was neatly folded, and the mortar and pestle sat clean on the wooden table. A young healer’s apprentice, a girl of fourteen, jumped in startle at his sudden, towering entrance.

“Where is she?” Neteyam demanded, his voice rough and laced with an urgency that terrified the girl. “Where is the Tsakarem?”

“S-she went out,” the girl stammered, pointing a trembling finger toward the lower pathways. “To gather herbs—”

Neteyam didn't let her finish, he turned on his heel and descended the winding ramps frantically. When he finally reached the ground and ran to the dense brush, he immediately saw you.

The afternoon sun was filtering through the canopy, casting long, golden beams of light on you as you walked slowly, your hands reaching down to pluck a root or a leaf.

And right behind you, tailing you with his little feet skipping over the moss, was Ervo. The boy’s cheeks were completely full, puffing out comically as he happily munched on a handful of sweet berries from a leaf, clipped in his small arm is a small Toruk toy.

His boy.

The realization hit Neteyam in the gut with a force strong enough to almost make him fold, breaking the dam he had been building around his heart since he came back, to protect you from his own selfishness. The grief and the jealousy, it all melted away, replaced by a fierce, protective instinct so primal it made him tremble.

The snap of a twig under his large foot broke the silence of the clearing.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your shoulders immediately going rigid, your hand instantly moved to hover protectively over Ervo’s shoulder before you slowly turned around. The moment your eyes landed on Neteyam, your expression hardened into a deep, defensive scowl.

But Neteyam didn't look like the broken, submissive man who had mounded his head in apology in the pavillion days ago. He stood tall, his shoulders squared, his chiseled face bearing a look of absolute confidence. There was still the desperate, drowning look in his golden eyes, but there was also a burning, unyielding clarity.

“‘Teyam?” A small high-pitched voice called.

His gaze slid downward, tracking behind your hip where Ervo was now looking at him.

Your head snapped to your son, wondering at the familiarity in his voice. The little boy remained looking at Neteyam, his round eyes widened because he recognizes the tall stranger from the training grounds. He stopped chewing his berries, his tail giving a hesitant little flick.

“Hi,” Neteyam said, “Ervo.” His voice was incredibly small, a soft, rumbling purr that trembled on the edges as he tried with everything in him not to let it crack. He looked at his son’s small face, tracing the curve of his nose, the almost identical placement of his stripes.

He had been so stupid to believe otherwise. With the clarity he now possessed, he could clearly see that this boy looked more like him and nothing like Tarsem. He didn’t know how he could be so blind.

He blinked when you stepped forward, cutting off his view of the boy. You stood right in front of Neteyam, your head tilted up fiercely. Even though he towered over you, his massive frame casting a long shadow over your smaller one, you didn't show any worry. You looked at him like a mother palulukan defending her cub.

“We need to talk,” Neteyam said, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

You clenched your jaw, your fingers wrapping tightly around the handle of your basket. “I have nothing to say to you,” you told him, your voice cold and impersonal. “I am busy. Move out of my way.”

Neteyam didn't move an inch. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, his golden eyes burning with a truth that could no longer be hidden.

“He’s mine. Isn’t he?”

The question carried no doubt, no hesitation. He knew it in his heart. He knew it in the way his own soul had recognized the boy from the very first moment.

Your face crumpled, a sharp mix of pained exhaustion and deep-seated bitterness tightening your features. You let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-scoff, the shield you had built over the last three years cracking a little under the sheer absurdity of his sudden realization.

“Took you long enough,” you said, your voice dripping with sharp sarcasm. You tilted your head up, daring him to look you in the eyes. “Thought maybe he was fathered by any of the men I laid with after you left?”

His reaction was instantaneous, and you relished it. Neteyam’s jaw locked, his golden eyes narrowing into the sharp, dangerous slits of a furious predator. His ears pinned flat against his head, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked terrifyingly possessive, a look that used to make your stomach flip, but now it only served as a cold reminder that he was no longer in possession of you. Or your son. In fact, he had absolutely nothing to do with either of you.

“No, I never did,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intense rumble, emphasizing every single syllable as he fought to keep his temper under wraps. “I thought you were mated to Tarsem. I just learned now that you were not, and the moment I learned, I knew right away that your boy is mine.”

“Tarsem?” you blurted out, a genuine, bewildered chuckle slipping past your lips. It was completely ridiculous. “Tarsem is practically an older brother to me.”

“Y-You are the tsakarem,” he stammered slightly, his fierce demeanor slipping into desperate defense. “In the council meeting, I learned he was mated, and that he had a child. Because he was the Olo’eyktan, surely he would be mated to the future Tsahik... and then I saw you... and Ervo.”

You huffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “And you didn't even think to ask Tarsem?”

“Ask him? I couldn't even look at him without feeling the urge to strangle him,” he admitted bluntly.

The two of you stood there like madmen, standing in a secluded patch of the forest, whispering heatedly to each other just to avoid alarming the little boy whose ears were currently perked up, trying to catch the heavy conversation.

“I suppose I should be thankful to Tarsem then,” you said, a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Neteyam let out a breathy huff, but honestly, nothing could ruin his mood for the rest of his entire life. The crushing weight that had suffocated him for weeks had now vanished and it felt as if he were handed a brand new life. “And I suppose I deserved every bit of that suffering... I thought I had completely lost you—”

“You did,” you cut him off cleanly, your voice turning flat. “Ervo being yours means absolutely nothing for the both of us. If you want to be in his life, you can be. I won't keep him from you.”

Neteyam stared at you, watching your face lock into a firm, business-like expression. It was true that a part of him had foolishly hoped to win back both his son and the love of his life in one breath, but he could work with what you were offering.

For the time being.

After surviving the living hell of thinking you belonged to another man, absolutely nothing could stop him now. Before today, he had accepted that the brutal way he ended things between you had forced you to hate him, to bury his memory under a layer of cold indifference. But while you looked completely detached right now, Neteyam knew his own heart. He was going to come for you so strong, so steadily, that you wouldn't even realize he was doing it until he was fully woven back into your life like he had never left. He was going to pick up exactly where he left off. He was going to get you back.

Breaking the tense silence between you two, you took a deep breath and dropped down onto your haunches, leveling yourself with your son. “Ervo, you’ve met Neteyam before?”

Ervo nodded quickly, pointing a berry-stained finger. “He.. he gave my ball back.”

Neteyam smoothly lowered himself onto his haunches too, bringing his massive frame down to the dirt. Ervo looked at him with a classic mix of childhood shyness and courage. Then, the little boy turned his head to look at you.

“Toruk Makto’s son, Mama?” Ervo asked in a stage whisper, acting as if Neteyam wasn't even sitting right there, discussing him like a fascinating object.

“Yes, my love,” you said gently, tapping his small nose before glancing up at Neteyam. “He’s a big fan.”

A beautiful, breathless chuckle escaped Neteyam, his eyes twinkling with a sheen of tears. “Is that right?” he asked Ervo, carefully placing a large, trembling hand on the boy's small shoulder.

“Yes! I love Toruk!” Ervo beamed, proudly holding up his wooden Toruk toy for Neteyam to see.

“What do you say about coming to meet him later today?” Neteyam asked softly.

The boy's jaw dropped. “Toruk Makto?” he asked in pure wonder.

“Neteyam...” you warned, your eyes widening as you gave your gaze back to him.

Neteyam turned to you, his eyes swimming with unshed tears, but his expression was entirely sincere. “It’s my son’s simple joy, Y/N. I can make it happen for him...” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“But... you’ll have to...” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward Hometree.

“Tell them?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I want to tell them, Y/N. I want to tell the entire village, in fact,” he said, his gaze dropping back to the boy before looking at you. “But only if you’ll allow me.”

You bit your lower lip, looking at the raw vulnerability in his face. “Your family... is fine. The entire village... I think it will need time.”

Neteyam nodded firmly, accepting your terms instantly. He turned back to his son with a bright smile. “Yes, my boy. Toruk Makto. Do you want to go meet him?”

“Yes!” Ervo squealed with zero hesitation. Without warning, the little boy threw his entire body forward, launching himself against Neteyam’s broad chest and wrapping his chubby little arms tightly around the warrior’s neck.

The impact seemed to weaken Neteyam significantly. The sheer force of his son’s affection caused him to stagger back slightly, a soft gasp leaving his lips. Neteyam wrapped his long, muscular arms securely around the boy’s tiny frame, burying his face in Ervo’s hair as his tears finally spilled over, rolling down his chiseled cheeks.

Your own face crumpled in sharp pain at the sight. You quickly looked away, blinking back your own tears at how overwhelmingly emotional the moment was. For Neteyam, at least. Because right now, to your innocent son, Neteyam wasn't a long-lost father or a ghost from the past. He was simply a very kind, very cool guy who was going to bring him face-to-face with Toruk Makto.

You all walked back to Hometree together, the foliage parting easily as Neteyam carried Ervo all the way. The boy’s small, heavy weight rested securely against Neteyam’s chest, one of Ervo's sticky, berry-stained hands loosely gripping some of his braids. You walked half a pace behind them, keeping your eyes on the path but acutely aware of how naturally Neteyam’s large arm cradled your son’s frame.

You couldn’t help but notice how Neteyam could barely take his eyes away from the boy. Only looking at the path from time to time to make sure he’s still going the right path, but Ervo has his full attention. When you reached the lower levels of Hometree, you stopped him near a thick root. Several clan members were lingering nearby, not even trying to hide their intense curiosity, eyes darting from Neteyam to the child, and then to you.

“I will prepare him,” you told Neteyam, your voice clipped and entirely business-like as you reached out to take Ervo. “You could just meet us near your family's hut when it's time.”

Neteyam didn't hand the boy over immediately. Instead, he stepped way too close, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He lowered Ervo gently to his feet, but kept a hand on the boy's shoulder, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. “I can help you prepare him,” he offered softly.

Too conscious of the clan’s eyes on you, you shook your head. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Sure? he murmured, his voice a smooth, infuriating purr.

“Yes,” you hissed, grabbing Ervo’s hand. You turned on your heel and marched away, thoroughly thrown off your game by his sudden, relentless proximity.

Neteyam stood alone on the root, but as he watched your retreating form, a soft smile spread across his lips. His heart soared even higher when Ervo suddenly looked back over your hip, flashing a bright grin and waving his small hand. Neteyam waved back, his chest bursting with a brand-new sense of purpose.

Later that evening, you and Ervo walked up the winding ramp toward the large Sully kelku. Neteyam was already on the outside platform, pacing restlessly on the wide branch leading to the entrance. When he saw you, his face lit up, and he quickly guided you both inside.

The rest of the Sully family was entirely clueless. They knew only that Neteyam had insisted on a private family dinner to introduce someone.

The moment you stepped inside after Neteyam, Kiri’s eyes went wide. “Y/N!” she greeted happily, rushing forward to throw her arms around you in a tight hug.

Little Tuk, who was now ten years old and growing fast, stepped closer, her curious gaze dropping instantly to the toddler holding your hand. Ervo, meanwhile, was completely unfazed by the girls. His wide golden eyes were locked onto Jake Sully, looking up at the legendary Toruk Makto with absolute, unadulterated wonder.

Meanwhile, Neytiri took one look at Ervo, at the inquisitive tilt of his head, the unmistakable slope of his nose, and her breath caught. She didn't need to piece anything together. Beside her, Jake was already grinning, recalling Neteyam’s uncharacteristic, panicked outburst at the council meeting about Tarsem and the tsakarem. The pieces fit together perfectly.

“Neteyam?” Neytiri called out, her voice trembling slightly with an emotional weight.

Neteyam took a deep breath, standing taller before he took Ervo cleanly into his arms, lifting the boy up so his family could see him properly. “Dad, Mother... This is Ervo. My son. Born to the woman I love.”

You turned Neteyam with wide eyes but his tearful eyes were entirely on Ervo. The kelku erupted with gasps. Your son, of course, was entirely clueless about the gravity of the moment, only thrilled that the legendary Jake Sully was looking at him like he was some kind of grand prize. Neytiri’s eyes filled with tears as she rushed forward, her hands hovering over Ervo’s face, murmuring about how much he looked like Neteyam as a toddler.

Then, she turned to you. Without a word, she took your hand, pulling you into a fierce, deeply emotional embrace. “Oh, Y/N,” she breathed. “You were all alone...“

Ervo, ever attentive and fiercely protective of you, instantly tracked the movement. Seeing his mother surrounded, his high-pitched voice cut through the loud chatter. “Mama?”

“I’m here, my love,” you smiled, gently pulling away from Neytiri so he could see you.

Reassured, Ervo smiled brightly. He turned back to Jake, excitedly thrusting his Toruk toy forward. His small tail curled tightly around Neteyam’s forearm in a subconscious gesture of comfort, making Neteyam let out a breathless chuckle as his tears rolled down his nose. Neteyam’s eyes found yours across the room. You gave him a very small, hesitant smile before turning back to talk with Neytiri.

The dinner itself was smooth and warm. At first, Ervo was a bit shy, the large family becoming slightly overwhelming for him. Once, he even wriggled in Neteyam's lap, his small hand reaching out toward you. “Mama...” he whined softly.

You leaned over, offering a reassuring smile as you caressed his rounded cheek. “Papa will feed you, baby...” you told him gently.

You looked at his tiny face properly. He was so small. For all the years of his existence, he had never had a father, and he had never asked about one, either. You were only fortunate that he was still too young to be truly curious about the missing piece of his life.

“Papa...” Ervo echoed, testing the word on his tongue.

You nodded, reaching out to gently tap Neteyam’s chest to emphasize the word. “Papa.”

But as your fingers brushed against his chest, your tap inadvertently shifted his leather knife sheath. The strap slid aside, and your eyes caught a glimpse of the faint, thick, raised scar tissue hidden underneath. Right over his heart.

Your eyes snapped up, locking onto Neteyam’s face. He was staring back at you, his eyes completely misty, entirely focused on the profound fact that you had just introduced him to his son as Papa. He hadn't even noticed that his sheath had moved, or that you had seen the mark of the bullet that had nearly taken his life. Your forehead creased in a brief, sudden moment of worry and realization, but before you could dwell on it, Ervo snagged your attention.

The boy jumped in Neteyam’s hold, a demanding grin breaking across his face as he looked up at his father. “Feed me!” he ordered cutely, wrapping one chubby arm securely around Neteyam’s neck.

A massive smile broke across Neteyam’s lips, but a soft, choked sob escaped him at the same time. He bowed his head, a single tear rolling down his pointed nose. Your face crumpled in a sharp pain at the sight. Your hand instinctively balled into a tight fist at your side, forcing yourself to restrain the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort him.

Neteyam quickly wiped his face, recovering his composure to feed Ervo, who began eating happily while the rest of the family absolutely doted on him.

“It’s like seeing Neteyam as a toddler all over again,” Jake noted, his own food completely forgotten as he watched Ervo chew his food rapidly, his cheeks puffing out. In fact, everyone at the table was too busy watching the boy to eat. “The kid eats like a syaksyuk.”

Neytiri smiled warmly at you. “Y/N, your blood did not fight back at all,” she joked and you chuckled. She looked as though she wanted to ask a thousand questions about the last three years, but she wisely chose not to meddle between you and Neteyam.

“How old is he?” Tuk asked you shyly, leaning over the table to peek at Ervo.

You smiled at the girl before turning to your son. “Ervo, how old are you?”

Your son proudly held up two fingers. “This many,” he said grandly.

Neteyam chuckled, and the entire table burst into a loud laughter. Ervo smiled proudly, soaking up the attention.

“Oh, you are still a baby,” Tuk teased gently.

Ervo’s ears immediately pinned back as he scowled, shaking his head. “Not a baby!”

You pursed your lips, trying not to laugh as the family shared another collective chuckle over his little outburst. You reached over, pressing  a palm against Ervo’s chest to calm him while Neteyam instinctively began rubbing the boy's back in perfect synchronization. “Sorry, he’s in that stage...” you murmured.

Ervo quickly forgot his anger anyway, his eyes locking onto the sweetroot pie. He pointed a finger at Neteyam, asking his father for a piece. Neteyam chuckled and glanced at you for permission.

You nodded slightly. “Just a little. Too much sweets keep him up all night,” you whispered softly.

You immediately clamped your mouth shut when Ervo’s head swiveled toward you, his ears perking up at the word 'sweets'. Neteyam let out a quiet laugh, quickly distracting the boy by showing him the pie.

After dinner, the family moved outside to catch the cool evening air, stepping onto the wide woven platform that wrapped around the exterior of the kelku. Jake and Neytiri had asked to spend time with Ervo, and Jake was currently enticing the boy with wild, grand stories about Toruk. Ervo was completely captivated, though his golden eyes still occasionally flicked back to the edge of the platform to make sure you were still there.

“He is so protective of you,” Neteyam noted softly, stepping up to stand beside you.

You kept your gaze fixed on Ervo, who was currently talking to Jake like he was a grown warrior, wildly gesturing with his hands and adding his own imaginary details to Jake's Toruk stories. A soft, genuine smile touched your lips, and you rubbed your arms with your palms against the evening breeze.

“He is...” you replied quietly. “But it’s also because we are always together. For a little boy like he is, I am the whole world. Now... that world will be expanding for him.”

Neteyam looked down at you, his expression intensely wistful, the bioluminescent dots on his face glowing brighter, telling you of the intensity of his feelings. “I’m sorry about everything being so rushed... will it be a shock for him?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

“I don’t think so... he’s still very young, and I don’t think he truly understands the concept of what a father is yet,” you admitted, biting your lower lip. “I no longer have parents where he can see a normal family dynamic, and he hasn’t gotten to the age where he asks about his friends’ fathers. To him, you are just a new, wonderful person in his life.”

You heard him let out a heavy, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N...” he whispered, his voice cracking, dropping to a small, broken tone. “I am so fucking sorry I was not here with you. That I didn’t know when I should have known—”

“Because you were fighting a war to make sure he would have a safe world to live in, Neteyam,” you cut him off cleanly, turning your head to look at him. “And you couldn’t have known because I chose not to tell you. You have done nothing wrong to our boy, but you do have a lot to make up for.”

Tears pooled heavily in his golden eyes, reflecting the soft blue light of the forest. “But I have done you wrong. I hurt you, Y/N... I didn’t have to leave the way I did. I was so cruel—”

You shook your head slowly, letting out a soft sigh as you looked back out at your son’s laughing form. “Let’s leave the past behind us, Neteyam,” you cut him off again, your voice unyielding. “I am a mother now. The one thing it did to me is make me realize that all of my woes and heartaches before I became one don’t matter nearly as much as my son’s well-being.”

Neteyam stared at you, watching the solemn, fierce, and beautiful maturity of your face. He found his chest aching, completely melting for this version of you, too. The incredible, unbreakable woman that his son had made of you. You were stronger than any warrior he had ever fought alongside, stronger even than himself.

He loved you so deeply it terrified him. And as he watched you watch his son, Neteyam swore a silent vow to Eywa that he would stop at nothing to make you feel, believe, and trust in that love again.

The next day, you woke up with the familiar weight of your son’s small body missing from your side, not an unusual occurrence, as Ervo was a notoriously early riser, usually content to play quietly with his wooden toys near the entrance of the kelku.

But your attention was quickly snagged by the sound of the woven flap being opened wildly. Ervo came rushing back inside, his little feet pattering frantically over the mats. You sat up, seeing his face was flushed with pure, unadulterated excitement, his golden eyes wide as plate saucers.

“Mama! Mama, look!” he chirped, dragging you up. “Papa is sleeping outside!”

Your breath hitched. Papa. The word still felt entirely foreign. You pushed yourself up, your forehead creasing with confusion. Stepping out onto your kelku’s small, private platform, your jaw nearly went slack as you looked up.

There, suspended between two thick branches just a few steps away from outside your entrance, was a sturdy hammock. Hanging carelessly from a nearby knot in the wood were Neteyam’s massive longbow and a leather quiver full of arrows, swaying gently in the morning breeze. Neteyam himself was just waking up, his long, muscular frame shifting as he stretched, his tail lazily dropping over the edge of the woven fabric.

He looked down, his golden eyes instantly locking onto yours. The moment he saw your stern expression, he smoothly swung his legs out, dropping down onto the main branch. He looked a bit rumpled from sleep, but his posture was instantly alert, a soft, eager smile instantly forming on his lips when Ervo peeked out from behind your thigh.

“Neteyam, why are you sleeping out here?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

“I just thought it would be convenient,” he said, his deep voice carrying a gravelly, morning rasp. He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you need anything, I’m right here. If there is danger, I’ll be here to protect you both.”

Your lips parted, a frustrated, disbelieving breath escaping you. “There’s... there’s absolutely no need for this, Neteyam. Truly. We have lived here for years, and none of that danger has happened. And if we ever need—”

“Please,” he cut you off gently, stepping forward. The towering, confident warrior from the previous evening seemed to completely vanish, replaced by a man looking down at you with a gaze so heavy with repentance it made your chest ache. “I want to help you in any way I can. I want to be of use to you. Tell me anything you need done, and I will get it done. Anything you want, I will find it. I came back too late, Y/N. We should have been a team raising Ervo from the moment he was formed... but you were all alone in it.”

You could see the raw, agonizing struggle on his face. You know Neteyam. He was never one to just do things to force his way into your bed. And right now, he was literally begging for the dirty work. He was begging for the labor and the heavy lifting.

You remembered the promise you had made him the day before: you wouldn't keep Ervo from him. You looked down at your son, who was already staring up at Neteyam like he was an invincible giant, and you let out a long, defeated sigh.

“Fine,” you said, your voice entirely flat, masking the way your heart gave a traitorous thump against your ribs. “Ervo needs to wash, and he hasn't had breakfast yet. I need fresh fire-roots from the lower gatherers, and the water basin is completely empty.”

Neteyam’s eyes lit up instantly, a profound, breathless look of gratitude washing over his features as if you had just handed him a decree rather than a list of mundane chores. “I'm on it,” he said quickly, nodding with an intense, ironclad seriousness. “I’ll get the water first.”

Neteyam moved so fast you’d think he had a visible countdown ticking away right on his face. He practically flew down the branches of Hometree, returning in record time with heavy, sloshing containers of clean water to completely top off your large storage basins. Not stopping there, he immediately grabbed every single empty waterskin from its woven basket, jogging down to the river to fill them with cold water. He lined them up perfectly, wiped clean, as if he were preparing a high-ranking commander’s tent for inspection.

With the water sorted, he disappeared again, darting toward the communal kitchens to fetch breakfast.

Down at the bustling cooking fires, he came face-to-face with Marla for the first time in years. The older woman paused, a warm, knowing smile spreading across her wrinkled face as she looked at the young warrior. “What do you need, boy?” she asked, as if he never left and this was just a normal day where he comes to you food.

“A tray of food for Y/N and our boy,” Neteyam said, a small, nearly imperceptible smile tugging at his lips at the words our boy.

It felt like a normal day three years back, but this time, he was getting food for you and the child you two made.

Marla’s eyebrows raised in surprise, just a fraction, before she hummed softly. “And none for you?” she asked, her hands already deftly assembling a generous tray of fresh fruit, roasted fish, and steamed roots.

Neteyam shook his head quickly. He didn't think you’d particularly enjoy having his him hovering around the mat for breakfast just yet. He didn't want to push his luck.

As she wrapped the food in clean leaves, Marla looked at him gently. “How was the eastern sea like, boy?”

“Beautiful...” Neteyam murmured, his voice dipping into a wistful, quiet tone. “But I wasn’t really there for its beauty.”

The truth was, not only was the war cold and brutal, it had been a psychological prison for him. Every Na’vi was taught from birth to put their full trust in Eywa, to meet death without fear because all energy is borrowed... and one day, you’ll have to give it back. But Neteyam? Neteyam had feared death every single day. He had been terrified of dying, not out of cowardice, but because of the sheer agony of what he had left behind.

He had wanted to go home to you so badly. Sure, he had cut things off and hurt you deeply before leaving, foolishly convincing himself that making you hate him would be better than leaving you to mourn a dead mate if he never returned. But the moment the sky people's bullets started flying, all he wanted was to live. To survive, go home, and hold you in his arms again.

“I didn’t know how much I missed...” he voiced out softly.

Marla sighed, her expression softening with deep maternal sympathy. She reached out, patting his hand with a heavy, grounding comfort. “You were fighting a war, boy. To keep the sky people from ruining this world,” she reminded him gently. “If you must know... she is very strong. Very strong. And your boy is, too.”

Neteyam’s eyes snapped up to her, pooling with fresh tears. The words were meant to comfort him, but they only fed the monster of regret clawing at his chest. He had missed so much. No matter how many times you or Marla told him that it was a time of war and he couldn't have known, he still felt the agonizing weight of his absence. He should have been there to hold your hand while you were heavy with Ervo, he should have been there to witness every single one of his son's first milestones.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he thanked Marla, took the heavy tray, and walked back up to your kelku.

By the time he stepped back inside, Ervo was already cleanly bathed and changed into a fresh, tiny loincloth. The boy was energized as ever, and the moment Neteyam set the tray down and lifted him up, Ervo smelled so naturally of a baby and sweet sap that Neteyam couldn't help but bury his face in the boy's hair, snuggling into him with a soft sigh.

Ervo giggled loudly, his little hand immediately reaching up to grab at Neteyam’s braids. He looked over at you as you knelt by the tray, arranging the food. “Papa will feed me?” Ervo asked, his high-pitched voice filled with easy trust.

You paused, looking up from the food to glance at Neteyam. Neteyam froze, his eyes wide and pleading, nodding down at you rapidly as he immediately lowered his massive frame onto the woven floor, setting Ervo securely on his lap.

“What about your morning patrol?” you mumbled quietly, keeping your voice low so only he could hear.

You watched as Ervo settled against Neteyam’s chest like it was the absolute best seat in the entire world, vastly bigger, sturdier, and much more comfortable than any mat.

“It won't be for another hour,” Neteyam replied softly, his attention snagged by your son, who was aggressively pointing a sticky finger at the specific fruit he wanted to eat. Neteyam immediately jumped into action, carefully peeling it and breaking it into perfect, toddler-sized bites.

Your lips pushed forward slightly, a tiny, involuntary twitch of amusement hitting you as you watched a legendary, hardened warrior completely smitten, utterly held captive by the small hands of your little boy.

Without a word, you pushed your own leaf of food toward Neteyam. You couldn't finish everything anyway, and he clearly hadn't brought anything for himself. You immediately looked away, deliberately avoiding his reaction, completely missing the way his golden eyes literally lit up with a breathless joy just because you shared your food with him.

Once breakfast was done, Neteyam practically refused to let you touch a single dish. He cleaned up everything in a flash while you gathered your stuff and prepared for your day at the healing pavilion.

As you moved around the kelku, Neteyam bit his lower lip, his eyes quietly tracking your every movement. A heavy, aching tightness gripped his chest. It felt so beautifully, agonizingly domestic. This was the life that should have been his if he had just played his cards right. If he had only known there was still so much left to live and play for.

When it was time to leave, he insisted on walking you to the pavilion, with Ervo still riding happily in his arms.

As you stepped inside the shade of the healing pavilion, you glanced back at the pair. “That boy will forget how to walk if you keep carrying him everywhere,” you noted, your tone carrying a humored edge.

Neteyam smiled warmly, stepping into the pavilion after you. “Just let me,” he murmured softly, gently cradling the back of his son’s head in the crook of his neck. “He fits so perfectly in my arms.”

He carefully set Ervo down on a soft mat, ruffling the boy’s fluffy hair.

“Papa will come back right after my patrol, okay? We’ll go play. What do you think about that?”

Ervo nodded rapidly, already thoroughly distracted by some scattered wooden toys he had left there the day before. “Okay. I wait,” Ervo chirped.

Neteyam smiled breathlessly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the top of his son's head. As he straightened up, his golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, holding your gaze for a long, quiet beat.

You found, with a sudden leap in your chest, that you still knew him entirely too well. You didn't even need words to understand the silent message written all over his face: Please let me keep coming back.

For the next weeks, it’s all he ever did.

He sleeps in a hammock outside your kelku, wakes up to fetch you and Ervo breakfast, and goes to his morning patrol only to come back to spend time with Ervo. He climbed the treacherous upper water-vines three times a week, bringing back the sweetest, clearest mountain run-off before you even had the chance to check the waterskins for refill.

Most days, you won’t even need to ask the gatherers the specific, rare herbs that needed replenishing, you’d find them already restocked, knowing that Neteyam had to have gone to the slippery, moss-covered undersides of the floating mountains to get them, and still be back before dinner.

One hot afternoon, you walked down to the lower training clearing to find him completely surrounded by the village children. Ervo was sitting securely on top of Neteyam's broad shoulders, holding onto his ears like reins, his little tail swishing with absolute pride.

Neteyam was kneeling on one knee in the dirt, completely unbothered by the weight of your son. In his hands, he held a small, practice bow, the kind given to young children just beginning their training, and a single blunt arrow.

The village kids were huddled around him in a tight, breathless semicircle, their wide golden eyes glued to his every movement. None of them questioned why a decorated warrior of the Great War was spending his precious afternoon off hanging out with a bunch of kids. To them, he was simply the coolest person alive.

“You must not just look with your eyes,” Neteyam explained, his deep voice dropping into a quiet, captivating whisper that had every single child leaning in closer. He adjusted his grip on the tiny bow, his massive hands looking almost comical against the small wood. “You must feel the wind on your skin. Listen to your surroundings and keep sharp, Eywa will tell you exactly where to go.”

With an effortless, fluid grace, Neteyam drew the string back. High above them, a single, broad green leaf loosed itself from a branch, lazily fluttering down. The blunt arrow struck the falling leaf and with a dull pop, the arrow and leaf landed on the bush.

The clearing absolutely erupted. The children gasped, clapping their hands and jumping up and down in pure amazement. Ervo, right on top of his father's shoulders, let out a high-pitched, victorious shriek, bouncing so hard that Neteyam had to quickly reach up with one large hand to steady the boy, a soft, booming chuckle escaping his chest.

“Me next! Papa, let me try!” Ervo said excitedly.

Neteyam’s ears twitched forward, a breathless smile breaking across his face at the title. He carefully hoisted Ervo down from his shoulders, cradling him against his chest as he looked up and finally spotted you standing at the edge of the clearing.

The moment his eyes met yours, the confidence vanished just a little. His posture softened completely, his golden eyes searching your face with that familiar, quiet hope. He turned to the kids and told them something you couldn’t quite hear before he headed over to you, wiping sweat from his forehead, his breathing slightly heavy.

“Is it time for his nap?” Neteyam asked eagerly, his ears perked up, entirely ready to carry the boy back up the massive tree.

“No,” you replied softly, holding Ervo’s hand and kissing the palm of it, causing him to giggle. “But it is almost his nap time.”

Neteyam adjusted his grip on Ervo, his fingers splaying protectively over the boy’s small lower back. “Going somewhere?” he asked, looking down at you.

You hesitated, your eyes briefly scanning the woods beyond the clearing. You bit your lower lip, a sudden wave of distraction clouding your features. “I’m just getting something.”

“If you need anything, I’ll get it for you,” he said instantly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over you like a shield. “That way you can put Ervo down for his nap and you don’t need to go out there.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. The mid-day heat was picking up, and Ervo’s eyelids were already drooping against Neteyam’s chest. “I just need some moon lily and tealo leaves,” you admitted, your focus drifting.

You were entirely too preoccupied to notice the way Neteyam’s head reared back slightly, a heavy shadow of fear and surprise violently washing over his chiseled features. He knew exactly what those two herbs combined to create. You used to drink that exact eclipse tea years ago, back when the two of you were stealing moments in the dark, desperate to prevent a pregnancy before you two were properly mated. He used to be the one to get them for you.

“I’ll get it for you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, thick and strained as he forced a weak, hollow smirk onto his face. “I know exactly where to find them, remember? Been here, done that.”

He was trying to play it cool, to inject some humor into the air, but inside, his chest was collapsing. Yes, you weren't mated. But that didn't mean you didn't have a lover. Even when the two of you had been secretly together, half the young men in the clan had tried their luck with you. He didn't doubt for a single second that they were still trying, and the thought that one of them might have finally won, that you needed this tea... made him want to curl up and scream into the dirt.

“Are you sure?” you asked, completely missing his inner turmoil.

“Yes,” he nodded tightly, carefully transferring a sleepy Ervo into your arms.

“Thank you, Neteyam,” you murmured, adjusting your hold on your son and turning to head up toward the pavilion.

An hour later, the bead curtains of the pavilion rustled, and Neteyam stepped inside. Ervo was already fast asleep on a small cot in the corner, and you were at your workspace, meticulously washing the fresh moon lily and tealo leaves Neteyam had brought back.

Neteyam’s golden eyes instantly tracked a young woman sitting quietly in the corner of the room, her tail twitching nervously.

“I am so sorry for the hassle, tsakarem...” the girl, Peyra, whispered for the nth time. She watched you grind the herbs into a paste, completely uncaring that Neteyam was standing just paces away.

You let out a heavy sigh, pouring hot water over the mixture. “This is not a hassle, Peyra. It is only that I wish you would be more responsible with your intake if you are going to be having regular sex.”

And oh, the irony of your own words was not lost on you. The literal, living proof of your own past irresponsibility was snoring softly just a few feet away. Peyra nodded sheepishly, gratefully accepting the wooden bowl of steaming tea you handed her, drinking it down quickly before offering a polite nod and slipping out of the pavilion.

Once the curtain settled, you glanced up. Neteyam was still standing exactly where he had been minutes ago, rooted to the floor like a massive, awkward tree.

“What?” you asked, wiping your hands on a clean cloth.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, shifting his weight. “I thought...”

Your eyes narrowed at his sketchy behavior. “You thought what?” When he didn't answer, the pieces suddenly clicked in your mind. A look of sheer disbelief crossed your face. “You thought that was for me?”

Neteyam licked his dry lips, his ears pinning back in pure embarrassment as he looked away. “Not... not in a bad way,” he muttered, his voice quiet. “I just thought... well, the men of this clan would have to be incredibly stupid not to shoot their shot while I was gone.”

You raised a single eyebrow, entirely unamused but secretly startled by the possessive edge in his tone. “I have a toddler and a healing pavilion to run, Neteyam. I have absolutely no time for that.”

“Of course,” he responded instantly. The sheer, overwhelming wave of relief that washed over him practically took all his words away. His shoulders dropped, the suffocating tension leaving his frame.

Trying to break the sudden silence, you went back to organizing your tools, casually asking, “Do the reef people have their own contraceptives? Perhaps made of seaweeds?”

Neteyam blinked, thoroughly caught off guard. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion as he actually had to think about it. “Not that I know of. I never laid with anyone back there.”

Your fingers froze over your grinding stone. Your forehead relaxed for a brief, traitorous second, a strange lightness hitting your chest before you quickly forced your features back into a harsh, defensive scowl. “I didn’t ask you that.”

“Right. Of course,” he said, a tiny, breathless smile tugging at his lips at the sight of your incredibly cute, stubborn scowl. He knew he was pushing his luck, so he quickly cleared his throat, stepping back toward the exit to return to his normal programming. “I’ll get going. I have a meeting with the council.”

You watched him walk out, the beads clattering behind him. The moment he was gone, you bit your lip, lowering your head to lean your forrhead against the table as you tried to calm the frantic beating of your heart. You had tried so hard over the last three years to bury your curiosity, to force yourself to believe he had found a woman in Awa’atlu just so the pain of him leaving would finally numb out.

But hearing him say, so casually and honestly, that he had never been wth anyone else... it unleashed a warmth you weren't prepared to handle. You were still so deeply affected by him, and you hated how easily he could still disrupt your peace.

Meanwhile, inside the council longhouse, the atmosphere was heavy. The village elders were gathered in a circle, mapping out the upcoming leadership transition between Tarsem and Neteyam. Tarsem was set to return from the Tayrangi clan on the day of the mantle passing, but before that could happen, the elders were strictly focusing on political technicalities.

When Neteyam arrived and sat beside his parents, Neytiri leaned over, quietly explaining the current topic of discussion. Neteyam’s brow furrowed in deep confusion.

He looked across the fire at one of the senior elders leading the discussion. “Forgive me, but why are we discussing a list of prospective betrothals for me? Doesn’t the clan already have a tsakarem?”

The elders shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uneasy, pointed glances. Finally, Elder Okan cleared his throat, leaning forward. “Well... we do, Neteyam. But... Y/N is... for lack of a better word, disgraced. She had a child outside the sacred bond. She is a—”

“Elder Okan,” Neteyam interrupted cleanly, instantly silencing the entire longhouse.

Neteyam stood up, his massive frame towering over the council fire. He looked the elders, the warriors, and every single member of the council dead in the eye, his gaze burning with a fierce, protective fury.

“If she is a disgrace to this clan, that is only because I disgraced her,” he stated, his voice echoing off the woven walls with absolute authority.

The room remained silent, listening to him.

“I am the father of her child,” Neteyam said. “I got her with child, and then I left her here, completely alone, to bear the weight of my absence and raise our son. I broke her heart and left her in the dark to go fight the war for our people. And through all of it, she did not break. She rebuilt herself again and again, she raised a beautiful boy, and she proved her worth and her devotion to the healing of our people every single day.”

He watched realization and shame dawn in their faces. If it weren’t for Mo’at years ago, these people wouldn’t even have considered you as the tsakarem. They overlook what you do for the people and it didn’t mean anything to Neteyam anymore now that they seemed to have feel a deep respect for you only after he spoke on your behalf and destroyed his own perfect son, perfect soldier reputation.

He is far from perfect. Not when he left you alone to be ravaged by these people.

“She is the only woman I will ever mate with. And if this clan wants me as their Olo’eyktan, they will accept her as their Tsahik.”

Neytiri patted his hand on the table. “Has she agreed to be your mate, Neteyam?”

Neteyam swallowed, glancing down at his mother. He shook his head, “No,” he said. “But I'm going to court her...”

Jake scoffed, stifling a smile. “Better get to it, son,“ he said as he cleared his throat.

One morning, Neteyam walked you two to the pavilion as per usual, but you noticed some elders watching from a far. It had felt like you were in a circus in the past moons, with the clan members watching your every move like they were trying to unleash a secret.

When you were younger, you were more eager to please, more  eager to belong because you grew up an orphan. But being a mother had changed all that, you care for no one’s opinion now, and you genuinely feel like you owe none of them an explanation about Ervo, and who his father was, even though it has gotten rather obvious who exactly it was.

“I'll come back later, baby,“ Neteyam told Ervo, kissing his temple but when you glanced at him, his eyes were on you as though he was talking to you.

You looked away when you felt your heart jostle inside your chest. Sometimes, when he talks to Ervo... It feels like he was talking to you. He put Ervo down and your son waved up at him quietly as he began to walk. You dropped down on one knee, wrapping an arm around your son. He always seems so sad when Neteyam has to leave.

“Bye, Papa!” you said in a small voice, urging him to mimic you.

Neteyam looked down at you both, waving at Ervo, his eyes soft on you.

“Take care, Papa,” you urged Ervo to say.

“Take care, Papa!” your son parroted in a high-pitched voice and you kissed his round cheek.

Neteyam laughed and waved at him again. When you entered the pavilion, you remembered your stone mortar that Neteyam had painstakingly sourced and gifted you years and years ago when you became one of the apprentice healers. It had cracked right down the middle the previous afternoon and you couldn’t help but sigh in a moment of grief as you thought of trudging down to the claymakers on the lower levels to seek a replacement.

You did a double look on your workable, though, when you caught sight of a brand-new mortar and pestle.

You made your way to it, your heart soaring excitedly. You ran your fingers over the smooth, flawless grain of the dark river stone. It was perfectly weighted, the edges meticulously shaved down and grooved to explicitly fit the unique contour of your palm. It was a signature style you recognized instantly, only Neteyam worked stone with that specific patience, and only he knew the shape of your palm.

You looked beyond the curtains, on the pathway where Neteyam had disappeared for morning patrol.

Over the next weeks, a quiet wave of things you were still just about to need and want was already manifesting before you, though Neteyam had never given you a reason to question this. It was as though he was anticipating your every need before you could even vocalize them, entirely devoted to your convenience.

One night, a chaotic hunting accident had kept you at the healing pavilion until long past eclipse, stitching deep lacerations and mixing poultices. Marla had already kindly sent up a tray of dinner hours ago, and you had eaten in quiet intervals between patients.

By the time the pavilion cleared out, you were exhausted, sitting on the woven mat to sort the remaining herbs. Ervo was leaning his small, heavy body completely against your side. His eyelids were heavy, blinking slowly against the soft glow of the hanging firepots, but his stubborn little fingers were tightly hooked into your beaded top, desperately holding out.

The soft clatter of the curtains made both of you look up, seeing Neteyam step inside, fresh from what must have been a grueling, late-night council meeting.

The moment your eyes landed on him, an involuntary warmth flooded your chest, and your face lit up before you could even think to mask it.

“Papa!“ Ervo voiced the exact excitement you were obviously feeling.

“Hello, my boy,” Neteyam smiled, the exhaustion instantly draining from his face. He dropped to one knee as Ervo scrambled up and ran toward him, his small body crashing directly into his father. Neteyam’s golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you didn't even try to remove the soft smile lingering on your lips.

“The little man won't sleep without you,” you said, shaking your head with a gentle huff before looking back down at the roots on the table.

Neteyam chuckled, looking down at his son, whose eyes were suddenly twinkling with newfound energy. “Is that so?” he grinned, immediately digging his large fingers into the boy's sides to tickle him, earning a loud, breathless fit of giggles that made you look up again, completely charmed. “Is that why you were practically leaning against Mama already, but still you won’t sleep, hm, little warrior?”

You watched as Neteyam smoothly scooped the boy up, cradling him in his massive arms like an infant. Ervo threw his head back, laughing endlessly as Neteyam leaned down to blow air against his exposed neck, tickling him until the toddler was completely out of breath.

“Neteyam...” you called out, your voice a soft, warning murmur to break up the rowdiness. “He needs to sleep.”

He grinned, settling the boy deeper into the crook of his arm as he sat down properly on the mat across from you. “You sleep now, little man. Close your eyes.”

“But tomorrow... tomorrow...” Ervo mumbled, his small hands weakly waving in the air, trying to animate a bow and arrow. Neteyam had been taking him out for archery practice with a blunt arrow, and the boy had been entirely crazy about it.

“Yes, yes, tomorrow, Papa will teach you again,” Neteyam promised softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Ervo, don’t you miss your bugs?” you interjected from your spot, crushing a handful of dried leaves.

“I miss... I watched bugs today, Mama... many bugs... many colors...” Ervo trailed off, his voice dropping into a sleepy slur. His heavy eyelids finally fluttered shut, his little head snuggling deep into the warm expanse of Neteyam’s chest.

Neteyam let out a quiet, breathless sigh, his eyes snapping to yours as a soft, private smile pulled at his lips. You smiled back, the quiet domesticity of the room wrapping around the three of you like a blanket.

“You're here late today,” he noted quietly, his gaze dropping to the sheer volume of plants around you.

You sighed, rolling your shoulders out. “Most of the herbs needed restocking after tonight, and I just felt the sudden urge to clean everything up... for my own convenience tomorrow.”

“Ever the perfectionist,” he murmured, his lips twisting into a fond, nostalgic smirk.

As he shifted to get more comfortable, Ervo’s heavy head moved against his shoulder, once again pushing his chest knife sheath completely out of place. Your eyes lowered instinctively, and under the steady light of the fire, you saw the scar clearly. It was a vicious, jagged scar of raised, pale flesh.

Your brow furrowed, a sudden chill running through your veins. “What happened?”

The easy, playful aura around Neteyam evaporated instantly, turning deeply serious. “The war,” he answered bluntly.

You huffed, frustrated by his brevity. “I know it's from the war, Neteyam. I am a tsakarem. I am asking what happened.”

He looked at you for a long beat, adjusting his sleeping son securely against his torso. “I got shot,” he said in a tone that undermines what happened. “The metal went deep. Almost died.”

You took in a sharp, ragged breath as a terrifying tremble shook through your core, but you quickly steeled your expression, trying desperately to hide how profoundly the thought of his near death shook you to the bone. You bit your lower lip hard enough to draw color. “I'm glad you lived...” you mumbled, your eyes glued to the floor.

He let out a wistful, quiet scoff, a tiny smirk forming on his face. “You pulled me back,” he murmured softly. “Otherwise, that version of Neteyam never would have known about your struggles, or the fact that you brought Ervo into this world. I never would have known my son.”

Your forehead creased deeply, a sudden sting behind your eyes as tears began to pool. “Pulled you... back?”

“I succumbed to darkness then... But I dreamed of you,” he confessed, his gaze dropping to Ervo as if the absolute intensity of your stare was too much for him to bear. “We were at the river... You kissed me and told me to wake up. So I did.” He swallowed hard, finally forcing his golden eyes back up to lock onto yours. “Y/N, I know I said stupid, unforgivable things to you before I left three years ago. I hurt you, and I—”

“And you shouldn't have?” you cut him off, your voice cracking as the buried agony flared to life in your chest. “I think I already know what you're going to say, Neteyam, and I tried to understand—”

“No, you don't understand,” he pressed, taking a step forward on his knees, his face entirely open and desperate. “I said what I said, but that didn't mean I meant a single word of it. I love you, Y/N. I loved you so much then, and I love you so much still. Even much more now.”

“You told me it was not serious,” you said, the words slipping out in a small, broken voice that felt like an open wound. “You told me to my face that it was a passing thing, that you would find someone better in the reefs and you’d settle down there. You were so cruel to me... and I must admit, I rejoiced when you came back entirely alone.”

You knew you had told him then that the past didn't matter anymore since you became a mother, but sitting here in the dark, looking at his scar, you realized you were still entirely haunted by that.

A small, incredibly tender smile formed on his lips at your confession. “I bet you did,” he murmured softly. “But I lied about all of it. How could I find someone better when I had already had the best thing in this world? And I was never going to settle down with anyone that wasn't you. It sounds stupid, but I was so terrified I would die out there, Y/N. I thought it would be easier for you to mourn a man you hated, rather than a man you were waiting for. I didn't want you to be hurt when I couldn’t be here.”

“I got hurt anyway,” you whispered, your lips pulling down as the first heavy tear spilled down your cheek.

Seeing your tears, Neteyam didn't hesitate. Moving with extreme care so as not to disturb the sleeping toddler wrapped in his left arm, he slid across the mat until he was kneeling directly beside you. He reached out a trembling hand, his fingers stopping just inches from your knee, desperate to touch but terrified of crossing the line.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick and fractured. “I thought I was protecting you but all I did was poison what we had and the time we had left then. All I did was leave you with that pain while you carry my child. The desire alone to bring back time and change everything is already the heaviest burden I will carry.”

You turned to him and the sight of your tears knocked the air out of him like he had been struck in the gut. His arm reached up to wrap around you and pull you to him and you allowed him to hug you. The moment his scent hit you, everything in you collapsed. You buried your face against the crook of his neck, resting your forehead heavily against his sturdy shoulder as a quiet sob escaped you. Neteyam held you tight, his large hand pressing firmly into your back, burying his face in your hair as his own silent tears flowed.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered over and over into your hair, his voice trembling. “I am here and I will never leave your side again. I love you so much...”

A sudden, rhythmic rustle of the bead curtains echoed through the pavilion.

You both stiffened slightly, pulling back just enough to look toward the entrance. Your breath hitched. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the moonlight, was the Tsahik herself. Mo'at stood, her sharp, knowing eyes sweeping over both of you. You with your tear-stained face, Neteyam with his arm wrapped fiercely around you, and little Ervo snoring peacefully between you.

You pulled away and wiped your tears off, while Neteyam looked everywhere but his grandmother. Mo’at shook her head, completely ignoring the emotional wreckage but she couldn’t let the shyness slip.

“Are you really acting like two teenagers caught hugging? Please. Not while your little boy was between you two,“ she said with an experience that remained entirely unbothered. “The moon lily roots need to be steeped, tsakarem—”

“Yes, Tsahik. I... know what to do,” you said in a soft voice.

“Hm,” she responded before slipping back through the curtain, leaving the three of you in the quiet darkness.

You finished up your work at the pavilion in the quiet hour following Mo’at departure. Neteyam walked you up to your kelku, the cool night air wrapping around you both while he carried a deeply sleeping Ervo in his arms.

When you stepped inside the familiar dome of your home, you struck a flint to light the hanging firepot, casting a low, golden glow across the woven walls. Neteyam moved silently, laying the sleeping mats out properly so he could ease Ervo down. But the moment the boy’s back touched the mat, he stirred and let out a soft, tiny whimper. His small, chubby arms reached up blindly, wrapping tightly around Neteyam’s neck.

“Papa...” his small voice croaked in his sleep.

Neteyam let out a profoundly endearing sound, his chest hitching as he immediately wrapped his broad arm around Ervo to anchor him. “I’m here, boy,” he mumbled, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Ervo’s small head.

He looked up at you from his position on the floor, a quiet, slightly hesitant smile playing on his lips. Your lips twisted into a soft expression. “You can stay,” you said quietly, stepping onto the mat. “If you want.”

“I want,” he answered right away, without a second of hesitation. His large hand splayed over his son’s chest, the gentle weight calming the toddler completely. Ervo settled back down, his grip loosening slightly, though his arms remained loosely draped around Neteyam's neck.

You sat on the edge of the mat, leaning over to carefully pry Ervo’s arms away so Neteyam could sit up, but your son only tightened his hold, nuzzling his little face directly against his father’s cheek as a cute, stubborn sound escaped his mouth.

You let out a soft chuckle and shook your head, giving up. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wake up with a stiff neck tomorrow,” you whispered.

Lowering yourself onto your side on the mat, you tucked your hand under your head to use it as a pillow. Your soft eyes looked at your son, watching his peaceful, even breaths. As you stared, your gaze naturally traveled past the boy's face and met Neteyam’s eyes.

The two of you were entirely silent for a long moment, just staring into each other’s eyes across the space of your sleeping child. It didn't feel awkward, and the tension had translated into something incredibly warm, grounded, and so deeply familiar that your eyes pricked with unshed tears for a fleeting second.

“How was it like?” he mumbled, his voice a low rumble.

“Hm?” You shifted your hand, gently caressing Ervo’s soft head.

“When you were alone here... everything,” he murmured, his ears dipping slightly in a display of profound vulnerability. “I want to know... if I can.”

Your lips twisted into a faint smile. “I didn't move here until after I gave birth. I was still living at the communal shelter before that... so I was basically the prime example of what not to be,” you noted, trying to chuckle the memory off with a soft smirk.

Neteyam’s brows furrowed deeply, his chest tightening. “Were you shunned?”

“Not really... Mo’at made me her tsakarem,” you said softly. “And then, when I finally gave birth, we moved into this kelku... and we made it our home.”

Neteyam smiled weakly, his eyes scanning the cozy hut. It was filled with woven baskets, drying herbs, and small wooden toys, everything that meant so much to you and your son. “How was it like? When he was a baby?”

“He was hungry all the time, but he didn't cry much. He was the goodest boy,” you mumbled, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your son’s round cheek. “I’ve heard most of the other mothers speak of being awoken in the dead of night by their screaming babies, but Ervo just didn't cry at all. When he woke up in the morning, he was always so entertained by the sun’s rays seeping through the woven walls. He would just lay there, watching the light and waiting for me to wake up, even though he was clearly hungry.”

Neteyam sniffled. You pulled your eyes away from your son to look at him, and your heart twinged when you saw a heavy tear roll off the tip of his nose, catching the firelight.

“I should have been here...” he choked out, his jaw clenching.

“You were fighting a war, Neteyam...” you mumbled softly.

“Still... I am entirely too acquainted with regret,” he whispered, his golden eyes raw with grief. “With you, and with our son... there is so much I missed. So much I wish I could take back.”

You reached across Ervo’s small frame, gently placing your hand over Neteyam’s large hand where it rested on the boy’s chest. “But it just wasn’t the case, Neteyam...” you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbow. “Everything that happened is the will of Eywa. I didn’t have it easy, but you didn’t have it easy either. You almost died out there, I almost lost you completely. The war hurt every single one of us.”

He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with tears. “It was I who hurt you...”

“And I am letting it go. I am forgiving you,” you murmured.

Leaning across the small space, you lowered your head and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. You felt his breathing hitch instantly under the gentle touch. When you pulled away, a soft, breathless smile formed on your face, while his wide, golden eyes remained glued to you in absolute reverence.

“I love you so much, Y/N...” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ll bring you to some of my memories with Ervo tomorrow,” you whispered, settling back onto the mat.

“I would like that very much,” he smiled, his hand turning over to interlock his fingers with yours.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of Ervo’s energetic chirping. The boy was moving like a happy little worm right between you and Neteyam, his tiny feet kicking at the blankets.

Throughout the night, Neteyam had shifted, wrapping his long, heavy arm securely around your waist, his head cradled directly against yours. He stirred the moment you shifted, his large hand playfully catching Ervo’s tiny hand as the boy reached up toward a bright ray of morning light cutting through the ceiling.

“Papa!” Ervo shrieked with absolute delight, laughing loudly as he rolled over on the mat to face the two of you.

Neteyam instantly scooped him into his arms, hugging his small body tightly against his chest. You pushed yourself up on one arm, leaning over to kiss Ervo’s cheek. “Are you hungry, little man?”

“Yes!” he chirped, aggressively struggling to free himself from Neteyam, who had immediately begun to tickle his ribs. “No!! Help me, Mama!” he shrieked, giggling uncontrollably.

You laughed, sitting up to fix your messy braids as you watched them play. Ervo’s bright giggles completely filled the kelku, and when he finally managed to wiggle free from his father’s grip, he scrambled across the mat and ran straight into your lap, still laughing. You hugged him close, and his small body melted into you.

Your eyes found Neteyam, who was sitting up, a soft, incredibly contented smile gracing his chiseled face as he watched you both.

“I should go get your breakfast from the kitchens,” he said, preparing to stand.

“Or we could just join breakfast downstairs,” you offered casually, adjusting Ervo’s small loincloth.

You didn't catch the exact moment Neteyam’s face literally lit up, but by the time you were all walking down the winding ramp, it was entirely obvious that both he and Ervo were far too excited. Ervo had never asked why you rarely ate at the communal meals anymore; to him, the only important thing had been eating. But now that you were actually walking toward the communal ground, he was far too energized to be trusted on foot.

Neteyam happily scooped him up. When you finally stepped into the bustling communal clearing, the sheer volume of eyes turning toward the three of you was completely overwhelming. It wasn't as if the clan hadn't seen Neteyam practicality living outside your kelku and serving your every need for the past moons, but seeing the three of you walking into the morning light together was an undeniable confirmation. The whispers faded into respectful, wide-eyed silence.

You sat down and ate together as a little family, Ervo comfortably splitting his time between sitting in Neteyam’s lap and snuggling into his side.

Once breakfast was over, Neteyam walked you both back up to the healing pavilion before his morning patrol. Ervo immediately ran inside the bead curtains after loudly telling Neteyam to take care. You turned to follow your son, but before you could take a step, Neteyam caught you gently by the elbow and pulled you back to him.

Before you could even speak, his lips came down to crush against yours.

It was entirely unlike the soft, gentle kiss you had given him the night before. This was hard, deep, and all-consuming. A possessive, breathless demand that told you exactly how much he had starved for you over the last three years. By the time he finally let you go, your breath was completely trapped in your throat.

You licked your wet lips, blinking up at his towering frame. “Take care...” you mumbled, entirely at a loss for words.

His smile was lopsided and entirely boyish before he turned on his heel and trotted down the path for patrol. You stood there, your face burning incredibly hot. He was still exactly the same, disciplined and perfectly behaved on the outside, but the moment he was provoked, it was like letting a wild animal out of its cage.

You worked diligently until midday, and the moment Neteyam’s rotation ended, he arrived at the pavilion so the two of you could take Ervo out. You had originally planned to leave the boy with Kiri while you two visited the Tree of Souls, but you miraculously ran into Neytiri and Jake near the lower levels, both of whom were practically eager to babysit.

Apparently, Neytiri had been secretly spoiling your son with sweet fruits and rare treats for weeks now, to the point where Ervo recognized his grandmother as the ultimate source of good food. Jake, on the other hand, had a much grander bribe.

“I promise him a ride on Toruk,” Jake said with a laugh, winking at the boy.

“Looks like he’s going to have the absolute time of his life today,” you said as you and Neteyam walked away, laughing together.

“The luckiest boy alive, if you ask me,” Neteyam smirked, stepping over a thick root. “Lo’ak, Kiri, and I never even had a chance to ride on Toruk when we were kids, you know?”

You pushed your lips forward thoughtfully. “I also don’t recall having Toruk around much growing up. Did your father claim him back during the war?”

Neteyam nodded, reaching out to pluck a small, vibrant purple flower from a low-hanging vine. “He did, right after the first major battle we had against the sky people.” He stepped closer, gently handing the flower to you. “I guess Dad’s releasing Toruk back to the wild soon. But not before giving our boy a ride.”

You smiled softly, tucking the stem of the flower securely into your dark braid.

When you finally reached the sacred sanctuary of the Tree of Souls, the air grew thick with a profound, spiritual quiet. Without a word, you reached out and grabbed Neteyam’s large hand. He squeezed your fingers tightly, and together, you stepped under the massive, glowing canopy, the silver, crystal-like tendrils brushing against your skin.

You reached behind you to pull your kuru forward, looking at him with a soft smile. He did the same, his golden eyes watching you with so much raw devotion it almost made you want to look away.

“I want... to be at his birth,” Neteyam said suddenly, his voice thick. “I want to be there for it.”

You bit your lip, a soft chuckle escaping you. “Alright... but warning, I look like an absolute mess in this memory.”

He let out a quiet groan, stepping into your space to press a deep, tender kiss against the side of your head. “You can never look like a mess to me, my love.”

You smiled, raising your braid to connect with the glowing tendril. Neteyam followed suit, and as your neural paths linked to the sacred tree, the world dissolved. Suddenly, you were both drifting into a memory that was permanently tattooed onto your brain.

Neteyam found himself standing in the corner of the healing pavilion, the vision so sharp and vivid he felt as though he could physically reach out and touch the woven walls. You were lying on a pile of soft mats, a mountain of pillows supporting your back as you struggled to breathe, your skin glistening with sweat. You looked so young, so exhausted, and so deeply pained.

Neteyam stood there, watching you writhe, feeling his heart being brutally torn in two every single time a sharp cry of agony escaped your lips. Mo’at was hovering over you, doing her absolute best, encouraging your breathing and guiding you through the final, grueling moments until a sharp, loud cry echoed through the space.

Neteyam craned his neck, a massive, breathless smile breaking across his face as he watched Mo’at lift a large, healthy baby boy.

“A boy, Y/N,” Mo’at’s echoed voice filled the memory.

He watched you weep with pure exhaustion and relief as you reached out your trembling arms, taking the boy against your bare chest. Mo’at gently helped you latch the hungry baby, and Neteyam watched the scene in absolute wonder, his large hands balling into fists as his chest tightened with an overwhelming wave of emotion.

Sensing the sheer, heavy weight of Neteyam’s energy through the bond, you slowly disconnected from the tree. The vision slowly faded, and when you opened your eyes, you looked over to find him crying silently, heavy tears streaming down his face.

Your breath hitched, and you immediately moved into his space, cupping his wet cheeks with your hands to wipe the moisture away.

“I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry I wasn't there,” he kept repeating, his voice breaking.

You shook your head firmly. “No. Quit apologizing, alright? You’ve been crying entirely too much lately,” you teased softly, peering up into his eyes. “Come, I promised to show you the funny memories I have with him.”

He let out a breathless smile, his large hands wrapping gently around your wrists to keep your touch against his skin.

You reconnected, and as promised, you pulled him into the lighter moments of your son's life. You showed him the exact moment Ervo let out his very first, bubbling laugh; the clumsy afternoon he took his first, unbalanced steps across the hut; the quiet, breathless second he first babbled the word Mama. You showed him the quiet, lazy afternoons spent in the pavilion, and one particularly hilarious afternoon where Ervo had been utterly terrified of a bug attack, only to clumsily brave his fear and swat it away when he noticed that you had pretended to be scared, too.

By the end of the memories, Neteyam was completely nonverbal. He was crying even during the moments you considered funny, his heart overflowing with the years he had missed.

You pulled away from the tree, looking at him with pursed lips and incredibly soft eyes, reaching up once more to brush the tears from his sharp cheekbones. By now, the eclipse had fully brought darkness over the land, causing the long, sweeping tendrils of the Tree of Souls to pulse with a vibrant, deep purple bioluminescence.

“Thank you for allowing me to be a part of all of it...” he mumbled, his large hands gently cradling your hand, lifting it up to his face so he could press a fervent kiss directly into your palm. “You make me so incredibly happy, Y/N. I never thought I would have the chance to hold you again... and now, you have given me Ervo, you allow me back into your life... it all just feels like a beautiful dream.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand tightly. “You deserve to be a part of all of it, Neteyam... and to be a part of our lives, too.”

He smiled, a sudden, familiar mischievous light sparking in his golden eyes as he stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between your bodies. “And what if I stay for life?”

You shrugged playfully, pressing your palm flat against the center of his warm chest. “I wouldn’t mind...”

Neteyam looked up, admiring the breathtaking beauty of the glowing canopy above before lowering his gaze back down to you. The playful light vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unyielding confidence.

“I want to court you properly, Y/N,” he stated firmly. “Until you choose me as your mate.”

Your brows furrowed, a highly amused smile pulling at your lips. “Aren’t you doing that already?” you asked, a soft blush hitting your cheeks. “I thought you were already courting me... I kissed you last night, and you kissed me today.” You bit your lower lip. “And we have Ervo...”

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, though you could tell he was practically elated, his ears twitching rapidly just like your son’s did whenever he was too happy. They truly were identical.

He caught both of your hands, enveloping them in his massive grip. “I love Ervo very much... but he and his future siblings are entirely separate from us in these matters. This is about us. You and me.”

Your brow twitched, your eyes widening slightly. “Future siblings?”

He bit his lip, a boyish smirk creeping onto his face. “If you want...” he mumbled, leaning down slightly. “Don’t you think Ervo wants playmates?”

“I think he wants us home right now so he can tell us his grand stories about Toruk,” you countered, turning to drag him by the hand out from under the tendrils.

Neteyam didn't let you step away. With a sudden, firm tug, he pulled you right back to stand flush against his front. You looked up, your breath hitching at the dark, blazing heat suddenly swirling in his golden eyes. You put a hand up to press against his chest to steady yourself, but he smoothly caught your wrist, pulling your hand up and draping it over the back of his neck before lowering his head to claim your mouth.

His large hands found your waist, gripping you tightly to pull your body flat against his hard, heavily muscled frame. He deepened the kiss instantly, his tongue sliding past your lips, and you lifted your other hand to hook tightly around his neck, pulling him down further. His hands began to frantically feel up your sides, a low, needy moan escaping his throat when his hand slid upward to firmly squeeze the soft weight of your breast. You pulled him down by his braids, practically eating him up as the years of starvation melted away.

“I missed you... so much,” you moaned against his lips, your hips tilting instinctively into his.

His hand rubbed down your back, pulling away just a fraction of an inch, his breathing ragged. He cupped the back of your neck with his large palm. “I missed you more, my love. You have no idea how many times I dreamed of this,” he growled softly, before burying his face back into your neck, kissing you hard.

You smiled against his skin, breaking away only to kiss your way down the sharp line of his jaw and the column of his throat. You trailed your lips down over his collarbone, tracing the taut, heavy muscles of his chest and abdomen. Neteyam’s breathing hitched violently, his abdominal muscles contracting sharply by the time you sank down onto your knees in front of him on the soft grass.

You looked up at him, deliberately licking your lips wet, your fingers immediately working the ties of his loincloth. He helped you with a trembling urgency, and the moment the fabric fell away, you came face-to-face with his thick, fully aroused length.

You bit your lip, angling your head as you darted your tongue out to lightly lick the bead of precum glistening on the wide head.

Neteyam let out a harsh, guttural groan the moment the wet warmth of your mouth enveloped the entire head, his hips twitching forward as you began to suck softly. Your hand wrapped securely around the base of his length, pumping him with a slow rhythm while you licked and sucked. You flicked your eyes upward, catching him watching you with a fierce, ravenous intensity, his gaze completely dark. You smiled around his girth, swallowing more of his length, your hand caressing the remaining skin.

You licked the entire length of him, from the head down to the base, kissing and tasting him before sliding him back into your mouth, sucking hard while your hand pumped his shaft.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” Neteyam was whimpering and groaning into the quiet night, his thighs quivering violently as his fingers tangled tightly into a handful of your braids to anchor himself.

When he finally braced his legs and came, you firmly refused to let go, ignoring his weak attempt to gently peel your head back. You swallowed his hot come, your tail swishing frantically behind you in the grass.

The moment you cleaned him off, Neteyam’s hand gripped your jaw as he lowered himself onto the grass, his lips coming crashing down on yours in a bruising kiss. His hands were frantic against your skin, quickly untying the loincloth around your tail, kissing you deeply the entire time and tasting himself on your tongue.

The moment your fabric was cleared away, he gently guided you down onto the soft grass beneath the purple glow of the tree. His mouth slid down to suckle fiercely on your breasts, his tongue swirling aggressively over your pebbled tips. He was moving like a man who didn't know what part of you to kiss or touch first, the sheer desperation consuming him.

After suckling your breasts, his large hand pried your legs apart. He knelt heavily between your thighs, lowering his head down to press his mouth directly against your wet, aching core. You let out a loud gasp as his lips and tongue found your sensitive nub, sending violent vibrations of pure pleasure straight up your spine.

“Ah... shit, Neteyam,” your head fell back into the grass, your fingers gripping the earth as his mouth went to work on your pussy. He grabbed the back of your thighs, lifting and pushing it against your body, his tongue licking your wet slit with a deep hum. He was holding your thighs with such a tight, bruising grip that when your body began to quiver and your hips buckled, you couldn't move away from the intense stimulation.

By the time he finally pulled away, you were as weak as a sun lily in the dark, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He hovered over you, his lips glistening wet with your essence, before he simply licked his lips clean. You pulled his neck down for a kiss, which he gladly gave you, before he pushed himself up on his hands, his fingers gripping his hard girth and lining the heavy head up with your pulsing entrance.

You spread your legs wider for him, your hand wrapping tightly around his thick bicep. He lowered his head to catch your lips in a deep kiss just as he sank his cock completely into your tight heat.

You let out a sharp whimper at the sudden fullness, and he instantly deepened and hardened the kiss, driving himself all the way in until his hips slammed against yours. The sheer girth you hadn't experienced in three long years gave you a moment of sharp discomfort, but your body quickly adjusted, your walls squeezing tightly around him, making him let out a breathless, deep chuckle against your mouth.

You chuckled weakly back, reaching up to cutely pinch the tip of his pointed ear.

“Nothing says home better than that,” he mumbled, peppering kisses along your jaw.

You intentionally squeezed your muscles around him again, tilting your chin up. “That?” you bit your lip.

He groaned loudly, his hand sliding down to grab the back of one of your thighs, pulling it high up over his hip as he drew his pelvis back. You let out a loud moan when he pushed all the way back in. When you looked up at him through the dark, the gold in his eyes were entirely gone, completely consumed by the black. You knew you were about to get it.

And you did. Neteyam began to thrust, pounding into you with a heavy, relentless pace that always had you screaming his name. His broad arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, while his other hand caged the side of your face, his forehead resting firmly against yours as he fucked you hard into the dirt. The friction and depth brought you straight to the edge, your grip on his shoulders tightening until your nails dug into his skin, your entire body quivering under his weight.

He continued to pound relentlessly into you even as you crashed over your high, shivering violently as he finally stiffened, coming deep inside you in hot, pulsing spurts. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as you hugged him tight, both of your breaths echoing loudly under the canopy.

You chuckled softly after a long moment, caressing the smooth skin of his back. “You’re heaving too much, baby. What? Has the mighty warrior lost his extraordinary stamina?” you teased lightheartedly. “Used to be... you’d be attacking me for the next round right about now—”

You shrieked with a laugh when you felt his teeth sharply nip the sensitive skin of your neck.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his hand sliding down to possessively caress your waist before traveling back up to your breast. “Well, I am attacking you now...” he mumbled, his golden eyes flashing as he spread your thighs apart once more, his heavy length sliding right back into your slick heat.

You chuckled, pulling him down by his neck to lose yourself in another kiss. The succeeding rounds were slower, much more thorough, as though his body perfectly remembered exactly what to do with every single inch of yours.

Though you desperately wanted to stay wrapped in his arms and spend the entire night under the glowing tree, you couldn't forget your son.

“He’s probably looking for us by now,” you said, a trace of motherly worry bleeding into your voice as you sat up and began fixing your beaded top. “He hasn’t been away from me for this long.” Your heart gripped slightly at the thought of him crying because you had been gone too long.

You and Neteyam quickly dressed and walked back to Hometree, arriving just in time for the evening meal. You were openly holding hands, your fingers tightly interlocked as you stepped into the light of the communal clearing.

You were fully expecting to see a crying, frantic Ervo being consoled, but as you scanned the area, your jaw nearly dropped. He was not crying at all. In fact, he was up on the dais, sitting comfortably on Jake’s lap while Jake, Neytiri, and Tuk completely fussed over him. There wasn't a single trace of sadness on his face. He was eating happily, his high-pitched, energetic voice reaching you from across the clearing as he rambled animatedly to Neytiri. The surrounding clan members watched you and Neteyam enter, their eyes tracking your joined hands with knowing smiles.

“He’s definitely not looking for us,” Neteyam noted with a deep chuckle.

“This little traitor...” you jokingly whispered, laughing as you shook your head.

Your son finally spotted you from across the room, and his bright smile vanished instantly, his lower lip pulling down into a pout the second he realized his parents were back.

You walked up toward the dais, and Neytiri looked up, smiling warmly at you. “Oh, he’s going to cry...” she mouthed in playful horror. “He’ll be out like a light in minutes, Y/N. He’s had a very long day.”

You chuckled, reaching out your arms to take your son from Jake. “Mama!” Ervo said, his voice instantly turning shaky as large, dramatic tears pooled in his eyes.

“No, no, no, my love...” you murmured softly, cradling his head against your shoulder and gently rubbing his back.

“You are gone long?” his small voice asked, the slight accusation breaking your heart. Neteyam’s breath hitched beside you, his large hand immediately splaying over Ervo’s small back to soothe him.

“Yes... did you miss me and Papa?” you asked gently, kissing his temple.

The boy sniffled, his large golden eyes looking up at you with an expression that looked exactly like you had just caught him stealing sweet berries before breakfast. “No... I was with Toruk,” he stated bluntly.

Jake’s booming laughter echoed off the wooden pillars, and Neytiri laughed out loud as well. Your jaw went completely slack, your wide, laughing eyes glancing over at Neteyam. This boy!

“We fly, Mama! With Grandpa and... and... Grandma!” he chirped, his hands waving in the air. He looked over at Neteyam with absolute pride. “Toruk is bigger than Hometree, Papa!”

You passed Ervo over to Neteyam when the boy reached out for him, immediately chattering a mile a minute about his grand flying experience. You all sat down together on the dais, listening to Ervo ramble about the wind and the sky. He was truly the center of the family's joy, and as you and Neteyam sat back against the cushions, you caught Neteyam’s eyes pooling with fresh tears.

He glanced over at you, and you breathlessly chuckled when a heavy drop of tear rolled down his nose. He angled his head closer to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I love him so much, baby...” he whispered, his voice trembling with an overwhelming gratitude. “I love you so much.” He leaned in, affectionately nuzzling his face against yours.

You held the side of his face in your hand, your thumb wiping the tear away. “I love you, Neteyam...” you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.

When Ervo saw you kiss him, the toddler quickly scrambled forward in Neteyam's lap, leaning his small body up to aggressively kiss Neteyam’s other cheek, his tiny hands cupping his father’s jawline. You grinned brightly at Neteyam as he blinked at his son in pure, breathless adoration.

“And the boy loves you, too,” you mumbled softly.

[neteyamthinker]

to have you

pairings aged-up neteyam x omatikaya!dancer reader

notes slow burn, drunken confession, mutual pining, yearner neteyam as per usual <3, reader is lo’ak’s best friend, groveling (lowkey), smut (p in v), oral (f receiving)

synopsis neteyam had carried a quiet attraction to you ever since lo’ak and kiri brought you home when you were children. growing up, neteyam was many things, but he was never malicious nor was he a liar... so you couldn't begin to understand what possessed him when, in a druken haze, he started blurting out things you would never have dared to dream of— not even in your wildest dreams.

word count 16.5k

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The scraping hiss of stone against the obsidian blade of his arrow was the only sound that can be heard from Neteyam’s corner of their family kelku. He sat cross-legged on a woven mat, his posture unnaturally straight for a twelve-year-old. Before him lay his other arrows, their fletching already perfectly aligned, so he was focused entirely on the tips, although he does this almost every single day.

His bow and arrows are his constant company now that he was preparing for his iknimaya, years younger than most who dared, but that was mainly because even at a young age, he was already a prodigy. He was a sharp shooter, and the council spoke of it in quiet, proud murmurs, how the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son could pierce a moving yerik’s heart from fifty paces out.

Now, with aspirations of being a warrior, he had stopped playing games in the mud a long time ago. He had understood early that being the firstborn of Toruk Makto came with duties and responsibilities that he needed to carry, but he’d also decided a long time ago to wear it like armor.

Eventually, the peace of the hut was shattered.

With a chorus of breathless giggles and stomping feet, Lo’ak and Kiri came bursting through the kelku, colliding with the space, bringing the chaotic, wild energy of the rainforest inside with them. Behind them tumbled Spider, his smaller human frame practically skidding across the smooth wood before he unceremoniously dumped himself onto a pile of sleeping mats, making himself comfortable as if he owned the place.

Neteyam’s head were immediately up the moment they bounded into the hut, a habit natural to an older brother with siblings who always get into trouble. He drew the whetstone down the edge of the obsidian one last time before he fully gave the bunch his attention, but as he did,  his gaze caught on something, or someone, standing just at the entryway, framed by the morning light filtering through the giant branches of Hometree.

You looked hesitant, just hovering at the entrace, looking entirely awkward as you swift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands nervously tucked behind your back. Yet, to a twelve-year-old boy who had spent the last two years looking only at targets and hunting trails, you were unexpectedly, captivatingly breathtaking.

Neteyam’s hand froze on his arrow.

He had never seen you around. He reasoned, with a sudden and strange analytical focus, that you must live in the higher branches, among the families that don’t have a single warrior in them, and thus needed the protection of height. You were from the quiet parts of the clan. And because Neteyam had traded his childhood games for training drills, your paths had simply never crossed.

Until now.

Spider, sprawling out on the mats, raised a hand lazily toward the entrance. “Come inside, Y/N! It’s just Neteyam,” he said in passing, his voice cracking slightly with age. But Spider didn't care to elaborate, or to even properly introduce the two of you, because he was already turning his head toward Kiri, who was aggressively digging through a woven basket. “Did you check behind the sleeping furs?”

Neteyam’s mind repeated the syllables of your name. The name felt light, it sounded like bells... And it suits your face well. His eyes locked onto you, tracing the way a few stray leaves were bounded into your slightly messy, tangled hair. You had clearly been running through the brush, wild and unbothered by the state of your hair.

An unfamiliar prickle of annoyance flared deep in Neteyam’s chest. He didn't like how his chest felt. He didn't like how his eyes refused to move away from you, glued to the soft curve of your jaw and the nervous way your eyes are looking anywhere but him. He was a warrior in training; he was supposed to be hyper-aware of his surroundings, yet right now, the entire world had shrunk to the perimeter of the doorway where you stood. He felt a sudden, fierce need to know what was going on, to regain control of his own senses, but he couldn't even bring himself to look at his siblings to demand answers.

“What’s going on?” Neteyam asked aloud. His voice was transitioning, cracking slightly but holding the firm, steady cadence he practiced to sound like his father.

As he spoke, he forcibly turned his head toward the alcove where Kiri and Lo’ak were currently tossing mats around. But even as his head turned, his eyes lagged behind, stubbornly remaining on you for a second longer.

And because he spoke, you finally looked in his direction.

Your gaze widened slightly, startled by the intense, unblinking focus of the boy in front of you. To you, it felt like an interrogation. Because he had been looking directly at you when the words left his mouth, you felt the sudden heat of his attention, even as he hastily looked away toward his siblings.

“We're going to the river!” Lo’ak announced loudly, emerging from a pile of tapestries with a triumphant grin. In his hand, he brandished a pair of old, scratched human goggles. “We decided to swim, and I told Y/N she has to try the goggles. It makes things way clearer underwater. You can see the fish before they bite your toes.”

“And we found them! Let's go, let's go, she hasn't seen the deep pools yet!” Kiri cheered, already darting past you out into the branches.

Lo’ak didn't wait either. He grabbed Spider by the arm, dragging the boy up, and the three of them rushed back out of the kelku in a whirlwind of laughter. You gave Neteyam one last, lingering, bewildered look before turning on your heel to sprint after them.

Neteyam didn't think. He dropped the whetstone. The arrow clattered against the floor as he stood up, drawn to the edge of the platform by a magnetic pull he couldn't comprehend.

He stepped out onto the wide branch of the kelku, his hand gripping the guide rope tightly as his eyes tracked the group. You are all moving fast, navigating the massive, winding branches of the Hometree with the ease of children who spent their days laughing.

But Neteyam’s eyes only tracked one person.

He watched as you suddenly accelerated, a wild, unbridled smile breaking across your face. With a burst of chaotic energy that rivaled Lo'ak's, you threw your weight forward, bodyslamming into Lo’ak’s shoulder just enough to knock him off balance. He let out a dramatic yell as you used the momentum to leap, catching a dangling vine and swinging yourself over a gap in the branches, sticking the landing perfectly and leaving Lo'ak eating your dust.

“See that dust? Eat it!” your voice chimed and Neteyam tilted his head.

Look at that, he thought. You were so shy earlier, and now, your laughter is  echoing back up through the trees, bright and untamed.

Standing high above, his brows furrowed deeply. A strange, tight sensation bloomed in his chest, hot and demanding. He looked down at his calloused hands, hands that were being trained to hold a heavy bow, to kill, to lead.

For the first time in two years, as he watched you disappear into the green expanse of the jungle, Neteyam didn't want to be a warrior. Suddenly, desperately, he just wanted to play. The feeling felt foreign, yet it pulled at him too hard that he ended up turning back inside to rush through the final inspection of his arrows with uncharacteristic speed. He shoved them into his quiver, dropped his whetstone, and practically bounded down the massive, spiraling branches of Hometree. For the first time in years, he wasn't running toward the training ground or a hunting lesson. He was running toward the sound of laughter.

He almost made it.

“Neteyam.”

The melodious voice of his mother followed him as he ran and Neteyam skidded to a halt on a wide moss-covered branch, his tail twitching in sudden disappointment, knowing the fun would have to wait. Neytiri stepped out from a shaded walkway, her eyes assessing his hurried stance.

“Get Lo’ak and Kiri. Mo’at requires them for the midday ritual. Do not let Lo'ak wander off,” Neytiri ordered, her hand gently patting Neteyam’s head.

His shoulders slowly sank, the warrior's mask locking back over his features. “Yes, Mother.”

By the time he tracked them down to the shallow banks of the river, the fun was in full swing. The water was crystalline, kicking up sparkling droplets as Lo’ak, Kiri, and Spider splashed each other. You were right in the center of it, Jake’s old, scratched human goggles pushed up onto your forehead, your face lit up with a brilliant, breathless grin that made him sigh.

Neteyam stepped out onto a low-hanging root over the water, his hands on his waist. He hated the role he had to play. He hated being the one who always brought the shadow of responsibility over their sunlit days.

“Guys,” he called out, his voice carrying the firm weight of an elder brother. “Mother said we have to go back. Tsahik is waiting for the ritual.”

A collective groan echoed from the water. Lo’ak threw his arms up, splashing the surface in frustration. “Are you serious, Neteyam? We just got here!” Kiri rolled her eyes, muttering something about how he was always ruining things.

Usually, Neteyam wouldn't give a damn about their complaints. Duty was duty. But then his eyes shifted to you.

Your brilliant smile vanished. Your lips pulled down into a small, disappointed pout, and a soft, genuine aww slipped from your mouth. In an instant, Neteyam felt about two feet tall. A hot wave of embarrassment and fierce regret rushed down his neck that he actually found his shoulders hunching slightly under your gaze, desperately wishing he hadn't been the one to snuff out that wild spark in your eyes.

“Look,” Neteyam cleared his throat, offering an uncharacteristic concession. “I can give you half an hour more. I'll tell Mother I had trouble finding you.”

Lo’ak stopped his splashing, glaring up at him with a deep frown. “You're being weirdly lenient today, bro, but it's annoying to play when you know you have an ultimatum ticking down. Let's just go.”

The walk back to Hometree was a somber affair. Lo’ak and Kiri marched ahead, still dripping wet and grumbling under their breath. Because they were unified in their annoyance, Kiri suddenly draped a comforting arm around your shoulders, and Lo’ak did the same from your other side, pulling you into their tight-knit circle of rebellion.

Spider walked right alongside them, jumping to wrap an arm on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Wow, thanks guys! Leave the alien out, it's fine!”

Neteyam walked a few paces behind the group, watching all of you tightly grouped together. Talk about it... he thought bitterly to himself, his ears pressing flat against his hair. Spider felt left out for mere seconds, while he was literally outside the circle. He was the guard, the soldier walking behind the captives, totally isolated from the warmth of the friendship you shared with his siblings.

And then, for some reason, you looked back.

It was just a quick glance over your shoulder like you were checking on him. Your wide eyes locked onto his solemn face, as if you suddenly remembered there was a quiet, looming presence trailing behind the group. The moment your eyes met his, you flustered and immediately snapped your head back around, staring straight ahead. But that tiny, fleeting acknowledgment broke the ice in Neteyam’s chest. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You knew he was there.

He didn’t know then, but he will eventually understood that this day would make him understand what his father meant about love at first sight.

Years bled into one another. Over time, you became a permanent fixture in the Sully kelku, as natural and expected as Spider. You were the sister Kiri never knew she needed, and Lo’ak’s closest confidante. And while Neteyam was off becoming a prodigy of the hunt, he always knew when you were around. He’s somehow always home when you’re hanging out with his siblings, despite the grueling demands of being an aspiring warrior.

You had grown into your own path, too. No one in your family was a fearsome warrior or a great weaver, but you had found your purpose in the rhythm of the clan's ceremonies, aspiring to be one of the dancers.

Today would be your first ever ceremony, but you don’t feel as excited as you thought you would have been in this situation. Today was the unilatron, the Dream Hunt for several aspiring young warriors, including Neteyam. The central communal area was a beautiful mess of energy, pulsing with drums and the chatter of nervous families. Dancers were weaving through the crowds, hands stained with ceremonial dyes.

You were adjusting the woven band of your iridescent arm wings when a tall shadow fell over you. You turned, expecting Lo’ak to steal your prop feathers, but instead, you froze at the sight of Neteyam. He had grown staggeringly tall over the past few years, his shoulders broad and corded with lean muscle, his skin bearing the faint, proud scars of his trainings.

He already looked like an accomplished warrior, a man, in your clan’s sgandards. And looking up at him, you suddenly felt like that awkward ten-year-old kid in the doorway again.

You had grown closer over the years, sure. You talked when you were both stranded in the kelku by heavy rains, or when Kiri forced everyone to sit together. But you still couldn't shake the deep shyness that hits you whenever he looked at you. Half the girls in the higher branches spent their days begging you to introduce them to him, but how could you tell them that you barely knew how to look him in the eye yourself?

In his large, calloused hands, he held a small wooden bowl filled with thick white paint.

“Sorry to bother,” Neteyam mumbled, his voice deep, vibrating in a way that made your skin prickle. He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I just need—”

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, and accepted the bowl from him with a quick smile. “Sure,” you agreed easily.

You tried to ignore the fact that his golden eyes were suddenly darting anywhere but at your face. He was usually so poised, so perfectly calm, but right now, his ears were twitching nervously.

“You... you’re part of the performances?” he asked, his voice stammering slightly as your fingers dipped into the smooth paint.

As you stepped closer, closing the gap between you, you reached up and let your fingertips glide across his collarbone, leaving a bright white streak behind. Neteyam’s breath hitched. He tried so hard not to stammer, trying to keep his chest from heaving, but the sensation of your soft fingers tracing patterns across his warm skin felt like raw electricity.

“Yes, I’m included this time,” you boasted, trying to distract yourself from the closeness. You chuckled, shaking your head. “I would have debuted in the festival last great moon, but I got injured.” You added, and then you paused, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “Sorry. That sounded like one of Lo’ak’s excuses.”

You laughed, but as you kept your eyes trained on his chest, mapping out the ritual lines, you didn't notice how his smile suddenly faded.

Neteyam’s jaw tightened slightly. It was always like this. Whenever you two spoke, whenever you were alone, the ghosts of Kiri and Lo’ak were dragged into the space between you. He didn't know why, but lately, hearing his brother's name fly so easily from your lips was starting to get on his nerves. He wanted you to look at him. Just him.

“Now... your face,” you said casually, wiping your hands on a leaf before dipping two fingers back into the bowl.

Neteyam didn't say a word. He simply lowered his head, bending his knees slightly so you wouldn't have to strain to reach him.

The shift in proximity was sudden and overwhelming. Now, you were almost face-to-face. You could feel the soft whisper of his breath against your skin, and you could smell the mint herbs that always clung to him. A sudden rush of heat flooded your cheeks that your fingers trembled slightly as you began to paint the intricate, swirling lines across his cheekbones.

You were doing fine, holding your breath, until your fingers glided gently down the curve of his nose, brushing close to his lips. At the exact second your fingers glided on his lips, your eyes snapped up to his and your eyes locked.

The intensity in his gaze made your heart leap straight into your throat. The drums around the clearing seemed to fade into a distant, muffled thumping, completely drowned out by the roar of blood in your ears.

“G-Good luck,” you stammered, quickly smirking to cover up the sudden crack in your voice. “Try not to die.”

Neteyam huffed a soft laugh, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wow, thanks. For you, I’ll think about that.”

“Seriously...” you murmured, your playful facade slipping away as you narrowed your eyes at him in genuine concern.

The unilatron was terrifying. It was a deadly rite of passage, even for grown men, involving venom, vivid hallucinations, and spiritual trials that some never woke up from. Neteyam was the youngest among all the aspirants this year, even with the council delaying his schedule too many times because he was too young for the venom, he was still so young right now.

Seeing the real, raw worry in your eyes, Neteyam’s expression softened. The tension in his shoulders melted away. “Serious. I’ll come out alive,” he mumbled softly.

He reached out, his large, warm hand gently gripping your forearm. He gave it a slow, reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing against your skin. It was a gesture meant to comfort, but it felt so heavy, so deeply intimate and private amidst the busy crowd, that your cheeks burned all over again. You ended up just nodding, praying he couldn't hear the frantic drumming of your heart.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“Bro, I saw that!” Spider smacked your hand away when you made a cheating move when you he wasn’t looking.

You bursted into a booming laughter, putting your piece back on its original place. “If you’d just pay full attention instead of looking at Kiri...”

Kiri groaned. “What?!” she bayed. “That’s it! I’m quitting, I’m getting us some food!”

You watched her stand up, her tail swaying calmly despite her outburst. Spider followed closely behind her, as per usual. The years that had rolled by had treated you all kindly, shedding the remnants of awkward lankiness in favor of firm, lean frames.

You sat cross-legged on a woven mat, meticulously arranging the wooden carved tokens on the board. Your hangouts are not as frequent now as it was before, with Kiri being occupied with the heavy responsibilities of her training as a Tsakarem and Spider glued to her side.

Beside you, Lo’ak sighed for the nth time since he sat down to play. He was uncharacteristically silent, staring at the game board with a heavy, distant frown. Your brows furrowed, your elbow pushing Lo’ak’s propped arm off his knee, causing him to lose hold of his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked, your head angling a little and saw him rolling his eyes.

“Nothing,” he muttered, his tail flicking defensively as he knocked over a wooden token with his finger.

“Said by the Olo’eyktan of Nofun clan,” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You haven’t made a single smart-ass comment in twenty minutes. It’s creepy.”

Lo’ak let out a long, defeated sigh, his broad shoulders slouching. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his golden eyes filled with a raw, brewing frustration. “I overheard some of the hunters near the lower pens today,” he murmured, his voice tight. “They were talking... Comparing my tracking drills to Neteyam’s. Saying I’m still struggling to master maneuvers that Neteyam could do asleep when he was ten.”

You sighed, feeling a surge of deep sympathy for him. You knew exactly how heavy that comparison weighed on him. Lo’ak was sixteen, and the fact that he hadn't earned his cummerbund yet was a constant source of gossip among the council and the older warriors. It meant Lo’ak, even at his more matured age, had no match to a younger Neteyam who passed his iknimaya and unilatron with flying colors.

What made it so much worse, and so much harder for Lo’ak to process, was that Neteyam wasn't an arrogant bloke who rubbed his success in his brother's face. In fact, Neteyam was maddeningly kind. He routinely covered for Lo’ak’s mishaps, taking the blame or smoothing things over before Jake could even find out. Neteyam was a shield for his brother, too understanding and graceful, which only made Lo’ak feel smaller. He couldn’t even hate his brother for being perfect.

“Well... for what it's worth, I think they are all losing their minds for expecting you to be just like him,” you said firmly, picking up a fallen game piece. “Or even half of him. I mean, let’s be real, that man trains like he knows the demons are going to drop from the sky tomorrow. No one can measure up to him, and they know that.”

You pursed your lips when you saw Lo’ak look as if you had rubbed salt to the wound.

“I mean... if you want to at least be half of him, you should probably start training more,” you nudged his foot with yours, offering a soft, teasing smile. “At the moment, you have more fun than the literal toddlers in this clan. That’s something Neteyam had to entirely give up at an early age to get to where he is now. That’s exactly why he’s... well, no fun and ever so serious!” you whispered the last part conspiratorially, casting a playful glance toward the empty entrance.

A genuine crack of laughter broke through Lo’ak’s somber expression. He shook his head, the tension leaving his jaw. “Yeah. I suppose I need to train better.”

You shrugged, a fond smile breaking across your face. “Yeah. So you can finally go through your unilatron without your mother worrying whether you’ll survive the venom or just die.”

“Hey, I’d survive,” Lo’ak protested, rolling his eyes even though a bit of his usual bravado had returned. Then, his smile softened into something deeply grateful. He looked at you, leaning back on his hands. “I guess it's alright, too, that I’m not as good as him. At least there’s something I have that he doesn’t.”

“Which is a sense of fun,” you chuckled.

“No, you, skxawng,” he clarified. “Think about it. Ninety-nine percent of the young girls in this clan have a massive, pathetic crush on him. He is their perfect, mighty, can-do-no-wrong handsome prince. Every time he walks past the weaving circles, they practically trip over their own looms. And you belong in the glorious one percent who don’t give a damn about him. Thankfully.”

Your fingers, which had been manipulating a carved wooden token on the board, faltered. You quickly looked away with a nervous laugh, staring intently at the game as a sudden, traitorous image flashed in your mind. Neteyam, his intense golden eyes locking onto yours. You didn’t even know when that memory happened.

As Lo’ak’s partner-in-crime, you’ve always found Neteyam’s eyes on you. You knew that it was because he needed to make sure that you two are behaving the way you should so he wouldn’t have any trouble to cover up for... But he had only grown more devastatingly handsome as years passed by, possessing a quiet, mysterious depth that made your heart do backflips whenever he chanced to look your way.

“Right...” you laughed nervously, your voice tight as you forced a casual shrug. “But I think your brother wouldn't want to have me anyhow, so that’s not a very good consolation prize for you. You should still train. Seriously.”

Before Lo’ak could question your sudden blush, the woven curtain rustled. Kiri and Spider are back, carrying a wooden platter laden with dried fruit and sweet roots. Just in time, the main entrance of the kelku darkened and your eyes snapped upward. Your heart practically leaped straight into your throat when you saw Neteyam step inside.

He unslung his heavy bow, placing it meticulously in the weapon rack. He was breathtaking. He had the sharp, striking features of his mother and the towering, commanding presence of his father. He was already a man grown, a skilled warrior, yet he carried an air of quiet mystery that made him entirely captivating. And the absolute worst part? His golden eyes were already fixed directly on you the moment he crossed the threshold.

You felt the 99% of the clan's girls entirely in that single, breathless second. You get them. You sighed. So sorry, Lo’ak...

You bit your lip, smoothly tearing your eyes away as you felt your cheeks burn. He let a soft huff of breath through his nose when you looked away, feeling disappointed that you had to break the contact. You knew none of it, but the space in his chest had long since ceased to belong to the hunt because his quiet attraction had only deepened into something consuming, something permanent, as the years bled by.

He had never spoken of it, bound by his duties and his own fierce restraint, but his heart had stubbornly molded itself to the exact shape of you. To him, the girls in the weaving circles or the training grounds didn't exist. There was only the girl who would body-slam his brother for the the piece of pie... The girl whose laugh sounded like the wild wind.

“Neteyam!” Kiri greeted, setting the food down. “You’re just in time. Come sit, join the game. Lo’ak is actually losing for once.”

Neteyam’s gaze lingered on your face, tracking the faint, lingering flush on your cheeks before he nodded. “I will,” he said, his deep voice sending a familiar prickle of electricity down your spine. He gestured vaguely toward the back of the hut. “Just wait a moment. I need to wash the trail dust off.”

“Bro, it’s just us! Who cares if you’re dusty. Your fan club isn’t here!” Spider’s bellow followed after him.

“Neteyam doesn’t care about the girls who like him,” Lo’ak pointed out.

Spider blew air out of his pursed lips, sending it vibrating. “Right. So, why is he always washing up for whatever whenever we’re here. Trust me, he’ll come back smelling so good—”

“Stop it, you two!” Kiri said and your eyes snapped up to look at her, seeing her purse her lip just as she was looking away from you.

Neteyam did come back, smelling like a mix of strong mint and faint floral. Spider widened his eyes at Lo’ak when Neteyam plopped down beside you, the haired tip of his tail curling dangerously close to your thighs, tickling you a little. Your breath hitched a little and Neteyam, too aware of you, immediately pulled his tail away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and you nodded without looking at him.

Spider widened his eyes at Lo’ak again, but everything happened too fast at once that it all flew over his head. Meanwhile, you were staring down at the board, your mind a complete blur, completely unaware that the boy beside was currently taking a deep breath of his own, his heart hammering against his ribs just from being near you.

One moon bled into the next, and before any of you could truly grasp how fast the seasons were turning, more than a year had swept through Hometree.

Time really had a way of bringing change and a proof of it was currently taking place at the center of the communal grounds. Lo’ak had finally, fortunately, survived his unilatron. He was a warrior of the clan now, a man recognized under the eyes of Eywa, and the entire clan was pulsing with a fierce celebration.

Wrapped in shimmering, iridescent feathers mimicking the majestic span of a beautiful ikran, you were right in the heart of the performance, spending the evening leaping, spinning, and losing yourself to the booming rhythm of the drums. But the moment the ceremonial fires settled into embers, you broke away from the dancers to join the familiar circle of your friends.

You slid onto a woven mat beside Kiri and Spider, but the scene unfolding before you immediately made your brows furrow.

Because it was Lo’ak’s day, Neteyam, in a rare, uncharacteristic display of brotherly indulgence, had actually agreed to a competition. A match to see who could drink more of the heavy, fermented brew and hold their alcohol better.

By the time you sat down, the damage was already done. Neteyam looked incredibly flushed, his skin carrying a dark, warm violet tint beneath his lingering paint. His jaw was clenched, his broad shoulders tense as he forced himself to down another small wooden shot-glass, looking like a man marching into a battle he was drastically losing. Lo’ak, on the other hand, just grinned, looking completely at ease. You knew for a fact that Lo’ak could handle his alcohol remarkably well from his secret late-night escapades with the lower-branch boys, while Neteyam was someone who practically never drank for fun.

When Lo'ak reached for the pitcher to pour another round, you finally had enough. You slammed your hand over the wooden cup in front of Neteyam, effectively intervening.

“That's enough,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the chaos.

The moment you intervened, Neteyam nodded completely, not even speaking to argue. But as he tried to shift his weight away from the drink, his heavy torso swayed violently, his balance entirely lost. He could barely keep himself upright. With a startled breath, you quickly slid closer, letting him lean heavily against your side, your shoulder and arm propping up his massive, muscular frame.

You snapped your head up, glaring across the mat. “What would your mother say if she saw Neteyam like this, Lo'ak?” you scolded sharply.

Lo’ak lazily waved a hand, his grin splitting wide. “It's not always Neteyam gets in trouble, so don't worry, he won't be scolded. We're all celebrating anyway!" He leaned across the table, pointing a proud finger at his older brother. "Besides, I just learned that there's something I’m better than Neteyam at!”

“Yeah, and it's in drinking, which is literally the most annoying vice anyone could ever have,” you hissed back at him, tightening your grip around Neteyam’s arm as he let out a soft, heavy groan against your temple.

“Oh, come on, bro,” Lo’ak snorted, rolling his eyes. “I know your dad’s a drunk, but a competition like this won’t make us drunks.”

The atmosphere instantly cooled. Spider’s jaw dropped, and he aggressively smacked Lo’ak’s arm. “Lo’ak,” Spider warned, his voice low and sharp. “Skxawng.”

“That’s enough, Lo’ak. Don’t be stupid,” Kiri followed, her eyes narrowing into a dangerous, protective glare.

Lo’ak’s cocky grin vanished as the weight of his own words hit him. He looked at your tensed shoulders, his eyes softening with immediate regret. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice suddenly small. “Seriously, Y/N. I didn't mean it like that.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a breath as you kept your focus on the heavy warrior leaning against you. “I wasn't offended. It’s true anyway,” you said quietly. “I’m bringing Neteyam back to your hut.”

Kiri nodded immediately, her expression shifting to one of deep sympathy. “I’ll go with you.”

Getting Neteyam out of the celebration grounds was a feat in itself. Surprisingly, he could still walk, though it was an incredibly zigzaggy, clumsy endeavor. You and Kiri each held one of his large arms, steering him through the winding, illuminated paths of Hometree.

Along the way, the alcohol seemed to unlock a completely hidden side of Neteyam. He began to yap about the most ridiculous things, slurring out complaints about a stubborn direhorse that wouldn't cooperate during his hunt, and how the younger hunters didn't coil their ropes correctly. It was so entirely petty and unlike his perfect persona that you couldn't help but burst into a soft laughter.

As your laughter echoed through the quiet walkway, Neteyam’s slurred rambling tripped to a sudden halt. He stopped walking, forcing you and Kiri to stop with him. With heavily drooped eyes, he pointed a shaking, clumsy finger toward the distance, where the nearby bioluminescent river could be seen like a ribbon of liquid starlight.

“That... that looks so beautiful,” he slurred in a thick, gibberish tone, his head lolling to the side, his glassy eyes zeroing in on you. "It’s... it’s just like you."

Your heart gave a violent, sudden thud. You quickly looked away, your cheeks instantly bursting into a furious heat. He is completely wasted, you reasoned frantically, refusing to let yourself believe he actually meant you.

But as you kept walking, a sharp, bitter prick of annoyance bloomed in your chest. You thought about the sheer possibility of him having that smooth side in him. Did he say unprompted, poetic lines like that to the pretty huntresses in the training grounds when no one was looking? The sudden, burning wave of jealousy was so intense that you felt a wild urge to just push him right off the branch.

When you finally reached their family kelku, the hut was entirely dark and empty, the rest of the family still down at the feast. Kiri quietly led the way to the back, pulling open the woven curtain of Neteyam’s sleeping alcove. The space immediately enveloped you, smelling richly of the distinct, comforting scent of him.

Together, you and Kiri guided him down onto his soft sleeping mat where he plopped down heavily, entirely deadweight, a stupid, lazy laugh bubbling out of his chest as he hit the furs.

Kiri quietly moved across the alcove, lighting a hanging firepot to cast a warm, flickering amber glow over the room. She returned with a small wooden bowl of water and a soft, woven cloth, handing it to you. “Help me wipe his war paint off before it stains the bedding.”

You nodded, kneeling beside Neteyam. As you dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out, Neteyam blinked heavily, his eyes struggling to focus against the firelight. Slowly, his gaze zeroed in on your form. For a while, he was just blinking.

And then you saw his pupils dilate significantly the moment he realized it was you. Before you could even press the damp cloth to his skin, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist.

“Hi...” he slurred, a slow, incredibly lazy smile spreading across his lips.

You blinked a few times, your breath catching in your throat as you found yourself completely distracted by how breathtakingly handsome he looked in the dim light. “Uh... hello?” you hesitated, your voice a breathless whisper.

Neteyam’s golden eyes widened just a fraction, a spark of pure awe cutting through his drunken haze. “And she speaks...” his smile stretched into a genuine, radiant grin. He let go of your wrist, his hand traveling upward, his thick fingers clumsily reaching out to touch the iridescent feathers woven into your hair. “Damn, it’s so real.”

You looked up at Kiri in confusion, and her head tilted to the side as she hid a stifled a smile.

“Well... I am real,” you muttered back to him, turning your attention back to his face.

“Yeah, right. Could have fooled me,” Neteyam murmured, rolling his eyes away, muttering about some ‘then why isn’t she talking about Lo’ak, Lo’ak, Lo’ak now?’

Your head tilted. “What?“ you mumbled and you saw him roll his eyes again, moving his face away in a sulking act. “Neteyam...” you called softly, bringing the cool, damp cloth to his cheek.

His face snapped right back to you, his gaze back on your face, anchoring himself to your touch. “A year ago...” he mumbled, his deep voice carrying a sudden, raw gravity that didn't sound drunken at all. He reached up, his finger gently curling around a stray strand of your dark hair, twirling it softly. “You said... you said that you don't think I'd want to have you anyhow...”

Your hand froze against his cheek, your lungs completely locked as your widened eyes stare at him. He heard that...

“And you couldn't have been more wrong,” Neteyam murmured, his voice dropping into a soulful, intense register as his golden eyes burned into yours. “Because I want you...” He closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing it like he was wishing for something. “Fuck, I want to have you. Will you let me have you? I promise... I promise I will take care of you. So good...”

He let out a soft, breathless huff, his lazy smile returning as his strong, heavy arm suddenly snaked around your waist. With a gentle but unyielding tug, he pulled you closer to, his eyes drooping heavily under the weight of the alcohol.

“I’ve never wanted anything in my life... as much as I wanted you, Y/N...” he mumbled against your hair.

You stared at him, your eyes wide with absolute shock, your entire body trembling as his uttered your name. Behind him, Kiri looked completely flabbergasted, her jaw slightly slack as she witnessed her stoic, fiercely guarded older brother completely unraveling his soul.

Neteyam closed his eyes for a few minutes, his breathing heavy as you forced your trembling hands to finish wiping the paint from his face. But just when you thought he had passed out, his eyelids peeled open again, staring up at you through the dim firelight.

“You are so beautiful...” he murmured with that same stupid smile. He let out a contented sigh, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction as sleep finally claimed him. “I’ll pray to the Great Mother...” he slurred. “I mean... I prayed. So she might just give... To me... If I begged her right...”

A few moments later, his arm went entirely limp, and his deep, even breathing filled the quiet alcove.

You sat frozen on the mat, the damp cloth clutched tightly in your fist. You didn't know what to think. Your heart was pounding so violently against your ribs that your chest physically ached, and your face was burning with a fierce, suffocating flush. You wanted to cry. You desperately wanted to believe he was just talking out of his mind because of the brew... but his eyes had been so sincere. So deeply truthful. It felt as though he had been holding that heavy, consuming confession inside of his chest for far too many years, and the seal had finally broken.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at his sister.

Kiri was staring at her sleeping brother, and then her wide, stunned eyes slowly shifted to you.

“What...” she whispered. “What just happened?”

“He is out of his mind,” you choked out, your voice trembling as you frantically pulled your hand back, though your cheeks were still burning a furious, violent crimson. “He’s completely wasted. He probably thinks I’m a tree sprite or a... an I don’t know. He’s just bullshitting because of the brew.”

Kiri narrowed her eyes, completely unconvinced. She crossed her arms, her head tilting with that sharp, analytical look she inherited from their mother. “Girl, he literally said your name. He didn't say oh, pretty tree sprite. He said your name.”

“Probably because I am sitting right in front of him!” you argued, your voice rising in a panicked hiss before you quickly clamped a hand over your own mouth, glancing down at Neteyam’s rising and falling chest. “He opened his eyes, saw my face, and his brain just grabbed the nearest name it recognized. You know how he is. He’s always tracking us to make sure we don't break our necks. My name is probably permanently etched into his subconscious as a hazard.”

Kiri stared at you for a long, quiet moment. The hanging firepot cast dancing shadows across her face. She wasn't fooled for a second, but seeing the genuine, absolute panic radiating from your posture, she sighed and let her shoulders drop. “Fine. If that is what you need to tell yourself to sleep tonight.”

You didn't stay long after that. You hurriedly finished wiping the last traces of the blue and yellow paint from his jaw, refusing to look at his lips again, and practically fled the Sully kelku.

The walk back to your own family’s hut was a blur. The jungle was alive with its usual nocturnal symphony, but all you could hear was the deep, soulful register of Neteyam’s voice echoing in your ears: “Because I want you... Fuck, I want to have you.”

In the dark safety of your family’s hut, staring up at the thatched ceiling, your mind spun in vicious circles. You tried so hard to dismiss it, but as you lay there, you started to remember things. The way his eyes always seemed to find yours across a crowded pavilion. The way he would suddenly appear to help you carry heavy bundles of river reeds, only to leave without a word once the task was done.

The way he listens to you and does all your requests faster than a leaf could land when it falls, or whenever he relents to whatever trouble Lo’ak is planning to do once you start pouting about it. The way he had held your arm so tightly during his unilatron preparation. You groaned. How could you have been so blind?

You understood. Or, at least, you thought you did. Your heart ached with a terrifying, sweet realization. You liked Neteyam. Of course you did. He was the golden heir of the Omatikaya. Strong, fiercely loyal, and devastatingly handsome. But what did he mean by all of it? What were you supposed to do with a confession whispered in the dark by a boy drowned in alcohol?

The answer, it turned out, was to run.

In the days that followed, you became an expert at avoiding him. It wasn't entirely difficult; he had duties with the scouts, and you had your dance practices. But Neteyam was a master tracker, and you should have known you couldn't hide forever.

He cornered you on a quiet walkway leading down to the lower branches. He started smooth, his expression perfectly calm, though his ears were pulled back slightly in an uncharacteristic show of nerves He called your name and stepped into your path. You froze, your basket of herbs you volunteered to gather held tightly against your chest as you prepared to speak with him, properly this time.

“Kiri told me... well, she told me how wasted I was the night of the festival. She said I was completely out of it and that I should have controlled myself better,” he rubbed the back of his neck, his golden eyes looking genuinely apologetic. “I wanted to ask you... did I say or do anything to make you uncomfortable? If I did, I am truly sorry. I really can't remember anything after the eleventh cup, and Kiri keeps cryptically telling me I have a loose mouth when I drink. I didn’t mean anything I said.”

You blinked, standing there as you felt your heart drop. Oh. You nodded, feeling as if he had forcefully shoved a giant boulder down your throat. Perhaps, you were right that he was simply just drunk. Like how your father promise things when he’s drunk and then forget it by the morrow. Your head tilted for a moment, surprised with how a very little thing got you aligning Neteyam with your good-for-nothing father.

“Uh,” you managed, forcing a tight, hollow smile onto your face though your chest felt like it just got fractured. You swallowed past the massive lump in your throat. “No, it’s all cool. You didn't say anything important or bad, Neteyam. You were just yapping about a stubborn direhorse... Don't worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, stepping a fraction closer, his eyes searching your face.

You stepped back instinctively, making him stop. “Completely. I have to go, Kiri is waiting,” you lied smoothly, quickly darting past him before he could speak again.

That night, in the quiet darkness of your sleeping alcove, you actually cried in frustration. You felt so incredibly stupid for overthinking his words, for letting yourself daydream about what would happen if you talked sober. About the future. But then he was just drunk. It was just that stupid brew talking. It was so unimportant that he didn’t even remember it.

You groaned and sat up on your mat, forcefully rubbing your face and promising yourself that you won’t trust whatever comes out of his mouth about anything regarding what he wants.

More years passed, bleeding into a steady, familiar rhythm. And by familiar, that includes Neteyam who stayed exactly the same. His intense gaze that you once thought meant something still followed you everywhere. He watched you like you had personally hung the stars in sky, as if you were the absolute center of his universe.

Whenever you needed something done, he was there. Whenever you needed anything at all, you already have it. Whenever a stray leaf caught your hair, his hands were already reaching out. But you dared not read into it anymore. You had learned your lesson. In fact, you grew defensive, occasionally ignoring his quiet presence or sharply dismissing his help. “I can carry it myself, Neteyam,” you would say, and he would simply nod, his eyes darkening with a quiet, patient glint before he stepped back.

Now that you were fully of age, the older women of the clan was beginning to look at the youth with matchmaking eyes. Specifically, they were looking at you and Lo’ak.

One afternoon, a group of elders stood near the communal hearth, watching as you sit on a woven mat, aggressively swatting Lo’ak’s hand away as he repeatedly tried to pull a loose thread from the blanket you were weaving. You two were laughing, bickering like the chaotic children you had always been. Neytiri sat nearby, calmly rocking Tuk in her arms.

Neteyam was standing a few paces behind his mother, cleaning his bow, when one of the elder women gestured toward you and Lo'ak.

“Look at them,” one of the women murmured to Neytiri, a fond smile on her face. “Usually, friendships between girls and boys gradually fade with adulthood but those two have only grown even closer.”

They chuckled and another woman spoke, “A man and a woman cannot truly stay as just friends forever. Eventually, they will see each other for what they truly are. See, this will make a beautiful love story. The two troublemakers finally settling down together.”

Behind them, Neteyam’s entire body went rigid.

A sudden mental image of you and his brother ending up together and building a family flashed in his mind. Little kids with Lo’ak’s eyes wearing little loinclothes that you made yourself. He closed his eyes as a fierce, blinding fury erupted in his chest, so hot it nearly choked him. His grip tightened on his bow until his knuckles turned a lighter shade of blue. He hated hearing it. He absolutely loathed the images that popped in his mind unbidden.

He had spent years patiently growing into the man he believed you deserved. He didn’t want to impulsively decide on things that would ruin things for you, he didn’t want a fleeting, immature romance that could break, he was thinking about the future where he could already provide for you, protect you, and offer you everything before he spoke for you under the Great Mother.

He had a whole timeline mapped out in his head. He wanted it to be endgame.

But he had taken Lo’ak’s presence for granted, knowing you two were strictly platonic, but hearing the elders start to babble this nonsense made his blood boil. If you or Lo'ak heard this gossip, it might give you two silly ideas or coerce you into romance that was not real.

Neteyam stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over the elders. “Respectfully, elders,” he began, his tone smooth but carrying an edge that made the old women blink in surprise. “The two of them have a bond of siblings. Pushing such expectations onto them will only ruin a good friendship. It is wiser to let them both find their own paths without the pressure of the imagination. Let them be.”

Neytiri glanced up at her eldest son, a knowing, quietly amused spark lingering in her eyes, though she remained silent. She adjusted Tuk in her arms, her sharp eyes sliding from the bickering pair in the clearing directly to her eldest son. She had always known. It was not her wild, reckless second-born who held a silent devotion for you, but her disciplined, fiercely guarded firstborn.

Neteyam ignored his mother’s perceptive stare, turning his gaze back to the clearing, watching you finally launch a small fruit at Lo’ak’s forehead. His jaw relaxed, his heart swelling with that same, consuming vow he had kept for years. He would wait, and when the time was right, he would make sure everyone knew exactly whose heart you belonged to.

Then came the festival of the New Moons.

The communal grounds were a brilliant, swirling chaos of heat, smoke, and pounding drums. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and sweet herbs. You were in the center of the performance circle, your body moving with a fluid, mesmerizing grace, letting yourself sway like a piece of cloth caught in a wild wind. The iridescent feathers of your costume caught the firelight, casting shimmering fractures of light across the crowd.

As you spun, dipping low to the rhythm of the drums, your eyes instinctively swept over the crowd, and caught on a shadow.

Neteyam was standing beside a thick column, a wooden cup held loosely in his large hand. His head was slightly bowed, but he wasn’t looking at the floor. His eyes were peering up at you through the fringe of his lashes, and the sheer, raw intensity of his stare nearly made your heart jump straight into your throat.

The tension in the air between you instantly became palpable, thick and suffocatingly hot. He wasn't even blinking, his eyes tracking your every move, tracing the curve of your waist as you bent, the sweep of your arms, the flash of your bare skin under the firelight. There was a profound, unbridled awe in his expression, but beneath it burned something much darker, a hungry, possessive edge that made your skin prickle with raw heat. For a breathless second, the rest of the clan vanished. The roaring drums became nothing more than the frantic beat of your own pulse.

You nearly missed your next step, your breath hitching as you forced yourself to spin away, breaking the heavy spell of his gaze.

Once the performance finally concluded, the tension dissipated back into the chaotic energy of the crowd. You made your rounds through the clearing, socializing with your friends from the higher branches, laughing at their endless conversations about the warriors, and grabbing small bites of food. By the time the night began to wind down, you made your way toward the back alcoves to get a refreshing drink of sweet water, but you came face-to-face with Neteyam.

He was leaning heavily against a carved wooden pillar, his chest bare, his skin flushed with a warm violet under the remnants of his festival paint. You could tell by the slight glaze in his eyes and the relaxed slump of his usually rigid shoulders that he was drunk.

Of course, you thought bitterly, a familiar wall of defense slamming up inside your chest. You ought to just ignore him. You didn't want a repeat of years ago. You didn't want to swallow another boulder.

You gripped your wooden cup tightly, ducking your head to smoothly walk right past him. But before you could clear his shadow, his large, warm hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your elbow.

He murmured your name, his deep voice thick and slightly slurred, but carrying a desperate, heavy weight. “Wait. Please.”

You froze, your back tense. “Neteyam, you're drunk. Go sleep it off.”

“Can we talk?” he pressed, his thumb brushing against the skin of your arm in a slow, pleading motion. “Just for a moment. Away from the noise.”

You closed your eyes, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. You shouldn't. You knew you shouldn't. But the raw vulnerability in his tone pulled at you, dangerous and magnetic. “Fine,” you muttered, pulling your elbow from his grasp.

You led him out of the chaos of the communal space, stepping onto a thick, quiet branch that overlooked the bioluminescence of the forest down below. The cool night air hit your face, but it did nothing to cool the burning frustration in your veins.

Neteyam followed you, stopping a few paces away, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face, making him look devastatingly handsome that you had to look away. He took a slow breath, his posture suddenly shifting, shedding the clumsy weight of the alcohol as he looked down at you.

When he spoke, his voice went incredibly smooth, completely devoid of his usual restraint.

“I have wanted to tell you this for so long,” he began, stepping closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. “But... I didn’t want to go through it prematurely... I wanted to make sure that I am a man worthy of you... Because it has always been you, the Great Mother knows. Since the day you stood in our doorway with leaves in your hair, it had been you, and if you’ll... If you’ll have me, I want to... court you.”

You stared up at him, but the romantic rush you might have felt years ago didn't come. Instead, a cold, bitter wave of disbelief washed over you. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sharp, sarcastic huff of a laugh as you stepped back, shaking your head.

“You are unbelievable,” you spat, your voice dripping with sudden, defensive anger. “You really think you can just stand there and say whatever you like to me, don't you?”

Neteyam blinked, looking genuinely caught off guard. “I am serious—”

“No, you're not!” you cut him off, your fingers curling into tight fists at your sides. “You can tell me whatever pretty, cruel lies you want to say right now, Neteyam, because it doesn't matter. You’ll just forget it all by morning anyway.”

A lump rose in your throat, hot and painful, but you forced the words out, determined to finally empty the heavy chest of secrets you had carried alone for years. If he was going to forget, then you could finally be honest.

“You want to know something funny?” you scoffed, a bitter tear threatening to spill over. “I liked you, Neteyam. I liked you so much. And I almost stupidly fell for your cruel jape the last time you got drunk and told me the same cruel things. I spent days overthinking it, thinking about all the things I want to say to you, only for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't remember a single thing and that it didn’t mean anything.”

Neteyam’s jaw slackened, his eyes widening in horrified shock as the slurred fog in his brain desperately tried to process what you were saying. “What... what do you mean?”

“It doesn't matter,” you said fiercely, taking a deep breath to hold your tears back. You looked at his beautiful, flushed face one last time, knowing that by tomorrow, his temporary memory loss brought by the alcohol would wipe his slate completely clean again. He wouldn't remember your confession.

“Good night, Neteyam,” you said quietly.

Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel and walked away. Neteyam stood frozen on the thick branch, the cool night breeze rustling the leaves around him, but he couldn't feel it. The heavy warmth of the fermented brew vanished from his veins in a single, terrifying heartbeat, replaced by a cold, hollow dread that settled deep in his chest.

He stared at the empty space where you had just been standing.

The echo of your voice, cracked and furious, rang in his ears like the strike of a drum.

“I liked you, Neteyam. I liked you so much. And I almost stupidly fell for your cruel jape the last time you got drunk and told me the same cruel things... Only for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't remember a single thing and that it didn’t mean anything.”

His hand slowly dropped to his side. His fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist. He didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he was entirely paralyzed by a past action he couldn't even recall. The last time he had allowed himself to get horribly drunk was years ago, on the night of Lo’ak’s unilatron. He remembered waking up the next morning with a pounding skull, only for Kiri to look at him with a disappointed, cryptic glare and warn him that he had a loose mouth when he drank.

He had been terrified. He had seen how you avoided him in the days that followed, how your shoulders tensed whenever he walked by. He had genuinely believed he must have said something horrible, something reckless or possibly creepy that had scared you away. So, when he finally cornered you on that walkway, his only instinct had been damage control. He had desperately wanted to smooth things over, to ensure you didn't think he was a threat, blindly blurting out that he “didn’t mean anything he said.”

A choked, bitter sound escaped Neteyam’s throat. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, dragging them down his face in pure, unadulterated frustration. He wanted to beat himself up. He wanted to find a solid stone wall and bump his head onto it repeatedly.

He hadn't scared you. He had broken you. He had coaxed a confession out of your heart, left you to mourn it alone for days, and then unceremoniously forced you to swallow a boulder by telling you his words were meaningless. And because your father was a man who drowned his life in a cup and spun empty promises by the campfire, you had aligned Neteyam right alongside him.

Neteyam turned and marched back into the clearing, his steps purposeful, hunting down his sister. He found Kiri at the back of a giant root, quietly sipping on a bowl of sweetened brew. She didn't even look when his heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, though her ears twitched.

“Kiri,” Neteyam called out, his voice raw, completely stripping away his usual stoic composure. “At the night of the unilatron festival... Years ago. What did I really say to Y/N?”

Kiri paused, “When you got really drunk?”

Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment before nodding, “Yes, when I got really drunk.”

She slowly turned her head, her sharp eyes taking in his flushed face, his panicked stance, and the sheer desperation radiating from his posture. “I think you already know,” she said quietly.

“Yes, she just told me,” Neteyam blurted out, the words tumbling out of him in a nonstop, uncharacteristic babble. He stepped closer, his hands gesturing wildly. “She just... Kiri, I didn't know what I said. She told me that I basically confessed to her that night. And if I said I loved her, if I said I wanted her to be mine, that was true, believe me. Every word of it was true, but I was so drunk, I didn't remember. And because you were so cryptic to me, because you told me I had a loose mouth, I thought I said something bad. I thought I insulted her and it will ruin whatever we had, so I told her that whatever I said, I really didn’t mean it.”

Kiri stared at her older brother, her jaw slightly slack. She had never seen Neteyam, the golden, perfect son, so completely unravel like this.

“Oh,” Kiri managed to say after his breathless rant. She blinked. “Is it my fault?”

“No!” Neteyam snapped softly, his tone hard but small, his ears pinning back in remorse. “No, it is not your fault. It is my fault. It is entirely my fault. But I need to know exactly what I said, Kiri. Tell me. I need to know so I can affirm it, tell her none of it was a lie, so I can make it up to her.”

Kiri let out a long, heavy sigh, putting her hand holding the bowl down. She looked at him with a mixture of pity and exasperation before she began to recount the night. She told him, in a dramatic recounting, how he had pulled you down by your waist, how he had twirled your hair, and how he had slurred out that he would beg the Great Mother to give you to him if he only prayed right.

As Kiri spoke, Neteyam let out a low groan, burying his face in his large hands. His shoulders shook with a silent, frustrated curse. He was so corny! But at least, he had been sincere. All of it were true, even though he cannot remember them at all.

“Fuck it, Kiri,” he muttered into his palms, his voice muffled. “I am a loose mouth when I’m drunk. I... damn. This is all going so wrong.” He dropped his hands, staring blankly at the wall, his chest heaving. “I wasn't planning for it to unfold this way. I was thinking... I was thinking that there should be a timeline to things, you know? That when I finally told her about what my heart really wanted, we would be grown. I wanted to be better. So I could provide for her. I wanted to have my own status, to make sure things would go perfectly from there, and that—”

“Neteyam,” Kiri called out calmly, cutting through his spiral.

He stopped, looking at her with wide, inquiring eyes.

“I think I know exactly where things went wrong,” she said, her voice dropping into that grounded, old-soul tone she often carried. “It’s when you allowed your micromanaging self to take over your heart. There isn’t a timeline for love, brother. And what you want, or how you think things should perfectly line up, isn't the only thing that's important here.”

Neteyam felt the words hit him like a physical blow. The absolute certainty he had carried for years. His meticulous plan to be your “endgame” suddenly felt incredibly selfish, incredibly foolish. He had fumbled. He had fumbled big time, and he had absolutely no map for the uncharted territory he had stranded himself in.

He thought about you. He thought about how you had admitted, with tears in your eyes, that you had liked him too. You had been looking forward to discussing your feelings with him. You had been ready to step into his arms, and he had blindly, stupidly ruined it before you could even speak.

“Bother,” Kiri called stepping forward to place a comforting hand on his rigid shoulder. “Just as a sisterly advice. The next time you try to speak with her, don't drink. Her father is a drunk, Neteyam. Her first experience with you being stupid was you being drowned in brew. I think you need to start from there.”

Neteyam's breath hitched. Her father. The comparison made a sickening wave of guilt roll through his stomach. He was doing everything wrong. He had strived his entire life to be the perfect son and the perfect warrior, but to the one person who mattered most, he had been nothing but a source of unpredictable, forgotten promises.

Neteyam did not sleep that night. He spent the remaining hours of the darkness washing his face with freezing river water, scrubbing the festival paint from his skin until it burned, and shedding every single ounce of his carefully constructed restraint.

The timeline was dead. It had done nothing but ruin everything, so if he were in a situation he didn’t know how to navigate, the only thing he could do is to fight. If he had to tear down the high canopy of Hometree to prove himself to you, he would do it sober, completely awake, and with a ferocity that would leave no room for doubt.

He had served you quietly before, but he will make sure everybody will not mistake his actions for anything but devotion for an intended mate now. He started the very next day, and you woke up that morning to find massive stacks of perfectly cut firewood that could provide warm for your family for the succeeding moons neatly piled outside your family’s hut, bound with a flawless hunter's knot.

“Who could have possibly left this here?” Your mother asked, her hand clutching at your arm.

You gritted your teeth as your eyes narrowed. “I don’t know...” But you do know. You have a hunch, at least.

“Should we get it inside... Or should we leave it there? In case someone mistakenly put it there?” She angled her head to look at you, but both of your attentions were snagged by your father walking on the branch leading to the hut.

Drunk. And walking remarkably straight enough to keep himself alive.

“Wondering where they came from, eh? I saw the Olo’eyktan’s eldest boy put them there. I’d say it was a tough task, getting all those piles of heavy wood up here,” he slurred before his eyes snapped to you. “That boy owed you?”

You closed your eyes to hide you eyes rolling, but before you could speak, he spoke again.

“Or is that boy courting you?”

“Vatu, what nonsense?! Neteyam is the Olo’eyktan’s heir. He will be paired with a strong and fierce huntress one day soon, or with a chief’s daughter from a different clan. Are you sure you didn’t mistake Lo’ak in your drunken haze?” your mother clarified, stepping outside.

You bit the insides of your lower lip, feeling a slight pinch in your chest at the words your mother uttered about Neteyam’s possible pair. She didn’t say anything wrong, and you knew that her words are completely true, but the fact still felt suffocating.

“No, I can tell those two apart. The taller one was definitely the one who brought these here... I’d ask him next time he does this, so I can be sure.” he walked past your mother and you, walking into the hut to sleep.

“There will be no next time,” you mumbled. You’ll put an end to this. Now.

But when you went to the communal clearing to gather breakfast to bring up to the high branches for your mother, you found a wooden tray with bowls of porridge, a leaf of honeyed hexapede, and the sweetest, rarest deep-forest berries still glistening with morning dew already resting on your usual place during communal meals.

“I can help bring it up, if you’d like,” a deep baritone sounded behind you, almost making you jump.

You knew exactly who it was.

You spunned around with sharp eyes. “What are these for?” you asked, your voice cold.

“Breakfast?”

Your lips pulled back to bare your fangs quietly and he looked at you as if you were a baby nantang showing its fangs for the first time. “I mean, why is this here? And were you the one who left firewood by our hut? Why are you doing this?”

He smiled, “One question at a time, beautiful. I’ll answer that all later, but I think we should really get that tray up before the food gets cold.”

Your eyes narrowed when he leaned forward to gather the tray, and you swat his hand. “I’ll do it. And get all the firewood back!” you groaned and lifted the tray up.

“I can’t,” he said and your head snapped at him.

“What do you mean you can’t?” you frowned.

He stretched his muscled arms with a little drama. “Because my arms are sore from getting them up there. I can’t get them all down anymore,” he pouted.

You hissed, “Stop doing all of these. I don’t need your charity.”

Neteyam didn't flinch at your hiss, neither did he give you that patient, sorrowful nod he used to give. Instead, he smoothly stepped directly into your personal space to take the tray from you. The sheer size of him cast a shadow over you, but his eyes were terrifyingly clear, burning with a fierce intensity.

“It is not charity,” he said, his deep voice smooth. “But you need to get used to it.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You stepped back, your heart hammering against your ribs as you watched him walk with your tray of food. You followed him immediately at the winding ramps leading to the higher branches though, determined to get your tray back.

“I can do that on my own. Give me that,” you pressed as you blocked him on the ramp, reaching for the tray but he kept it away.

“It’s heavy even for me, Y/N. There’s no way I’ll let you take this,” he said, his eyes serious on you. “Let me, okay?”

You blinked, feeling the urge to push him away because you suddenly realized how close his face was, but you know it was you who needed to move because you're blocking the path. He was quick to move, reaching the higher branches in no time, telling you that his excuse about his arms were a lie.

“Daughter?“

Your mother stood completely frozen by the entryway, behind her, the flap was shoved aside, and your father emerged, squinting against the bright morning light.

He rubbed his eyes, letting out a rough, gravelly grunt as he looked at Neteyam, and the tray he was holding. “I told you,” Vatu muttered knowingly. “It was Neteyam I saw.”

Katrey quickly snapped her head toward her husband, her eyes flashing with a warning glare, but Vatu ignored her. He stepped closer, leaning his heavy frame against the doorpost as his glassy eyes zeroed in on the warrior standing in front of their hut.

“Boy, are you courting my daughter?” Vatu asked bluntly, his voice carrying the rough edge of a man who didn't care for formalities.

“Vatu, be quiet!” your mother hissed, her face flushing with immediate embarrassment. She quickly stepped between them, offering Neteyam a deeply apologetic, polite nod. “Please ignore him, Neteyam. Thank you for the breakfast. I apologize for my husband's boldness to ask you things he knows nothing about. He is still out of his mind from the brew he drank.”

“It is nothing, Katrey,” Neteyam replied smoothly.

He didn't step back, nor did he look embarrassed by your father’s blunt interrogation. Instead, he straightened his broad shoulders, his towering frame carrying an unshakeable dignity as his golden eyes shifted from your mother directly to your father.

“And I do intend to win your daughter’s heart,” Neteyam said, his deep baritone ringing clear and steady in the morning air. He dipped his head in a respectful, formal gesture. “This is me asking for your permission, Vatu, Katrey.”

Your mother’s jaw went completely slack. Her eyes snapped up to you in a sudden panic, her breath catching in her throat. Neteyam politely extended his hands, smoothly transferring the weight of the heavy tray into your father’s grip. The sharp, piercing look your mother gave you told you everything. She wanted a full explanation.

Realizing the situation was spiraling entirely out of your control, you quickly grabbed Neteyam by his elbow, firmly pulling him away from the entrance of your hut and leading him down the walkway.

“Thank you, Neteyam...” your mother called out weakly behind you, her voice full of stunned disbelief as she retreated inside.

The moment your parents were safely out of view behind the woven fkap, you rounded on him, your hand dropping from his arm as you hissed fiercely, “What are you saying?!”

“Which part?” Neteyam asked, a boyish, devastatingly handsome smile flashing across his lips. His ears gave a playful, teasing flick. “I said quite a lot.”

You widened your eyes at him, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You know exactly what I am talking about!”

Neteyam bit his lower lip, his playful demeanor instantly softening. His golden eyes began to roam across your face, slow and deliberate, as if he were completely feasting on your features. Beneath his skin, a bright violet flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks, so intense that he had to look away toward the canopy for a brief second to catch his breath.

When he looked back down at you, the boyish charm was gone, replaced by a raw sincerity.

“Well, I meant what I told your mother,” he said softly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate tone. “I am going to win your heart. You told me you liked me once... but now, you don’t, because I was stupid. I know I ruined it. But I will work very hard to turn it all back around. If you’ll allow me...” He paused, his gaze turning deeply pleading as he took a half-step closer. “But please, allow me.”

You let out a long, heavy sigh, the defensive anger in your chest suddenly feeling exhausting. You looked away from him, staring down at your feet so you wouldn't have to see his face fall. “I don’t know, Neteyam... it’s really not a good idea.”

A sharp, sudden edge cut through his tone. “Why? Because of Lo’ak?”

“No!” you whisper-shouted, your head snapping back up to glare at him. “I do not care for Lo’ak that way, and you know it! It’s only that... you are you,  and I am me. You are destined for great things, Neteyam. The clan expects it. The right woman—”

“—is you,” Neteyam interrupted fiercely, his voice rising with a sudden, hot flash of anger that made your breath hitch. He stepped directly into your path, his shadow completely enveloping you as his jaw clenched. “Never speak that way about yourself. You are you, and you are the only woman I have always held close in my heart. If the clan knew how long I have burned for you, they would think it a no-brainer that I should chase after you now until you tire of running away from me.”

He caught himself, realizing his intensity was surprising you. He took a slow breath, his expression softening into something deeply tender as he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from your cheek, desperately wanting to touch you but restraining himself.

“You are what I want, Y/N. You are what I have always wanted,” he said, each word perfectly clear, perfectly sober. “And I am saying this to you now, sober and clear of mind, and I will never forget it again, even if Eywa strikes me down.”

Your lips pressed together into a tight line, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that it physically ached. You let out a slow, trembling breath, your eyes drifting toward the vast, emerald forest stretching out beyond Hometree.

“Yeah... maybe don’t be that dramatic,” you mumbled quietly, your voice losing all of its biting ice.

Neteyam bit his lip again, his eyes tracking the subtle softenings of your expression. A quiet spark of triumph flared in his chest. It wasn't a no. You weren't yelling, and you weren't as angry as you had been. He was a skilled hunter, he knew exactly when to press an advantage, and he knew exactly when to slip away before his quarry recovered their senses and put up another wall.

“I have to join the morning patrol,” he said softly, backing away a single step while keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “I will see you later.”

Before you could gather your thoughts to give him a proper rebuttal, he turned on his heel and moved down the winding ramp, disappearing into the lower branches with a fluid, effortless grace.

You stood alone on the walkway for a long moment, your face burning with a fierce heat. Finally, you forced your legs to move and walked back to your family's hut. The moment your hand touched the woven entrance, the flap flew open, and your mother pulled you inside, her face tight with intense curiosity.

“What is going on between you two?” Katrey demanded immediately, “What did he mean by that?”

From the back of the hut, your father let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms as he walked back toward the hearth. “Didn’t you hear her, Katrey? The boy said he’s burned for your daughter for so long—”

“Couldn’t you have said that more properly?!” your mother snapped, throwing her hands up in utter exasperation.

“What, that's exactly what he said!” Vatu defended himself, completely unfazed as he collapsed back onto his sleeping mat.

You groaned loudly, burying your burning face in your hands as the chaotic bickering of your parents echoed around the small hut. Neteyam had completely broken down your defenses in less than ten minutes, and based on the look in his eyes, he was only just getting started.

In the next days, everywhere you went, Neteyam was there.

If you were planning to go down to the riverbanks to gather fibers for your costumes, you would turn to find a basket already filled with the finest, smoothest iridescent fibers from the deep forest. If a sudden midday downpour caught you near the low-hanging nurseries, a thick, dry woven cloak would materialize over you, smelling faintly of sweet mint and rain, before the first drop of water could touch your skin.

The clan, naturally, did not miss a single beat. The Omatikaya thrived on the shared breath of the community, and the sight of Toruk Makto’s eldest son carrying out manual chores for a single family’s hut became the premier spectacle of the high branches. The firewood had just been the beginning, he had also took it upon himself to check the structural sinews of your family's shelter after a heavy wind, climbing the high bark with his knife between his teeth, completely oblivious to the lingering stares of the elders below.

“He is stubborn,” your mother noted one evening as she watched Neteyam from the small triangle of the tent's opening. He was sitting cross-legged on the common walkway outside, thoroughly cleaning your family’s blades with fine sand and oil. “He has the Neytiri’s blood in that way. When they choose a direction, they do not turn around.”

“We will see,” you mumbled, twisting a fiber thread between your fingers.

“We will,” Katrey turned, her eyes searching your face with a softness you hadn't expected. “You know... Your father is many things, daughter. He is loud, he is foolish when the brew takes his mind, and he leaves the gathering to the women. But Neteyam... He looks at your mother's hearth before he seeks your hand. A man who honors the nest before he claims the mate is not playing a drunkard's game.”

The words pinched your chest, sweet and agonizingly sharp. You didn't answer her. You knew that Neteyam is far from your father. Too far your father wouldn't even make the cut for contention, and you felt a little shamed at how you came to a point where you’d aligned him with the likes of your father.

You were sitting by the lower root-pools one day, letting your bare feet dangle in the cool, glowing water while you sorted dried feathers by color when a sudden, heavy thud shook the branch behind you. You haven’t even turned around to see who it was when you heard Lo’ak’s flat voice calling your name. It was completely stripped of its usual teasing lilt.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. His ears were pulled back slightly, his eyes wide and stormy as he stared down at you with his hands locked firmly on his hips.

“What's wrong with you?” you asked, setting down a blue fiber. “Did your ikran kick you?”

“Why am I hearing from the lower-branch boys that my brother asked your parents for permission to court you?” Lo’ak blurted out, stepping closer, his long tail thrashing behind him in a sharp, agitated arc. “Why am I hearing from the elders at the hearth that you and Neteyam are an ‘intended pair’ under the eye of Eywa? Since when do you and my brother even talk like that?"

You blinked. “Lo’ak... Well, your brother has asked my parents for permission to court me... And he is courting me—”

“And I never heard of this from the two of you? How long had this been going on?” he barked, though he quickly lowered his voice when a group of passing children looked over.

You sighed. “I didn’t tell you because we haven't really talked that way yet, but—”

“No? Oh, what, did he just come up to you one day and was like, ‘hey, I wanna court you—” he was in the middle of his suave reenactment when you groaned.

“No, no! Not like that,” you said. “I don’t know how to explain this to you, Lo, but years ago—”

“Years ago?! Oh, Great Mother! Am I the only one left in the dark about this—”

“Will you listen without cutting me off?!” you snapped, glaring at him and he rolled his eyes, letting himself fall to sit on the nearest root. You sighed, “Well. As I said... Neteyam is courting me. But I haven’t answered it yet.” you said, your eyes falling on the fibers in your hand.

“But you will answer it?” he asked.

Your eyes snapped up to him before you slowly nodded, “Yes,” you answered quickly. “Lo’ak, I will not lie to you. I have longed felt for your brother... I love him...”

He starded at you, his expression softening. “You’re my best friend, Y/NA. We tell each other everything. If you liked him even then, and if you knew he was looking at you differently, why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to find out from the others?”

The hurt in his voice made a heavy wave of guilt settle in your stomach. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. “Lo'ak, I swear to you, I was planning to tell you once I have answered Neteyam... You see, a few years ago... something happened, and I thought he was just playing with me. I wanted to test his sincerity...”

Lo’ak stared at the floor as he processed your words. “Perhaps I was just blind... Because, looking back to it all now... I think there had been signs,” he let out a rough huff, shaking his head. “I should have known the first time Neteyam acted all lenient because you were around.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed with that familiar, traitorous violet flush as you remembered. “So... It's cool?” you asked.

“That my best friend and my older brother are going to do yucky stuff to each other? Not really—”

You threw a small pebble his way. “Shut up!” you groaned.

He laughed but then fell silent a few seconds later. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone suddenly turning incredibly serious. “He’s my brother, and I love him, but he’s also a hard-ass. He takes everything too seriously, and he thinks he knows what's best for everyone. If he makes you cry, Y/N... if he does something stupid and uses that Olo’eyktan-in-training excuse to justify it... I don't care if he's the eldest. I'll take his longbow and drop it in the bog.”

A soft, emotional smile curved your lips. “Thank you, Lo'ak.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, standing up and brushing the bark-dust from his legs. “I’m going to go find him now. He owes me a match for keeping this a secret. I’m gonna hit him in the ribs.”

Lo’ak did indeed find Neteyam, but the match didn't go quite as planned. According to Spider, who watched from the high branches, Neteyam had simply taken every single one of Lo'ak's aggressive strikes with a calm, unyielding defense, eventually disarming his younger brother with a swift sweep of his leg.

When Lo'ak lay groaning on the dirt, Neteyam had merely extended a hand, pulling him up before saying quietly, “I did not tell you because I had not earned her yet. I am still working on it.”

And working on it, he really was. You should have known, that to be on the receiving end of his relentless pursuit and focus, meant to have your resistance slowly worn down with every attempt. Even as a child, his focus to get what he wanted, which was the mastery of a warrior, was never weakened by any outside forces like the lure of playground fun.

And now, what he wanted was you and it’s not in him to relent. If anything, as the days lengthened, his devotion only grew more intricate, more deeply woven into the fabric of your daily life.

During the third moon of his courtship, you were assigned to lead the young girls of the clan in the ceremonial dance of the first blossom. It was a complex performance, requiring you to leap on high, narrow branches while keeping your balance on slick, moss-covered bark. You had been practicing for hours, your thighs aching and your fingers raw from holding the coarse training ropes.

When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep bruises of violet and orange, you sat alone on the edge of the high platform, rubbing your aching calves with a sigh.

A soft, familiar whistle cut through the quiet air.

You turned and saw Neteyam dropping down from a higher vine, landing with feline grace, no longer wearing his scout gear or his longbow. In his large hand, he carried a small wooden bowl filled with a thick, pale ointment that smelled strongly of crushed mint and wild ginger, the poultice the old healers used to soothe pulled muscles.

“Long day?” he murmured as he sat next to you, his large, calloused hand reached out with an almost terrifying gentleness.

“I told you, Neteyam,” you said, your voice tired, lacking the fierce venom it had carried months ago. “You don’t need to do this.”

His fingers wrapped around your ankle, lifting your foot to rest against his thigh. “Nonsense. I love doing this,” he smirked. “I’ll be doing this for the rest of my life, you know.”

You kicked his hand gently. “You are awfully confident.”

“A man can’t be hopeful now?” He dipped his thick fingers into the cool ointment and began to rub it into your calf.

Your breath caught in your throat as he worked with a meticulous, quiet concentration, his large thumbs tracing the tight knots in your muscles, applying just enough pressure to make you let out a soft, shuddering sigh of relief.

You leaned back on your hands, watching him through the fringe of your lashes. The dimming light caught the high, sharp angles of his cheekbones, the long line of his throat, and the muscular planes of his shoulders. He looked every bit the future leader he was born to be, yet here he was, holding your feet and treating your tired muscles as if they were the most sacred duties of his leadership.

“Neteyam,” you whispered, the quietness of the forest wrapping around you both. “Aren’t you tired?”

Neteyam didn't stop his hands. His thumbs made a slow, soothing circle around your calf before he spoke, “The scout didn’t take that much strength, nor was training the young. I bet you exceeded more energy in your practices—”

“In this courtship, Neteyam,“ you cut him off and his hand on your ankle stopped for a moment.

“Tired of what? I’m having the time of my life,” he said softly. He shifted his grip, his large hand sliding up to rest gently against the side of your knee, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there. He looked up, his eyes burning with a devastating, quiet ferocity. “I would spend ten more years split-logging the forest if it meant I will have you, but I am not rushing you. I have all the time the Great Mother will give me.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling less like a boulder now and more like a warm, melting knot of wax. You pulled your leg back gently, and this time, he let you go, his hands returning to his lap as he watched you with that same, consuming patience.

In the succeeding moons, all the defenses you had built out of hurt and embarrassment had been worn down to dust by his continuous, unyielding presence. You found yourself looking for him during the communal meals. When he’s out with his scout party, you found yourself standing in the entryway of Hometree, your eyes fixed on the clearing, until the familiar, large silhouette of his direhorse finally broke through thicket.

Today, it was similar, but you were now standing on the high walkways of the roost, looking at the horizon to wait for the large wings of his ikran to fly over the fog when you heard the horn blew, a sharp sound that made your chest seize. Within minutes, the news tore through the high branches: Neteyam’s aerial patrol had run directly into an ambush. They had broken off to aid a Tlalim airship that was being swarmed by savage Mangkwan raiders.

The roost became a blur of movements. Jake, Neytiri, and a group of warriors mounted their ikran, the massive beasts screeching as they dived into the open air. Lo’ak was buckling his chest strap when he caught sight of you running onto the ledge, your hands trembling.

“Hey!” Lo’ak grabbed your shoulders, his eyes wide but steady. “He radioed. He’s fine, don’t you worry. They just needed reinforcement, but Neteyam got it, like always.” He rolled his eyes before mounting his beast, disappearing into the sky with the others.

His words should assure you, but it couldn't stop the suffocating weight that settled over you. For hours, everything was too quiet. You stayed at the high roost, your fingers digging into the rough bark, eyes watching the skies for any movement. Every minute felt like a moon. You thought of his unyielding presence, his quiet smiles, and how foolish you had been to let a single second go to waste.

Finally, the distant, rhythmic thumping of leather wings broke the silence.

The war party returned and as soon as his ikran touched down, you were moving. Neteyam unclipped himself, his body tense, his face and broad shoulders smeared with thick black soot and the dried blood of the raiders. He looked lethal, exhausted but still terrifying.

But the moment his eyes found yours, the hardened warrior vanished. His large steps ate the distance between you and you welcomed him halfway, throwing your arms around his shoulders. Neteyam let out a low, ragged growl, his strong arms instantly wrapping around your waist and pulling your body flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“I was so scared...” you mumbled against his neck, the scent of smoke and rain filling your lungs.

He reared his head back just enough to look at you, but because your arms were locked around his shoulders, your faces were scant inches apart. His eyes were burning with a fierce, possessive intensity while yours dropped to his lips, and the moment you angled your head, Neteyam closed the distance.

His lips came crashing down on yours as if that was the only thing that had kept him alive through the battle. It was instantly deep and devastatingly thorough, as opposed to a tentative and careful kiss you had imagined he would give you once you allowed him to kiss you. You supposed you should have known...

He consumed you, his hands pressing into your back, holding you so close you could feel the frantic, roaring beat of his heart against your own. You kissed until your knees felt hollow and the air left your lungs.

“Oh, come on!” Lo’ak’s loud, groaning voice broke the spell from a few paces away.

You pulled away from Neteyam’s lips and he groaned, his forehead falling against your temple as he murmured curses for his brother. You saw Lo’ak was wiping dirt off his own arm, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Get a room, you two! This is basically an incestuous view to me!” he barked.

A few nearby hunters chuckled, and your face immediately burned hot. Neteyam moved his face to hide yours, leaving one possessive arm wrapped firmly around your waist. He glared at his younger brother, though a breathless, boyish smile tugged at his lips.

“Go clean yourself, Lo'ak,” Neteyam called back, his voice thick and deep.

Turning back to you, his expression softened back into that soul-stirring tenderness. He gently took your hand, his thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles. “Come,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Help me wash this off.”

You raised a brow, grabbing his hand to hold it before pulling him away from the bustling roost, heading down the winding ramps and out of the Hometree.

“I was thinking of the root-pools,” he said as he fall into step behind you, but you chuckled and stepped past him.

His large steps ate away at the distance you created, his fingers touching the tip of your tail. You yelped, swatting his hand away as you broke into a sharp laughter and began running away. He chased after you until you reached the bioluminescent river. You threw yourself into the cool water unceremoniously, wading into the deep.

When you broke the surface minutes later, you saw Neteyam a few paces away, having already washed away the ash of the battle, his eyes immediately finding you. You waved your fingers, biting your lips before a shy smile cut through your lips. His head tilted, wading into the water but you backed away, luring him.

“Stop moving away from me,” he said, his deep voice making you breathless.

“Can’t catch me?” you teased, wading further away, relishing the way his eyes darkened at your challenge.

“Let’s see...” he trailed, wading in the water and looking so dangerous you knew he meant to catch you.

You turned and dove into the waters to escape him, but you haven’t made it far when a massive, silhouette loomed over you, and a moment later, a pair of large, fiercely strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, hoisting you to the surface and pulling you back against his broad, solid chest.

“You must never turn your back on your pursuer, beautiful,” he whispered against your ear, his deep baritone vibrating directly through your skin as you gasped for air. His lips immediately began pressing hot, burning kisses along the curve of your shoulder and up the sensitive side of your jaw.

You felt utterly breathless as you laughed, “Maybe I just slowed down so you could catch me,” you said, letting your head fall against his shoulder.

Your knees weakened under the water when you felt his kisses on your neck. He easily maneuvered your body around to face him, his eyes dark with a sudden, heavy hunger.

“How magnanimous of you,” he mumbled before his lips crashed down on yours again, deep and possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a wild, commanding rhythm.

He waded through the water while your kiss deepened, and before you could even register the shallows, he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you straight up onto the soft, mossy bank.

You yelped at the sudden rush of air, your hands immediately flying to grip both of his thick, muscled forearms for balance. Neteyam didn't give you a second to breathe. He followed you up onto the bank, crowding over your body as his lips crashed down on yours again. The grass pressed against your back as you lied back, your arms naturally wrapping around his neck to pull him down closer, matching his desperate, urgent rhythm.

His large hand cupped the back of your head, his long fingers winding tightly through your damp hair, anchoring you to the earth. You smiled against his lips, whimpering softly as you kissed him harder, more urgent and more desperate.

“Your lips are so soft...” he whispered, pulling back a little, his chest heaving as he stared down at you.

“So then keep kissing me...” you breathed, your fingers tugging at his braids.

“There’s something else I want to do...” he whispered, his voice dropping into a raw, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You pulled away slightly, your eyes searching his face. “What is it?”

Neteyam swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he looked down at your body. “I don't know. Maybe it's too early for that...” he murmured.

“It’s probably not as fast as what I'm thinking then,” you said, raising a brow with a teasing, breathless smirk.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his ears twitching as he looked down at you, momentarily distracted and thoroughly caught off guard by the implication.

“What are you thinking?” you countered, pulling his head down to press a firm, lingering kiss against his lips.

He shook his head, a dark, heavy flush creeping up his neck. “You will be disgusted. Well... I am disgusting. It is disgusting...” he muttered, his deep voice thick with a raw, primal lust that he was desperately trying to fight.

“Try me,” you mumbled, your voice dropping into a quiet challenge. “I want to know. What is it?” You squeezed his shoulders, anchoring him above you.

Neteyam bit his lower lip, his breath hitching as his gaze drifted downward, settling between your thighs. “I want to... I want to touch myself... and come... here,” he whispered hoarsely. As the words left his mouth, his large thumb slid down, pressing firmly through the damp fabric of your loincloth, finding the highly sensitive, swollen center of your heat.

Your breathing hitched in a violent wave of excitement, your eyes lighting up as a hot jolt of electricity shot straight to your core. “Let’s do it,” you whispered without a shred of hesitation. “And by the way... what I wanted was for you to... to put it inside me.” You spoke the last words so quickly, your face burning, that it almost got lost in the rush of the river.

Neteyam froze, choking on his own breath. “To what?”

You bit your lip, your hand shooting down between your bodies to palm him right through his loincloth. A sharp breath hissed out of your own mouth when you felt the immense size of him, entirely rigid and hard against your palm. “I want you to put your... I mean this... inside me.”

His golden eyes darkened into something utterly primal. “I’m trying to be so good, my love,” he groaned, his voice a strained, desperate rasp as his tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. “I want to do things the right way. I want to honor your family...”

“I don’t care. We will be mated soon under Eywa anyway, and we will be doing this for the rest of our lives,” you said, pulling his face down to kiss him fiercely, staring straight into his soul. “You get me?”

He let out a low, breathless chuckle, a deep snort escaping him as his forehead defeatedly hit the crook of your neck. “Yes... yes, I do.”

You angled your face to bite gently at his neck, your hand already moving to his tail to unfasten the intricate ties of his loincloth. “Take it out,” you whispered.

Neteyam didn't need to be told twice. With a low growl, he stripped away his loincloth and quickly reached down to shed yours away. He shifted his weight, kneeling between your thighs, his towering frame casting a massive, protective shadow over you. You were too busy looking at his hard length that you were uncaring of him firmly pressing your thighs apart, exposing your bare, glistening heat to the cool night air.

You saw his large frame stoop down, his head aiming for your center and your thighs instinctively threatened to shut close, but his hands were holding it so strongly you couldn't even move when his lips pressed against your softness. He groaned against the folds as his mouth opened to kiss it as he kissed your lips.

“Neteyam...” you groaned, bucking your hips, but he only coupled his lips with his tongue to lap at your wetness.

A few swipes and the folds parted to give him more of what he desires. You grabbed a handful of his braids when he suckled on your sensitive nub before his tongue licked another swipe from bottom to top, doing all of it instinctively as his own hand gripped his girth to stop himself from spilling prematurely.

He was trying so hard to hold out, but you taste so fucking good he can’t even think properly anymore. He gave himself a few pumps as he sucked and licked at your softness, occasionally nipping at your velvety folds, letting himself indulge in the sounds of pleasure you were making.

Your thighs were already trembling when he surfaced, kissing your thighs as he did. You were gasping for breath when he towered between your legs again, gripping his length, thick, heavy, and already crowned with drops of his own desire. He began to stroke himself right above you.

You watched, completely transfixed, your chest heaving as he pumped his hand up and down the length of his shaft. And this sight of him, the golden boy, the perfect, disciplined heir of the clan, completely unraveled, his jaw clenched, his hand working frantically on himself as he looked down at your naked body, was the hottest thing you had ever witnessed.

“Oh, baby...” he gasped out, his pace quickening until his entire body began to tremble with the oncoming release.

He let out a loud, guttural groan, his free hand grabbing the back of your thigh to push your knee back almost to your chest, exposing your pussy to him even more. You watched with wide, heavy-lidded eyes as he came directly onto your bare pussy, the thick, white heat of his release splattering warm against your sensitive skin.

You watched the essence come out of him in spurts and how he guided the wide head of his cock to part your folds, nudging at your entrance so he could spill inside you, too.Your hips bucked slightly at the sheer sensation, a soft whine escaping your throat as the warmth coated you every where. Neteyam’s chest heaved violently as he rode out the final, trembling waves of his release, his hand shaking against your thigh.

For a few seconds, the only sound was the rushing river and his ragged breathing. His eyes were busy watching you, darker and more intense than before. The edge of his release had cleared the frantic desperation from his mind, leaving only a deep, calculated hunger.

“This is so much better than all of my fantasies...” he croaked, leaning down to kiss you.

His large hands gripped your hips, lifting your firmly and ploppling you on his thighs. He was still incredibly thick, already hardening again as he aligned the tip of his length against your wet, coated opening. His arm wrapped securely around you, while the other held your waist. With a slow, possessive push, he slid in, careful not to hurt you.

But you were too impatient. You held onto his large bicep and pulled yourself up a little before you decidedly impaled yourself completely on his length. A deep groan left his chest as your heat tightly enveloped him, mingling with your sharp moan.

“Fuck,” his hand on your waist sought to pull you away but you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and ground your hips against his.

He caressed your back instead, his lips pressing soft kisses on your jaw and neck, distracting you from the throbbing discomfort of the stretch. It took a while of just you moving your hips in small circles against him, getting yourself comfortable, before you actually moved differently. Neteyam let out a fractured, warning growl into the crook of your neck as you ground your hips against his, the raw heat of your center completely swallowing him whole. He tried to hold still, his large hands anchoring your waist with a bruising grip to keep you from moving further, but the tight, pulsing squeeze of your walls was driving him insane.

“Wait,” he gasped, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he forced his breath to slow. “Let me... let you get used to it, baby.”

“I am used to it,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back, urging him to move. The slight ache of the stretch was already melting away, replaced by an demanding, empty itch that only he could fill. “Please...”

That was his breaking point. The last of his rigid restraint snapped like a brittle vine, and with a low, possessive grunt, his hands shifted from your waist to the backs of your thighs, pulling your legs up before sending a devastating, relentless rhythm of his hips rolling into yours with a heavy force.

Every upward thrust of his hips was deep and unyielding, his hard length sliding against your sensitivity. A loud, shameless moan tore from your throat when you felt his rough thumb rub the sensitive nub he had suckled just minutes earlier. Neteyam caught the sound with his own mouth, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy, bruising kiss, his tongue mirroring the deep, frantic rhythm of his lower body.

“I love you so much, baby...” he murmured against your lips.

“I love you, Neteyam...” you moaned, deepening the kiss.

The pace then became animalistic, stripped of all the careful gentleness of his courtship. His chest heaved against yours, the smooth skin of his torso slick with sweat and river water as he drove himself into you over and over, burying his length completely into you until the wet sounds from where you were connected were in contention with the rush of the river.

“Neteyam... Neteyam!” you cried out, your vision fracturing into white streaks as the tension tightly coiled in your stomach suddenly snapped. Your walls clamped down around him in violent, rhythmic spasms, a heavy wave of pleasure crashing through your entire body.

The intense, crushing squeeze of your climax was the final trigger he couldn't fight. Neteyam let out a loud, guttural groan as his fingers dug into the soft grass beneath you. He thrusted deeply one last time, pinning your hips flat against the grass as his own release tore through him, spilling his hot, thick essence deep inside your core in heavy spurts.

He trembled violently above you, his muscles locking up before he slowly collapsed forward, burying his face in the damp hollow of your neck. His breath came in ragged, burning gasps, his chest heaving against yours as you both rode out the lingering waves of your high.

For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the river against the bank and the rhythmic hum of the forest life. Neteyam remained buried deeply inside you, his heavy frame relaxed but still fiercely protective, shielding your bare skin from the cooling evening air.

He shifted slightly, letting out a soft, contented purr as he nuzzled his nose against your jawline, trailing lazy, wet kisses up to your ear.

“We will mate tomorrow... Can’t risk you hitting your head and running for the hills once you grasp just how crazy I am about you,” he murmured, his voice incredibly deep and hoarse from all the groaning.

You let out a weak, breathless chuckle, your fingers idly tangling into the loose braids near his neck. “I don't think I have the strength to run even if I wanted to, Neteyam. You completely ruined my legs.”

He snorted, a boyish, rumbling laugh vibrating through his chest as he finally pulled back just enough to look down at your face. His eyes were soft now, completely clear and filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. He raised a hand, his large thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“You know,” he murmured, a thoughtful, lazy smile tugging at his lips, “I was actually planning to play with you all here years ago... When I came to tell Kiri and Lo’ak to go back for Mo’at’s rituals.”

You smiled a little, “When I used goggles for the first time in my life and you came to tell everyone the party’s over?”

He let out a deep laughter, “See? I knew I was bad news to everybody! I bet I made a really bad first impression on you...“

You pushed your lips forward. “You were really serious, even then... So I didn't know how to act.” You pulled his face down for a kiss. “But things change anyway...”

He a raised a brow, “Mine didn’t. I liked you the first time I saw you,” he mused, his eyes feasting on your features. “Even then, I knew I wouldn't see you simply as a friend. My siblings are stirring up trouble again and I couldn't take my eyes off you. It actually annoyed the hell out of me.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Annoyed you?” you questioned, blinking in surprise.

“Yes,” he admitted, a faint purple flush creeping into his own cheeks. "I was supposed to be playing the big brother role, interrogating my siblings about what they are abouy to do, but all I could think about was how cute you looked. Your ears were twitching, and you're trying to look everywhere but inside the house... Suddenly, I understood why boys my age had crushes.”

A soft, emotional warmth bloomed in your chest. You bit your lip, looking up at his handsome face, realizing just how long he had carried that quiet awareness of you.

“Well...” you mumbled, shifting your hips slightly beneath his, enjoying the way his breath hitched at the small movement. “If it makes you feel any better, you were secretly my crush anyway.”

Neteyam’s ears gave a sharp, skeptical flick, and he narrowed his golden eyes at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Nice try, beautiful. But I call you out on that.”

“It's true!” you protested, swatting his shoulder.

“It definitely is,” he countered smoothly, leaning down until his nose brushed against yours. “I was incredibly aware of you, Y/N. If you had looked at me with even a fraction of a crush, I would have known. You were always so quiet and formal around me, acting like I was just the strict older brother who was going to report you to my father.”

“Because I was terrified of you!” you confessed, your voice rising in a defensive laugh. “You were always so perfect and disciplined, standing right next to the Olo'eyktan. And besides, I had absolutely no one to tell! All the girls in the high branches were constantly whispering about how strong and handsome you are, and my only friends were your siblings. What was I supposed to do? Go up to Lo'ak and say, ‘Hey, I think your older brother is so hot’? He would have teased me until the next eclipse!”

Neteyam quieted down, his smirk softening into a look of pure, unadulterated tenderness as he listened to you ramble. He leaned down, catching your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that cut off your frantic explanations.

“You really thought that?” he whispered against your lips.

“Of course I did,” you murmured, your eyes melting into his. “There was no one else better than you, Neteyam. There never has been. You were the only one I wanted to look at.”

A deep, rolling purr erupted from his chest at your confession, a sound of absolute, victorious satisfaction. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you as close as physically possible, burying his face back into your neck as the bioluminescent plants around the riverbank began to glow brighter in the deepening night.

Lying there on the soft moss, connected and warm, the painful memories of the past years finally felt like a distant, faded dream. There is, indeed, no perfect timeline, and as he held you in the quiet dark of the forest, he knew that the future he had spent years yearning for was finally, beautifully alive.

Great Mother, I finally have her, he thought solemnly.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Pencil Me In | Masterlist

Rule number one: do not fall in love with your boss.

Rule number two: do not forget rule number one.

Rule number three: when he looks at you like that, pretend it doesn't mean anything.

Summary: When you land a job as the personal assistant to Harry Styles, the calm, charismatic CEO of Fine Line Enterprises, you quickly learn the role is much more than managing a calendar. From early morning calls to last minute flights and being the gatekeeper to one of the busiest men in the industry, your lite becomes completely intertwined with his.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

[lolli-apop]

More Than Strangers, Less Than Friends - Neteyam // Part Three

You are the eldest daughter of Ronal and Tonowari. Several months after his recovery from a bullet wound that rendered him comatose, your parents have arranged a bond-pact between Toruk Makto's son and you to be mated. It wouldn't be such a problem if not for the glaring issue—your lover.

Tags - Pathetic Neteyam, obsessive, dubious consent, arranged marriage, general violence

A/n - This is a damn beast. And also my favorite chapter of the parts so far! Because of its length (14k), I will add a banner as a checkpoint halfway! This was supposed to be split into two chapters, but I couldn't make you guys wait another week! I also changed the banner to reflect Y/n's permanent disillusionment of Neteyam and his actions (And also because I didn't like the original that much...should I change them... maybe, let me know guys) Hope you enjoy!

Part One, Part Two

Morning crept in with the smell of salt and smoke. Time to move—the entire clan was waking early to help.

You kissed Tey and tasted the sleep in it. That was his waking. The others got a more… gentler treatment. Mother and father received soft brushes to the cheek, Tsireya a careful pat on her shoulder, and Ao'nung—

"Wake up." He got a smack. 

“Agh!”

The usual rhythm, despite what came ahead. Your family stretched, ate, and scattered to their tasks with mumbled words of goodbyes still tumbling out.

Your father left first as usual. Shoulders squared, already speaking with the other trainers on who would shepherd the participating. Your mother on the other hand would likely speak with the matriarchs of the clan. Technicalities, usually.

You, Ao'nung, and Tsireya had been assigned the feast preparation: gutting fish, drying marrows and gills, crisping bones to powder. And somewhere between all that, keeping watch over your baby sister.

But that was days away still.

For now, you pressed the last wooden table into sand, wiping salt-sticky palms against your thighs. Your mother stood beautiful in ceremonial wraps, paint tracing the old marks across her arms.

She caught your eye and gestured—join me. You nudged Tsireya forward instead, let her take the honored spot. She deserves it more.

The crowd had arranged itself by height. A tradition, though no one remembered why. Children knelt at the front, elders stood at the back, and the hunters fell somewhere in between, restless. Neteyam and Tey stood shoulder to shoulder among them, faces turned toward the platform. There must’ve been at least a hundred this year participating. A wonderful number, your father was very proud.

I still remember my own, he was beside me the whole time. You allowed yourself a smile.

Mother began. "Today marks the first day of celebration—” And your ears drew away. You knew the basics of it. Of Unity, of the path from child to hunter, of Eywa's watchful eye. 

This is why Eywa does not speak to you, Y/n. You must listen. 

You knew it was over when the cheers erupted. Your father moved to stand with the elder hunters. There was something uneasy to him. Quick glances that drew you in before he looked away. His jaw was set, uncommon for the usually easy and happy man. You shoved the worry down—-acknowledged it, then buried it.

The procession began. 

They left quickly and your eyes naturally found themselves taking a look at Neteyam's family. They were still shouting encouragements, hands raised, voices hoarse, even after the women and men had vanished beyond the treeline.

Right. Be happy.

These were supposed to be days of celebration.

And the days of celebration bled together.

Three whole days you'd spent apart, and the village seemed smaller for it—elders present, hunters gathered, small children underfoot. Yet a chunk of a certain age group remained absent, taken for their rite of passage, and the space they left behind felt considerable.

Like every year, community would fill that emptiness they left behind, so you weren't surprised when the Sullys began seeking your company.

Tuk came first, yanking you from your duties with sticky fingers that wrapped around your wrist to drag you from whatever task needed you. 

"Braid beads in my hair? The new pretty ones?" A skill, you discovered quickly, you sorely lacked. Your fingers caught and snagged.

"My hair grows in waves, Tuk. Different from yours." Another tug—her wince made you flinch. "Sorry…"

"Well, you have to learn!" She twisted to pout. "I'll be asking more often now."

You didn't ask what she meant.

Then Lo'ak appeared hours later, lingering at the edge of your workspace with his weight shifted to one foot. "Hey," he said, too casual. "Got a second? I need help with the tulkun language. I think I'm getting it, but—" His hands gestured vaguely, collapsing into sheepishness.

Your brows drew together. "Can't you ask Tsireya?" You meant to reflect your confusion, to be gentle, instead it sounded harsh.

His ears flattened. “Oh, yeah… I mean…”

Dammit.

"I mean—of course I'll help." You said immediately, trying for damage control. "Tsireya's just better at teaching, is all."

Lo'ak shrugged, but it didn’t hide his relief. "I don't mind." His smile came back, bright.

Eywa forgive me and my lack of strength to say no.

Then Jake needed your hands for net repair. Kiri wanted your opinion on a weaving pattern. Even Neytiri—Neytiri, who barely spoke to anyone outside her family—appeared at your shoulder one afternoon and gently pulled you from Tey's grandmother's side.

The entire family needed you it seemed!

"Come help with the baskets." Her voice reamined soft despite its firmness.

"Oh, Neytiri, I should—"

"You are very dependable." She softened her eyes, ears flicking forward in that particular way that made you feel very, very guilty. "And all my children are busy. Please?"

You saw Neteyam in that expression. Saw him in her stance, in that coaxing smile. You saw him everywhere.

You saw Neteyam.

Well, he had to learn it somewhere. You thought.

"…Okay."

Relief smoothed her features. "I thank you, Y/n. You're a very sweet girl." She led you toward their marui, and with each step you felt more and more reluctant. You hadn’t been here since…

"Y/n..."

Neteyam's voice, strained. His brow creased, mouth barely open. You'd been alone then—Neytiri had gone to hunt—insisted on it, really, claiming it necessary repayment for all you'd done. You'd told her it wasn't needed. She'd done it anyway, perhaps more to ease her own worries, not that you’d ever fault her for it.

“Neteyam…?” You'd leaned closer, one hand lifting to dampen his lips with water. He'd opened his eyes just long enough for you to glimpse the gold underneath—bright and fading all at once.

You'd almost called for Neytiri. For Ronal. For Tsireya, for anyone.

But that didn’t feel right.

"…There you are." He'd smiled then.

You emptied the memory to another basin, and instead focused on the changes.

Another hammock, the usual mess of Tuk's toys and carved cups, half-finished arrows, demon tech stripped for parts. Sheets abandoned mid-weave and right there—the basket full of dried flexible leaves.

You sat across from her, watching her from your peripheral view, but the resemblance… she could almost be Neteyam—if you ignored the curve of her chest, the softer line of her jaw. "What do you need me to do?"

Neytiri sat down, slowly. Her eyes never blinked. "You don't know the pattern of the forest, do you?"

You paused, and looked up as if to rise. "Oh, no. I think Tsireya does. Lo'ak has been teaching her. I can get her instead, if she's not too busy."

Neytiri's hand shot out and pulled you back down. "I can teach you. Do not be a fool."

Blunt. Always blunt.

She knelt and drew the materials in. The reeds were reef-harvested, yes, but her hands shaped them into something distinctly Omatikaya. Sharp angles, tight spirals. You saw the branches of trees and the canopy of leaves in her tightly packed design, nothing like the honor of the waves and tulkun of the Metkayina.

"Up, then down. Cross with the left strand. See?"

It relaxed her, it seemed, to do something of her culture.

You followed her instruction, leaning in closer. Your fingers fumbled at first, clumsy where hers were naturally graceful. "Do you miss it?" You asked softly.

Neytiri's hands stilled. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment you thought you'd overstepped. But then she nodded, several times, as if convincing herself it was safe to admit it. "I do. I miss my people. The forest. The tree of souls where Jake and I—" She stopped abruptly, her freckles flaring bright across her cheeks. A shy smile ghosted across her face. "I miss the forest that holds my mother." The last word came out quieter.

You looked at her—really looked at her—and reached out. Your hands found hers, stopping them over the half-finished weaving.

"You have a strong heart, Neytiri. Very few women would leave their homes. We all respect you here, even my mother, despite her lack of say so." Your thumbs traced her knuckles, calloused and warm.

Neytiri studied you for a long moment. Her eyes grew wet. When she spoke, her voice wavered. "You are a gift."

She rose then, leaving you with the half-finished basket. You heard liquid pour—tea, by the scent, but unfamiliar. Forest herbs, probably. Something from the home she left.

Because this was not her home, and it never would be. The thought left you aching.

She returned with only one cup, steam curling between you. "Would you like some?"

"Of course." You accepted the cup, brought it close. The aroma was sharp of bark and root. "Herbal?"

Her tail flicked once. "Yes."

You took a sip. It was very, very bitter—the kind of bitter that coated your tongue and lingered long after you swallowed. It tastes sort of like… But that couldn’t be possible. 

You stole your face into neutrality, smoothing every instinctive wince into calm. "It is very good," you smiled.

Neytiri's laugh was knowing, secret. 

You continued drinking, after all, your mother had taught you it was impolite to refuse what a host offered.

.

.

.

The days had passed quickly—all three of them—and now the people were adorning themselves in their finest. 

Painted spots, bright feathers, beautiful shells. The clan celebrated with beauty, and all beauty was marked by a single newly crafted armband. A signal to seek a partner for the fertility festival.

Yours had taken longer than you'd admit.

You had put it off and off and off until the rites themselves almost horned home. It was unlike you, to start so late, but you’d been—No. That was an excuse. You’d been nervous to hope, that's what.

Each bead has weight. It needs to be perfect. Oh—dammit not that one. Too crooked!

Color, size, placement—all of it mattered. Any self-respecting na’vi would feel ashamed of anything less. You'd chosen yellow and green for Tey's family colors. You'd chosen small beads, because they showed the most skill and long shells you had harvested for special occasions. A representation of your own family, joining his.

You had just stitched the last strip of hide wehn the horn blew.

Just in time.

Families came out in droves to greet their loved ones, and you scrambled onto a tall rock, Reya climbing up beside you. The two of you scanned the crowd below. "Do you see him?"

Your gaze swept the sea of people.

Neteyam was easy to spot, of course—right there in the middle of lighter greens and blues, his forest dark shade out of place among the reef-born. Tey, though, was harder to find. You stood on your toes, childish but necessary, craning to catch sight of him.

There—

He was whispering something to your father, and you couldn't catch his eyes.  Your father's hand rested on his shoulder, the grip firm enough to see from here—fingers digging in the way they did when he was displeased. His face twisted. Tey looked almost defeated, angry, and he shoved your father's hand away, teeth bared before he stormed off through the crowd.

You moved to follow, but Reya's hand caught your wrist. "Maybe he failed…?" Her voice carried sympathy you didn't want.

"He promised me." Your throat tightened. "He wouldn't. It has to be something else."

"Tey doesn't get angry easily…" Tsireya's brows drew together. "What could father have said…?"

You bit your bottom lip "I don't—"

The words died.

You felt someone staring.

Neteyam. 

His skin looked sunburned, purple blooming across his cheekbones. His usually meticulously kept braids hung messy and half-undone, and a bruise darkened the skin above one eye. Two more sat along his jaw. Another, lower, spread across his ribs in an ugly violet.

Those weren't caused by fish. 

Surely not.

He caught you staring, and his hand rose to scratch at his jaw—unusually awkward, boyssh. He offered a shy wave, a small smile despite the split in his lip.

You found yourself unable to return it. Managed only a confused, half-aborted wave in response. Your hand dropped to your side.

"What in the Great Mother's name happened to him…?"

Tsireya shrugged.

But Neteyam's eyes never left your figure, and you shifted—just slightly—so Tsireya's body blocked his view.

Your brother pushed you forward.

"Move," he muttered, already turning downslope. "Prepare the feast before they start the dancing ceremony. We only have a few hours, and Eywa…" He exhaled through his nose. "They killed too much."

You hadn't realized the gathering was breaking apart. Families clambered around their children, murmuring praise, touching foreheads. 

It was strange to think that Neteyam had done it: earned his tulkun, lured a predator from the deep reef, raced the circuit around the outer islands. The list felt long enough to span two passages, not one.

You studied your brother's profile, the way his gaze kept snagging on the piled catch. "Too much?" you raised a brow.

He took both your hand and Tsireya's as the trail steepened—first Tsireya’s, then yours, steadying you two over the uneven coral. "I heard Neteyam brought in forty-eight bundles," he said quietly. "Forty-eight."

"Oh!" Tsireya's free hand flew to her mouth, eyes rounding.

You didn't blame her. Forty-eight bundles could feed an entire section of the clan for days. Good hunters brought sixteen to twenty-five on a proving trial. Average ones managed ten to fifteen. Anything below eight was considered poor luck, though no one spoke of it aloud.

Ao'nung had harvested thirty-five. A record until today. 

You'd managed twenty-nine. 

Tsireya had earned a respectable thirteen, though she'd spent half her dive coaxing an injured ilu back to the pens instead of hunting.

You smiled at the memory. She’s good, thank Eywa.

"What did Tey get?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Ao'nung's mouth twitched. "Twenty-seven. Second place." He paused, thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. "But I don't think it's fair to the rest of them. Neteyam's the son of Toruk Makto—the man who fought sky-people before he even came here, who was revived by Eywa herself." His voice dropped. "And your lover boy? He's three years older than the youngest initiates. More experienced. Best aim of anyone here."

You nodded, throat tight. You hoped the others wouldn't feel small beside those shadows. 

They deserved better than to be measured against legends and late bloomers. They deserved to feel proud of their own kills, however modest.

.

.

.

After the return ceremony had completed, your family and most of the villagers had scattered to help with the proper festivities.

The pattern never changed, most had gone to help with the preparations: first the dance, the drink, the food to honor the safe return of the hunters. Then rest. Then, come morning, the final traditional dance. They’d be second-born now, third=born for Neteyam.

Or fourth, technically. Twice for the People, twice for Eywa.

But today, celebrations.

Tsireya left with your mother to bless each kill brought in abundance—fish that would be carried to neighboring clans along with fresh drink. A good harvest. A reason to see cousins again.

You remained on the mainland, stretching legs still sore from the day's work.

Children were around the rock edges, cleaning and playing with the fish bones. Elders, on the other hand, noted the catches with the biggest fish. Neteyams, of course. With the three fattest ones bearing the clean marks of a practiced hand.

The bag of fish you carried bit into your shoulder as you ducked into the participant’s tent.

Inside, young men and women sat cross-legged with their families, retelling the journey. Successful strikes, near misses, the moment the spear found its mark. The space hummed with voices, bodies, warmth. It was full, and you were grateful for it.

"There you… good… how was…?"

Your ears caught left, and it was then so did your eyes.

The Sullys formed a tight knot in the corner: Tuk, Lo'ak, Spider, Kiri, Neytiri, Jake, Neteyam—Seven. What a large, happy family. They filled more space than anyone else, drew more eyes. It made you smile despite yourself.

So many.

You set the bag down and began passing fish to outstretched hands. "There's enough for all," you murmured, handing portions out one by one. As you leaned past another Na'vi's shoulder, your gaze snagged on the Sullys.

Jake clapped Neteyam's back, he’d always been prideful of his oldest. Neytiri, meanwhile pressed a palm to her son's chest, tearfully smiling.  Lo'ak pretended indifference, but he leaned visibly into his brother's touch, fingers tracing the spear that had made those clean kills with something close to awe. And Tuk—

"Up, Neteyam!" she whined, yanking his tail until he relented with a laugh and smothered her in kisses.

Spider—the pinkskin—sat perched on a tall rock nearby, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "Be careful, man."

Kiri slipped away.

You paused, hand still extended mid-air, fish forgotten. 

She was always gone, lately. The only Sully who rarely asked for your help in anything. Never sought you out. You blinked, trying to trace where she'd vanished to, but the crowd had already swallowed her.

"Y/n." A woman's voice, sharp and impatient. Her hand thrust forward. "Please. I am starving."

"Sorry," you mumbled, pressing the fish into her palm. "sorry."

When you turned back, Neteyam was already watching. You barely managed a raised hand before he was moving—jogging up to you with that easy, long-legged strid of his.

The hug came fast and your arms went up instintcively, the fish slipping from your grip, hitting the sand with a wet slap. "Oh!" You could smell the warmth of him, the faint musk of sweat, dirt and blood. Underneath it—something… herbal.

That same scent…

But Neteyam didn't seem to care. Strong arms circled you then, drawing you in until his nose pressed into the curve of your throat. He inhaled. Deep.

"Teyam!" Tuk's yell came muffled somewhere between your ribs and his chest.

It tickled.

You giggled, helpless, squirming just a little. "I didn't catch your scent," he rambled, words muffled against your skin. His tail whipped, cutting the air. "I swore I would, but—"

"Yes, well—" You tried to wriggle back, giggling some more. "The fish and the other bodies, they—"

"I missed you, Y/n."

The words landed sweetly.

So, so sweetly you froze.

Your mouth opened, some kind of reminder of propriety that people are watching, of the fact that he shouldn't be holding you like this in front of his family—holding you period—but Tuk wriggled violently between you, saving your breath. "You're squishing meeee!"

Neteyam stopped. Reluctantly pulled back.

He settled Tuk down with one hand, a subtle and childish glare exchanged between the two of them.

But his hand never left you. It stayed on your shoulder, thumb tracing slow circles through the woven strap of your carry-sling. He looked absolutely delighted, despite the bruises and cuts, despite the clear exhaustion over his handsome eyes. Delighted.

You coughed. Stepped back. His palm slipped from your skin. 

"I'll just—" You gestured vaguely at the remaining fish, then continued passing them to the other families. Anywhere but him.

"Always busy, huh?" 

Jake's voice carried that particular forest-people ease. The same warmth his own sons and daughters carried. 

You glanced up as his family closed the distance, and you handed them a few bundles with a practiced smile. "It's busy around this time." A small shrug. "I do not mind it. Eywa graces me with movement."

You crouched to give Tuk her portion. The girl beamed. When you passed the other to Spider, the human boy took them without meeting your gaze, shoulders hunched and nervous. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and retreated two steps.

Odd.

You straightened, rolling tension from your neck, and forced yourself to look at Neteyam properly. "I… congratulations." The word felt clumsy on your tongue. "Forty-eight bundles. I've seen you hunt, trained alongside you, but this—" You shook your head. "The youth will speak of this for seasons."

His grin arrived slow and crooked, shy in a way that made your chest ache. He scratched the back of his neck, ears flicking. "You trained me," he said, soft. "The credit is yours."

"Training only sharpens what's already there.” You met his eyes. “You did this, Neteyam. That truth is yours alone.”

Silence.

Something came with his expression—wonder or perhaps need. It left as soon as it came, replaced by an innocent shyness. Lips parted, breath held. He stared.

You shifted your weight and glanced at his parents. Did I say something wrong?

His father nudged an elbow into his ribs.

That snapped him back. He blinked, swallowed, then moved.

His hands found your shoulders—tender, yes, but there was something desperate in the way his fingers pressed into your skin. "Please, don't—" His voice fractured, and his hands tightened, just a bit. Then his palms slid upward to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward his. "Everything that I do… it's for…"

He swallowed the confession.

"For the clan," he said instead, quieter now. "I am happy to provide. I—I can provide." 

The last words came desperate, as though your belief in that single fact was the only thing worth a damn.

Behind him, his parents exchanged a knowing look—Jake's eyebrows climbing toward his hairline, mouth quirking in disbelief. "Jesus, boy," he breathed out, huffing something that might’ve been a laugh if not for Neytiri cutting it short with her hiss.

“Ma Jake—”

“...right.” You averted your eyes, fingers worrying at the woven strap across your shoulder. I still need to find Tey. You felt guilty putting your own chores above him. Haven't seen him since that argument with father.

You bent then, lifting the remaining haul with a grunt that you couldn't quite swallow. "You're a great provider." The weight slid against your back, netting biting into your shoulder. "But uh—I must go now. I have to travel to the other islands." 

You lifted your fingers in polite, sacred parting. "I see you."

You turned.

Something caught your tail.

The squeal tore out before you could stop it, high and startled, so unlike you. 

Your tail. Neteyam had your tail. 

"Neteyam." Neytiri's voice cracked, all mortified. When you twisted to look at him, his expression was—

He didn't look remotely sorry.

"Let me join," he said.

You twisted back, snatching your tail free. Instantly the paddle of it curled between your legs, right where he couldn’t reach.

"I... what...?" The confusion made your nose wrinkle, ears flicking back. Was he serious? "Neteyam, you should rest." Softer now. Gentle, because maybe gentleness would make him stop looking at you like that. "You've spent days away. It wouldn't be right."

But he squared his shoulders, jaw set in that infuriating way that meant he'd already decided. 

"I have nowhere to go that isn't toward you."

Oh.

Oh, Eywa preserve you.

Behind him, his brothers dissolved into snickers. "Dude…" Lo'ak wheezed. "Bro…"

Jake couldn't help the chuckle that escaped, though his amusement died quickly when Neytiri hissed and began herding her children away from the scene. “Your father and I will be gutting," she said, voice tight. She offered you a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We will be there."

You stared after her. Traitor.

Your fingers found the netting again, twisting, fidgeting.

"I… well, that can't be true," you managed, forcing obliviousness into your voice. A cough. Anything to fill the air.

"I want to stay!" Tuk's protest floated back, small face scrunched in a pout. "Pllleaaasee. I can help too!"

Yes, Tuk, stay. Please.

"My dear, we must leave now." Neytiri's voice gentled but held firm. "We’ll carve you beautiful bones."

"Yes." Jake caught her meaning immediately, though his gaze lingered on his son—on you—for one beat longer. "We must do everything we can to help. I mean—" He clapped a hand on Neteyam's shoulder as he passed. "Your brother is trying so hard, right?"

You were left alone with Neteyam now, allowing the distant chatters of the village to fill your ear. You needed a distraction, after all.

Your head stayed bowed. "I… Come." The word dragged out of you.

What else could you say? What else was there to say? You knew him. Once Neteyam set his mind to something, it would take Eywa herself with her hands on his shoulders and her breath in his face for him to turn him around.

His grin split boyishly. Dimples carved into his cheeks, deep enough to drown in and gush over late at night. For half a second you thought you might.

Half a second. That’s all you gave yourself.

He shouldered the bag you'd been hefting and swung it over his shoulder with that easy strength he never had to think about. "Thank you."

As if you were doing him the favor.

The two of you fell into stride, bare feet stepping into the worn path toward the shore. You needed a skimwig—something fast, large enough to haul both your bodies and the day's kill without the animal collapsing beneath the weight. Panya will do good.

You looked for her chipped fin over the waves.

"Say…Neteyam," you began. You looked over at his bruised face again, motioning vaguely toward your own. "Can I ask why…? You know…”

You trailed off, noticing Panya in the distance and chirping. The girl came over, flapping her wings. “There, there.” 

Neteyam meanwhile became busy securing the catch to the woven basket slung across the skimwing's flank, but even from behind you saw the tension climb his shoulders.

"Well, uh…" He mulled over. “The fishes, they—”

You smiled. "Fishes do not punch."

He didn't look at you.

"Did you get into a fight with another hunter?" You asked it more kindly, softer and moved to help him mount. He graciously took your hand and settled.

"...Yes." 

You then swung a leg over onto the skimwigs front, reached back, lifted your queue over your shoulder, and made tsaheylu.

The bond flared to life. The skimwig's heartbeat joined yours.

His hands found your waist. Warm—no, hot. Neteyam was always hot, wasn't he? You'd just never noticed.

You couldn't see his face, a small mercy, but you felt everything else.

"Who?" Your voice cracked. You coughed to cover it.

You hadn't seen anyone else bruised. No one else walking around with split knuckles or a swollen jaw.

"Doesn't matter." He shifted closer, nosing against your shoulder blade. You felt his exhale puff down your neck, and counted his heartbeats because you couldn't stop yourself.

"Then may I ask why?" You turned your head, just enough to catch a sliver of cheek. A brow lifted. "So mysterious. And they say I'm the reserved one."

You caught the edge of his knowing smile—private. 

He leaned in. His fingers traced up, finding the curve of your ribs where he stroked. Calloused pads found skin, pinching the flesh there. "No, sweet girl," he murmured. "Now come on, before the fish wake up and swim away."

You snapped forward. Eyes fixed on the distant reefs. Anywhere but him.

I really need to find Tey after this.

You steadied yourself for the bond, and moved.

.

.

.

The skimwing was fast—of course it was. Still, you kept to the surface, mindful of Neteyam perched behind you and the cargo lashed across the saddle. No deep dives today. The boy couldn't hold his breath like you could. Soft-lungs, still. Forest-born.

The water peeled away in clean arcs as you cut through the shallows, salt misting your face, the vibration of the creature's body drumming up through your thighs. Neteyam's grip on your waist tightened slightly as you banked left, following the curve of the corals.

The Ta'unui settlement rose ahead.

Smoke from cook-fires. Children's laughter carried over thedistance. You gentled the skimwing to a glide and guided it into the shallows, dismounting. Neteyam swung down behind you, already reaching for the first bundle before you could ask.

An elder spotted you first. "Sister clan!" you called, lifting your voice as you approached the shore. A few faces turned. You raised two fingers in greeting, keeping your tone easy.  "We have come with abundance."

Recognition came with welcoming smiles. You passed dried fish wrapped in kelp, smoked eel still fragrant, woven baskets of pickled shellfish.

"Ahh, Nuu'ta, look!" The Tsahik's voice carried across the sand, bright and full. She pulled her husband forward by the wrist, laughing as she came. "It's Ronal's girl!"

She folded you into an embrace—soft breasts and strong arms, smelling every bit of the herbs your mother used. "Is it already time for the rite of passage? So soon?"

"It is the same day every year," you said, grinning despite yourself. "But it does feel shorter, hm?"

She laughed, and you handed her the first bundle. Villagers began to gather—some you knew by name, others only by face. Friends who had traveled between clans, stayed a season, moved on. You saw a young hunter you'd raced skimwings with last summer. The weaver who'd taught you a new knot pattern. 

Their questions came easy, answers easier. How is your brother? Has Ronal already given birth? What's her name? Pril? What did you hear of the Tulkun migration? Here, away from expectation, you could simply be.

Neteyam just watched, hanging back and passing the remaining supplies. You caught glimpses of him between conversations, of his careful hands and respectful distance.

Sometimes he’d smile when your eyes met, glance away, and hum.

"Oh?" The Tsahik's voice again, closer now. "Is that the boy?"

He froze.

She approached, slow and deliberate, and he bowed his head in respect. "Tsahik," he murmured, keeping his gaze low.

Her fingers found his shoulders, gentle warmth. She drew him down until their foreheads touched. "Eywa blesses you, son of Toruk Makto." She passed a quick prayer. When she released him, her hand lingered against his cheek. "The great mother smiles."

His gaze found yours across the gathered crowd. You inclined your head.

"We should get going," you said, turning back to the others. Your voice carried easy authority now. "The day is short and we still have our other sister-clans to visit."

The People nodded, murmuring agreement. You reached for one last bundle—fuller than the rest, heavier—and pressed it into the Oleeyktan's chest.

The Olo'eyktan accepted it with both hands, surprise flickering across his features.

"For you," you whispered, low enough that only he could hear. "You must all eat more to rebuild your homes."

His throat worked. Behind him, you could see the gaps where huts had stood before the sky fell and burned them.

"We thank you, Y/n of the Metkayina." His fingers pressed against his chest, then extended toward you. "Give Tonowari my safe regards."

Panya chittered impatiently as you climbed aboard. Neteyam settled behind you, his weight familiar now. You scratched the creature's chin, feeling her rumble of pleasure.

“Eywa’s blessing upon all you!”

.

.

.

The trips to the other clans scattered throughout the islands had been largely similar. Island after island, clan after clan, the same ritual of hauling fish until your shoulders sagged and your fingers went numb. 

You and Neteyam. Fish. Smiles. Departure. Repeat. It was tedious work, returning to the mainland only to transport it back.

But Neteyam didn’t falter. 

If anything, he thrived on it. Showed off, really—ten fish slung across his back at first. Then twelve. Fifteen. "I can manage, Y/n," he'd grin, standing straighter beneath the weight. "It's nothing."

Liar. You adjusted your own five with a grimace. I'm strong and I'm struggling.

The villages noticed. Of course they did. Neteyam moved through them like he was made of sunlight—full easy laughter and easier smiles, his presence always warm. The Na'vi from the distant clans watched him the way you'd watch fire: drawn, captivated, unable to look away.

The girls, especially.

"Oh, look at him!" They’d giggle. You swore you heard the same introductions a hundred times now.

They pulled at his arms, his braids, anything they could reach. "Can we get more fish? Please?" Their eyes were wide, voices honeyed, offering to show him the clan, the good fishing spots, their homes—while you dealt with the elders and the practical matters no one else wanted to handle.

It was almost funny, really—how Neteyam couldn't take three steps without someone pulling him aside, touching his shoulder and asking him to stay just a little longer.

Let it not be you, though.

"Y/n."

You turned. Enop. Again. His hands found yours before you could pull away, clammy with a boney fingers. You look even more beautiful than last year."

Your skin crawled. 

You shifted back half a step, smile tight. “The Great Mother's been kind. How many fish do you need?"

"Two." His thumb traced your knuckle. "We could share them, take a break—"

"We should go." Neteyam's hand closed around your elbow, smile tight at the edges. "Much to do still." He tapped your thigh. “Come,”

For once, you didn't argue.

By midday he slowed.

He couldn't hide it—not from you. Fifteen bundles became twelve. Twelve became ten. Seven. Five. The numbers seemed to bleed away with each passing hour until sweat beaded along his spine and created fat droplets.

You watched as one fell, splashing against the sand until it quietly soaked up.

"Just water," he said when you stared too long. “From the beach.”

He stumbled.

You bit your lip in worry.

"Neteyam."

His ears flicked back. That pout again—childish, stubborn. He hefted the next bundle and moved past you like you hadn't spoken at all. 

Your own sweat cooled against your temples. Pride, you realized. You'd been stupid not to see it sooner. "Stop," you said. "Rest. If you collapse now, you waste everything you've done."

You'd never thought him prideful before. Stupid of me. Stupid to assume the golden son carried no ego beneath all that duty.

"I am not so weak, Y/n. I'll be—"

Your eyes locked with his. "No." You let the glare sit there, let him feel your disapproval if only to make him see reason, beyond all else.

"Look at you, Neteyam. You still have the dancing ceremony." Something tightened in your chest. "I'd never forgive myself if you failed due to something so preventable.” The words came faster now, tripping over each other. "Go on. Get rest, or I'll drag you to your hut myself."

At first it was just a flicker of his tail. Right at the ends where the hair was—a twitch.

Then, the barest pop of his spine straightened and he turned to face you fully, and for one suspended breath, you thought he might argue.

His lips tugged into something smug.

"I wouldn't mind that." Breathless. He stared. Just stared, like he was seeing you for the first time—or maybe seeing something in you he'd been looking for all along.

He walked towards you slowly, head tilted to the side. There was no weak stumble now, no tremble against his shoulders. Not even exhaustion remained. "That sounds like a reward," he reached. "To have your hands on me."

His fingers found your cheeks. You should've moved—should've stepped back, hissed, done something—but you just stood there, frozen, as his palms cupped your cheeks.

The kiss landed on the crown of your head, first.

"Teyam, that—"

"Hm." Another kiss, this time against your brow, second.  "So it's Teyam now?" His tail swayed, a lazy, pleased arc. When his lips found your cheek, you felt the curve of his smile against your skin. Third. "I like that name. Say it again, Y/n…Please?"

It was the please that did it. The way he said your name after. Sweetness buried underneath the syllables—it nested there. 

You hated it.

Hated how much you liked it, how the sound made something in your chest flutter and ache and burn in the same way Tey did.

Right. Tey.

You shoved him. Hard.

"Get away." Your teeth bared, lips pulling back in a hiss that felt too late against his affections.

“Y/n—”

"What is wrong with you?" Your freckles flared hot in your mortification. Your ears pressed flat against your skull. "I am with Tey." 

I am with Tey. I am. It meant nothing. Three kisses means nothing.

His ears flickered. His expression morphed into an innocent pout, and it made you feel as if you’d done something wrong.

You almost stepped forward and pleaded forgiveness. 

What is going on with me? Why am I…? You didn’t wish to unpack it.

"I am sorry." It came out soft. He looked away, one hand rising to rub at his nape. His fingers curled into a fist. His eyes squeezed shut, and his face—

No you didn’t look at his face, you couldn’t risk it.

"I am exhausted. You are right. I thought…"

Your hand lifted, gestured weakly to the side. "Just... go."

You noted the hesitation there. He didn’t leave immediately, and that made it worse. But he did, of course he did. He followed directions so well, especially when it was yours.

He left.

When you finally looked back, his shoulders were hunched, tail limped between his legs.

Shit.

.

.

.

You sat at the long table of assembled deadwood.

At some point you had changed into something simple and festive. Tomorrow was for trying. Your shoulders drew inward. Your eyes had glazed over hours ago, maybe longer. Around you, the clan roared with laughter, with the kind of joy that came from pride and accomplishment. 

You didn't hear it. Didn't feel the hunger gnawing at your stomach, didn't taste the sweet fruit someone had placed in the bowl before you.

You did not look up.

Instead, you traced the grooves carved into the table’s surface. Old marks of a child’s work. Yours, next to those, your fathers.

They were cut there during long ceremonies when you and your siblings had been made to sit still upon the sacred seat, legs swinging, bored out of your minds.

I feel sick.

That's what this was. Sick.

You glanced toward the other end. Met your father's figure there.

All Olo’eyktan and their families ate here. Spoke here. Celebrated here. This table had been sat upon by hundreds of leaders, and now your fa occupied it, broad shoulders squared, Ao’nung at his side.

The table’s importance had never escaped you. The soft wood beneath your fingers seemed to remember every hand that had touched it, and you slid your hand along it as though it might answer back.

You had been young when you were told Ao’nung would inherit the title. Younger still when you had wished—quietly, shamefully—that it might be you instead.

Not because of blood.

Because you deserved it.

Because surely someone like you could sit here and lead.

Stop it. You’re unraveling.

The thought was childish. Stupid. You shoved it down and thought of your brother instead—how he'd sit here one day, and how he'd deserve it. Rightfully.

You looked up. Finally.

Bowls sat before everyone, filled with the kind of abundance that made your stomach turn. The People clustered in their families, their friend groups, drinking beverages made of sweet fruit, plates piled with nuts and berries.

Father makes his speech around now. You thought, glancing at him.

He'd thank Eywa for the night, for the safety of the participants, for the Tulkun who had graced them with their presence. At the end, he'd commemorate a group—hunters, healers, whoever had earned his favor that season.

This time he did not.

"I have an announcement."

For the fourth time this night, his eyes locked onto yours. Then they dropped. To your mother, to Pril, then back to the audience.

You glanced at Ao'nung, brows furrowing. He didn't seem bothered. Didn't even pause in shoveling food into his mouth, just shrugged like whatever, old man.

Typical Ao’nung.

"We will be advancing the dance to today. Midnight." Father's jaw worked. "Tonight."

That earned silence.

You narrowed your eyes. Others shifted with careful uncertainty, glances exchanged across the heart of the clan. Your father never broke tradition. Not once. For all you could remember, the date never moved.

"Father?" Ao'nung's question came slow, cautious.

Tonowari cleared his throat, staring at Ronal. "We decided that for the safety of the Tulkun, it would be best if they do not stay too long."

That earned nods. Quiet agreements rippling through the crowd. Yes, of course. For the Tulkun. For their safety.

But you weren't persuaded.

Your eyes stayed narrow, fixed on your father's profile—something was wrong. Something he wasn't saying.

Then you dropped your gaze altogether. It wasn't your right to question the Olo'eyktan.

"Come on, bro! Let's just ask… it's simple!"

Your gaze lifted from the grain of the wood table to settle on the Sully boy. Lo'ak. Across from you, Tsireya stiffened—a glance passed between you and you arched one brow.

She shifted, heat creeping across her cheekbones.

"Lo'ak." Neteyam's voice came next, sharp and apologetic. He lunged for his brother's arm, missed. His eyes found yours and whatever he saw there made him flinch. "Come back here—"

Lo'ak shrugged him off with a laugh that was ignoring, jogging the last few steps until his hand slapped down on the table's edge.

The sacred table.

You stared at where his palm pressed against the wood. Then at him.

So disrespectful.

"Tsireya," he breathed, biting his lower lip. His tail wagged behind him, betraying everything his face tried to hide.

Your mother's eyes found yours. Mirrored your expression exactly.

"Lo'ak," Her voice dropped to a mortified whisper, and her freckles ignited across her cheeks with like bioluminescence. She motioned frantically at his hand. "Please—"

He glanced down—finally registered your stare boring into the side of his head—and jerked back. "Oh. Sorry." The grin turned sheepish. He rubbed his palms together. The initial confidence that carried him here crumbled. "I—" His throat worked. "Uhm…"

"Out with it, forest boy." Ao'nung laughed from across the table, still eating through a mouthful of food.

Your lip curled. "Do not speak while eating, Ao’nung."

"Make me."

He grinned wider, and you could see all of it. 

Chewed food and too-white teeth and that stupid, stupid smile. You were already rising when Tsireya's hand clamped around your wrist and hauled you back down. “Oh you two!” She huffed. Then she fixed Lo'ak with a look that was patient and encouraging. Take your time. Her eyes seemed to say. I'm waiting.

Lo'ak swallowed.

He lifted his chin, straightened his spine. "Would you like to dance?" The words came out as a mumble, and his tail curled tight against his leg. You felt something almost like pity until you remembered you were angry at Neteyam, and crushed it down.

Your mother, however, remained unconvinced.

Tsireya's freckles blazed like tiny stars. "Of course." She rose in one fluid motion—but Ronal's voice was firm.

"Tsireya—"

"Please, mama!" Those wide eyes, that pleading tilt of her head. You'd seen her use it a thousand times and it worked every single time.

Your mother's lips twitched into a subtle frown. Her eyes closed. A long, measured breath, and then a small, defeated nod.

Permission.

You watched in disbelief as Tsireya giggled and grabbed Lo’ak’s hand. She led him down the slope toward where the rest of the clan danced around the fire. 

Lo’ak meanwhile gave one final passing glance at his brother, flashing a thumbs up. Neteyam's response was a thin, tight lipped grimace.

He waited a beat, then climbed the steps toward the front, clearing his throat softly as he approached.

That's when you noticed. His hair hung loose tonight, unbraided. Soft strands framed his face, though someone—maybe Kiri, maybe his mother—had woven thin strips of red cloth through the front strands, adding color to a usually relaxed appearance.

He looked—

You looked away.

You swallowed a heavy lump from your throat. 

"I see you, Tonowari, Ronal."

Neteyam's head dipped in a formal gesture, proper in a way Lo’ak wasn’t. The only similarity was the twist of his fingers. At his side, wanting to fidget, to do something with the energy. But he didn't. His eyes stayed locked on your parents.

So much more proper than Lo'ak in that respect, at least.

Your parents nodded, approval settling in ease of their shoulders. “I see you. What is it, Neteyam?”  Your father made the point to lean forward. He had a twinkle in his eye, and while your mother didn’t speak, she did too. 

Then Neteyam's attention slid sideways. To you.

His ears shot forward, and you saw the moment his eyes dilated.

"Is it alright if I dance with your daughter?"

Your brother's laugh came sharp, barely stifled. Your jaw locked so hard your teeth ached.

Mother would say no. She had to say no. You turned your glare at Neteyam, willing him to take it back, to leave, to—

His face crumpled.

You watched in real time as his lips pulled into a pout. An actual pout, his ears flattening against his skull like you'd struck him. He kept looking at you—sad, pleading little glances that made your stomach twist.

"Of course."

Your father's voice.

Your head snapped toward him so fast your vision blurred. You stared. Blinked. Stared again.

"It is good to talk to your mentor before the final  rite." Is what he said. He met your gaze with pointed calm and gestured toward Neteyam with a subtle tilt of his head. Hummed with a low and expectant tune. "The boy is waiting."

The hiss nearly escaped.

Instead you pushed yourself up—stiff, mechanical—and walked past Neteyam without taking his offered hand. You felt it there…

Refused to look at him.

Refused.

He jogged behind you, head ducked low like something hunting. When you reached the edge of the dancing circle, you folded your arms and turned, voice flat. "What do you want?"

He looked stricken—ears pinned, mouth working soundlessly before he managed a half-step closer. You stepped back. He swallowed hard enough you saw his throat flex. Dancers swept between you both, bodies spinning, momentarily obscuring him.

"You look beautiful," he managed a smile, lips lifting hopefully.

You scoffed. "That is what you lead with?" The words came low, sharp. "Neteyam what you did there—I'm with Tey." You leaned in so he'd hear every syllable, close enough to see his pupils contract. "We care for each other. I want—" Your throat tightened. "I'd like to spend my life with him."

His ears flattened, then swiveled, then flattened again. Twitching like he heard dying words.

"Whatever feelings you think you have," you continued. "stop them."

"It's not—" He choked on the rest, his hand scraped through his braids. "Not... Great Mother..." The curse came out small, wounded. He wouldn't look at you. "Please. Don't say that."

Don't do this to me.

"Please." He said, softer now. "Please."

You turned. 

You were already searching the crowd for Tey's broader shoulders, his three-fingered hands, his easy grin. Where was he? Your chest constricted. 

Neteyam's hand caught yours and pulled it flat against his chest. "Listen," he whispered. His ribcage rose and fell in sharp, shallow pulls. You looked up and—shit. Shit. His eyes were wet. His breathing came unsteady now, a drag of breath. "Listen." Softer now. He stepped forward until he was just in front of you.

You felt it—the drumbeat rhythm under your palm. A strong heart. 

You felt your own pulse slow to match it, and your body relaxed before you could stop it. Shoulders easing, breath evening out into a soft whistling hum. You stiffened immediately.

What's wrong with me?

"Whatever you're trying to—"

"You feel it."

His stare pinned you. "I know by the Great Mother's design, Y/n, you feel this." When you tried to pull away, his grip tightened—but he laced his fingers so sweetly it felt almost impossible to care.

"You feel me." His head dipped, lips grazing yours—barely there, unbearable. "I see you, Y/n."

And what a face he made, of longing and need. Something that should’ve stayed hidden and—

A hand wrapped itself around your middle.

Long. Wide. Three fingers tight across your stomach.

You felt him before you saw him.

"Tey—"

"Release her."

The growl came from somewhere deep. Tey's chest, maybe, or lower—some animal place that you’d never thought he possessed. Because Tey wasn’t serious, Tey was sweet and good and—and now his teeth were bared, nose wrinkled into a vicious hiss that rumbled and caught and held against the backdrop of laughter.

You turned, looking up over your own shoulder.

Tey did not look good.

His braids hung limp and unwashed, greasy at the roots. Nothing like the usual bounce and spring he'd fuss over. He even wore what he’d arrived in this morning—clothes smelling of hunt and sweat. But worse, much worse was his face. That face that used to break open with easy smiles now now sat tight and withdrawn, and right now, distrustful.

Neteyam released you. Your hands fell to your sides, fingertips still buzzing from where his grip had been. He didn't look away from Tey.

Then he snorted, an easy and confident sound so unlike Neteyam’s usual aloofness."I thought you left with your tail tucked between your legs."

Murmurs rippled through the gathered clan. The drums kept their rhythm, but now it felt like the rhythm of a war-tone. You pressed both palms flat against Tey's chest when his lips peeled back in a snarl. "Tey," you whispered, glancing over your shoulder at Neteyam. "Let us talk. It is fine."

Tey’s arm shot up, gesturing his head at Neteyam. “Listen to her, demon.” He hissed. “It is in your best interest.”

Neteyam snarled back. 

You huffed. “Stop it, you two—”

“You should listen to Y/n—”

“Who, my woman, demon? The one you continuously try to steal? Using underhanded—”

Neteyam looked confused now, just grinning, all pretty teeth. “Underhanded? I do it publicly. I am not a coward, Tey.” He shifted his weight, head tilted like a predator. “Not like you.”

“Demon.” Tey spat the word. “It is in your damned blood.” 

You pushed against Tey, trying to stroke his arms, murmur sweet things in his ear. Trying to pull warmth back into his heart, love back into his eyes, bring him back to you.

But it didn’t work. It’d never work, not while he still smelled Neteyam on your skin.

“Its in your damned family that only brings wrought and disaster. It’s in your brother's fifth finger, in the hair along your arms.” He hissed. “I see it in the size of your eyes, I see it now, in your eyes. A thief.”

You paused.

Your eyes traveled up, slow, to Neteyam.

He was uncomfortably still, uncomfortably at ease.

He took several steps forward, and you understood then—Neteyam didn't usually yell. He'd told you himself, long ago, that it reminded him too much of his father. He was soft, even in anger.

He was soft even now.

Your eyes widened. You spun, pressing both hands against Neteyam's chest instead. "Neteyam, stop." The plea came out desperate in a way you never were. Tey tugged at your arm but bless him—bless him, he didn't know.

Neteyam’s eyes didn't soften, but something twitched at the corner of his mouth. A smile, maybe. He leaned into your touch, even now.

He dipped his head and whispered just for you. "Worried for your weak lover?" His eyes followed a triangle. Both eyes, then your lips, dropping only to see the feel of your fingers against his chest. "Is that it?" A coo, now. He leaned closer until close felt like a distant word. "Aren't you embarrassed to love someone so shameful? The late bloomer."

And then he kissed your temple, a wet and chaste taste of skin.

You sighed.

Shut your eyes.

Fucking damn it.

"Agh!"

Tey tackled him.

The impact sent both men sprawling into the dirt, limbs tangling. The festivities died. Gasps rippled outward as the two men collided—bodies tangling, sharing fists. Tey's fingers twisted in Neteyam's hair, wrenching him sideways before hurling him into a cluster of onlookers. They scattered. Someone screamed.

Neteyam hit the ground and rolled.

Then—despite the long day, despite everything—he planted one foot flat against the earth and propelled himself upward. His hiss came low and vicious, nose scrunched until the lines of his stripes twisted and twisted.

They circled each other, and for one brief moment Neteyam's gaze flicked to you.

I'll show you, his eyes said. I'll show you how weak he is. The mistake you're making.

His fist connected with Tey's jaw—a wet, meaty sound that made your stomach lurch. Tey went down and you moved to stop it but felt a hand grasp your wrist.

Tsireya, sweet Tsireya with her gentle wide eyes tugged. “No, Y/n.” She pulled you back, just a bit.

"Tsireya—" You whirled, sucking air through your teeth. You caught Neteyam following Tey down, straddling his legs, wrestling him flat. His fists rose and fell against either cheek. "Tsireya, let go."

She trembled. Shook her head. "You'll get hurt—"

"Tey is getting hurt, Tsireya, please..."

You trailed off and looked at your father.

The people were whooping, excitedly curdling their voices in a pitch that led to a throbbing headache.

He wasn't doing anything. Why wasn't he—?

You dug your heels in now. Tsireya wasn’t stronger than you.

Your gaze snapped back. Neteyam did look strong. His biceps coiled and flexed with each impact, back spraying broad and powerful in the firelight. Sweat gleamed along his shoulders.

He wasn't holding back. He wanted to demonstrate exactly what he was capable of.

What Tey wasn't.

And no one was helping him. 

You shoved Tsireya back—too hard, probably, but you were already moving. Your hand closed around a stick torch abandoned near the circle's edge, and you didn't walk so much as lunge toward the chaos.

Past hunched shoulders, through the press of spectators, until you found them, the crowd peeling away as you cut through.

JakeSulli and Lo’ak had Neteyam by the arms, hauling him backwards. JakeSulli’s grip was iron around his son's wrist, twisting until tendon showed white beneath blue skin. "The hell are you thinkin', boy?" The words came through his teeth, Neteyam’s feet dragged grooves against the sand, and he twisted to try being released.

Neteyam spat—not quite at Tey's face, but near enough, the total dishonor. "He attacked me first." His lips curled, proud even with blood in his mouth.

Neytiri was already on him, hands cupping his jaw, tilting his face toward the firelight. “You go to your sisters now.”  She traced palm to face, checking him for any obvious injuries, most as you noted, on the faint scar on his chest. “Tuk is crying.”

You dropped to your knees beside Tey, fingers finding the curve of his jaw. "Tey, Tey…" Your palm connected with his cheek, "Tey, come on..." A light tap against swollen skin. Purple bloomed across his skin. 

Sea-foam murked with the blood of the sky-people. 

His eyes were swollen nearly shut, lip split and weeping red. Something broke loose in your chest. "Tey—"

"Ngh…" His lashes fluttered and you folded into him. Arms around his shoulders, mouth finding his despite the blood. You didn’t mind the warm taste of red against your tongue, not right now. You pressed deeper anyway. "You foolish boy, I—"

Behind you, Neteyam stood rigid beneath his parent’s rapid spitfire of scolding—words you couldn't hear, didn't care to—but his gaze never left the line of your back as you bent over Tey. At the way you kissed him as if he deserved it.

He'd won. He'd won, and still—

He looked like he'd lost everything.

"Come. Please." Your voice was barely there. You tugged at Tey, trying to lift him, and he huffed a wet, rattling breath before spitting more blood. He kissed you back, slow and right where Neteyam could see.

"You—" Neteyam lurched forward.

Jake's hand snapped around his arm, yanking him back hard enough that something popped. "Goddamn it, you're gonna kill me, you understand? You and—"

You rose, Tey's weight shifting against you. Too much of it. Several hunters moved in—sighing, muttering under their breath like they'd seen this coming.

"We told him."

"The Olo'eyktan will be angry."

Your pulse spiked. "What?" You eased Tey toward one of the hunters, steadying him against a broader shoulder before turning back. "What did you say?"

The hunters wouldn't meet your eyes. One glanced at the other. Who has the shortest straw? They seemed to say. A wince, someone took it. "Oh… your father…" He trailed off, looked away. "Well. Er. Nevermind that."

Tey's head lolled. The hunter holding him clapped his back once, awkward. "Come on. Let's get you somewhere you won't cause trouble. Poor fool."

"I should go with him." Your voice climbed. "He's injured—and the dancing ceremony—"

They looked at you.

Just looked.

Too long.

"...Tey failed, Y/n." They said softly.

Your heart stopped.

They were rearranging Tey now, straightening him to not fall. "He started it." A hunter grumbled. Flat. "Got into it with Neteyam during the hunt. Threw the first blow."

“Has no one told you…?” Another said. “He's not joining you in the fertility festival." They gently pat your head—a gesture meant to soothe that only made you tense up. "Go enjoy the rest, ok? We'll have your mother look at him." A pitying smile.

A pitying smile.

Your brain snagged on the words. Repeated them, then quietly refused them.

Tey… the aggressor? Tey who flinched at raised voices? Tey who wept when you scolded him for leaving his nets tangled, who positioned himself between quarreling hunters with palms raised in peace. That Tey.

No.

You stilled. Your gaze drifted—father first, then the crowd. The music had shifted—something gentler now, relaxing, laced with throat-song meant to clam. But the people weren't calm. They whispered. Stared. At you.

Your tail curled inward, tip trembling against your calf—twitching in small, helpless jerks. Ears flattened. Arms drew tight to your sides, making yourself smaller, wishing you could hide away entirely.

Neteyam tilted his ears back, lips trembling a bit to speak. “Y/n…” He said softly. He wasn't going to apologize—not about Tey. His jaw set with quiet conviction. He didn't deserve you. That simply.

But his father's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "You've done enough, you hear boy? Enough. Leave the poor girl alone."

Neteyam swallowed his words.

You felt it then.

Rage—no, not rage. Something smaller. Younger. You felt like a child again, screaming at Ao'nung to return the carved shell you'd spent days smoothing. You felt like the little girl watching your mother cradle Tsireya, longing for arms that never quite reached for you the same way, who wondered why your own arms stayed empty. 

The girl who'd learned early that wanting was not the same as receiving.

The girl who wanted, very badly, to cry.

The tightness came first—throat closing, eyes blurring hot and wet. You turned before anyone could see. You turned. Fled. Your feet found the shoreline by muscle memory alone. You couldn't bear the dancing, couldn't stomach another pitying glance. 

You felt the heat of the armband then. The one that said yes, I am looking. Yes, I am available. Yes, I am willing. For Tey, Tey who promised me that he’d finish his Rite of Passage. Tey who—

You ripped it off and flung it to the sea.

The waves swallowed it.

You kept walking.

You needed to be alone.

"Dad, please—"

Neteyam strained against the hands holding him—his father's, his mother's. His eyes tracked you as you disappeared down the shore. Tsireya broke away from Lo'ak's side, already calling your name.

"Damn, bro." Lo'ak whistled.

Neytiri wrapped Neteyam's torn knuckles with strips of clean cloth, movements precise despite her frustration. "Stop moving, Neteyam."

"Mother—"

"Neteyam."

His eyes tracked the armband, now drifting on the current. He clenched his hand into a fist so tight the fresh wounds reopened, blood welling dark against blue skin. He hadn't done anything wrong. Not one thing.

At least, that's what he told himself.

.

.

.

You could barely hear past the drones of your father's speech. You refused to look at him, to listen to him. How dare he—how dare he not tell you that Tey failed.

You swayed instead. Eyes fixed somewhere past the gathered bodies, somewhere that wasn't him. The dancing ceremony had already passed—usually your favorite part. The participants moved through traditional songs, creography molded to fit each hunter's individual style, their history written in the curve of thier hand or the arc of a spine.

A shame.

You hadn't seen Neteyam's dance. Once, you might have wanted to. Once, he'd promised you the forest in his movements. But that was before.

Strong heart.

Your eyes squeezed shut.

It was dark and late. The final ceremony would take an hour, maybe two. Not that it mattered—you were going straight to your hammock after this. Or maybe straight to Tey, traditions and rules be damned. You'd form the bond tonight, consequences later.

You'd go to another island, another clan where they wouldn't care so much about Eywa's traditions. There, the two of you could have children, build a home. You were done waiting.

You opened your eyes.

The men and women stood in rows now, each wearing a smile. A few were crying—proud tears, the kind that meant something. This was acceptance. The moment they became members embraced by the heart of the clan and the will of Eywa.

And despite everything—your heartbreak, your confusion, the anger that sat like hot coals in your chest aimed at your father, at Neteyam, at Eywa herself—you felt pride.

Silence now. Celebration later.

Look at Yappo. He's grown so tall. You once helped him knot his first raft.

You couldn't help the smile.

Your mother gave a nod. Commencement.

You moved with your siblings, each taking up different rows. The left fell to you. And there, just a bit to the middle, so clearly him, was Neteyam.

Your jaw clenched.

You hate me Eywa, you hate me and I hate you.

You glanced toward Tsireya, hoping to switch, but she was already focused, moving down her own line. Ao'nung was too far to signal.

You swallowed your expression, schooled your face into something neutral, and started with the first person. 

Then the next. 

Then the next.

Until finally, you reached Neteyam.

As per the ritual, you cleaned the knife again—ceremonial rag pulled tight between thumb and palm, the blade catching firelight in a thin, amber line.

You watched him through your lashes.

His eyes stayed down.

Good.

You wanted the guilt to sit in him, wanted it to root so deep he'd never dare speak to you again.

Something in you twitched at the thought. You ignored it.

The blade lifted. You reached for his shoulder, had to rise on your toes just to meet the slope of it. The height difference galled you now—made you look small. Fragile. Weak.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours. You jolted back. His tanhi flared bright, luminous across his cheeks, and his ears swiveled forward with something that looked dangerously like hope.

You wrinkled your nose and dragged the blade across his forehead—a long, thin line that welled red but stayed shallow.

He didn't flinch. Just stared at you like this would be the last time he'd ever see your face.

"May your mind be filled with wisdom," you whispered, voice barely audible over the fire's crackle, "taken from your ancestors." The knife descended to his chin. You carved an X figure.

Your hand descended—steadying yourself, nothing more—and pressed flat against his chest.  You sensed the quickening rhythm within him, a song under your palm, but focused on the task at hand.

You focused on the blade instead, drawing a horizontal line across the ridge of his collarbone. "So your heart always guides you along the path of truth. So that your choices, both present and future, remain just."

You released his chest. Reached for his hands instead, gripping them harder than necessary—annoyed at how easily his fingers sought yours.

"Let your hands build and sow." The knife bit into his palm, a circle this time. Hands were soft, much more sensitive, most hunters would flinch at this point. But Neteyam only watched. "Not destroy."

You started to pull away, and his grip tightened.

Slowly he lifted your hand to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes dark against the blue of his cheek, and he pressed a gentle kiss. A kiss pressed to each knuckle. Each finger.

"I'm sorry," he breathed against your skin, the words soft and broken. Another kiss. "Terribly, terribly sorry." He turned your hand over, nuzzled into your palm, let his blood smear warm and wet across your fingers.

You wretched your hands away, baring a low hiss.

Around you, other Na'vi glanced over. Confused. Curious.

"Under—" Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard, forced the words out. "Under one, we remain. Children of Eywa." You shoved the armband toward him, desperate to be done. "We see you, Neteyam."

He took it gently, cradling it in bloodied hands. But he didn't put it on. Not like the others had. He just held it.

You spent the next rows trying to process what he'd done—how the blood had pooled warm between your fingers, sappy and viscous.

Poor next participants.

Your hands trembled and your cuts came clumsy because of it. Each slice felt wrong, too shallow or too deep, and you couldn't stop the shake in your fingers. You hated yourself for it. Hated him more.

Come on… Come on…

By the time you reached the last one, you had steadied. Quick cuts. Clean. You returned to your parents' side.

"You are all second-blooded!" Your father's voice rang across the gathering, staff lifted high. The People cheered, stamping feet against packed sand. "Neteyam has earned his right as the most eligible bachelor!" He clapped once, sharp and final, and the crowd echoed him.

Of course. Because why wouldn’t it be him? You thought dimly.

Neteyam extended a humble nod in response.

You wanted to throw something at his head.

The horn blew. Music started—drums and flutes, the kind that made hips sway and hands reach. You liked to think you’d be curling your hands with Tey, leading him to dance right now. Tey loves to dance, although he’s terrible at it. 

You slumped where you stood, shoulders curling inward.

Ao'nung glanced at you. For once, he stood tall without the usual preening smugness. "Y/n…?" A whisper. His bite was gone. He frowned, reaching for your elbow. "What's wrong?"

Tsireya caught her tongue between her teeth. "Tey…" She didn't need to say more.

Ao'nung's expression shifted into understanding "Go get rest," he muttered. "We'll handle it from here." He gave several pats over your shoulder.

Relief flooded through you so fast it almost hurt. You pressed your face against his chest, breathing in salt and brother and safety. "Thank you."

The siblings exchanged a worried glance above your head.

Ao'nung scoffed. "What? I'm gonna make you do my chores tomorrow anyway. So go on. Get out of here." He grinned.

You managed a smile, waved farewell, and turned toward the darker stretches of beach. You felt ridiculous in your festival attire—not all of it, thank the Great Mother, but enough that a strange shame clung to your skin.

Tey. I need to find Tey.

You passed Neteyam on your way out. He was looking for someone, it seemed, but he couldn't move two steps without getting swamped. "Neteyam!" they called. Women tugged at his tail. Others held his queue, fingers threading through the braid with a boldness that made you wonder if they had anything to drink.

"H-Hey, not my tail!"

He couldn't take a single step without another woman throwing herself at him. You almost smiled. Almost. Then the anger came back

You kept walking. Behind you, he yelped. "Y/n!"

His voice cut through the noise. You glanced back—saw his eyes widen, saw his hand reach—

A woman pulled him down into a kiss.

"Mhm—"

You kept walking.

You kept your head low, circling wide through the shadows beneath the mangrove roots. Torchlight danced on water, and the air tasted of smoke, the musk of bodies pressed too close together. and overripe fruit. 

A whistle cut through the noise.

You'd almost made it.

A cluster of men broke from the edge of the clearing.

"Y/n." One of them grinned, angling to block your path. "Not joining in?"

One of the hunters grinned, peeling away from the trunk he'd been leaning against. Two others followed, eyes bright with drink and the feverish energy that came after a successful Passage. After proving themselves men.

You shook your head, the motion sharp. "No."

"Really?" The tallest one stepped closer, still grinning. "We're adults now in the eyes of Eywa and the People. Don't be shy."

Your jaw tightened. "I'm not interested. Do you not see?" You gestured to your bare arm, where the ceremonial band should have been. "I am not—" The curse died on your tongue. You exhaled, forcing your voice flat. "Find another."

"Oh, come on." He exchanged a glance with his companions. "You can't refuse if we ask properly. It's our reward, and we know you had that armband earlier. All the men saw it."

Heat prickled up your neck. "It's not on me now, and I—"

"She's not going with you."

The voice came from your right, you didn’t need to know who it was, you just did.

Neteyam emerged from the darker path, torchlight catching the fresh marks painted across his skin—kisses in pigment, scattered along his jaw, his shoulders, his ribs. Under other cirumstances you might have laughed at him. Teased him. But now you wished to see no more of him.

The hunters saw him and immediately stepped back, hands raised. They'd seen what Neteyam did to Tey. They knew what happened to those who pushed him.

He always won.

You turned your head, unwilling to look at him directly.

"Sorry. All yours." They melted back into the crowd without another word.

Silence stretched between you and Neteyam. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at the sand because looking at him felt dangerous.

He looked different tonight—deliberately so. His hair hung loose past his shoulders, still damp at the ends. Around his throat sat a thin choker of iridescent shell, trailing fine cords down to his ribs and wrists. A thigh ring. An ankle bracelet on the same leg. His loincloth was shorter than usual, gossamer-thin and edged in soft feathers. Bright orange dye marked the armor on his forearm.

And there, hanging from his pierced ear, was a single blue feather.

An imitation of the one tucked into your own hair.

Your face burned.

He looked beautiful.

You hated him.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he said quietly.

You let out a harsh breath through your nose. "What now? Here to profess your love? Fight Tey again?"

The sneer felt thin on your lips. Neteyam was beautiful—classically beautiful, the kind of face that songs were written about. You hated that you noticed. Hated that even now, furious as you were, some treacherous part of you wondered if—

You are doing it again. Thinking about him beyond your rage.

"Find someone else," you said, voice tight. "I'm not—"

The words died in your throat.

Because Neteyam had dropped to his knees in front of you.

Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. His lips pressed thin, trembling despite himself, and his hands came together—fingers lacing, unlacing—Until they came together in a shape that looked too much like prayer.

He was nervous.

When had Neteyam ever been nervous? Not a nervous man, you'd have said. But maybe he was. Maybe he'd always been—trembling all along, just like his fool of a brother, and you'd simply never noticed.

His hands shook when they reached for you, and when they found your hips, and he drew you closer, inch by careful inch.

"...Get up." You looked away. "You look pathetic."

"I know."

His thumb stroked the curve of your hip. A breath drew in, slow. "But I don’t care." Whispered. "I can deal with your hate, Y/n." His voice barely held. "I can deal with your apathy, your annoyance, your disappointment—And I have. For months, I will. For however long you need."

A pause.

His fingers tightened. Dug crescents into your skin that would purple by morning. You'd wear them and pretend not to notice.

"But please—" The word shattered. "—look at me."

You didn't.

"Don't pretend I'm not here." His forehead pressed against your stomach, and you felt the dampness there. The shake of him. "I can't—I can't survive that."

You swallowed, and you made the mistake of looking down.

You caught his watery eyes first. A ring of fire, thats what they were.

His lashes clumped and dark. The ceremonial paint smeared across his cheekbones had started to run, black and white bleeding together down the sharp cut of his jaw. He looked ruined. He looked young.

He looked like he was dying, and you were the knife.

"I am sorry," he said again. The syllables splintered in his mouth. "I love you, and I cannot help that I do—"

"Stop."

"—you are the first thing I think of when I wake. The last before I sleep. I love you. I love you. I love you. You are—"

You rolled your eyes. Shifted your weight. Ready to pull free, to walk away, to do what you always did. But before you could move he pressed his face against your stomach.

"Neteyam—" Heat flooded your cheeks, crawled down your neck. Your heart slammed against your ribs, frantic. His breath ghosted warm over your navel and you froze. "Get off. Before someone sees—"

“No.” He grumbled firmly.

You pushed at his head, fingers tangling in hair that was silk-soft and wrong, so different from your own, but he didn't budge. He only buried himself deeper, stubborn as a child denied, arms locking around you in a hold that was iron.

He pressed your lower back flush against him, and you felt the press of his flat nose.

Then he kissed your stomach.

Small, fervent presses of mouth against skin. You could feel the suction of it, the heat, the way his lips parted just slightly with each one.

"You are stubborn," you hissed, squirming. Twisting. Your tail lashed behind you, betraying the panic rising in your chest. "Get off—"

Someone laughed nearby. A couple stumbled past, already half-undressed, hands wandering past the loincloth. The female caught your eye and grinned, victorious, before her partner pulled her into the shadows.

Around you, the celebration continued. Some couples had already slipped away to mate, the wet sounds unmistakable even over the drums. Others passed by with knowing grins, with raised brows and whispered comments you didn't need to hear to understand.

They thought this was reconciliation by the way Neteyam was on his knees.

They thought this was love by the way you cupped his cheeks.

Your lips tugged back, wincing in embarrassment. 

Only when you stilled—when your hands stopped pushing and simply rested in his hair—did Neteyam look up. 

His face was wet. Not just his eyes anymore, but his cheeks too, tear tracks cutting through the ceremonial paint still smudged across his skin. His lips were swollen from pressing them against you, bitten raw.

He released one arm from around you. Reached back. Fumbled at his loincloth.

"I…" He hesitated.

Slowly, he lifted an armband into the space between you. Your breath caught. It was yours. The one you'd thrown.

"I went back for it," he said quietly. His thumb smoothed over the worn leather, tracing the pattern you'd carved yourself. "I could not leave it there. It is yours. It is important to you. So I—"

He swallowed, "So it is important to me." His voice broke completely.

You stared at him. At the armband.

"You're an idiot," you whispered.

"I know."

"A complete and utter fool."

"Yes."

"It is a scrap of leather, Neteyam. Meant for Tey, you under—”

"It is yours." He said with total conviction. “Here." He held it up, offering. His hands still shook. "Please. Let me—I will put it on. I will do it right this time. I will—"

You snatched it from his grip.

He flinched. Actually flinched, like you'd struck him. His hands dropped to his sides, curling into fists against his thighs, and he looked down. Waiting. Expecting you to throw it again. Expecting you to walk away.

You didn't.

Instead, you turned it over in your hands. One of the beads had cracked—probably from where you'd thrown it—and someone had tried to repair it. Clumsily. With the wrong color cord, too fast with the short amount of time.

Neteyam had tried to fix it.

"The bead is wrong." You whispered. It didn’t really matter to you.

"I could not find the right one. I tried. I searched all over our collection, but—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I am sorry. I can try again. I can keep looking, I will—"

"Neteyam—"

"I cannot." His voice cracked. "Not when you—not when every time I close my eyes, I see you walking away. I see the way you looked at me, like I was—like I was nothing. Like I had ruined—"

"Stop."

"—everything. Like I had taken the most precious thing in my life and shattered it, and I—"

"Stop."

You hesitated. Your fingers found the beadwork again, traced the greens, the blues, the long shell that hung heavy with memory. Your chest tightened. Damn him. you thought

"It's beautiful." His voice came low, almost reverent. The kind of softness meant to disarm. "A master's work. Always, when it comes to you."

Your gaze dropped. Then froze.

He was holding out his own armband now.

"Neteyam—"

No.

No. No. No.

Your body moved before the thought finished—jerking back, already turning—but his hand closed around the base of your tail and yanked. The grip sent lightning up your spine and locked your legs in place.

"You left me no choice, Y/n."

The words came out pained. Almost apologetic.

Worse—they sounded true.

Dusty indigo shadowed his expression. His breath evened, steadied, as though he'd made some private decision. “Tonight, I am yours. I told you, I have nowhere to go that isn't toward you."

Then he stood. You'd forgotten—or forced yourself to forget—how he filled a space. Shoulders angled toward you like a closing door, broad enough to block the world behind them. He leaned towards you, all of that mass, all of that controlled strength. and his thumbs found your jaw. Cradled it, and then his mouth was on yours.

A groan rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest, vibrating against your mouth. "You taste so much sweeter..." He didn't finish. His tongue swept your bottom lip instead before he deepened the kiss, one hand cradling the back of your skull to hold you there.

You shoved at his chest.

He caught your wrists. Laced your fingers together, pinning your hands between your bodies.

"Mhm."

The sound was satisfied. Possessive. That pleased hum made your stomach drop and your thighs clench and—

Think of anything else. Anyone else.

Tey's sea-foam skin. No—midnight skin. Webbed hands. No—smaller hands, longer fingers. Green eyes. Yellow eyes. Wavy hair. Straight hair.

Tey. Neteyam. Neteyam. Neteyam.

"Stop thinking about him."

Your eyes flew open.

Neteyam's expression had gone dark. His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your mouth. "I can feel it. The way you went somewhere else." His teeth found your bottom lip. Tugged. "Come back."

"I can't—"

"You can." He kissed you again. Slower this time. "You will."

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing yours with each syllable.

"I love you." A peck. "So much." Another. "Let me prove myself, Y/n." His mouth pressed to the corner of yours. "I will show you, if only tonight, that I can be everything." Peck. "And more."

His eyes opened, and he watched you. Then his tongue slipped past your lips.

No.

But no didn't come.

"Mhm—"  The sound you made, all soft and needy. Something that shouldn’t have come from you at all, came so natural.

You let your eyes fall shut, tilting your head just enough to make it easier.

"There she is…" The words brushed your mouth, barely spoken before they pressed against yours again.

You meant to shove him. You should have—should've called him insane, should've hated how your body betrayed you and reconcile the ache of your own arousal with reason. But you heard it, the both of you.

Whooping. Celebration. Voices lifted in unison, wild and happy.

You pulled back, saliva connecting a sweet bridge, breath unsteady, and stared past Neteyam's shoulder. Your brow furrowed.

Neteyam's voice cracked around the edges, all boyish want and zero shame. He chased your mouth, fingers already reaching for your jaw, eyes hazy and half-lidded like he'd been drinking something stronger than the ceremonial wine. "Come back here…"

"Don't you hear that?" You planted both palms against his chest and pushed.

He blinked. Slow. Then his ear flickered, swiveling toward the noise. His head turned, gaze dragging reluctantly from your face to the distant glow of the village.

"Dancing…?" he murmured.

You dragged the back of your hand across your lips, still tasting salt and him, then pushed at his chest with unsteady palms. Your knees betrayed you—wobbly. "Can't be." You stumbled toward the shore, but his fingers caught yours and pulled you back.

He slowly laced his with yours. 

Right. Tradition. You were his—if only for tonight.

Together you climbed the beach, footsteps syncing as the noise grew louder. At the top of the steps, the People stood in clusters, cheering, laughing, swaying. When they spotted you both, their eyes brightened. Hands clapped Neteyam's back, then yours. 

"What is going on…?" you asked, turning to Neteyam as though he might know.

He only shrugged, sliding his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his side. Hip to hip. You stiffened, your mouth twitching into a frown, but you held your tongue.

Don't make a scene.

The crowd parted.

When you reached the heart of the gathering, you found your father standing beside Jake, their forearms clasped in that old way warriors sealed agreements. They spoke low, voices too quiet to hear—until your mother's gaze landed on you.

Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes glassing over with something that looked like relief. Like pride.

Pride?

Your stomach twisted. For what?

Neteyam, meanwhile, looked absolutely neutral. His face scanned the crowd, hunting for context. His tail swirling for anything.

"There they are!"

An elder's voice cut through the noise, warm and approving. "Already together."

Your shoulders drew tight, his relaxed.

"Father…?" The word came out smaller than you intended. "What is going on?"

Someone nearby leaned toward their companion. "I thought she and Tey were going to mate?"

"Maybe something happened?"

"Did you see the way he looked at her?"

Your ears swiveled, catching fragments. Pieces that didn't fit. You swallowed hard, fingers twitching in Neteyam's grip.

He squeezed back.

Your father stepped down. So did his.

"Your father and I have agreed—" Jake Sully's voice carried that strange, careful softness humans used when delivering bad news. "—that you two would be a great pairing."

Your father stood beside him, and for once his face held no lament, no wistful talk of grandchildren someday, of you finding your own path in your own time. Just certainty. Decision. Done.

"...Sempu…?"

The word came out broken. Small. You hadn't called him that—not like that, since you were a child.

Everything tilted. The ground, the sky, the careful circle of watching eyes. Please. Your fingers found your songcord, twisting. Was this—could this be—

Please. Please let me wake up beside Tey. Let me wake up and breathe him in.

Your father reached for you. Hand lifting toward your shoulder—

You smacked it away. You tried to hiss but what came out instead was a sob. Wet and ugly and wrong.

Every smile in the circle dimmed. Faces shifted. Your mother's hand flew to her chest.

"Ma 'ite—" your father started.

But Neteyam was there.

His chest met yours before you could stumble back, arms wrapping around you. His chin hooked over your head, hand pressing between your shoulder blades, holding you against him.

"Shhh…" His mouth pressed to the crown of your head, his breath hot against your braids. "Not here…"

And then he laughed.

Loud. Booming. A sound ripped from his chest in great, pounding chuckles that didn't belong to this moment, didn't belong to the way your ribs were cracking under the weight of it all. He lifted you—effortless, and spun. 

The world blurred into streaks of green and gold and too many watching eyes.

You felt the shift in the crowd—approval blooming where shock had been. See how happy he is? See how he loves her already?

When your feet touched ground again his hand found your cheek. The other gripped your hip. He kissed you.

Passionate, they'd call it later. Claiming, you'd think.

His mouth moved over yours with practiced enthusiasm, boyish and too-happy. You realized this wasn’t for show. He truly felt this happiness. He wanted this happiness. He pulled back only to press more kisses across the crown of your head, tail wagging in wild snaps.

"I can't believe—" Another kiss. "After all this time—" His hands framed your face like you were something precious. Fragile. "You're mine."

He looked at you like he saw you.

I see you.

You looked over his shoulder.

your parents stood. Mother's hand rested on Father's forearm. Both wore matching expressions of satisfaction.

And for once, a deep unsettling betrayal, hate coiled around your lips. Hate imagined you sticking a spear in every one of their hearts.

Love made you wince in disgust at your own thoughts.

"Hey." Neteyam's thumbs stroked your cheeks. You blinked. Focused. He was so close you could count the lighter flecks in his eyes. "I know this is... sudden." His voice dropped, just for you. Gentle. Kind. That made it worse. "But I promise—I will be good to you. I will protect you. I will—"

"A gift from Eywa," someone murmured.

Neteyam's smile widened. He glanced toward the voice—his mother, you realized.

"See?" he whispered. "Even my mother approves."

Oh.

"How lucky is she to have him."

Oh.

"How lucky is he to have her."

Oh.

The voices blurred. Overlapped. Your vision swam.

Dizzy. You were so dizzy.

This was real. This was happening. This was—

Your life, the one you'd imagined with Tey—his laugh, his hands, the future you'd whispered about in the dark—it dissolved. Gone. Replaced by this: Neteyam's too-warm palms on your cheeks, the weight of expectation pressing down from all sides.

A great pairing.

This was reality. 

Neteyam was still talking—something about the future, about building your home together, about the ikran flights you'd take and the children you'd have and wasn't it perfect how your families were already so close—

"Ah, are you ok?"

His finger traced your lips now, you jolted and he ducked his head to catch your eyes.

"I meant what I said earlier." His hands found yours again, lacing your fingers together. "I love you. I have for... longer than I should probably admit." A soft laugh. "And I know—I know this isn't how you imagined things. But I promise, I will spend every day proving that this was the right choice."

He waited.

You realized he wanted you to say it back. I love you.

“Right.” You mumbled instead.

He frowned, ears pressing against his head now. "We can go to my hut, or yours—whatever makes you feel comfortable."

The words came soft. Apologetic, almost. But his smile gave him away. It split his face wide, bright and eager as a child's, and whatever comfort he thought he offered only made your stomach sink further. He leaned in.

"I can’t believe it. We will live together soon… you and I… oh, thank Eywa—"

Curse Eywa.

But he didn't stop. Couldn't, maybe. The words spilled faster now, tripping over themselves in their eagerness to build a life you hadn't agreed to. "I'd hunt the food, and you can prepare it so we can eat—or maybe you hunt and I prepare? You are a good huntress."

"I have seen you with your bow," he murmured, nose brushing your cheek now, nuzzling with an affection that made your skin crawl. "The way you track."

You felt the graze of his fangs against your pulse. "You and I… together."

His hand found yours. Squeezed.

And he kept talking.

On.

And on.

"Maybe we could—" He tilted his head, considering. "We could start with one. See how it goes?" A smile, shy now. He'd be the perfect mate, the perfect father. Maybe, possibly, has and will.

The words blurred together. You stopped listening. Your gaze drifted across the space—past his shoulder, past the fire, until it caught on something.

Kiri.

She was watching. Her eyes found yours, and she smiled. Gentle. Knowing. The kind of smile that said isn't this wonderful?

Damn Eywa.

A/N- Please remember to reblog or like! Much appreciated!!! . . .

Tag list-

@petalsmoons, @shiraa32, @jkeluv, @grape-soda146, @ezminiqqqqq, @fettuccinispiz, @barnabeesays, @roseblushpink1, @empiricsad, @zhongchithoughts, @faqetrendafili, @sooonotme, @emforjin, @char-izard3, @nanafye, @serpentstarr, @moonpetrichors-blog, @thealatte, @imsojuliaaaaaa, @ycmagishis, @vigilantsculpturebounty, @xanvasy, @kxsm3t, @cyn-cynn, @axrithtiy, @supersonicoxo, @mlknksses, @paula-bratu, @jokerfreak123, @xvyeul, @moneykays, @livingd3adslut, @bellebend, @levi-09, @hicpra, @fuck-me-865, @luvleyalana, @moomooring, @juliecherrybomb, @snitchesgetnobitches, @goawaysha, @fallwinterr, @quirkylaugher, @amplsblog, @big-bad-bhardwaj, @satan-s-ass, @aloavil, @lovinqlyurs, @maximillienne, @kiarasleeps

^^^^^ As always, thank you to everyone who asks to be tagged. Your support means everything to me!

[chromemolars]

Sky girl

Neteyam x kekunan!reader

a/n this is a repost from my previous post/request answer bc i want people to see it and get their attention asap bc this is the longest and best fic ive ever written

trash sequel

The mist of the Hallelujah Mountains did not just cling to the rocks; it breathed. It was the living respiration of Pandora, a swirling, ethereal ocean of white that separated the grounded world from the kingdom of the clouds. For a daughter of the Kekunan, this vertiginous world was the only one that made sense. To the forest clans, the "edge" was a place of danger. To you, the edge was where life truly began.

You were born to the sky, a child of the clan that first taught the Na'vi how to touch the heavens. While the Omatikaya were rooted in the deep shadows of the jungle, your people were the bright sparks of defiance against gravity. You were clothed in the colors of the sunrise—boisterous, screaming shades of crimson, saffron, and violet that mirrored the plumage of the mountain banshees.

As the daughter of the Olo’eyktan and tsakarem, your life was a tapestry of duty. You were expected to be the swiftest, the bravest, and the most composed, embodying the legend of Taronyu, the first rider. But today, the heavy mantle of being a chieftain’s child had been set aside. Today, you were simply a creature of the wind.

You were alone with Ni’muna, your ikran. She was a magnificent beast of fire and blood-orange, her wings dappled with patterns that looked like cooling lava. You had spent the morning painting yourself to match her, dragging fingers dipped in thick orange clay across your sapphire skin, creating bold, aggressive streaks that trailed down your arms and thighs. It was a tribute to her, a sign of the tsaheylu, that she was you— and you her.

High above the tree line, where the air grew thin and cold enough to bite, you sat tall in your saddle. You wore a thin, feathered top—a vibrant, daring red that fluttered violently in the wind, the feathers plucked from the Great Leonopteryx’s smaller cousins. It offered little protection against the elements, but the Kekunan did not dress for comfort; you dressed for the dance.

“You ready, girl?” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper against the gale.

Ni’muna didn't need the words. Through the bond, you felt the thrum of her heart—a rapid, powerful rhythm that mirrored the pounding in your own chest. You felt the twitch of her wing muscles, the way she tasted the thermal drafts, and the sheer, unadulterated hunger for speed.

With a sudden, violent thrust of her wings, she tipped her nose toward the abyss.

The stomach-flipping drop was your favorite part. You leaned forward, flattening your chest against her neck, your wind-swept curls whipping behind you like a dark cloud. The air roared past your ears, a deafening whistle that drowned out the world. You were practicing a maneuver inspired by the old stories—the ones your father told about the Great War. He had spoken of a warrior, the Toruk Makto, who used the sky as a three-dimensional battlefield, twisting and diving in ways that the traditional aerial dances hadn't yet touched.

“Now!” you thought, a command sent through the braid.

Ni’muna tucked one wing and flared the other. You went into a violent, high-speed barrel roll. The world spun—sky, rock, fog, sky again—in a blur of turquoise and gray. Amidst the centrifugal force trying to tear you from the saddle, you reached back, your fingers finding the notch of your bow by muscle memory alone.

You saw the target: a small, crimson shell fruit you had balanced on a jutting branch of a solitary floating islet.

In the split second where your horizon leveled during the roll, you drew. The tension of the string was a familiar ache in your shoulder. You released.

Thwack.

The arrow pierced the fruit dead center, pinning it to the bark as you zoomed past. Ni’muna leveled out with a triumphant shriek, her own roars joining your piercing whoop. You banked a wide, graceful turn to retrieve your arrow, expecting to be alone with your victory.

Instead, as you approached the small islet, Ni’muna’s head crested with a low, wary hiss.

Unbeknownst to you, Neteyam stood on the edge of the floating rock, his breath hitching in his throat. He had been sent out on a long-range patrol, seeking the solitude of the high altitudes to clear his head from the pressures of being the "perfect son," when he had heard the scream of an ikran—not the usual cry of a hunter, but a sound of pure, reckless joy.

Then, he had seen you.

From his vantage point, you looked like a streak of falling fire. He watched, mesmerized, as you executed a barrel roll so tight it seemed to defy the physics of flight. He saw the flash of your red feathered top against the blue sky, a vibrant spark that shouldn't have been there. And then, the shot. A blind release in the middle of a terminal velocity spin.

"holy shit," he whispered to himself, stunned.

As your ikran circled back and landed, Neteyam found himself unable to move. He was a forest boy, raised among the towering trees of the Omatikaya, but he had always been a creature of the air at heart. Yet, he had never seen anyone fly like this.

He watched as the great orange beast touched down, its claws scraping the stone. Then, you dismounted.

In the eyes of Neteyam, the world seemed to slow down. You didn't just step off the ikran; you flowed. As you landed on the uneven stone, you moved with a strut that was uniquely yours—a rhythmic, predatory grace that spoke of absolute confidence. Your tail, long and twitching with the remnants of your adrenaline high, swayed behind you in a rhythmic arc that he found himself tracing with his eyes.

He took in the details of you, his heart hammering against his ribs for a reason that had nothing to do with the altitude. Your hair was a wild, beautiful mess of curls, tangled by the wind and smelling of the high atmosphere. The orange clay streaks on your skin caught the sunlight, making you look like a being carved from the mountain itself. And that red top—the way the feathers shivered with every breath you took—made you look like a bird of prey that had just taken human form.

You were analyzing him, and he knew it. Your golden eyes were sharp, scanning him from his toes to the top of his head. He felt the weight of your gaze, the way you flattened your ears slightly in a gesture of territorial suspicion.

He realized he was staring. He realized he looked like a fool. But he couldn't help it. There was a fire in you that he had never encountered in the jungle. You were daring, strong, and clearly impulsive—everything the stories said about the Kekunan, but the stories hadn't mentioned how the wind would look in your hair.

He rose his hand, his fingers trembling just a fraction, and extended them to you. “Oel ngati kameie,” he said, his voice a little rougher than usual.

Gracefully, and without breaking eye contact, you wordlessly returned his greeting. Your silence was a challenge.

“Your move just now—it was amazing!” Neteyam shouted, his smile breaking through his nervousness. It was a bright, warm smile, the kind that usually made people trust him instantly. “The way you held the line through the roll... I have never seen an ikran move that way.”

You paced a small circle around him, your tail lashing behind you. You were like a forest cat deciding whether to play with a stray pup or drive it off a cliff.

“Fyape syaw fko ngar?” you quipped. Your voice was melodic but carried the sharp edge of the high-altitude winds. Before he could even draw breath to answer, you stepped into his personal space, your chin tilting up as if you were looking down on him despite the fact that he was taller. “Nga za’u ftu peseng?”

Neteyam felt a rush of heat to his face. He quickly stood his ground, though your presence was overwhelming—the scent of ozone, damp earth, and woodsmoke clinging to you. Remembering not all na’vi speak english he corrected himself and the words began to blend back for him. He placed his hand on his chest, his posture straightening as he reclaimed his dignity.

“I am Neteyam te Suli Jake’itan,” he spoke, his voice ringing with the quiet pride of his lineage.

He watched your eyes. He saw the flicker of recognition, the way your pupils dilated slightly at the mention of his father. He waited for the awe or the bowing that usually followed. But you were Kekunan. You didn't bow to legends; you challenged them.

You looked him up and down one more time, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. Your tail gave one final, decisive swish.

“A son of the Omatikaya,” you said, your voice dropping to a purr that sent a shiver down his spine. “Tell me, Neteyam... does the forest feel very small once you’ve seen how we live up here?”

Neteyam looked out at the horizon, at the endless expanse of the Hallelujah Mountains, and then back at the girl in the red feathers who looked like she owned the sun.

“It does now,” he admitted softly.

The silence that followed was thick with the sound of the wind and the distant cry of other banshees. You studied him, seeing the way his eyes lingered on the orange paint on your shoulders. Most forest Na'vi found the Kekunan's love for bright colors to be "boisterous" or distracting, but Neteyam looked at you with something that felt like reverence.

You liked the way he didn't look away. You liked that he was a rider, too—you could tell by the calluses on his hands and his worn visor.

"You are a long way from home, son of Toruk Makto," you said, turning back toward your arrow. You pulled it from the tree with a sharp tug, the fruit sliding off and tumbling into the fog below. "The currents around these peaks are treacherous for those who do not know them. They can peel a weak rider from their saddle before they can even scream."

Neteyam followed you, his eyes fixed on the sway of your hips and the confident stride of your walk. "I am not a weak rider," he said, a hint of playful defiance entering his tone. "And I'm a fast learner."

You turned back to him, your curls obscuring half your face. You reached up, tucking a stray lock behind your ear, and saw him track the movement. A small, wicked idea began to form in your mind.

"Is that so?" you challenged. "Then perhaps you should see if you can find your way back to your clan before the sun dips. Or..." You vaulted onto Ni’muna’s back in one fluid motion, the orange and red feathers of your top flared like a warning. "You could try to keep up with me."

Neteyam didn't hesitate. He let out a sharp whistle, and his own ikran, a sleek forest-green beast, emerged from the mists below, banking hard to land beside yours.

"Lead the way, Kekunan," he said, his eyes bright with a challenge of his own.

You laughed, a wild, free sound that echoed through the canyons. “I am y/n te Kenat Okéyi’ite.” you spoke and with a sharp kick, you and Ni’muna dived back into the clouds, a streak of orange and red against the endless blue, with the boy of the Omatikaya racing to catch the fire you left behind.

The days that followed were marked by a new kind of rhythm, one that had nothing to do with the heavy drums of the Kekunan council fires or the structured patrols of the Omatikaya. It was a secret cadence, timed to the movement of the sun as it began its slow descent toward the horizon.

Every morning, you moved with a blurred efficiency that left your family blinking in surprise. You gathered the medicinal mosses from the cliff faces, assisted with the weaving of new ikran harnesses, and completed your martial drills with a fierce intensity that made your brother joke that you were preparing for a second Great War.

Your father, the Olo’eyktan, watched you with a curious tilt of his head, noticing the way his daughter seemed to be vibrating with an unseen energy, but as long as your duties were fulfilled, he granted you the freedom the sky-born so cherished.

And so, every afternoon, you would whistle for Ni’muna. The two of you became a streak of fire against the sky, heading toward that same solitary spire where the clouds parted just right.

You weren't the only one.

Neteyam, the golden son of the Omatikaya, was discovering that his "long-range patrols" were becoming increasingly focused on one specific coordinate in the Hallelujah Mountains. He pushed his ikran harder, his heart leaping every time he saw a flash of orange and crimson through the mist. He’d arrive with his lungs burning from the high-altitude air, a crooked, breathless smile on his face as he found you already there, usually performing some death-defying feat just to see if he was watching.

On this particular afternoon, the air was unusually still, heavy with the golden light of a Pandoran sunset. You had arrived early, spreading out a newly knitted cover you had spent your nights working on. It was a masterpiece of your craft—thick, durable fibers dyed in shades of neon pink, solar yellow, and deep sunset orange. It was so bright it almost seemed to emit its own light, a vibrant stain against the ancient, gray stone of the mountain peak.

You lay back on the cover, your wild, curls fanned out beneath you like a dark halo. You had reapplied your war paint today, the orange streaks across your cheekbones and collarbones glowing in the fading light. Your new feathered top ruffled slightly in the breeze, the soft down tickling your skin.

Then, you heard it. The familiar, rhythmic hiss-clap of wings beating against the thin air.

You didn't move. You didn't even open your eyes, though your ears swiveled toward the sound, twitching as the heavy thud of an ikran landing vibrated through the rock beneath you. You heard the soft thump of feet hitting the ground, followed by the familiar, steady stride of the forest boy.

“Watching the sunset?” Neteyam quipped.

His voice was closer than you expected. You opened your eyes to find him standing over you, his silhouette framed by the colossal, glowing orb of Polyphemus in the distance. He looked down at you with those curious, amber eyes—the kind of look that always made you feel like he was trying to memorize the exact pattern of your stripes. He looked tired, his own riding gear dusted with the grime of a long day’s work, but his smile was as bright as ever.

“Yes,” you spoke, your voice smooth and low, lacking the sharp defensive edge it had possessed the first day you met. “Join me. I never noticed how quickly it went by until now.”

You reached out, your hand—still stained with a bit of orange clay—patting the empty space of the vibrant cover beside you.

Neteyam hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering from your face to the empty spot, before he sank down. He leaned back on his hands at first, watching the way the sky began to bleed into deep purples and bruised oranges. Then, following your lead, he eased himself down until he was lying flat beside you.

The silence between you wasn't empty; it was full of the sound of Ni’muna and his ikran grooming each other a few yards away, and the low hum of the mountain's magnetic fields.

“My mother is starting to wonder why I come back with mountain mist in my hair every night,” Neteyam admitted softly, his head turning on the cover to look at you. From this close, he could see the way your eyelashes caught the golden light. He found himself mesmerized by the way you looked in repose—still fierce, but with the sharp edges softened by the twilight.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips. “And what do you tell her? That you are being schooled in the art of flight by a girl who lives in the clouds?”

Neteyam chuckled, a soft sound that vibrated in the small space between you. “I tell her I am studying the terrain. It is not a lie. I have learned more about these mountains in the last seven days than I have in my entire life.”

He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from the edge of your vibrant cover, before he grew bold enough to let his hand rest near yours. “The Omatikaya see the beauty in the roots and the shadows. But you... you Kekunan... you see the beauty in the heights that should be terrifying. I’m beginning to understand why.”

You watched his hand, then looked back into his eyes. For the first time, you didn't feel the need to boast or to prove your status as the Olo’eyktan’s daughter. You felt a strange, grounding warmth—a feeling that was entirely new to a girl who had spent her whole life trying to leave the ground behind.

“The sky doesn't judge you, Neteyam,” you whispered, your tail giving a soft, rhythmic flick against the fabric of the mat. “It only asks if you are brave enough to stay in it. i am starting to believe that you just might be.”

Neteyam shifted, his shoulder brushing against yours, and for a long moment, you simply watched the world turn gold, together.

Eventually the sky began to deepen into a bruised purple, the bioluminescence of the distant forest floor beginning to wake up like a thousand fallen stars.

Lying there, side by side on the vibrant orange and yellow cover, the world felt suspended. The high-altitude winds that usually whipped through the peaks had died down to a gentle sigh, as if the moon itself was holding its breath.

Neteyam shifted, turning onto his side to prop his head up on his hand. He watched the way the fading light played across the orange streaks on your skin.

He looked like he wanted to say something, his brow furrowing in that serious, thoughtful way he had—the "future leader" look that he couldn't quite shake off even when he was relaxing.

"The mountains are beautiful," he began, his voice dropping into a low, resonant tone. "But they are only half of Pandora. You spend all your time looking down at the fog, waiting to dive through it. You rarely walk beneath the canopy."

You turned your head toward him, a playful, skeptical glint in your golden eyes. "And why should I? The ground is slow. It is full of shadows and tangled roots that trip you. Up here, there is nothing to stop you."

Neteyam smiled, but there was a challenge in it this time. "The shadows are where the best stories are. And the best game." He sat up slightly, gesturing toward the vast, dark expanse of the jungle far below.

"The Omatikaya have moved to High Camp now. The old hunting grounds near the ruins of the Hometree... they are quiet. The Sky People stay away from the deep bush there. We would have the area all to ourselves."

He looked back at you, his eyes locking onto yours. "Let me take you hunting. On the ground. No ikran, no diving from a thousand meters. Just the forest floor, the bow, and the heartbeat of the woods."

You let out a short, melodic laugh, sitting up and crossing your legs. Your red feathered top rustled, and you tossed your wind-swept curls back with a haughty flick of your head. "You want to teach me how to hunt, forest boy? I have been a hunter since I was small enough to climb into Ni’muna’s saddle. I can hit a fkew fruit while spinning in a terminal dive. My aim is truer than any warrior in my clan."

You gestured to the bow resting near your mat, your chin tilting up in that classic strut of confidence. "I am an excellent hunter."

Neteyam’s grin widened, becoming something a bit more mischievous. He didn't look intimidated by your boast; in fact, he looked like he had been waiting for you to say exactly that.

"Oh, I know you’re a good hunter," he said, his voice trailing off as he let out a soft snort of amusement. He leaned in a little closer, his amber eyes dancing with light. "From the back of your ikran."

He let the comment hang in the air for a second, watching your ears twitch in indignation.

"It’s easy to hit a target when you have the entire sky to maneuver in," he continued, his tone teasing. "But on the ground? In the thick brush where you cannot see ten paces ahead of you? Where you have to move without a single leaf whispering against your skin? That is a different dance. There, your ikran cannot save you if you miss your mark."

You bristled, your tail lashing behind you and striking the bright fabric of the cover with a sharp thud. "I can move silently. We are not clumsy, Neteyam."

"I didn't say you were clumsy," he replied softly, his gaze softening as he took in your fierce expression. "I’m saying you’re a daughter of the sky. I want to see if you can handle being a daughter of the earth, too."

He stood up, offering his hand to you—the same hand that had greeted you with respect on the first day. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the world in a soft, blue twilight.

"Tomorrow," he said. "Meet me at the base of the weeping spires at dawn. Leave Ni’muna at the high ledge. We walk."

You looked at his hand, then up at his face. The arrogance within you fought with a sudden, sharp curiosity. You wanted to prove him wrong—to show him that you could master his world just as easily as you mastered yours. But more than that, you realized you weren't ready for these afternoons to end.

You placed your hand in his, your orange-painted skin a sharp contrast against his deep blue palm. Your grip was firm, a silent acceptance of the wager.

"Do not cry when I outrun you through your own trees, Neteyam te Suli," you warned, though the corners of your mouth were twitching with a hidden smile.

He squeezed your hand gently before letting go. "We shall see, sky-girl. We shall see."

You didn't give him the satisfaction of a long goodbye. With a sharp whistle, you urged Ni’muna toward the ledge. But as you reached the precipice, you couldn't resist one last display. Instead of taking flight normally, you stood up in the stirrups and leaned forward, falling off the edge of the cliff into a dead-weight dive.

For a second, you were just a blur of red and blue plummeting through the dark. Then, with a roar that shook the stone, Ni’muna dived after you. She snatched you out of the air with her massive talons, tossing you upward with practiced precision. You flipped in the empty space of the abyss, the wind roaring in your ears, before slamming back down perfectly into the saddle.

You banked a hard turn, looking back over your shoulder to see Neteyam standing at the very edge of the rock, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and absolute awe. You offered him a sharp, two-fingered wave before vanishing into the mist.

Neteyam watched the spot where you had disappeared for a long time, the image of your form burned into his mind.

“Always showing off,” he murmured to the empty air, a helpless, lopsided smile playing on his lips.

He whistled for his own ikran, mounting with a far less dramatic take-off. His mind was a chaotic swirl of orange paint, red feathers, and the way your golden eyes had challenged him. By the time he reached the high-altitude forest where the Omatikaya had established High Camp, the moon was high, and his focus was entirely elsewhere.

He landed on the ikran platforms, his movements uncharacteristically sluggish as he unmade the tsaheylu. He was still picturing the way you had looked lying on that bright cover, the sunset turning your skin into glowing amber.

"Neteyam!"

The sharp bark of his father’s voice snapped him back to reality. He winced, turning to see Jake and Neytiri standing near the communal fire. His father looked weary, his arms crossed over his chest, while his mother stood with a hand on her hip, her golden eyes narrowed in a way that suggested she had been waiting for a long time.

"Sir," Neteyam said, quickly lifting his riding visor and straightening his posture.

"I asked you to watch Tuk today," Jake said, his voice flat with disappointment. "Mo'at was stuck with her all evening while she was trying to prepare the medicinal tinctures. She’s five, Neteyam. She can’t be left to wander alone."

Neteyam felt a sinkhole open in his stomach. He had completely forgotten. "I’m sorry, sir. It... it must have really slipped my mind this time. I was out on the ridge and lost track of the shadows."

Jake sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Slipped your mind? That’s the third time this week you’ve missed a rotation or a chore, boy. You're the eldest. You’re supposed to be the one I don't have to worry about."

"I know. It won't happen again," Neteyam promised, but his ears swiveled toward his mother.

Neytiri hadn't said a word, but she was watching him with a terrifyingly perceptive intensity. She stepped forward, her tail flicking with a slow, deliberate curiosity. She reached out, grabbing her son’s hand between her own, turning his palm up.

"Ma Itan... we are a little worried for you," Neytiri spoke, her voice softer than Jake's but carrying a different kind of weight. "Your head has been in the clouds. These are small mistakes, yes, but they are so unlike you. You have always been most diligent."

She ran a thumb over his palm, her eyes darting to the faint, dried smudge of orange clay near his thumb—a color that didn't belong to the forest or the Omatikaya.

"And this especially is not the time," Jake added, pacing a short line. "With the Sky People coming after us as aggressively as they are now, we need every scout focused. We need you here, Neteyam. Not drifting off into the mountains for hours on end."

Neteyam stood there, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him—a tell-tale sign of his inner agitation. He thought of the way you laughed, the way you moved with that predatory strut, and the challenge for tomorrow's hunt. He felt like he was living in two worlds at once, and the one with you was becoming much brighter than the one under the canopy.

He gently patted his mother’s hand before she dropped his. He couldn't meet her eyes for a second, fearing she’d see your name written in his pupils.

"I am very sorry," he said, his voice regaining some of its formal steadiness. "I am not sure what has gotten into me lately. The altitude, perhaps. I will do better. I'll check in with Mo'at and Tuk now."

"See that you do," Jake said, turning back toward the command center.

Neytiri, however, lingered. She watched her son walk away, noticing the way his step was a little lighter than it should be for someone who had just been scolded. She looked down at her own hand, sensing the faint trace of that strange, mountain-clay scent.

A small, knowing smile touched her lips, though it was tinged with the protective shadow of a mother’s intuition. She knew that look. It was the look of someone who had found something more captivating than duty.

"The clouds," she whispered to herself, glancing up toward the darkened peaks of the Hallelujah Mountains. "Or someone who lives among them."

The morning mist was a thick, silver curtain that clung to the damp bark of the Weeping Spires. Down here, the air was heavy with the scent of wet earth, blooming night-flowers, and the low, hummed vibrations of the forest floor. It was a world of muffled sounds—a sharp contrast to the whistling gales and screaming banshees of your home.

You had arrived early, grounding Ni’muna on a high, moss-covered shelf several hundred meters up. You’d patted her snout, whispering for her to stay hidden, before beginning the long, athletic descent on foot.

To meet Neteyam on his own turf, you had stripped away the boisterous identity of the Kekunan girl. Gone were the screaming oranges and the vibrant reds. Instead, you had dressed in muted tones—a wrap of deep forest green and a loincloth of slate blue that helped you blend into the shadows of the massive ferns.

More notably, your skin was clean. You had scrubbed away the aggressive orange clay streaks, leaving your sapphire skin bare. For the first time, the natural bioluminescent patterns of your body were fully visible—intricate, shimmering dots that traced the elegant curve of your spine and the slope of your shoulders like a map of the stars.

Even your hair was different. Your riding visor had been tossed aside in favor of a simple woven headband that kept your curls pulled back from your face, exposing the sharp, inquisitive line of your jaw.

You heard him before you saw him. The soft, rhythmic thud-thud of a runner who knew how to distribute his weight. You perched yourself on a low-hanging branch of a giant root, your tail coiled tightly around the wood for balance.

Neteyam rounded the bend of a massive tree trunk, moving with a fluid, easy pace. He slowed as he reached the clearing, his eyes scanning the greenery. He looked focused, his bow held loosely in one hand, but the second his gaze landed on you, he stopped dead.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. His amber eyes traveled over you, taking in the transformation. Without the bright paint and the visor, you looked less like a beautiful mountain spirit and more like... a beautiful girl. He noticed the way your natural markings glowed faintly in the dim forest light, and how the headband made your eyes seem even larger, more piercing.

"You look..." He started, then cleared his throat, a rare blush creeping up his neck. "You look like you belong down here."

You dropped from the branch, landing silently on the balls of your feet. Even in the shadows, you kept that strut—hips swaying, shoulders back, a natural predator’s grace. "Do not get used to it, forest boy. I only wore these colors so I wouldn't have to hear you complain that my bright feathers were scaring away your prey."

Neteyam stepped closer, his gaze still lingering on the patterns on your shoulders. He seemed momentarily mesmerized by the sight of you without your "warrior's mask" of paint. "It’s not just the colors," he murmured, his voice softening. "I can finally see your face."

You felt a prickle of heat at the back of your neck. To hide it, you reached back and checked the tension of your bowstring. "Less talking, more hunting. The sun is climbing, and you promised to show me what makes a 'daughter of the earth' so special."

Neteyam’s lopsided smile returned, though it felt more intimate this time. "Right. Follow me. And try to keep your feet light—the ground has ears."

As he turned to lead the way into the deep brush, he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder. He had spent all night being scolded for having his head in the clouds, but standing here in the quiet heart of the forest, watching the way your tail flicked with anticipation, he realized the danger wasn't in the clouds at all.

The danger was right here, walking beside him.

The forest was a cathedral of filtered light and heavy silence. To you, it felt claustrophobic; the air didn't move the way it did at the peaks, and every step felt like an intrusion on the earth. Neteyam moved like a ghost, his deep blue skin blending into the shadows of the massive ferns.

He kept glancing back, not to check if you were keeping up—you were a good hunter, your athleticism was never in question—but to watch the way you navigated this new terrain.

Without your visor and bright paint, you felt exposed, but there was a strange freedom in it. The headband kept your curls from your eyes, allowing you to see the intricate textures of the moss and the way the light caught the bioluminescent veins of the leaves.

"There," Neteyam whispered, his hand going flat in the air to signal a stop.

Through a gap in the oversized fan-foliage, a hexapede was grazing. It was a beautiful creature, its fan-like ears twitching as it dipped its head to feed. It was calm, unaware of the two predators watching from the brush.

Neteyam looked at you, a challenge in his eyes. He gestured to your bow, stepping back to give you the shot. He wanted to see the sky-girl handle the ground.

You notched an arrow, your muscles coiling. Your heart hammered—not with fear, but with the frustration of the stillness. Usually, when you hunted, you were screaming through the air at eighty kilometers an hour, accounting for wind resistance, Ni’muna’s wing-beat, and the frantic escape of your prey. Here, everything was too quiet. Too steady.

You drew the string back, your eyes locked on the hexapede’s vital spot behind the shoulder. You released.

The arrow whistled through the air, but just as it flew, your body instinctively twitched as if to compensate for a sudden updraft that wasn't there. The shaft struck the hexapede’s flank—a solid hit, but not a kill shot. The creature let out a pained cry and bolted.

"shit!" you hissed, reaching for another arrow, but Neteyam was already a blur of motion.

He didn't leap or shout. He simply flowed forward, his bow rising in one fluid movement. He tracked the animal through the dense brush with a terrifyingly calm precision.

He released. His arrow found the mark, piercing the hexapede’s heart and dropping it instantly. It was the "clean kill" of a forest hunter.

You reached the animal first, looking down at your misplaced arrow and then at his. You felt the hot sting of pride in your cheeks. "The ground moved," you muttered, though you knew it hadn't.

Neteyam knelt beside the animal, offering a prayer to Eywa for its spirit. When he finished, he looked up at you, his expression soft rather than mocking. "You accounted for the wind, didn't you? You hunted like you were still on Ni’muna."

"It is how I have always hunted," you snapped, but your tail gave a frustrated flick.

He stood up, stepping into your space. "It was a good shot for a rider. But here..." he stepped even closer, his hand reaching out to steady your shoulder. "Here, you only have to trust your own feet."

Despite your miss, the excitement of the chase took over. You let out a small, sharp whoop of victory—the high-pitched cry of the Kekunan—and began to laugh at the sheer absurdity of your error. "I suppose I am a little out of my element."

Neteyam laughed with you, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the side of your neck. The humor faded, replaced by an intensity that made the forest around you vanish. "I don't think you're out of your element anywhere," he whispered.

Not far away, hidden behind a curtain of weeping vines, Neytiri froze. She had been collecting rare medicinal fungi for Mo’at, her basket half-full. The high-pitched, melodic whoop had startled her—it wasn't an Omatikaya cry.

She moved with the silence of a shadow, parting the leaves just enough to peek into the clearing.

Her breath caught. She saw her son, his back to her, standing dangerously close to a girl she didn't recognize. This wasn't the girl from his childhood. This girl had the lean, long-limbed build of the mountain clans, her skin bare of paint, her natural star-map patterns glowing softly in the shade.

Neytiri watched as Neteyam leaned in. He spoke words that were lost to the rustle of the leaves, but the intent was clear. He reached out, his fingers tangling slightly in your dark curls, and gently pulled your head toward his.

You stiffened at first. Your ears flickered back in surprise, and your tail went rigid behind you, the tip twitching with a sudden spike of nerves. But as his forehead touched yours—a connection of a deep, personal confession—you melted. Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands finding the steady muscles of his chest, and you leaned into him, accepting the silent vow he was making.

Neytiri stayed perfectly still. She saw the way your tails began to entwine instinctively, the way her son’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks. She saw the children of two different worlds finding a middle ground that her husband had once found with her.

She didn't interfere. She didn't let them know she was there. A small, bittersweet smile touched her lips. She understood now why the "mist was in his hair" and why his head was in the clouds.

She slowly backed away, disappearing into the greenery as silently as she had come, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet heart of the world.

The moons of Pandora turned, and the secret path between the High Camp and the floating spires became a well-worn trail for two pairs of feet. What started as a daring wager had shifted into something deeper—a bridge between the canopy and the clouds.

It happened on a day when the mist was thick enough to hide a leonopteryx. Neteyam had led you to a secluded ledge just below the Omatikaya’s main camp. He looked more nervous than he had been when facing down the hexapede.

"Just... be patient with them," he whispered, adjusted his loincloth.

"I am a tsakarem, Neteyam. I know how to handle children," you teased, though your tail gave a nervous flick.

When the siblings emerged from the brush, the reaction was instantaneous. Tuk, a blur of blue energy, let out a gasp so loud it echoed. "She’s so bright!" she squealed, running up to you. She didn't hesitate, her small hands reaching out to touch the vibrant purple weaving of your new top. "And your hair is so curly! Is it because of the wind?"

Kiri followed at a more measured pace, her eyes wide and luminous. She didn't look at your clothes; she looked at the way you stood, sensing the rhythm of the mountain air still clinging to your skin. "You smell like the high places," she said softly, a smile of genuine wonder spreading across her face. "Like ozone and cold stone."

Lo’ak, however, stayed back, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at Neteyam, then at you, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "So... this is where you’ve been," he drawled, his voice dripping with playful malice. "And here I thought you were actually becoming a better scout. Turns out you were just chasing a bird-girl."

"Lo’ak, shut up," Neteyam muttered, his ears burning a deep violet, but he couldn't hide the pride in his eyes as Tuk began to climb your leg like a small prolemuris.

"Higher! Higher, Ni’muna!" Tuk’s voice was a high-pitched gale of laughter.

You had strapped the youngest Suli into a modified tandem harness. For a child of the forest, the heights should have been terrifying, but Tuk had her father’s blood. You took her on a tour—not the steady, horizontal flight of the Omatikaya, but the vertical, spiraling dance of your people.

You banked Ni’muna hard, skimming the underside of a floating island where the glowing moss hung like chandeliers.

"Look down, Tuk!" you shouted over the wind.

The little girl leaned over the edge of the saddle, her eyes reflecting the vast, green world below. She wasn't screaming in fear; she was reaching out as if she could catch the clouds in her palms. You felt a surge of affection for the girl. She had a strong spirit —fearless and full of wonder. When you finally landed, her hair was a wild nest and her eyes were glowing. She hugged your waist so hard you nearly lost your breath. "I want to live in the sky forever," she whispered.

Later that evening, while the boys were off competing in a target-shooting contest, you sat with Kiri on a flat rock overlooking the valley. You were showing her how to repair a frayed strand of an ikran harness.

"Is it true?" Kiri asked, her voice hushed. "That your clan is born from the first rider?"

"Taronyu," you confirmed, your fingers moving with practiced grace. "In our clan, the bond with our ikran isn't just for hunting or war. It is a conversation that never ends. When I sleep, I sometimes feel Ni’muna’s dreams—the sensation of falling, the taste of raw meat, the itch of a new feather. We are taught to listen to their heartbeat before we even learn to track a hexapede."

Kiri touched the leather harness, her expression distant. "I feel the forest like that," she whispered. "Like it’s a heartbeat under my feet."

"Then you are far more touched by eywa than you know," you said, pressing your shoulder against hers. "she’s blessed us with the ability hear the heartbeat of the wind."

The peace was shattered a week later. You and Neteyam were sitting at the edge of the "meeting ledge," sharing a piece of fruit, when the air suddenly grew heavy.

Ni’muna let out a sharp, warning squawk. You stood up, reaching for your bow, but relaxed when a tall, muscular Na’vi stepped out of the fog. He wore the boisterous, sun-bright yellows of your clan, his skin painted with aggressive black stripes.

It was your elder brother, Ka’ru.

"So," Ka’ru boomed, his voice echoing off the rocks. "little sister has a shadow."

Neteyam stood up quickly, his hand moving toward his knife before he realized who it was. He straightened his shoulders, meeting your brother’s intimidating gaze with the steady composure he was known for.

"Ka’ru, stop it," you hissed, stepping between them.

"I have been following you for three days," Ka’ru ignored you, stepping into Neteyam’s personal space. He was a head taller and much broader. He looked the Omatikaya heir up and down, evaluating every muscle. "You are the son of the Toruk Makto. I see the resemblance. But can you fly, or do you just fall gracefully?"

"I hold my own," Neteyam replied, his voice calm but firm.

Ka’ru let out a short, barking laugh. He didn't offer a hand. Instead, he lunged forward—not to strike, but to grab. He seized Neteyam’s right forearm in a crushing grip.

Neteyam didn't flinch. Understanding the gesture instantly, he reached out and clamped his own hand around Ka’ru’s forearm, the two of them locked in the traditional Kekunan greeting—a test of strength and a sign of mutual respect. They stood there for a long beat, muscles tensed, eyes locked.

Ka’ru gave a single, sharp nod, his grip tightening once more before he let go.

"He has a good grip, sister," Ka’ru said, turning to you with a wicked grin. "His bones aren't made of hollow bird-feathers after all." He turned back to Neteyam, his expression turning serious. "Keep her safe, forest boy. Or I will find you, and there is nowhere in the sky you can hide from me."

Neteyam didn't back down. He inclined his head, a respectful but undaunted smile on his face. "I think she’s the one keeping me safe, but I hear you."

As Ka’ru whistled for his ikran and dived back into the mist, Neteyam let out a long, shaky breath, rubbing his sore forearm. "Your family is... intense."

"We are known for our boldness," you laughed, pulling him back down toward the mat. "Did you expect anything less?"

The evening air at High Camp was heavy with the scent of roasted meat and the sweet, fermented nectar the Omatikaya gathered from the deep-forest blossoms. The Suli family sat gathered around their central hearth, the fire casting long, flickering shadows against the stone walls of the cavern. It was a rare moment of peace in a time of growing shadows, but for Neteyam, the silence felt heavy.

His mind was leagues away, floating among the mist-shrouded peaks where a girl with wild curls and orange-streaked skin was likely preparing for the night. He was physically there, his fingers absentmindedly tearing at a piece of fruit, but his spirit was soaring somewhere near the Hallelujah Mountains.

Neytiri leaned forward, her golden eyes reflecting the hearth-fire. She watched her eldest son with a mother’s quiet, predatory scrutiny. She had seen the change in him—the way his gaze drifted toward the horizon even during tactical briefings, the way he moved with a new, restless energy that seemed to vibrate beneath his skin.

"Neteyam," she began, her voice melodic but carrying the weight of tradition. "You have been a hunter of the people for many moons now. You have walked the path of the Iknimaya. You have proven your heart to the forest and your loyalty to your people."

Neteyam snapped back to the present, his ears twitching forward. "Yes, Sa'nok?"

"It is time you think of the future of our clan," Neytiri continued, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She wasn't blind; she had seen the mountain clay on his skin, but as a mother and a leader, she had to test the waters. "A leader must have a mate to ground him. To share his burden when the sky grows dark. There are many fine daughters in the Omatikaya who look at you with eyes of hope."

Jake looked up from the spear-tip he was sharpening, nodding in agreement. "She’s right, son. You’re the future Olo’eyktan. You need someone strong by your side. What about Sa'eyla? Her father is one of our best warriors. She’s quick, she’s smart, and she’s made it pretty clear she’s interested in you. I saw her trying to help you with your harness yesterday— she’d also make a fine tsahìk."

Neteyam felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. The thought of Sa'eyla—or any forest-born girl—felt like a tether pulling him away from the sky. Sa'eyla was kind, yes, but she didn't smell of ozone and mountain mist. She didn't have a laugh that sounded like a challenge to the wind.

Before he could find the words to deflect, Kiri spoke up. She was lounging against a mossy rock, her eyes half-closed as she tuned into the vibrations of the earth. "What about Y/N te kenat?"

The name hung in the air like a lightning strike.

Jake paused, his bow-stringer stilled in his hands. He furrowed his brow, looking at his daughter. "The Tsakarem of the Kekunan? The Olo’eyktan’s daughter?" He let out a low whistle, a mix of respect and concern. "She’s a hell of a rider, that’s for sure. I remember her father from th War. But babygirl, she’s from a different world. The Kekunan are... impulsive. They don't take to the forest life easily."

Jake looked back at Neteyam, his expression turning serious. "And besides... I’ve heard talk from the scouts who trade near the northern cliffs. They say she’s already being courted back at her own camp. A young hunter named Tswaya. Apparently, he’s been bringing her the best kills for weeks. Her father favors him. He’s a 'sky-born' through and through."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Neteyam’s ears flattened instantly against his skull. His tail, usually a rhythmic pendulum of calm, went deathly rigid behind him. The image of another man—a Kekunan who flew like you, who shared your air, who spoke your dialect without an accent—seared through his mind like dragon-fire.

"Tswaya?" Neteyam’s voice was low, vibrating with a sudden, sharp edge that made Lo'ak look up in surprise.

"Yeah, that’s the name," Jake said, oblivious to the storm brewing in his son. "He’s a strong candidate for their next lead hunter. It makes sense for their clan to keep the lineage strong. Strategic, you know?"

Neteyam stood up so abruptly his stool nearly toppled over. The silence that followed was deafening. Even Tuk stopped chewing, her large eyes darting between her brother and her parents.

"I... I am not hungry," Neteyam spoke, the words forced through a tight jaw. "Excuse me. I need to check on my ikran."

"Neteyam, wait—" Neytiri started, but he was already gone, a shadow disappearing into the moonlit woods with a speed that bordered on reckless.

He didn't just fly; he pushed his ikran to the point of exhaustion. The wind roared past him, but it couldn't drown out the roar in his blood. Every beat of his ikran's wings felt like his own heart hammering against his ribs. Tswaya. The name tasted like ash.

By the time he reached your usual meeting spot—a secluded, flat-topped peak hidden by a permanent veil of mist—his lungs were burning from the thin, cold air.

You were there, sitting on your vibrant, neon-colored cover. You had been mending a leather strap by the light of a small bioluminescent lantern, the soft blue glow reflecting off your bare, star-mapped skin and the beaded halter top that left almost nothing covered didn’t go unnoticed. You looked up as he landed, a smile of greeting starting to form on your lips, but it died the moment you saw his face.

Neteyam didn't wait for a greeting. He dismounted before his ikran had even fully settled, his stride predatory and heavy as he marched toward you. the slinging of his beaded braids adding to it.

"Who is Tswaya?" he demanded, his voice echoing off the stone pillars.

You blinked, startled by the sheer heat radiating from him. You stood up, the leather strap falling from your lap. "What? Tswaya is... he is a hunter of my clan. Why are you—"

"My father says he is courting you," Neteyam interrupted, stepping into your space. He was so close you could feel the heat coming off his body, see the way his pupils were dilated with possessive rage. "He says he brings you kills. He says your father favors him. You told me he wasn't a threat. You told me there was no one else."

The jealousy in him was a living thing, raw and jagged. It was the first time you had seen the future olo’eyktan,the calm warrior, truly lose his composure. It was a side of him that was all Jake Suli—the human-born fire—mixed with the fierce territoriality of the Na'vi.

"Neteyam, listen to me," you said, reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinched back at first, his eyes searching yours for a lie, but you stepped closer, refusing to let him retreat. "Tswaya is a fool who chases my tail. Yes, he brings meat to my father's hearth. Yes, my father thinks he is a strong rider because he is loud and boastful. But I have never accepted a single gift from him. Every piece of meat he brings, I give to the elders. I have never shared those feelings. To me, he is nothing but a brother of the clan. He is a child playing at being a man."

You took another step, placing your hands flat against his chest. You could feel his heart thudding like a trapped bird. "He is not you, Neteyam. He does not know the way I breathe. He does not know the way the wind feels at the edge of the world. Only you and I know that."

Neteyam’s breathing began to slow, the rigid line of his shoulders softening just a fraction. He looked at you—truly looked at you—in the soft blue light. He saw the bare skin of your shoulders, the intricate star-patterns of your markings, and the way your eyes held nothing but a fierce, unwavering truth.

"I cannot lose you," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I spent all dinner hearing about forest girls and 'proper matches.' My father talked about strategy and lineage. But none of them are you. I don't want to just meet you in the mist anymore. I don't want to worry about who is bringing meat to your father's fire."

He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to an intimate, gravelly depth. He reached out, his fingers tangling in your curls, pulling you slightly closer until your foreheads were almost touching.

"I want to be closer to you," he said. "As close as two souls can be. I want the clans to know you are mine, and I am yours. No more secrets. No more 'courting' from others."

He looked deep into your eyes, his gaze searching for any hint of hesitation. "Are you ready? To mate with me? To choose me before Eywa and leave the world of 'what ifs' behind?"

The breath left your lungs. In the almost every na’vi culture, mating was a sacred, permanent bond—a promise that outlasted the wind and the stone. To choose a forest-born boy was to bridge two worlds forever, to potentially face the judgment of your clan. But as you looked at Neteyam—the boy who had learned to dance in the sky just to see you, who had challenged your arrogance and earned your heart—there was no doubt.

"I have been ready since the day I saw you standing on my mountain," you whispered. "I choose you, Neteyam te Suli."

The Tree of Voices in the Hallelujah Mountains was a place of ancient, terrifying power. Unlike the grand, sprawling trees of the forest floor, this one was a marvel of vertical life. It clung to the side of a massive floating spire, its glowing white tendrils cascading down like a waterfall of starlight into the bottomless fog below.

You and Neteyam arrived as the moons reached their zenith, the light of Polyphemus casting a giant, ghostly shadow across the peaks. The silence here was holy. The only sound was the faint, melodic chiming of the tree’s glowing fibers as they brushed against one another in the mountain breeze.

Neteyam led you to the very center of the glow, where the roots of the tree drank from the moisture of the clouds. He turned to face you, his expression one of profound, hushed reverence. He reached back, uncoiling his long, dark braid, the neural tendrils at the end glowing with a faint, expectant light. You did the same, your wild curls falling free over your shoulders.

"Under the eyes of the ancestors," Neteyam murmured, his voice a part of the wind.

You reached out, taking the end of his neural queue in your hand, while he took yours. The air seemed to vibrate with anticipation, the very atoms of the mountain hummed.

"I see you, Neteyam," you whispered.

"I see you, Y/N." The tickles of wood sprites began, Eywa herself blessing the union. As the neural tendrils connected, the world didn't just change—it disappeared.

The tsahaeylu was an explosion of light and feeling. It wasn't just a physical sensation; it was an inundation of the soul. You were suddenly inside his mind, feeling the weight of the forest floor, the smell of rain on hot leaves, and the crushing pressure of being the eldest son of a legend. You felt his love for Tuk, his protective frustration with Lo'ak, and the moment he first saw you—the way his heart had skipped a beat when you dived off that cliff.

And he was inside you. He felt the cold, sharp bite of the high-altitude air. He felt the exhilaration of the first time you bonded with Ni’muna. He felt the pride you took in your bright colors and the loneliness of being the chieftain's daughter who never quite felt like she fit the mold.

The link deepened, binding your nervous systems until your heartbeats synchronized into a single, thudding rhythm. The bioluminescent dots on your skin flared in unison with his, a pulsing, rhythmic glow that lit up the white tendrils of the tree around you.

In that moment, there was no Omatikaya and no Kekunan. There was only the link. You felt his vow—not spoken in words, but in the raw data of his soul. A promise to protect you, to fly with you, to bridge the gap between the trees and the stars. You mirrored it back, your spirits intertwining as tightly as your braids.

As you leaned in, your foreheads pressing together in the final, sacred seal of the bond, the whispers of the tree seemed to swell into a song of approval. The ancestors were watching, their voices a soft, shimmering static in the back of your shared consciousness.

You were no longer just two people. You were a single entity, a union of earth and sky.

When you finally pulled apart, hours later—or perhaps only seconds, as time had no meaning in the link—the world looked different. The mist was brighter, the stars were sharper, and the tether between you was a living, breathing thing you could feel in the center of your chest.

Neteyam pulled you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "You are mine," he whispered, the possessiveness from before now replaced by a deep, unshakable peace.

"And you are mine," you replied, looking out over the mountains that were now your shared kingdom. "Let Tswaya bring his meat to my father’s hearth. He will find only a cold fire and a daughter who has already flown away."

Neteyam laughed, a sound of pure, unburdened joy that echoed off the cliffs, and as the first light of dawn began to touch the peaks, the two of you sat together— you leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss.

The return to the ground felt different this time. For the first time in your life, the descent from the Hallelujah Mountains didn't feel like a loss of freedom; it felt like a journey toward a new kind of gravity. The bond was a hum in your marrow, a constant, glowing presence that made the air in your lungs feel sweeter.

Neteyam flew beside you, his green ikran banking in perfect synchronization with Ni’muna. He kept glancing over, his eyes bright with a mixture of terror and triumph. He had won the heart of the sky, but now he had to defend that victory before the two most formidable leaders on Pandora: his father and yours.

The landing at High Camp was silent. The usual bustle of the morning—hunters prepping gear, children playing—seemed to still as the two of you walked into the center of the common area. You still wore your muted forest tones, but you hadn't put back on the headband. Your wild curls were free, and your star-patterned markings were still glowing with the residual energy of the tsahaeylu.

Jake Suli was standing by a tactical map, Neytiri at his side. They looked up as you approached, and the air immediately grew heavy. They didn't need to ask. They saw the way you walked—not as a guest, but as someone who had anchored their soul to their son. They saw the way Neteyam stood slightly in front of you, his hand habitually finding yours, his eyes steady and defiant.

"Neteyam," Jake said, his voice a low rumble. He looked at your joined hands, then at the marks of the bond on your necks. "What have you done?"

"I have chosen, sir," Neteyam said, his voice ringing with a maturity that silenced the murmurs of the gathering crowd. "I have mated with Y/N of the Kekunan. She is my heart. My life is hers."

Neytiri stepped forward, her eyes searching yours. She didn't look angry; she looked like she was seeing a prophecy fulfilled. She remembered the orange clay on his hand, the mystery in his eyes. She looked at you—bare, honest, and fierce—and she saw the strength that her son had seen.

"You are a daughter of the sky," Neytiri said, her voice echoing. "To mate with our son is to take on the burden of our war. We are a people hunted. To be Omatikaya is to live in the shadows. Can you give up the sun for him?"

You stepped forward, matching Neytiri’s gaze. "I do not give up the sun, Sa'nok. I bring it with me. The Kekunan do not fear the shadows; we just fly above them. I will fight for your people as if they were my own, because they are my own now."

Jake let out a long, slow breath. He looked at Neteyam—the son he had tried so hard to mold into a perfect soldier—and realized that the boy had found his own way to lead. "You're a lot like your mother," Jake muttered, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Headstrong. Reckless." He stepped forward and placed a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder, then looked at you. "Welcome to the family, Y/N. I hope you're ready for a lot of noise."

If the Omatikaya was a test of heart, the Kekunan camp was a test of fire.

As you and Neteyam landed on the main communal ledge of the Kekunan cliffs, the reaction was explosive. Your people didn't do quiet disapproval. Within seconds, you were surrounded by a sea of bright yellows and screaming reds. Your brother, Ka’ru, was the first to push through the crowd, his eyes landing on Neteyam with a look of pure shock.

"Sister," Ka’ru barked. "What is this? Why is the forest boy wearing the mark of the bond?"

Your father, the Olo’eyktan, emerged from his dwelling. He was draped in a cloak of leonopteryx feathers, his presence as vast and intimidating as the mountains themselves. He looked at Neteyam, then at the way you stood beside him, your chin tilted high, your hand locked in his.

Behind your father stood Tswaya. The young hunter looked like he had been struck. He held a freshly killed mountain bird in his hand—a courting gift that now looked pathetic and small.

"Father," you said, your voice carrying over the whistling wind. "I have made my choice. We are mated before eywa." A roar went up from the clan—some in shock, some in outrage. Tswaya stepped forward, his face flushed. "He is a forest-walker! He does not know our ways! He cannot even fly with the grace of a fledgling!"

Neteyam stepped forward. He didn't reach for his bow. He didn't shout. He simply looked at Tswaya, then at your father. "I may be a forest-walker," Neteyam said, his voice calm amidst the storm. "But I have seen the world from your daughter's eyes. I have flown through your mists and stood at your Tree of Voices. I do not ask for your lands or your titles. I only ask to stand by her side."

Your father walked a slow circle around Neteyam. He looked at the boy's posture, the steadiness of his gaze, and the way he didn't flinch even as the Kekunan hunters hissed and brandished their spears. Here and now neteyam realized where you got your strut and intensity from.

"The Toruk Makto came to us in a time of great need," your father said, his voice deep and gravelly. "He showed us that the sky belongs to those brave enough to claim it. His son seems to have inherited that courage."

He turned to Tswaya, who was still fuming. "Tswaya, take your kill to the elders. Your courting is over. My daughter has chosen."

Your father then turned back to you, placing a heavy, warm hand on your shoulder. "You were always of the wind, Y/N. I knew the cliffs could not hold you forever. If this boy is the one you choose to fly with, then he is a brother of the Kekunan."

Ka’ru let out a loud, boisterous laugh, stepping forward to clap Neteyam on the back so hard the boy stumbled. "I told you he had a good grip! Welcome to the family, forest boy. Now, let’s see if you can eat like a Kekunan without choking!"

The tension broke. The clan began to cheer, the bright colors of their garments swirling in a celebratory dance— their screeching ikrans just as happy. You looked at Neteyam, who looked like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours once more, oblivious to the chaos around you.

"We did it," he whispered.

"We haven't even started yet," you replied, your tail entwining with his. "Now you have to survive the bonding feast."

Neteyam smiled, the brightest you had ever seen. "As long as I'm with you, I can survive anything."

[hanginginthevoid]

yayayr

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 Neteyam x Reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 Neteyam and you had grown up together, had sharpened each other like two arrowheads. You thought that meant everything, until you see Ka'vina has taken your place.

ᶜʷ cannon divergence, misunderstandings, nudity, slight sexual innuendo, angst (happy ending)

ʷᶜ 11.1k

Despite the high stakes, hunting always brought you a sense of peace.

There were repetitive motions that you followed for every hunt, ones that felt as familiar as breathing at this point in your life. 

Every hunter must remember first scan their area, they must be familiar with the routines of the yerik packs, must be aware of where palulukan reside and hunt, must be wise to acknowledge the territory that the angtsìk claim as their own, it is also important that they be wary of the path they take home for nantang’s are known to try and steal a clean kill when the opportunity arises.

Next the hunter must track, keeping everything listed prior in mind. If the yerik tracks stray too close into palulukan territory, the hunter should retreat. If the hunter stumbles into angtsìk grounds, they must remember to show no fear.

Once the hunter has safely tracked a yerik, they should remember to watch their footing. To step lightly, and avoid sticks, leaves or other flora that can alert the yerik that something is around. It is best to find an angle that allows you to stay hidden, a clean kill from a concealed location always fills your chest with pride. 

When the hunter is concealed they can then nock their arrow. A slow pull on the bowstring minimizes noise, and leads for more time to correct your aim. But a skillful hunter can nock, draw, and release an arrow before the yerik can even raise the defensive fans that sit upon their heads. 

A true aim leads to a clean kill. A spoken prayer to Eywa, sending the yeriks spirit back to hers. And thanking the yerik for its sacrifice, for feeding the clan, and providing precious materials in the form of hides.

Finally the hunter must decide on if they will haul the entire yerik back to the home tree; or if they will only take the most valuable cuts of meat, and the largest spans of hide to carry back and leave the rest for other forest creatures to feast on.

You rarely chose to leave any of your catch. Years of training left you strong, you could easily haul your kills home. It did not matter if it left an ache in your shoulders, or if a twinge settled in your lower back.

As you approach hometree you begin to wonder if you should have at least taken a bit of the breast meat. You knew it was Neteyams favorite, and it would be a good way to show him not only your hunting prowess, that you are attuned to him. That you see him. 

It is a nice thought. To court someone you have been pining after most of your life. But then you find yourself too close to hometree to dismount the yerik from your shoulders and you chuckle at how much your mind wandered on the way home. 

You make your way through the clan, greeting people as you make your way to the carvers. They would slice the hide from the yeriks body and hang it to dry before cutting up your kill into as many satisfying, equal portions as possible to be prepared for the cookfire tonight. 

Mou comes to greet you, “Thank you taronyu.” He grabs the yerik from where you’ve placed it. “Do you wish for a specific cut? Perhaps you would like some of the hide?” 

It was traditional for the carvers to ask if the hunter would like a specific piece of their kill. But that would also take away the significance of offering a piece of meat as a courting display. 

“I do not wish for it. You know you do not have to ask me that every time I bring you a kill, Mou.”

He laughs at you, finding your blank tone amusing, “It is tradition.”

“It is stupid. Have I ever asked you to do this for me?”

“No, but one never knows when ferocious hunters like you may grow lazy.” 

 Mou tosses a grin over his shoulder as he hauls your kill away and towards the group of waiting carvers. He was never one to take your brazen demeanor as rudeness, he knew you spoke your mind and let your feelings be known even in uncomfortable situations. 

You scoff at him as you leave. As if you would ever become lazy. How could he have the audacity to even think of such a concept?

The clan is bustling as you shift through; children are running around with their wooden toys, singers are practicing the ancient songs, there are bigger hunting parties returning with their kills, even the weaving circle is louder than usual. 

It brings a slight grin to your face, seeing the people happy makes you happy. You had more than enough time to take a quick nap, and then head to the river to wash up before dinner would be served. Maybe if you skipped the nap you could take your beloved ikran out for a flight and wash at one of the hot springs that sparsely resided in the Ayram Alusìng. 

Yes.

That would be nice, it could ease the tension in your shoulders. 

It is settled. Instead of heading back to your kelku, you pivot to climb up hometree. The ikrans rest at the highest level, but you’ve been climbing almost as long as you’ve been walking so you would reach it shortly.

As you arrive at the base of hometree and start to find some solid footing a call of your name comes across the clearing. Your eyes close, a sigh heaving through your lips. With a turn of your head you survey the area, you know the voice, and have heard it almost everyday since she learned how to speak. 

You spot Kiri weaving her way through the clan, her hand raised in a beckoning motion. “Come search with me for some paywll.”

“They are far Kiri. We will not arrive back before the cookfire starts.” 

She is face to face with you now, her tail undulates as she speaks. “You have never minded missing a bit of the cookfire.”

Your lips purse, a crease forming between your brows in mock debate.

“Please.” Kiri grasps your hand before turning around and tugging you behind her.

Laughter bubbles uncontrollably out of your chest, “Kiri – Wait! I have not said yes yet!”

“You would have said yes regardless, now come. I will carry the gourd now, you may carry it back when it is full.”

You were only supposed to be txantxewm, lingering over her shoulder to shoo predators away. Now she wants you to work too! Unbelievable. 

It’s hours later when Kiri and you approach hometree again. You’ve ended up carrying not only the gourd filled with medicinal liquid, but also the leaves of paywll, which are packed into a basket that rests on your hip.

You pass the cookfire on your way to the Tsa’hiks kelku. It’s lively as ever; drums are being beaten creating a tune for the singers to perform to, there's a group of clan members dancing, and the younger members have begun to section off into groups. 

Kiri is half a step in front of you, excited to drop off the items her grandmother requested and finally be done with her Tsakarem training for the day. You allow your eyes to skim over the faces, searching for Neteyams, you’d like to know where you should move to after you deliver the materials to Mo’at.

It takes you a few moments to find him. He’s settled all the way across the gathering, surrounded by other young hunters, a few climbers and weavers as well. He normally sits on the edge of the group, saving space on one of his sides for you. You’re unsurprised to see he’s flanked by Fay’ru, the other male trying to get into the future Olo’eyktan’s good graces.

You’re unable to conceal your look of shock at Ka’vina sitting on Neteyams other side. She has never joined your group before, always softly tucked into the weavers circle or sitting with her sister where the singers congregate. You school your expression before someone can see you trying to dissect Ka’vina from the inside out.

Neteyam had always rejected anyone from closing him in. He would kindly redirect them towards another seat, reminding them that he had saved his closest friend the seat they had just tried to sit in. 

Neteyam was a strong warrior, a strong hunter, and as his father would say he has a ‘backbone’. So there would be no reason for him to allow her to sit in your spot. 

But he was of age, in his prime years. 

He was strong. He filled out his body well in recent years. He gained some of his fathers unnatural width. His old armbands no longer fit, having to become bracelets or being stored away for his future children. His cummerbund also barely fit now, but he refused to part with it until it absolutely no longer fit. 

He was kind. He took on responsibilities of other clan members when he could see them struggling. He helped the elders with carrying their baskets, he had even carved them walking sticks to steady them on their paths. 

He was the youngest hunter to ever get a clean kill on a sturmbeest. Very few of the current hunters had prowess that rivaled his. He frequently led the younger hunters when they went out, making time to help them hone in on their skills. 

Neteyam also frequented the training grounds, not for his own skills. He had been bestowed the honor of training new warriors. Of teaching them the ways of the Omatikaya, making sure they had every required skill to complete their Iknimayas. 

Ka’vina was a stark opposite.

She spent most of her time around hometree, never venturing out into the forest unless accompanied by a warrior. 

She weaved many things. Tewngs, chest coverings, chokers, bracelets, armbands, cummerbunds, bowstrings, baskets, hammocks, floor mats. The list could continue on and on.

She was knowledgeable of healing herbs, the best spices to use on meats at the cookfire, aware of how to properly prepare some tough to handle roots and fruits for consumption as well.

However she was naive. 

You knew she did not know how to hunt. Did not know how to skin a yerik, how to aim at a herd of sturmbeest; you were not even sure she knew what animals were aggressive and which were kind.

Her hands were soft, not even calloused with the countless hours spent weaving. You didn’t think she even wielded a bow. Hardly believed that she knew a knife could be used to do anything other than chop roots. It showed how simple her life was, how different she was from Neteyam. How different she was from you.

Then it dawned on you. Neteyam must be courting her. As they say ‘opposites attract’ and her softness would be a perfect compliment to the firm hand he would come to lead with. 

A piercing feeling shot into your chest. 

You’ve been following Kiri silently this whole time. She had glanced back at you occasionally, mostly to make sure you were still following her, but she could tell you didn’t want to speak based on the carefully crafted expression on your face. 

Mo’at greets you as you duck into the tent, on autopilot you respond.Then you’re asking her where she’d like the gourd and the basket, placing them down with a delicately crafted care before bidding your goodbyes. 

“I will join you at the cookfire shortly.”

“Ah. I will be heading home.” You shake your head, the beads braided into your hair clacking with the motion. “Let me know if you require aid harvesting more herbs. Goodnight Kiri, Tsa’hik.”

With sudden, jerky motions you duck back out of the tent. You can hear Kiri protesting, trying to encourage you to at least pick up a niktsyey before heading home. It’s pleasant to know that she cares, but you don’t think you could face Neteyam so shortly after your realization.

Unfortunately you have to walk past the cookfire again to reach your kelku, it being on the opposite side of the village from the Tsa’hiks. You were a skilled hunter, a warrior when needed, and you knew how to camouflage, how to avoid being seen. 

Taking a steadying breath, you head more towards the forest, where it would be easier to blend into the flora. Easier to slip past your friends. Easier to avoid the new reality you’d have to live in.

You’re only a few steps away from rockier terrain when a five fingered hand grasps your wrist. Whipping around you come face to face with Lo’ak. 

He’s grinning, clearly happy to catch you and hinder you from heading home, “Come, I need your support in an argument with Vor’lan.”

He doesn’t listen before starting to drag you towards his friends. What is it with these Sullys and refusing to wait for an answer!

“Lo’ak. I am tired, I have been out all day.”

“That is fine. It will be quick, and you can have my last niktsyey as payment.”

You scoff, “No. I have not had time to wash, I do not wish to be around people.”

“My friends do not care.” He turns to face you briefly before continuing to drag you, “To be fair, they will probably still drool over you.”

“Lo’ak!” An incredulous gasp tears from your throat.

A boyish laugh leaves him, “It is true! So do not worry about the smell, just back me up okay?”

In reality you could dig your heels into the dirt and yank your wrist free of his grasp. You were still stronger than him, your muscles more taut, more prepared to fight back than his. But the soft spot in your heart reserved for the Sully kids aches. So you allow him to drag you to where his friends reside at the cookfire.

You allow him to shove the niktsyey into your palm, along with a carved up filled with something that he definitely should not be drinking. The food and drink loosen you up, allow you to relax a little bit, to find a way to enjoy the company you’re in. 

When Lo’ak retells his story about the tslikllte he caught, all of his friends doubt him. No one believing he saw one of the creatures this far inland. But then he’s looking at you, “She was there, tell them! Tell Vor’lan specifically how I bested it.”

You take another swig of your drink, swishing it around your mouth as you decide how much to talk up Lo’ak. “I was not there when Lo’ak stumbled upon it.”

“Hey! You so wer -”

“Hush. When I arrived you were already wrestling the poor thing.” You gulp down a few more sips before beginning to swirl the drink around in your cup.

You’re barely helping Lo’aks case and he has to defend his honor, “I had thought it to be dead already!”

“Any skxawng should know that they can hold their breath. Nevermind that does not matter. I have never seen a grip as strong as Lo’aks.”

His friends are leaning in closer now, staring intently at you, the expressions you make, the way your eyes flit over each of them. 

“The tslikllte are coated to make them slick, and yet, Lo’ak never faltered. He managed to keep it in his grasp even as he removed a hand to retrieve his knife.” You begin to rest against the log everyone had gathered around, knowing that your job was done and you can fall into a nice limbo until you retire for the night, “The taste was like nothing I have experienced before, I couldn’t be happier to have tried it.”

Their conversation flows freely after that. They talk about climbing tomorrow, which mountains are best, where they can get the best views, or the best ones to try tricks on their ikrans around. It then flows to why they chose the colors that decorate their arrows. It ebbs briefly into relationships, and who’d they’d like to court after completing their dream hunts. It takes a turn into how some of them would rather mess around with many people before settling and that brings a chuckle to your tongue.

The conversation had been settled into which piece of a sturmbeest was best when it suddenly goes quiet. All eyes are focused behind where you and Lo’ak sit and would make you nervous if you weren’t such a strong warrior; scratch that, it would make you nervous if you did not have so much of the fermented drink settled in your belly.

You’re about to open your mouth and ask what has everyone staring when there's abruptly hands on your shoulders. The voice that follows sends a shiver of rigidity down your spine. 

“What are we talking about, hm?”

One of Lo’aks friends speaks up, “The best part of a sturmbeest.”

“Ah, it is easily the thigh.” Neteyams hands begin to lightly massage your shoulders, feeling the tension that formed, “You do not mind if I steal her, right?”

It was a rhetorical question, and everyone knew it. You may have loved Lo’ak, willing to do almost anything he had asked. But you were still Neteyams closest friend, it was a no brainer that you would hightail it out of there as soon as you were asked. Still out of respect, they shook their heads, bidding you a goodbye. 

“I am exhausted Neteyam, it would be best if I head back to my kelku now.” You’ve stood to make your point. Turning around to face Neteyam, hoping he did not see the cracks in your composure. 

“I will be quick,” He smiles at you, one of the genuine ones that shows his true inner happiness, “ there is someone I want you to meet.”

Oh. You absolutely could not go over there. The stories you knew of Ka’vina were enough to satiate your need to ever meet her. 

Neteyam begins to tug you by your hand, as both his siblings had earlier. These damn Sullys and not taking a hint! 

This time you dig your feet, you don’t let him drag you towards that woman. Your reaction would ruin your reputation in the clan.

“I really am tired, Neteyam,” You turn to Lo’ak, “Did I not say the same to you before you dragged me here?”

Lo’ak nods, remembering how you had complained hours earlier. He doesn’t understand why you’re denying Neteyam though, he doesn’t think you’ve done that in all his years of knowing you.

“Then I will walk you home.”

He turns in the direction of your kelku, seemingly pleased to just be in your presence after not seeing you all day. You let him drag you a few steps, just far enough that you’re sure his brother and his friends can no longer hear you.

“I wish to walk alone.”

Neteyams tail slows to a still in front of you, his ears flick forward to catch any and everything you say, “...But I have not seen you all day.”

What are you supposed to say? ‘I know, I’ve lived this day as well?’ or better yet, ‘I have seen you, but chosen to not acknowledge your presence as it makes me sick.’ Neither option feels right so you stay silent.

“I wish to walk you home so we can talk.”

“I do not have energy for conversation.”

“You had energy when entertaining Lo’ak’s friends.” Irritation is obvious in his tone, and his tail begins to whip back and forth harshly.

“I was not saying much, just sitting in their presence.” You finally meet his eyes, trying to drive home your point, “Just let me walk by myself tonight, please.”

The disappointment settles heavily on Neteyams features as he comes to terms with the fact that you will not allow him to do this, he grunts some noncommittal reply before heading back towards his friends who remain at the cookfire. 

You should have left after that, stomped your way to your kelku, grabbed a nice warm pelt, and tucked into your hammock. Instead you watch Neteyam through the crowd, eyes following as his figure settles back onto the log, and he allows Ka’vina to settle into his side a bit more than is considered friendly. 

The stabbing pain settles back in your chest. It pulses a bit the longer you watch but it does not matter anymore. You would have to fall into a new routine in the morning, sure that Ka’vina would not want you close to Neteyam as they start courting.

Before you know it four eclipses have passed and you’ve successfully avoided Neteyam for all of them. You hunt early in the mornings, leaving before most of the hunting parties have even woken up for the day. You return with your kills lighter than normal, taking enough meat to satiate yourself until the next day.

When you complete your duties you take to flying. Not the usual routes that the hunters would take, or the ones that the warriors would patrol around, just drifting with the wind patterns. Your face ends up windburnt from how much time you’ve been spending up there.

If your head isn’t literally in the clouds, you take to climbing. The hobby wasn’t your favorite, and that’s what made it the perfect diversion. You could head back out to the forest, finding a good tree to observe Eywas beauty from. Sometimes, you’d just climb hometree, heading all the way to the top to give your ikran some special treatment. 

Regardless of how, you strayed from your normal paths. If you avoided them, Neteyam shouldn’t be able to track you down. And hopefully he would get the point, would understand that your paths were unwinding from each other, that they were branching off in different directions for the first time.

It hurts to avoid him. But it was better than facing him. Better than seeing him with Ka’vina. Better than watching their love flourish, and hearing the gossip spread about what a perfect pair they make. 

The fifth day starts like the rest. You wake, change your tewng and chest piece, eat some fruit you had foraged the day before, slide on your knife holster and knife, and toss your bow across your back. 

As you emerge from your kelku a sense of loneliness sits in your chest. You missed hunting with your friends. Missed fooling around with them at the cookfire. Missed accompanying Kiri on her foraging. Missed doing stupid shit with Lo’ak under the guise of being a responsible figure. You really missed Neteyam.

Missed flying with him. Missed hunting with him. Missed training with him. Missed indulging Tuk with him. Hell you even missed rebraiding his hair. 

But your heart can only take so much. The images of him with Ka’vina flow freely into your head, reminding you of why you needed the distance, of why you needed to become a ghost in your own home. 

A shout of your name halts you in your tracks. The Olo’eyktan has one of the most noticeable voices in the whole clan. You take a deep breath before turning to face him

“Good Morning, Olo’eyktan.” You raise your hand in the traditional greeting, “What can I do for you?”

Jake greets you back, “None of that formal shit kid,” then he’s yanking you into a hug. Your arms wrap sheepishly around his back, uncomfortable with the gesture due to the state of your and Neteyams relationship.

“You can say no, but Neteyams a little tied up at the moment so I was hoping you could train the young ones for a little while?”

As if you could say no to the Olo’eyktan. Jealousy claws at your heart, Ka’vina has Neteyam so busy with his courting that he can’t even tend to his duties? 

“Of course, I will head there now.”

This would be good. Your friends would probably be there, and it could solve your loneliness problem, maybe you could even get a few good spars in and disguise them as ‘training demonstrations’. A skip finds your step on your way to the training grounds and for the first time in many eclipses you feel excited. 

A small part of you hopes that Lo’ak would be there, that he’d force you to go on an adventure with him after training. And you could ask to bring Kiri along, satiating most of your need to hang out with the Sully kids. 

You can’t think about the Sully kids without including Neteyam. You want to reminisce about happy memories, want to think about all the future good memories to come, but then Ka’vina inches her way into your mind. The image of them together at the cookfire, sitting too close for comfort.

But you won’t see them, they’ll be too busy taking strolls through the forest. Or maybe they’re flying their ikrans in spirals around each other. Perhaps they were climbing through the ayram alusìng, going higher and higher until they reached the alluring hot springs. 

It’d be preferable to not think about the way Ka’vina would undress. 

Would she save her modesty and undress after submerging, hoping that her loincloth and chest covering would dry before they emerged again? Or would she make a show of it, slowly unclipping her chest covering, slowly dragging it down to reveal her breast. Would she move onto the loincloth and make a show of that too?

And Neteyam. Would he watch, become so enticed with the show that he couldn’t avert his eyes? Or would he be the gentleman he was raised to be, letting Ka’vina undress and submerge in the warm water, allowing the steam time to curl over her body before finally turning around and entering the spring himself.

Oh Eywa, you were going to be sick. Why would you torment yourself with such thoughts? 

A few steadying breaths flow into your lungs. The nausea is still present, but you know once you start teaching that it will subside for good.

You see the familiar shape of Tal’kren. He is performing on the archery targets, taking them from odd angles and showing off to the young ones before their lesson begins. You nock an arrow and wait, deciding when the best moment would be to make your presence known.

Tal’kren takes aim and you eye his stance to figure out which target he is aiming at. You determine it must be the target woven between many trees, the one nearly 100 meters away, farther than any of the young hunters could even dream about reaching.

You let your arrow soar just milliseconds after his does. From the angle everyone is watching from they cannot see your arrow trailing his. Tal’kren’s arrow sinks into the bullseye of the target with a satisfying thump.

Your arrow splits his a millisecond later with a much more satisfying crack. Fifteen heads start turning, searching for who released the arrow.

“Pxi kan, taronyutsyìp,” Tal’krens voice rings out. Finding you much before the trainees did. 

You smile, laughing, “I am not little, just taronyu is fine.”

Tal’kren claps a hand on your shoulder before bringing you in for a hug. As you pull back, he keeps the hand on your shoulder “I assume you are my partner for today?”

“I am,”  You want to show camaraderie, and encourage the trainees to cultivate similar relationships so you make no move to remove his hand from your shoulder. “The Olo’eyktan has asked me to step in for the foreseeable future.”

The young trainees murmur excitedly; your name is one that is usually spoken in soft whispers so for you to join in on their sessions for a while seemed like a blessing from Eywa. They could complain, wishing it was you and Neteyam training them, that they could have both of the best future warriors teaching them.

But they normally had Neteyam, had spent months learning from him and Tal’kren. Now they could learn your ways, and they could learn how to make their own unique style based on the two of you.

Days pass like this. The trainees soaking up your knowledge. Letting you adjust their stances, pull their strings more taught, sharpen the arrowheads that dulled from constant use. 

Today you’re standing face to face with Opani when you hear the familiar timber of Neteyams voice. Your ears flick in annoyance, because of course Neteyam had to show up, but then you’re focusing on the young warrior in front of you.

Looking down towards the target you can see she is off, leaning more left than she should. It may be because of your proximity so you chide her gently, “Adjust to the right, if you were to take the shot now you would not hit a kill shot.” 

She exhales roughly through her nose, you believe it to be from nerves and not irritation so you do not scold her. Then she shifts, leaning slightly more into your personal space. As she releases the arrow you hear Neteyam’s voice again. 

This time you flick your head to angle it over your shoulder. Where was he? Why did it sound as if his voice was getting closer?

Beside you Opani releases a shout of joy, and that forces you to face front again. She's already staring at you, jumping a little from excitement. Flicking your eyes to the target you can see she hit the bullseye perfectly. 

You ruffle her braids, giving her some words of encouragement before telling her to go retrieve her arrow and try again. After she runs off you redirect your attention in Neteyams direction.

You must be off your game, any skilled hunter should be able to differentiate from all current sounds around them. Yet, you somehow managed to miss Ka’vina’s voice. Seeing her renders you motionless; Your ears press against your skull, your tail falls flat, eyes drifting over every piece of her.

It takes you a few moments to notice Neteyam is in front of her, his back to you. They assume the same positions you and Opani were just in. It feels different this time though. 

With you and Opani it was obvious that you were teacher and student. With Neteyam and Ka’vina it seemed as if it was a date. Instead of their movements being out of necessity, they had a sensual tone to them. 

Neteyam uses his hand to raise Ka’vinas elbow higher, he watches the arrowhead carefully to make sure her aim is true. She turns towards him, saying something that you can’t hear. 

You can see how he raises his fingers to grasp her chin. He tilts it back towards the target, encouraging her to always keep her eyes where her arrow is aimed. 

The feeling that settles in your stomach makes you disgusted with yourself. They’re a well suited couple. Anyone with eyes could tell you that. They would make a good Olo’eyktan and Tsa’hik. 

A good couple to lead the Omatikaya. 

And here you were, upset at their presence. Upset that they were falling into love in the public eye. Upset that Neteyam hadn’t even told you he was considering courting Ka’vina.

You wondered which piece she wore was Neteyams courting gift. Was it the bracelet, the deep brown twine, mixed with blue and green beads that match her skin and the tones of the forest?

Or was it the choker, lined with polished river rocks lining her collarbone? 

You couldn’t let your mind linger any longer. Couldn’t allow it to make you detest your closest friend. 

So you find Tal’kren, alert him of some sudden illness you’ve come down with, and leave for the day. You could rest, and allow your mind to drift to other things. It would be smarter to head to the Tree of Souls. To make an honest prayer to Eywa for her to help you move on. 

She would help you, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to let go yet.

You wanted to seem more alluring, something to attract attention at the clan gatherings. Not that you were actively seeking a mate, but it would be nice to see who is interested. Nice to see how many options you had, if any. 

You knew you were rough around the edges. Knew that you spoke harsher than most liked. That your hands were rough from years of use. That you had nasty scars littering your body. That you had more muscle than the typical lithe Na’vi woman. 

And you knew it had to make you less desirable. That the men must have wanted someone easier. Someone who thought before they spoke, and chose their words carefully so you could fall upon them like a pillow instead of a rock. 

But that does not mean that everyone would dislike you, there has to be someone in the clan who sees your beneficial qualities. Someone who you could live your life with. 

If there wasn’t you would prefer to know sooner rather than later. To decide if you should seek out a mate from a different clan.

So you seek our Kiri. A skilled weaver, knowledgeable in the proper herbs to stain cloths, and good company. 

You had decided on a nice deep red. It was a color not typically worn by the Omatikaya as it did not blend in with the forest fauna - therefore it would draw the most attention.

“So, I have not seen you around the gatherings much.” Kiri drawls, keeping her head towards her weaving but angling her eyes to see you.

Your fingers don’t stop their meticulous patterns, “I have been there. Just last night I ate with Lo’ak.”

“Yes, but you skip at least 4 cookfires a week.”

“I tire easily, you know of my many duties.”

Kiri scoffs, but decides against responding. Her silence allows you to pick up a new bead, weaving it onto the side of where the cloth will hang. You’ve decided on white beads, and silvery polished river stones. They compliment the red well, they will also bring more attention to your waist, clacking and clashing with every step.

You decide on a symmetrical look. Two braided strands on each side. The farthest one shorter than the one that rests closest to the cloth. It will look nice.

Will it matter? Will the males of the clan really focus on the little details or only focus on what rests underneath? 

You knew Neteyam would notice, that he would mention that the symmetry helped your internal equilibrium. Helped keep you centered in the rough moments. Not that you couldn’t function if your garments were asymmetrical, but he knew you were always a hair more sure of your aim.

But you were not wearing it for him. So what he thought did not matter. However this left you with a good idea on what to focus on when approached. Knew what you wanted to hear, and what you did not. 

As you tie off the last bead on the tewng a sense of accomplishment falls upon you. You gaze upon your work lovingly; proud that even though your hands are rougher than the weavers, you can still produce a good piece.

It’s during your admiration that Kiri speaks again, “I require more twine.”

“The great mother has bestowed you with two legs and two arms, you can go retrieve your own twine.” 

“I will fall out of rhythm, and then who knows how long it will take me to complete this piece.”

Your sharp words never phased Kiri, never shoved her away. You guessed it was good enough reason to go and retrieve more twine from the weavers circle. 

As you stand and begin to pad away, you can hear Kiri shout some sort of thanks and you lift your hand in acknowledgement. 

You were aware of many women in the weavers circle. Most of them are siblings to people you’ve hunted with, some girls you grew up with, others were elders who taught you how to weave at the beginning of your life. 

A polite, simple greeting would do. You could say hello as you’re reaching for the twine. Exchange niceties, as you unspool the amount you guessed Kiri needed. And unsheath your knife and cut the twine before any deep conversations began to form.

You keep your head down as you reach for the twine and greet the circle. Everyone murmurs a similar greeting back and you are content to leave it as that. They know why you are here and do not need to indulge in conversation. 

“Ma’numeyu, how have you been?” Rinak is speaking, drawing your eyes up from where the rest. She taught you how to weave when you were just a babe, toddling around camp looking for things to do. 

“I have been well, and you Rinak?” 

“I am also well numeyu, but I am disappointed that you have not eaten with me in many moons.”

You unsheath your knife, angling it safely to tear through the taught line of twine, “I am sorry. I will eat with you tonight if you will have me.”

“Of course I would.” Rinak chuckles, as if amused by the idea that she would shun your company away. 

You smile back at her, pleased with how easily this has went. You have not run into Ka’vina or any of her friends, and have not had to exchange fake niceties with them. This will be counted as a win in your book. 

But then you turn, ready to stand and head back to where you and Kiri have been hanging out as you weaved. And there, at the far side of the circle rests Ka’vina. Sitting knee-to-knee with her is Neteyam. He is weaving something, what you cannot tell, but Ka’vina is intently studying it.

Neteyam is looking at you though, his head tilted as if he is curious, and his hands only loosely grip his work. It is as if he is hunting; his eyes remain wide even after he blinks, not wanting to miss any movement from his prey.

You meet his eyes, frozen in place from his gaze. It would be improper to run, but it would be too awkward to walk over and say hello at this point. The tension grows around the circle, other members slowly noticing the way that the two of you are staring at each other. 

The tension snaps like a bowstring when Ka’vina tugs on the piece in Neteyams hand. His eyes bolt to hers, ears flicking forward to catch every word that she says. That is your moment to move, so you run with it.

One of your hands raises as you bid everyone good weaving and goodbye. You force yourself to maintain a normal pace, not wanting Neteyam to see you run away. For him to know how openly you despise choice. 

Upon returning to Kiri, you silently drop the twine, pressing a hand to her shoulder in greeting as you pass. She does not speak however, simply tying the two pieces together so she can continue working on her piece. 

You’ve tucked your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them as you stew in your thoughts. Kiri must have known about Neteyams chosen one by now. Ka’vina must have been formally introduced to the Sullys, and therefore Kiri. And Kiri was the best judge of character, if she were to say Ka’vina was a good pick, you would believe it.

A whispered call of her name leaves your lips. You hope she misses it. Hope that it blends in with the pleasured yelps of the children, or the distant roars of the ikrans, even the chatter of the passing group of hunters. 

But it does not, and Kiri responds much louder than you would like. 

“What is it?”

“What are your thoughts on Ka'vina?” You can feel her eyes boring into the side of your head, but you refuse to look at her.

“She is a good weaver.”

This is common knowledge, Kiri must know you do not care about it. “What else?”

“If she did not wish to weave, she could easily join the singers.”

She must be egging you on. Wanting you to expose what you really feel before she says anything. You would think that a hunter as skilled as yourself would have more patience. You snap all the same, falling right into Kiris trap, “Yes. I know this. Everyone knows this. I want to know what you think about her deeply.”

“I think she is a good person. That she has many skills to help around hometree, and is known to assist the children and elders, but is unwise when it comes to other tasks.” Kiri is still staring at you even as she finishes her piece, “Why do you ask?”

You could not tell her the reason. Even if she sensed it, it would be wrong considering that Ka'vina was to be her sister. It could be worked out, where had you seen Ka'vina? Where had she piqued your interest?

“She has come around the training grounds recently and I could not think of why.” Finally you let your eyes drift to Kiris, hoping that there are no emotions swirling in your amber pools, “It makes sense with what you said. She needs to become fluent in many skills, not just a few.”

Kiri stares at you, eyes flicking over your face. Then to your ears, and briefly to your tail. Trying to assess how you feel internally from your body language. When she senses no showing of a lie a smile graces her face.

Then she's tossing the piece she crafted into your face. You grab it before it can slide and meet the dusty ground. As it rests in your palms you notice the red, white, and polished river stones that accent it. 

“I made it so you could have a matching set tonight.”

At that, you gape at her. She had gone through all this trouble for you? 

“Well don’t just look at me! Do you like it?”

“Yes, very much. Thank you Kiri.” You’ve stood now, crossing the small clearing to toss yourself onto her as a full body thanks. 

“You skxawng get off of me!” 

The two of you tousle a bit, acting like children getting into their first scuffle. But then you are off of her, and running in the direction of your kelku to get ready for the cookfire tonight. 

It is almost eclipse, which means you have enough time to change slowly, put your braids up in a different style and meander your way back to the center of hometree.

On your way back Tal’kren calls for you. He must have also stopped at his kelku before heading to the cookfire.

“Hello Tal’kren, how were the trainees today?” You call back over your shoulder, refusing to stop for him, but walking at a slower pace nonetheless.

“They were fine. No more rowdy than usual. Though they listened les-” Tal’krens voice trails off, and when you turn to look at him he is already staring at you, “What are you wearing?”

You’re approaching the cookfire now, but you still choose to indulge him, “It is new, how do I look?” You give a childish spin, showing all angles of your new outfit. 

You can feel more eyes than just his as you sit and wait for a response. But it is not worth searching for who is staring at you when you have a perfectly fine archer right in front of you. If you’re lucky he will say something that will make you believe he has more going on in his head besides arrows, bowstrings, and bows.

“It is very sevin,” Tal’kren gulps, a light shade of indigo coming to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, “You are sevin.”

It was not the best compliment, but you would not deny that it made something flutter in your stomach. It was nice to be seen as something other than a txantxewm taronyu. 

“Thank you Tal’kren.” You begin to walk towards where you know Rinak likes to sit, “I will see you after I have eaten, yes?”

“Yes. I will be with some of our other friends over here.” He gestures in a general direction, not moving until he sees you nod in acceptance of his words. 

The night moves smoothly from then. You talk with the elders, inform them of the current happenings of your life, what new herb you decided you liked on your meat. They in turn spoke about other things you may enjoy, what fruits could enhance the flavor of certain meats, special herbs only the most skilled climbers could eat.

It was nice to speak with them, to gain some wisdom, but it was even nicer sitting around with people you knew. 

First it was Lo’ak. His group sat between Rinak and Kiris groups, and he had made fast work of snagging your arm as you passed by. They indulged you in more fermented juice, happy to provide whatever you desired to keep you with them.

You missed the way that Loak's young friends eyed you. Missed how their eyes traced over your chest covering. How they seemed to stop at every bead, or rock, that dimpled the pattern. He had said they ‘drooled over you,’ but in your eyes they were just children, and there was no way they’d be interested in you.

Then Kiri and her group came to join. She had said something about how it was ‘Forbidden to hide from her’ when she crafted you such a beautiful piece. Her friends eyed your new cloths with jealous eyes. The color combination was something they had not considered to be allowed.

You still ignored their gazes. Knowing they mostly wanted to know what weaving pattern Kiri used, and what herb was used to dye the clothes and twine. Not that they cared about you as a person or the body that rests underneath the cloths.

There was a good mix of people, the feeling of the group never becoming tense or uncomfortable. There was currently an exchange of the bravest, most death defying things they had gotten away with. 

You had decided that was your time to go join Tal’kren. If you heard too much about what Lo’ak or Kiris friends got up to, you would feel the need to implore them to be safer. So you asked them to top off your drink before you headed off. 

As you approach, only two pairs of eyes flick to you. The first being Neteyams, it would seem as if his eyes followed you the entire way from across the fire, but that would be a silly thought. Especially considering Ka’vina was still pressed closely into his side.

The next is Tal’kren. He grins widely as you get closer to where he rests on the log. Already moving to rise before you even fully reach him, “Would you like to sit?”

“It is fine, may I brace my back on your legs though?” You did not wish to have the rough bark mar your skin.

He plants his feet a bit away from the log, steadying them before nodding, “Of course.”

Their conversation is equally as lively as the other groups. Once again discussing trick shots they have taken during sturmbeest hunts. 

They first discuss the ones that do not count. This only means they got scolded for it after as it did not result in a kill, was reckless, wasted resources, disrupted the formation, or all of the above.

Once the group had ran through those, they switched to ones that did count. Ones that ended in a kill, clean or not. These were much more important, as the elders would try to scold you, but they had rarely any footing because the clan was still fed. 

The only person who could not produce a story was Ka’vina, and it did not bring a sense of pity to your chest. Instead it just reminded you how different she was. Even if she did participate in the hunts, would she want to engage in such activities? What did she even consider fun?

You’ve been avoiding where she and Neteyam were sitting. It was not against them, but you were unsure of how you would act, and you preferred to keep this night enjoyable.

So when someone grasps your bicep and yanks, you are shocked. Before you even have time to identify who it is you’re being tugged backwards.

“Hey-” You stumble over a rock, nearly falling to your knees before you regain your composure, “Just wait a second!”

“I will not.” Neteyams voice is gruff, like he had to force the words through clenched teeth.

You’re furiously pulling your arm now, the cookfire is glowing dimly in the distance, and you cannot believe the audacity of this man. “You will!” 

With that final motion, you are able to tug your arm free. And you spin rapidly to face Neteyam, appalled at his actions.

“What was that?”

“It was necessary.”

“By Eywa, in what world was that necessary?”

Neteyam does not grant you a response. He stands in front of you, huffing a little bit with his eyes towards the ground. His ears flick at every sound, and his tail lashes aggressively behind him. 

“You are a grown man, and I know your tongue has not been cut out, so speak.”

His eyes meet yours briefly before softly uttering, “They were looking at you as if you were a piece of meat.”

“I cannot understand mumbling Neteyam,” When he doesn’t make any move to speak again you turn to leave.

“I said they were looking at you as if you were a piece of meat.” The last words spit from his mouth like acid, like they physically pained him to say.

“So what if they were?”

“They should not do such things.”

“Why is that?” You come close to him. Because of the height difference you still have to peer up at him, but you hope your intimidating presence is enough to cut him down a bit, “Why should they not look at me?”

“It is unbecoming of a hunter. They should know better.”

And you laugh, right in his face. “Unbelievable. You are truly, unbelievable Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan.” Then you stalk off, rushing in the direction of your kelku, hoping you can make it in and tie the flaps shut before the tears run down your lashline.

One would think they would want to spare the feelings of someone they grew up with. That they would find a way to soften the blow, not make the impact harder. 

If he found you so undesirable, why could he not find another way to say it? 

The winds flow freely through your hair. You had unbraided it, wishing to wash it before braiding new beads and feathers into it. 

You’re flying on your ikran, heading to one of the hot springs you’ve been aching to dip into for weeks now. Your favorite one rests inside a cave on one of the mountains. 

There is just enough space for your ikran to land, truly hiding the space from anyone who doesn’t know it exists. However it also meant that you could never know who’s inside without entering yourself. 

But you had left long after the clan had settled for the night. Only the embers of the cookfire remained, and you passed many sleeping members of the clan on the way up hometree. There was no doubt that you would be alone.

You step slowly into the space, admiring the bioluminescence that lit up the cave. Stripping quickly you almost dive into the water with your haste. The hot water instantly releases some tension in your shoulders.

There are natural ledges around the border of the pool, you find one and take a seat. You’ve been very busy recently and deserve the chance to relax.

Before you can get too comfortable you take to scrubbing your scalp. The goal is to remove any dirt, dust, or grime that may have gotten caught up in your tightly wound braids. But that quickly switches to giving yourself a scalp massage.

The motions are nice. They would be even better if it was someone else completing them however, you were not a complainer. You’re unsure how long you sit there for, but you’re sure enough time has passed that you can scrub away at your body now.

Any caked on grime or blood, has become soaked through with the warm water. It slides off your skin easily, showing the vibrant blue shade underneath. You begin to feel more like yourself again, as if you’re shedding your old skin and coming into a new one.

When you turn around, eager to retrieve your waterskin and change positions you're faced with another body. You must have mistaken the sounds of someone else entering the spring with the sounds of your own splashing. 

You scoff, “What are you doing here?” 

“It is a free hot spring.”

“Yes, but should you not be getting your beauty sleep?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

All the tension you felt leave your body came back. You had specifically came so late as to avoid any of this. Why couldn't Eywa give you a break, just this once. With a deep breath you shut your eyes tightly, and let you head fall against the border.

You would not allow Neteyam to bother you. You have waited many moons to come here, and you would leave when you were ready, not because you were forced out.

Soft ripples distract you from where you’ve let your thoughts drift. Your ears snap to attention, trying to discern if the ripples are moving closer or farther from your location.

Your eyes shoot open when you realize that Neteyam is moving closer to you. “What are you doing.”

You do not pose him a question. You speak the words like a warning, giving him the chance to turn back.

“I am coming deeper so the water may reach my shoulders.”

“Go to that side of the spring then. Do not come closer.”

For a moment you think he will continue moving towards you. That he will attempt to cage you in against the wall and himself, but he moves to where you told him to go. When he gets there you expect him to stay silent. 

You have nothing to say to him, nothing nice especially after the cookfire a few nights ago. And whatever he has to say to you, you do not wish to hear. 

Minutes tick by in silence. It is not comfortable, some may even say it is suffocating, most would leave. You got here first however, and you refuse to vacate when you came under such perfect conditions to be alone.

Let's be realistic, there were plenty of hot springs he could have picked, why did he come here? He could have left after seeing you already submerged! Quietly backed out, and climbed upon his ikran to find another spring. 

The thought irritates you more. It makes you grind your teeth, the anger beginning to simmer in your chest. 

“I wish to talk.”

Neteyam had said those same words to you forever ago, when this all began. They had meant less than they do now, but you still feel the same way.

“I do not.”

“Well, we must talk. There is no other wa-” 

When you open your eyes, you find Neteyam already staring at you intently, “You cannot force me to talk with you. You are not Olo’ekytan yet, and you do not command me in hunting parties, therefore I do not take orders from you.”

He softly calls your name. If you didn’t know any better you would assume there is a quiver to it, a bit of unsureness. But that would be a silly thought, and you promptly will yourself to stop thinking it.

Suddenly Neteyam is moving closer again. Slowly but surely moving into your side of the spring. When he reaches the halfway point you raise your hand slightly, muttering a quick ‘don’t’ in warning. 

That does nothing to deter him. His shoulders begin to glisten from no longer being submerged, droplets cascading down his arms and clavicles in rivulets that remind you how thirsty you had been just a few minutes ago.

Oh Eywa! What were you thinking? As you get your thoughts back under control Neteyam shifts ever closer. His body comes to rest just a few feet in front of yours. Slowly inching closer, truly trying to cage you like an animal.

“I said to not come closer.”

“And I said we need to speak.”

He thinks you will just sit here? Allow him to force you into speaking? Believes that your nudity embarrasses you enough, that you will allow him to speak?

There is some space between the cave wall and the border of the pool, and if you angled yourself properly you could follow it the entire way back out to where your tewng and chest covering rested. And if you called for your ikran as you were dressing you could be back to hometree within the half hour.

It is decided.

You scooch backwards, using your arms to lift up onto the ledge. It is then that Neteyam finally stops.

Neteyams eyes flick over your body. Your chest, where your nipples have begun to peak in the cooler air, the water that drips down your navel, the way your hips look without the tewng covering them. He does not speak, but an indigo tint falls on his cheeks, rises up his neck, and also hits the tops of his ears.

You stand, wringing out your hair so it does not drip on you as you fly. Pointedly ignoring Neteyams presence, but when he does not continue in his harassment you turn your eyes towards him again.

He is flustered, that much you can tell. At first it makes you a little happy, knowing that you actually do have an effect on him. Then you remember Ka’vina, and the feeling leaves.

“Oh you are disgusting!”

Neteyam sputters out of his trance, “What?”

“Staring! At an undressed woman. Alone! Especially when you are courting another.”

“Oh, yes, yes, sorry.” Then he avoids his gaze, focusing on the water directly in front of him instead.

“Wait.” His eyes raise back to yours, “My courting?”

“Yes. With Ka’vina.”

A disbelieved laugh leaves his lips, “I am not courting Ka’vina.”

“There is no need to lie. I will not tell her about this.”

“I am not lying.” He rises a bit more, grabbing your hand, “Come back in and I will explain.”

You laugh at him, “I am not going back in there with you.” 

Eyes flick back towards the entrance of the cave, remembering your earlier plan. The urge to execute that plan comes back. The urge to suddenly be tucked into your woven mat with pelts submerging you in warmth, stronger than anything else.

As you’re debating your escape plan Neteyam sneaks up on you. He places a hand on your thigh another on your waist, and hauls you back into the water. You hiss, smacking his chest.

“You cannot move so rashly!”

“I would like to know how you came to the belief that I was courting Ka’vina.”

You try to thrash a bit. To use the slickness of the water on your behalf, but Neteyams grasp is unrelenting. He does not let you move an inch.

When you try to at least sit down, he still does not let you move. “I will not speak until I can rest.”

“You must lean back then. It would be unpleasant to sit directly down.”

It is then that you realize you are on Neteyam's lap. A flush adorns your face now, realizing the predicament that you’re in. But his grasp still isn't letting up, so you lean back on your haunches. Carefully maneuvering to avoid any unwanted touching. 

“Now explain.”

“I saw the two of you at the cookfire, a few moons ago.”

“Yes, I was integrating her into our group.”

“Because you were courting her,” Your hand raises to cover Neteyams mouth, if he wanted you to explain he would have to hear it in entirety before trying to contradict your words.

“I only realized because she had taken my spot next to you. And then the two of you at the training grounds, the way your hand lingered on her.” You move your palm from covering his lips to grasping at his chin, the same way he had done to Ka’vina. 

Tossing his head to the side you continue, “Then you were with her at the weaving circle. You had allowed her to critique your work, allowed her to undo the knots and braids you had worked on. You don’t even like to weave.”

Neteyam is peering up at you, his lashes fluttering lightly, “May I speak now?”

You nod, not trusting your voice anymore.

“I was around her because she needed help completing her iknimaya, many of the other karyus have tried and she has failed many times.”

“Her iknimaya?”

“Yes, her other karyus were too rough, they did not attune to her learning style.” One of his hands begin to travel up and down your side, “I was involving her with our friends so she could have other people to lean on.”

Your eyes stray to the side, embarrassment creeping up your spine. But Neteyam keeps staring at you, “She needed help with archery for her dream hunt. And I needed help with weaving. I wanted to make something beautiful, that would last, that could withstand harsh weather, and harsher movements by the wearer.”

The hand moving up your side travels up, ghosting over the side of your breast, and lightly settles on the side of your neck.

“It was a mutual exchange of skill.”

Your embarrassment at misunderstanding makes you snap at him, “Yes, I understand that Neteyam.”

Your voice comes again, lighter and nicer this time, “You do not desire her, even slightly?”

“Not even slightly. What else would make you think that?”

“She is soft.”

Neteyam mulls over your words. Ka’vina is soft, her body is soft, her words are soft, her weaves are soft, the way she aims her bow is soft, so he agrees, “Yes, she is soft. But I do not want soft.”

“Why?”

“Because no one knows me like you. No one can anticipate my movements like you. They cannot hit flying targets as well, and they do not like to sharpen their arrows so they pierce their kills more efficiently. I have wanted it to be you since we were children, since my parents explained the concept of a mate to me.”

“That is stupid. You were too young to understand then.”

Instead of being upset at your misplaced anger, Neteyam just smiles. Then his lips curl into a smirk, “May I kiss you?”

“May you… what?”

“Kiss you.”

Instead of answering you lean forward and press your lips to his. You’re motionless, and it’s awkward. But then Neteyam begins moving his lips, opening them slightly and tilting his head to deepen it.

Before you know it your hands are pressing against his face, trying to memorize the feel of him after months of not being close. You finally pull away when you start to feel light headed. Your eyes are hazy darting across all of his features as you greedily suck in air.

You lean back in. This time Neteyam licks into your mouth, he tastes like the smokiness of the meat that was served at the cookfire tonight. It’s something you believe you could get used to.

This is something you think you could get used to. 

You’d do it anywhere. Here in the hot springs, back in your kelku, in Neteyams kelku, out in the forest, hell you’d even do it at the training grounds if Neteyam wanted. 

Truthfully, you’re a bit mad at yourself. How long could you have been doing this for if you had just spoken to him? How much farther could you have gone? It did not matter now, and you clearly were not the best at thinking through scenarios. 

When Neteyam leans back again you nearly whine. The fact that such a noise wanted to emerge from your throat shocks you. What was this man doing to you?

“Would you like to see what I was weaving?”

You’re lightly panting, allowing your tongue to lave over your swollen lips. “What?”

“What I was weaving with Ka’vina -”

“Do not mention Ka’vina when you just had your tongue in my mouth.”

Neteyam laughs, “I will not, but she did direct me in perfecting your courting gift,” His grip lets up a bit so that he can begin caressing you softly, “It is over with my tewng. If you will still have me.”

“Of course I will still have you, do not make jokes.” You stand, grabbing Neteyams hand, and suddenly you’re tugging one of the Sully’s around. “I am excited to see what you have made for me.”

“It will fit you well.” He kisses you one more time, acting as if he would not get the chance to after he bestows the gift upon you, “And then everyone will know you are mine.”

A realization dawns on you. The other night, Neteyam had not been mad at you for crafting a new loincloth and chest covering. He was mad at your comrades, your friends, for eyeing you in such a way, “You were jealous the other day?”

“Very much so. They were just looking at you, not seeing you.” Another peck, “I see you, that is why I deserve to court you.”

You laugh. It is a soft sound, one of the only soft things you can identify about yourself. And you don’t allow the hard parts of you to bring you down. Don’t allow them to make you insecure about how you would fit with Neteyam. He likes you as you are, and that is enough.

Forehead nuzzling to his, you repeat his words, “And I see you.” Unable to resist, you kiss him one last time before making a demand, “Now let me see my gift.”

Neteyam laughs ever amused at your personality, but he does not voice any opposition. He would continue to feed into you for as long as the two of you shall live if it meant he got to see your grin. Got to see your fangs peek out over your bottom lip, and your nose scrunch up in delight. 

Yeah, Neteyam was exactly where he wanted to be.

Translations: Yerik - hexapede Palulukan - Thanator Angtsìk - Hammerhead Titanothere Nantang - Viperwolf Taronyu - Hunter Ayram Alusìng - Hallelujah Mountains Kelku - Home/House Paywll - Water plant Txantxewm - Terrifying Tsa’hik - Spiritual Leader Tsakarem - Tsa’hik in training Tewng - Loincloth Niktsyey - Food wrap Tslikllte - Mudcrawler Fish Skxawng - Idiot, Moron Pxi kan, taronyutsyìp - Sharp aim, little hunter Taronyu - Hunter Numeyu - Student Sevin - Pretty

a/n: i wrote like 7k words straight on this. i really hope yall like it. if u find anything i should be warning ab please lmk!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Likes/Comments/Reblogs give me butterflies ʚїɞ

[hanginginthevoid]

letsranten

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 Neteyam x Reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 Neteyam and you had grown up togther, played and trained like dangerous thanator cubs until his iknimaya came and he suddenly began to believe himself better than you. So why, now that it is mating season, does he suddenly take an interest in you again?

ᶜʷ cannon divergence, aggressive(?)reader, smal misunderstandings, sexual comment made towards reader, angst?(happy ending)

ʷᶜ 13.7k

You remember the days when you were little, as if they were yesterday. 

You remember when you first began to acknowledge Neteyam's presence. His face started to form features, instead of just being glossed over. His body began to take a shape, instead of being a blue blob in your periphery. The high pitched gurgles and giggles that he let out now reached deeper parts of your brain, and hearing them made you release your own in turn.

You remember when the two of you began to explore the forest. Learning of Eywa's beauties and strengths. Deciding upon your favorite creatures and flowers. Becoming unafraid of the ambiance that it held, and learning awareness of what sounds led to danger and what was alright to stay around. 

You remember when your fathers began teaching you the ways of the warriors. Teaching you how to track, to nock an arrow, to achieve a clean kill, and to sharpen your knives. The two of you were always sparring partners in these early days – you learned the traditional ways of battle, before adding your own flares to it.

But then Neteyam completed his iknimaya. 

He was the youngest of the Omatikaya to ever do it. His fathers expectations of him pressing him to become better, to be the best he can be, to be the symbol of the strength of the people. 

When he had told you that he was going to attempt his iknimaya, you were surprised. It was not that you believed he couldn't complete it, but he was so young, had so much time left in his life and there was no need to rush things. 

Nonetheless, you were excited. Over the moon for your best friend. Before he ventured out you had crushed him in your arms, pressing a swift kiss on his cheek to wish him good luck.

You weren’t surprised to see him arrive home unscathed. The celebration that night was loud, the clan's excitement at an all time high for the Olo’eyktans son. It was then that the young hunters approached Neteyam.

They were a few years older than the two of you – slightly jealous at the fact that Neteyam had accomplished so much when he was so young. But instead of teasing him, pushing him, even bullying him into submission, they took to praising him. 

There was no doubt that Neteyam would become Olo’eyktan. No doubt that he would lead the people when his time had come. So it was best to start making friendships now, to start fostering their relationships and secure their future positions in the clan while Neteyam was still young. 

You and him had been dancing when they approached. Moving your bodies to the beats of the drums, laughing freely, simply basking in the celebration. But then Teylun taps on Neteyam's shoulder, dragging his attention away from you. 

Over the music you can faintly hear something about ‘join us,’ and ‘welcome you,’. You miss most of what Teylun says, but from what you did catch it seems as if he and his friends want to congratulate Neteyam personally. 

The two of you were attached at the hip, everyone in the clan knew you both were inseparable. So when Teylun begins to lead Neteyam away you move to follow. But for the first time, possibly ever, you aren’t allowed to go.

Teylun pushes Neteyam’s shoulder blade urging him forward, before turning back to face you. “I’m sorry ‘eveng, we will be discussing warrior things. It is best if you stay back, converse with people your own speed.”

He is calling you a child? Just because you didn’t want to rush your iknimaya, did not mean that you were a weak child. That you couldn’t complete it if you really wanted to. Before you get the chance to retaliate, to say your piece, Teylun has already guided Neteyam the rest of the way to where his friends reside. 

You wouldn’t disrupt. It was Neteyam’s night, his celebration, and he could be in whoever's company he wished. You would see him in the morning anyway, then you could tell him how rude Teylun was to you. 

When morning arrives you begin your way towards the Sully kelku. Normally Neteyam would meet you halfway, then the two of you would head towards the training grounds or the forest together. He didn’t today though, maybe he was just tired. So you keep moving, you could just meet him at his home.

Maybe you could even steal some fruit or meat under the guise that your parents hadn’t fed you. Yes, that would be nice. A second breakfast to set you up for the perfect day. As you poke your head into their kelku, you don’t see Neteyam.

It still doesn’t phase you. Pushing past the hides that cover the entry way you make your way towards where Neytiri and Lo’ak sit. “Good morning auntie, Lo’ak.” 

The human word felt odd coming from your throat, but Jake had taught it to you when you were young. He said that the word meant close, almost motherly figure; and Neytiri was always like that to you. 

Lo’ak stands, crashing into your chest with a tight hug. He acts as if he had not seen you just yesterday, had not danced with you after Neteyam left with Teylun. 

“Would you like something to eat, child?”

When you nod, Neytiri hands you a leaf holding fresh fruits and roots. The perfect way to start your day. You begin picking at the meal with your fingers, picking the best pieces for yourself, and giving the slightly less best pieces to Lo’ak. 

After swallowing a few bites you begin to look around. Where is Neteyam? He is usually an early riser, and you had expected him to be up by now even with the late night he had. 

As if sensing your curiosity Lo'ak speaks. “Big bro left.”

He doesn't acknowledge the look on your face, doesn't even look up from where he's deciding what piece of fruit he wants from your leaf. You only come out of your stupor when he points at a particularly juicy piece of fruit and asks if he can have it.

“Where did he go?” You hand Lo'ak the fruit, leaning your head against his as you ask.

You can feel him shrug, feel his jaw work as he chews before he responds. “Dunno, I think he said something about going with Teylun.”

Neytiri snaps at Lo'ak, telling him to mind his grammar. She didn’t like how much English he included in his daily life, much less when he began creating Na'vi slang that matched with words his father had used when he was a human.

You tune her out. Instead focusing on how Neteyam is off with Teylun again. You could understand last night, it was important to show camaraderie. That must be what this is.

Allowing Neteyam to follow along with their hunt, or training, or whatever it was that they were getting up to. Allowing him to establish himself with the others who have completed their iknimayas.

So you thank Neytiri for the food, ruffle Lo'ak's braids, and head out to train yourself. You don’t manage to catch a glimpse of Neteyam for the rest of the day. It’s odd, and it places what feels to be a rock in the center of your chest. But you knew you would see him tomorrow. These new friends would ebb and fade, and even if they didn’t Neteyam wouldn’t abandon you for no reason. 

The next day as you approach the Sully kelku, there is distinct chatter. You can hear Teylun’s voice, is he ever going to leave Neteyam alone? Then Li’ral’s voice filters in too. Neteyam’s voice is the first clear thing that you can hear.

“Are you sure that I cannot join you later? I have not seen ma txeylan in nearly two days.”

Teylun laughs. You assume it is because he sees you as a child. Li’ral pitches in, confirming your thoughts, “The girl who has been attached to your side since the two of you were toddlers?”

“Yes, that is her.”

“She is a ‘eveng. You are a warrior now.”

Neteyam sighs, “She is not a ‘eveng. Just because she did not complete her iknimaya yet doesn’t mean-”

“But has she not trained as long as you?”

“She has. What does that have to do with her being a child?”

Thank Eywa he was standing up for you. You knew you could trust him. 

“It means she should have trusted herself, her training and attempted her iknimaya as well. It is childish fear that held her back.”

Most Omatikaya didn't complete their iknimayas until they were a minimum of fifteen years of age anyway. You were not behind, Neteyam was just leagues ahead of everyone. 

You think Neteyam would retort again. Come to your defense as he always had – but instead you can hear the familiar patter of footsteps. A faint conversation discussing the best way to roast a yerik, wafts over to your ears before you lose the ability to hear them. 

Maybe he had defended you again when you were out of earshot. There was no way he allowed the conversation to change so easily, still wanting to defend the person he spent so many years beside. 

The opportunity to confront him never comes. To ask for some comfort about the situation, for him to quell your fears that he truly did see you as a child. 

Just a short week after his iknimaya, Neteyam was to complete his dream hunt. You would not let him evade you before this event. The possibility of him dying was too great to not at least wish him luck.

Not because he needed it, you knew how strong and determined he was. But because you wanted to show that you still cared, still considered him your best friend even with the distance of the past week. 

When you approach the small group he's settled in, they go silent. Their eyes flit from Neteyam to you hastily. 

“Ma txeylan, do you have a moment?” You keep your voice light, trying to block the nervousness from seeping into your tone. 

Neteyam's ear flicks. The young hunters he's began to associate himself with eye him, smirks and grimaces adorning their features. His beads clink as he allows his head to nod slightly, “Of course.”

He lets you drag him a few feet away from the group. Positions himself with a view of the group he was sitting with over your shoulder. 

“I've missed you.” A polite smile graces your features as you speak. 

Once again he only nods to show any sign that he has heard you. But you don't let him get away with it; instead taking to staring into his eyes with your bright ones. So he grants you a small, noncommittal sound from the back of his throat.

When you realize that you won't be getting a vocal response you continue, “I just wanted to wish you well. To tell you I am hoping for good luck on your dream hunt.”

“Why?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his odd question, then they furrow, “What do you mean why?”

Neteyam’s eyes flick over your shoulder, making contact with the new friends he’s solidified himself with. Then he breathes a deep, annoyed breath, “Why do you feel the need to wish me luck. I am not a ‘eveng, like you,” For the first time in days his eyes meet yours, “I can handle myself.”

Oh. So that’s how it was going to be. You stuck with him for years, and now he wants to cast you aside because he has some new and shiny friends. 

How unfair. 

Laughter bubbles up behind you. When you look up you can see Neteyam’s lips quirk into a smile at the sound, can see the way his chest puffs slightly in pride. You don’t need to look at the group to know they were staring at you, that their amusement was due to your embarrassment. 

The sound burns into your memory. Sears painfully into the deepest parts of your brain. It must have changed the chemistry in your brain with the way that it now triggers your fight or flight response. 

That same laugh drags your attention from your friends. It brings a twinge to your chest – one that quickly places a scowl on your face. It’s bringing the urge to fight. To cross the cookfire and pour a full waterskin over Li’rals’s head. To shove Teylun over the log he’s sitting on and cave his nose into his face. To grasp Neteyam’s tail and attempt to dislodge it from where it rested on his spine.

But you take a deep, steadying breath. Take a loving glance at the friends you’ve surrounded yourself with; the ones who adopted you after Neteyam abandoned you. And you decided to take it out on him tomorrow during training, there no one could judge you for seeming bloodthirsty. 

The adults of the clan haven’t seemed to get the memo that you and Neteyam are not friends.

Well, more that you cannot stand him. Anytime he speaks, you grunt to reply. When he looks in your direction, you make sure to avoid your eyes. If he approaches your friends to discuss what they’re weaving or how the hunt went, you make it a point to act as if he does not exist.

When you’re in the same hunting party, not much is achieved. Formations are broken, twigs are snapped, prey is lost. No one can decide who to blame; Neteyam for putting you in the most useless part of the formation, or you for storming off and hunting by yourself. 

And sparring together always leads to more scrapes and bruises than when you spar for anyone else. So you’d think that Jake and your father would avoid placing you two together. That they’d want two of the clan's best warriors to stay in formidable shape. 

Their wiseness should have been able to influence their decision. To prevent them from ever even thinking that the two of you could be applicable partners. That you could ever go back to how it was.

Instead, at least once a month, the two of you end up partners. 

Unfortunately it is the most entertaining part of the session. Watching the two of you be forced into the circle; him smiling as he scratches the back of his neck, you huffing before shoving yourself off the tree you were leaning against. They’d watch in anticipation as Neteyam watched you, assessing your stance, trying to make eye contact.

Then their eyes would flick to you. Watching how you’d toe at the ground, roll your knuckles till they crack, bite your lip as you stare at your father like he personally offended you. It was obvious that you were wound up, like a cord ready to snap. 

You’d wait until the last moment, until your father or his would call for the start of the spar, to even glance in his direction. Rarely looking at his eyes, instead learning the movements of his muscles so you could determine his movements from that. Anything so that you wouldn’t have to look at his stupid face. 

At the beginning of the spar, everything would be cordial. Proper stances, dancing around each other before taking light jabs, ducking and dodging until you were inevitably told to ‘push your opponent!’. It was then that Neteyam would start lunging a bit more seriously, reaching his hands out to grab at your thigh or push your shoulder; something to tip your center of gravity, allowing him to pin you down. 

You’d retaliate with shoves of your own, letting your nails scrape a lot more than necessary. It was low, a bit dirtier than should be allowed in spars, but it wasn’t explicitly against the rules. Plus, who's to say the scrapes didn’t come after the two of you had started rolling around?

It didn’t matter how it happened. Didn’t matter who shoved who, who’s hips pinned the others down, who celebrated their victory a bit too early; the two of you would always end up tousling on the ground. 

Provoked, enraged, by the others misplaced confidence, whoever was pinned would buck and thrash until they had regained a bit of control. Then the two of you would be wrestling, throwing insults back and forth among the punches, grabbing braids, tugging tails, hell you’d even taken to some below the belt kicks a few times.

With how last night had gone, today was shaping up to be one of the worse spars the two of you have had. Neteyam had pinned you, somehow still in top shape after all the rumaut wine he had had yesterday. It would be fine, everything would be okay, but then Li’ral had to open his big fat mouth. 

It wasn’t loud, not wanting the elders, especially the Olo’eyktan, to hear him. But it was loud enough to drift over the edge of the circle to where you laid beneath Neteyam. You heard his voice float over you as your ears were just recovering from their ringing, ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if he mounted her like that again after eclipse one of these nights.’ Just who, on Eywa’s green planet, did he think he was talking about?

And if that wasn’t insulting enough, you could hear the faint laughter follow from Neteyam’s friends. On a better day, you’d take your eyes off Neteyam, angle your head back so you could tilt the yellow orbs to assess who specifically was laughing. You’d catalog them into your brain, prepare to treat them a little harsher the next time you sparred. But today was not a better day, and it was just in Neteyam’s luck that he also heard the joke, and was allowing himself a few huffs of laughter from where he rested above you. 

Your vision fades black at the edges, sole focus being on the boy atop you. With sudden, aggressive thrusts, you launch him from the seat he was claiming. He falls, landing on his back with a rough exhale.  While he’s disoriented, you rotate off your back and hastily crawl towards him.

Before you can settle yourself into a position that allows you to hold Neteyam down, you swing. Your fist collides with his cheek, the force splitting his lip and sending you falling over until you’re laid out on top of him. From there you swing your leg over his torso, taking a firm seat before you continue your onslaught. 

Surely, this had led to another joke to bubble from his friends. Something about how eager you were to mount him. You couldn’t hear it though, too busy thrusting your fist towards Neteyam’s face. Too busy ripping his arms away from where they came up to block your assault. Too busy pulling at those damn braids that he loved to swing around.

At some point Neteyam had tried to push back. Thrusted his hips up hoping to displace you, but you were too far up on his chest for it to do anything. Tried to grab your arms when you swung, yet you managed to dislodge them. Attempted to even roll his body under yours, to lay on his stomach and get some leverage to stand and force you off. But nothing worked, something had snapped in you – something that gave you insane strength that you were using to the fullest.

The rage you had felt forcing your blood to boil, for it to rush so fast through your veins that you were rendered unable to hear anything else. You couldn’t hear the gasps. Couldn’t hear the concerned murmurs. Couldn’t hear Neteyam saying he yielded. Couldn’t hear the Olo’eyktan telling you to get off of his son, nor your father reprimanding your sudden rampage.

Suddenly – well suddenly, for you, – you’re hoisted off of Neteyam. As you raise into the air you get a perfect view of him. Laid out on the dirt, chest rising in heavy breaths, lip busted and bleeding down the side of his face, cheek already gaining an indigo tint, braids misplaced from the wrap he had them in; it brings a maniacal grin to your face. 

Yeah, his friends and him could make fun of you all they wanted. But at the end of the day, you’d be the one laughing. That was one thing you’d made sure of ever since that night so many moon rotations ago – they’d never be able to call you a child again. 

Slowly a voice fades into your head. Vowels and consonants forming into syllables that you can finally piece together into words. It’s your fathers voice, he’s whispering a scolding, ‘I cannot believe you did that’, ‘ma’ite, I know he aggravates you, but he is still the Olo’eyktan’s son’, ‘How will it look to the elders’, ‘You’ll scare off potential mates if you keep up with this,’. You weren’t embarrassed at your actions, but being hauled away while everyone knew you were getting scolded brought a slight flush to your cheeks. 

You’re sure to be scolded more intently when safely tucked into your kelku. Sure that your mother will force you to spend more time with the weavers and the gathers, saying that it’ll soften your demeanor. Sure that your father will remind you of how he fought with Jake Sully and Neytiri, how their union was strong and Neteyam and yours should be similar especially with your mature ages. 

So when the conversation happens you let it. Nodding dutifully as they chatter; agree to chaperone the gathers as they forage, agree to weave with the elders so you can soak up their wisdom, even agree to stay in formation next time you go for a hunt. 

It’s only when they mention apologizing, that you deny. A grimace overtakes your features, brows creasing as you speak, “I will not do such a thing. I cannot do such a thing.”

“You will. We must be united as a clan,” Your father speaks, tone harsh, “Today you showed everything but unity. You showed the fierceness of the clan, and our unwavering determination. So you must tie the whole thing together with our camaraderie, this can only be completed with an apology.”

You frown, ready to plead, to beg for any other punishment, “Father please. I cannot do it.”

“You must.” He frowns back, not wanting to debate the matter any longer.

“If you were to have heard what his friends were saying about me, then you would understand!”

“It does not matter. We must take the high route.”

You stand, slightly moving towards the entrance flap of the kelku, “It was disgusting, bordering vile, father! And he – Neteyam, he was laughing right along with them!”

“What did they say?”

Fantastic.

You weren’t going to repeat their words. It would only make the situation worse. Your father wouldn’t stand for it, ready to defend your honor even if it put your family at risk of shame. 

“Can I not just avoid him? You and the Olo’eyktan do not have to place us to spar any more, and we can coexist just fine as long as we aren’t forced to interact.”

It must have gotten to him. Your father seems to be pondering the idea. It’d be much simpler that way, changing schedules and ensuring that the two of you don’t spar together would prevent most of their issues. But it would also mean that two of their best warriors wouldn’t have their best competition, and it would risk their skills dulling. 

A small grin graces your face. You could do this, could avoid Neteyam and his group of friends for the rest of your parents' days. And you’d never have to apologize for something you weren’t sorry for. But then your mother speaks, “You must apologize.”

“Mother! I cann-”

“You must! I will not have the elders shame our family at the weaving circle, will not have others whisper our names with disgrace on their tongues. Please daughter, swallow your pride this time, after you may avoid him, yes?”

Your head falls. Sure you may not have minded what the elders had to say, didn’t mind when people spoke ill of you; but that was because you knew they didn’t know the full story. That they would probably have your side if you had voiced your side too. 

So instead of rebuking again, you allow your head to nod. A soft hum of agreement leaves your throat before you depart through the flaps of the kelku. You storm through the clan, rushing to the ikran rookery; a nice flight to clear your head before your inevitable apology. 

It’s a calming mechanism you’ve used since you passed your iknimaya. The clear air and loads of open space allow you to think through all your problems easily. Small tricks and flips bring you confidence. Your skills in the air remind you of your skills on the ground; and a smile is brought to your face as you remember Neteyam flat on his back earlier today.

You fly for hours, watch the sun reach eclipse atop your ikran. Observe as the bioluminescent glow overtakes the forest. Eventually, your racing heart slows, and your breaths come more regularly, and it’s then that you decide you can apologize.

The Sully kelku has its entrance flaps open when you arrive, typical as the Olo’eyktan is expected to be available until the last clan member goes to sleep. You don’t walk straight in however, instead sing-songing a soft “Kaltxì.”

It is Lo’ak who comes to the entrance, “Oh shit.” He laughs out your name, “Dude, the way you beat Neteyam’s ass today was crazy!” 

“Yes,” a tight lipped smile adornes your features, “I am here to apologize. Is Neteyam around?”

Lo’ak gazes at you curiously, even though you put distance between you when you stopped talking with Neteyam, he had never let you fully seal the door. Normally when he’d praise your skills, you’d at least laugh a bit with him. Nonetheless, he nods, “Yeah. Yeah he’s on the sleeping mats.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to where you could find him.

“Where is everyone else?” 

“Mom and dad are out, and Kiri and Tuk are weaving.”

Good. This was good. You didn’t want to have anyone in the family hearing the conversation, but you also didn’t want to have it outside where anyone could hear. “Can you just come back in a little bit Lo? I must apologize to your brother in private.”

“In private?” Lo’ak’s eyebrows waggle, “Aloneee?”

You shove past him before turning and lightly pushing his shoulder to urge him into taking a few steps out the kelku. “It is not like that and you know it.”

As you move deeper into the home, you call out to Neteyam a few times. Eywa forbid he was improper when you finally saw him. When you finally hear his voice ring back, you allow yourself to duck into the area that held their sleeping mats.

Letting your eyes rove over him you can see the damage you did. You look at the way he winces upon sitting up, how his lip is still swollen, the indigo finally setting on his cheek, even the faint scratches that rest upon his pectoral muscles. He looked bad, it takes everything in you to not allow a smile to grace your features. 

You allow yourself to kneel, not wanting to seem higher or more important by towering over him.

“I am here to apologize. My earlier actions are inexcusable and I hope you can forgive me.”

Neteyam nods a bit. Lets your words linger in the air before he responds, “It is fine. We all get overcome by our emotions sometimes.”

“It is not fine.” Your head shakes, beads clinking to accentuate your point, “Please accept my apology, do not brush it off.”

“Okay.” His tongue darts out over his lips, bringing the bottom one between his teeth before he hisses from how tender it is, “I accept your apology.”

Good. He will no doubt tell his parents about your change of heart, and it will spread from there. Your family will be cleared from any possible shame and you can go on with your lives. As you move to get up Neteyam’s hand wraps around your wrist. 

Your eyes flick over to his, “What is it?”

“I’ve just been thinking. I miss you, we used to be so close, you know?” His hand falls, but his eyes keep peering into yours, “What happened to us?”

“What do you mean, ‘what happened to us,’?” You scoff, all semblance of being friendly disappearing, “Trust me when I say this. You are not important to me. You may have been, but you never will be again.”

Fast, jerky movements lead you out of the Sully kelku. How dare he say something so preposterous? How dare he act as if he’s not the reason the two of you are here? 

Unbelievable. 

At least you wouldn’t have to interact with him again. Thank Eywa.

Neteyam did not know what had gotten into you today.

Last night you had seemed pleased, happy to drink rumaut wine with your friends as the cookfire reduced to embers. He’d been watching you, allowing his eyes to roam over the people, but lingering on you for a bit longer than everyone else. 

This morning however something was off. You were on edge, nearly strung your bow too tight before archery practice. When the time for sparring finally rolled around, instead of meandering near the edge, you were bouncing on the balls of your feet – like a thanator ready to pounce. 

It was his luck that the two of you were paired together today. 

The dance you’d fall into was familiar, he was prepared for it. Ready to dance around and trade dominance until one of you became too tired to continue. But today, you’re hyper-aggressive; your moves are harsher, punches are harder, jabs are faster. 

He hisses the first time your nails make contact with his chest; it’s almost as if they’ve been sharpened, prepped to cut just for this. The sting urges him to take you down, to put some real use to his larger muscles thanks to his father's avatar DNA. 

He ducks down, using his right hand to grab at your left thigh. His hand slides down the smooth skin until he can grab at the flexion of your knee. Then he tugs it towards himself, tilting you backwards.

Instead of letting you fall alone, he follows. Neteyam lets his left hand move to the back of your head, preventing it from hitting the ground too roughly. But once you’re settled on the ground, he clambers over you, settling most of his weight on your hips. 

At first you try to hit him, fruitlessly using your arms to displace him. It doesn’t work, but it does get annoying. Neteyam moves to pin your arms, now he can secure his win without any other lesions to his body. 

He smiles, huffing a little laugh at how angered you are today. He wants to ask what was up with you, wants to ask what crawled up your tewng today. But then something happens – something otherworldly takes over you.

Unnaturally bucking overtakes your hips, your whole body is being used. Shoulders pressing into the ground beneath you, legs bent at the knee to grant extra force, even your arms slide across the ground to displace his grip.

The shock overtakes him, forcing him off your body. His back roughly hits the ground, and the breath is knocked from his lungs. And before he can even acknowledge that he’s off from where he once sat victoriously on you, you’ve launched a punch into his cheek. 

From there it’s only downhill. You’ve taken a seat upon him and begin laying into his face, his chest, his arms, really anything you can. 

Neteyam tries to fight it at first. Tries to defend his face, to force you off of him, to flip the two of you over, but nothing works. He tries to ensure your win, to yield, but his voice goes uncared for or unheard. 

It’s only when your father hauls you off of him that he gets some room to breathe. The break allows the ache to set in his jaw, and his cheek, and his lip, and his scalp. Eywa, did he hope that his grandmother would use the yalna bark salve today.

His father hauls him up from the ground. Gives him a once over as he questions, “You good boy?”

Neteyam nods, braids falling over his face when he doesn’t move to raise his head again. 

“Good. Go get patched up.”

With a pat and light shove to his shoulder, Neteyam is off. When he arrives to the Tsahik’s tent, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that it’s only his mother and grandmother inside. 

He can hear them chattering about something. The words ‘of age,’ and ‘best time to train a tsakarem,’ float to his perked up ears before he realizes they’re speaking about him.

So he delays making his appearance known for a little longer, taking post behind the tent where the hides are thin. Their words come softly muffled through the hide, his grandmother’s voice ringing through first, “Many will seek him out during the upcoming mating season.”

“Yes,” His mother hums, “I can only imagine how many gifts will swarm our kelku.” 

The two of them chuckle and it brings a smile to Neteyam’s face. But then he remembers how soon the season is, just a few short weeks away. Sure his siblings had teased him plenty about how many girls would throw themselves at him – but that was useless teasing, this was his mother and grandmother. If they’re speculating it must be serious. 

“It will all be for naught if he does not reciprocate. Has Neteyam spoken of anyone who has piqued his interest?”

“No, he has not. There are many near his age this season though.”

His mother was right, there were many who’d be his age this mating season. Even though Neteyam could think of the prospects himself, his mother and grandmother began to list off the girls that would be participating this season, allowing him to mull over their attributes himself.

“Pxule…” She is one of the singers. Soft spoken until she needs to voice the hymns of the ancestors and she finally allows her voice to raise. A kind girl, but not one he could see himself being mated to for eternity.

“To’lei…” A gatherer. Her nimble fingers always grant her perfect harvests. It would seem as if Eywa herself loves when To’lei heads into her forest, always granting her the best materials from whatever area she’s decided to forage in. Her skills would eternally be useful to the clan, but she engages in constant babbling as she gathers, rarely taking moments to embrace the natural noises of the flora and fauna.

“Mekani…” One of the hunters. She was able to flawlessly lead a hunt among the younger bunch; her stern tone leaving no room for discussion or pushback. Her shoulders were never bare when she arrived back at hometree, making sure to share the burden of such a success with her fellow hunters. A formidable mate, someone who knew how to lead and the importance of being strict, but she never seemed to let up, never showed a softer side that would be important for raising children.

Maybe Neteyam would need to take some time to sit and think when he got home. All of the options that were being listed were good options; just not for him. He needed someone who matched him, someone who questioned when he was making a bad decision, someone who could be soft when he didn’t know how to be. 

If he could take a trait from each of the girls listed and place them into a mold, he’d end up with the perfect mate. The one who would make him confident when he took the role of Olo’eyktan over. But that wasn’t possible, he couldn’t force any one of them to fit whatever mold he’d created in his head. Just as he’s about to push out of his kneel and approach the entrance of the tent his mothers voice cuts in again.

She spoke your name, “For a time, when they were little, I believed that they would end up together.”

“Hm. Why is that?”

“They were always together. You cannot be that close for so long and never grow any feelings – it is how I came to see Jake in another light.”

Neteyam hadn’t even considered the fact that you would be participating this year. Sure you were the same age, and had long since passed your iknimaya. However the thought of you getting dressed up in brightly colored loincloths and chest coverings just to dance around the cookfire with potential mates made him sick. 

His brain ran through the list of men who’d be eligible this year. Sure there were plenty of options, but none of them would be good enough. Korvyn was too timid. Sa’nel was too immature. Rikutu had many adventures with girls already. 

The thought of you ending up with a courting gift adorning your body by the end of the season soured his mood. 

He knew it was wrong – to be this protective over you, even though he hadn’t spoken properly to you in years. But that wasn’t his fault! He had tried; joined your friends as they weaved, taken the position of lead in your hunting parties, and he’d made sure to never take it easy on you during spars not wanting to undermine all the training he knew you did.

You were the one that refused to speak to him after he came into his own.

After his dream hunt,  he’d begun getting more responsibilities. It was around that time that you stopped talking to him. When he called across a clearing, your head would turn in the opposite direction. He’d sneak up on you and Lo’ak as you helped him with his aim, only revealing himself to give some advice of his own, but instead of sticking around you’d mention that he could take over before leaving. 

No matter what, it was a deflection, and it was you who influenced the distance. Not him. So why does it matter if you’ll probably be ending the mating season with a serious prospect courting you. Who cares that in the next few months you’ll mate before Eywa with some skxawng. It makes no difference that sometime in the near future there might be a child running around hometree with your eyes, your mates nose, and tiny loincloths weaved by your own fingers.

The thoughts wound Neteyam up tightly. As if he was twine woven around a tree to stabilize a kelku. It made his treatment rougher than necessary; his grandmother moving to massage the tensed muscles more than needed. 

Even though his muscles had been worked out, stretched and prodded until they were spongy and soft again, his brain was still a mess. What could he do to prevent such an outcome? How could he implement himself back in your life in a way that would put him in a perfect position to determine who you decided to spend the rest of your life with? 

Hours passed as he laid on his sleeping mat and pondered. Eventually his thoughts were interrupted by your voice calling out to him. At first he had assumed it had been a figment of his imagination – that because his thoughts were all consumed by you, his brain had decided to play a trick on him. But then the voice came again, and again, and it only stopped after he had responded. 

It was you, really you! Sitting next to him, poised upon your knees as you spewed something about an apology. Truly, he did not care. Everyone has bad moments, maybe not him, but now wasn’t the time to say that. 

You hadn’t liked that. Forced him to not just brush off your apology. And that’s fine, it’s the first time in nearly half your lives that you’ve said more than ‘okay’ or ‘I heard you’ to him. So he accepts your apology all while silently hoping that you’d stick around, say something else to continue the conversation. You must’ve missed him as much as he’s missed you. Must have been wondering what his daily life looked like now.

Instead, you move to rise. Hands plant on your knees as you let your center of gravity shift to allow your knee to come up from beneath you. It’s then that Neteyam realizes Eywa’s delivered you to him. Here, on a shining platter (your knees so you’re level to him), and he’d be a fool to not take the opportunity to talk. 

He lets his hand rest upon your wrist for a moment. Allows his calloused fingers to feel over your pulse point until you question what he needs. It takes him a moment to find his voice, to gather his thoughts into a proper sentence. 

“I’ve just been thinking. I miss you, we used to be so close, you know?” Neteyam lets his hand drop, believing that you’ll stick around without him tethering you, “What happened to us?” 

For a moment he thinks that you will give him an answer. Something about how you wanted space to grow into your own, but now that you’re both old enough you’re willing to become friends again. 

“What do you mean, ‘what happened to us,’?” A scoff falls from your lips, face falling into an unimpressed scowl,  “Trust me when I say this. You are not important to me. You may have been, but you never will be again.”

What?

What were you saying? Implying?

He supposes that he didn’t have to be important to you. But he never thought you’d say such a thing. Never thought such a statement would leave your lips when regarding your future Olo’eyktan.

Not that he needed to mention his rank. It was something that followed him as a child, something that lingered in the back of all the friendships that he held. You had never acknowledged it though, he was ‘just Neteyam’ and he couldn’t be happier for that.

Before he can move to grab you again, to try and force you to explain your rash statement, you’re up and out of the kelku. He moves to stand but his body aches and he can’t move fast enough. By the time he calls out to you, he knows you’re gone. 

How strange. 

No matter. Neteyam’s sure that he’ll have plenty of opportunities to talk with you before the mating season begins. Everything can be straightened out and he can claim his rightful position by your side and influence your final decision. 

If you were hard to get a hold of before, you were impossible now. Neteyam could rarely catch sight of you. When he did you were promptly out of his vision a moment later, as if you were a phantom of his imagination. 

He tried speaking to your friends. Urging them to spill the secret of where you were spending your time. When that didn’t work he tried bribery, offering them an uninterrupted dance with him during the season.

They hadn’t given up where you were spending all your time, but they had told him how you never stayed in the same spot for too long. That you allowed your schedule to rotate frequently to prevent being seen. This was not useful, but he had already pressed his forearm to theirs and grabbed their elbow in the traditional signal of a deal before they gave the information. 

When there was only a week left until the start of mating season, he took to more desperate measures. 

Neteyam begged his father to place you in his hunting party again. Jake's reply was less than pleasing, “No can do son. Strict orders to keep the two of you out of each other's hair after that last spar.” Who cared how that ended up?! The two of you were adults and could move past that if they gave you the opportunity. 

He asked his grandmother to speak to you when you went to her to be patched up. Mo’at sighed as she responded, “I will not get involved in your frivolous situation grandson.” Neteyam had scoffed, spewed something about how it clearly wasn’t frivolous to you, before he departed from the tent.

Next to suffer was Lo’ak. Despite how you had pushed him away, and refused to be seen around hometree with him, Neteyam knew that the two of you still hung out. As Lo’ak had been leaving the village one day Neteyam had stopped him, asking to tag along. “Sorry bro, not blowing up my spot for you.” had been Lo’ak’s carefree reply. What did he mean ‘blowing up his spot’? One would think that after all the heat Neteyam took for him, Lo’ak could do his big brother this one solid, but no matter there was still another path to try. 

The final person he dared try was your mother. She was always nice to him, loving and caring whenever he stopped by the weavers circle. Neteyam knew it would be a long shot, but it was still important to try all his options, to just implore her to tell him what had gotten under your skin. But she denied him too, “Ma’ite’s business is her business. You will have to find out from her yourself.” At least she was nice enough to pair her words with a soft tone and a light smile.

What a shame. How did they expect him to solve this situation if you wouldn’t speak to him! How was he supposed to ward off potential mates if he couldn’t be in your vicinity!

The thoughts consumed him all throughout the first week of the season. Sure Neteyam had his fair share of suitors approaching him; plenty of young women, even some men, approaching him to converse and delve into their lives. He still made sure to keep an eye on you however, glancing over the shoulder of the person in front of him, turning his head in your direction as he itches the back of his neck, a few times even excusing himself as he sees you walk off. 

The second week is when small gifts begin to be exchanged. He begins to get cuts of meat from Mekani. She delivers him the best, fattiest, pieces of sturmbeest and yerik meat. At first she delivers it raw, but as the week progresses she begins to cook it, glazing it in nectar, or roasting it with fruits. 

Neteyam’s not interested. To eat the meat is to show signs of interest, but it’d be rude to just discard. So instead, he takes it to his friends, distributes it between Teylun and Li’ral; and he only slightly regrets it when they begin to sing Mekani’s praises. 

Korvyn has been taking up your time. Not all of it, still allowing you to seek out other potential suitors, but he has certainly become bold in the last few weeks. He allows his tail to find your waist, to run it along the base of your own as the two of you talk. Tilts his head appropriately to show his interest in your stories. 

There wouldn’t be any worry from Neteyam if you hadn’t been smiling so happily at him. Hadn’t inched closer where you sat perched against the log. Hadn’t presented Korvyn with a fresh harvest of rumaut that you had cut up yourself. 

So the next morning Neteyam sets out, before the sun has risen over the horizon. He will bring back the best piece of sturmbeest meat, and then he is going to roast it slowly over the fire. When it is nearly done he is going to wrap it in a leaf with some fine roots, and glaze them both with honey, before allowing it to steam to perfection.

It would be perfect. A meal that he knew you consumed from childhood, perfected by his hands as the perfect distraction from other suitors.

Wait.

Wait.

What was he thinking? From other suitors? He was not trying to court you. Wasn’t trying to take a permanent, romantic, spot in your life. 

Well. It wouldn’t be that bad. 

He’d known you all your lives anyway. Been close until you were twelve. Your families liked each other, parents supporting each other in the war against the sky people. It wouldn’t be the worst scenario if he were to court you. 

Plus who would challenge the future Olo’eyktan for someone's hand? It would be stupid, they wouldn’t have a chance. Who would want a simple hunter, a weaver, a gatherer, or a carver, instead of the future leader of the Omatikaya? 

Teylun had said something similar to him just before mating season had started. Boasted that because of his title, he could obtain anyone he wanted, that he could probably get an older woman if he really wanted. Someone with more experience on everything, especially how to make him see stars in the privacy of their own kelku.

He was always more focused on the sexual part of things. On the physical level of affections, not on how they start, on the emotional base that makes everything more intense. But nonetheless, it was a great idea. He’d be able to ward off other suitors and maybe even encourage you to start seeing him how you once did again. 

So Neteyam spends the entire day preparing the meal. Kneels over the roast until his back gains a twinge. Ensures that the glaze covers the entire meal nicely, in a perfectly even layer before setting it to properly settle into the meal.

And when he’s finally settled, finally believes that the meal is perfect, he wraps it tightly in woven cloths to seal the heat. Then he’s off to the cookfire. He steps past where his friends reside, faltering for only a moment until he sees that Korvyn has yet again taken the seat next to you, then he is back on his mission. 

When he steps into the little bubble the two of you have cultivated neither of you pay him any mind. Your conversation flows, smooth despite his presence lingering in front of you both. Korvyn is in the middle of recounting how he learned to swim when his brother cast him into the river when Neteyam clears his throat.

The two of you turn towards the source of the noise. Korvyn lets a smile grace his features, always so friendly, but you just peer up at him. Your eyes go from the wide orbs that he’s used to, to half lidded at your disinterest. 

Neteyam’s eyes are only on you, watching the subtle sway of your tail, the way the furry tip brushes against Korvyn’s. He observes how your chest covering leaves very little to the imagination, it makes his throat dry up until Korvyn’s voice rings out to his left. 

“Neteyam, what can we do for you?”

So he clears his throat, lets some saliva coat his tongue, then speaks. “I wish to speak with her.” When no movement is made to leave the two of you alone he opens his mouth again, “Alone.”

“Oh. Right, of course!” Korvyn turns to you as he moves to get up, “I will see you later, kalintu.”

You let your hand grasp his bicep as he stands, allowing it to ghost over his skin until your hand rests in his. Neteyam can see the way your fingers flex as they hold Korvyns, can see the way his thumb rubs over your fingers before he inevitably steps away. 

When he departs your face falls more than it already had. Even more so when Neteyam sits next to you. Your brow creases, frown tilting your lips downwards. And finally, he’s granted with your voice being directed at him, “What is it?”

“I prepared this for you.” Neteyam begins to uncover the food, neatly unwrapping the cloths from around it before he hands you the leaf. You stare at it, lifting it in your palms to test the weight before raising your head again. 

“Thank you.”

“Open it.”

So you do, maneuver your fingers deftly to untie the twine that secured the leaf before beginning the actual process of unwinding the leaf. As you do a familiar sweet scent begins to flood your senses. You can tell what it is before it even comes into eyesight.

When it is finally revealed you can feel your mouth water. The delicious smell paired with delectable view sparks a hunger that you didn’t have before. But you couldn’t eat it, wouldn’t eat it, the implications were too great especially as anyone could see. 

You mutter a soft, “Thank you,” before moving to rewrap the food. Neteyam shoots his hand out though, halting all movement from you. 

“I wish for you to try it.”

It was dirty. A play that he shouldn’t be forcing right now, but Neteyam can feel Korvyn still lingering. He knows that he’s watching this whole interaction and Neteyam wants him to know that there’s competition. Worthy competition at that. 

“You know I cannot. That we are not prospects for each other.”

“Just try it. I wish to know if I’ve improved on the taste from when we were children.”

A huff leaves your nostrils. Heavy and harsh, as a clear sign of your distaste for Neteyam’s methods. But the slight grumble in your stomach does just enough to convince you. You raise the meat to your lips, parting them just wide enough for a bite before tearing off a piece with your teeth.

You let it rest on your tongue for a moment. To let the glaze flutter over your tastebuds before the tender richness of the meat joins it. It’s good. Very good. Unfortunately, Neteyam had mastered what herbs and spices went best with the meat and honey.

Swallowing your pride you allow a quick, “It is good.” Before you move to wrap the meat again. This time Neteyam lets you, pleased that you’ve tried his food in front of the whole clan. Even more pleased that you couldn’t deny that it was delicious – you may not have verbally said it, but he could tell from the way your eye sparkled and the upward flick of your ear that it was just as you liked it. 

The next few weeks went smoothly. Well, as smooth as they could in Neteyam’s eyes.

It had become clear to the clan that he and Korvyn were dueling for your attention. He had thought it would work in his favor, if everyone knew he was trying to court you, then they would encourage Korvyn to back off. 

Instead, Korvyn's friends seemed to step up their encouragement. Neteyam heard whispers from them about how good of a pick he had made, how if the Olo'eyktans son wanted the same woman then she must've been the perfect choice. If Neteyam wanted to take a page out of Li'ral's book, then he would have used the statement to his advantage.

Ran to you and told you that Korvyn only spoke to you because he wanted to stake claim over something that Neteyam wanted. But before he could even let the thought form he heard Korvyn’s voice drift over, ‘that does not matter to me. I thought she was perfect before he decided to intercept.’ Great. He was a great, honest guy. 

Neteyam really hopes that they can get along afterwards. That there wouldn't be any hard feelings when he took his rightful spot by your side. But he wouldn't be too upset if it didn't work out – the more distance between you two, the better.

As the time passed he began to appreciate you. At first it had been a distraction, to encourage others to stay away. But as he spent nights bringing you meals, rare flowers, dyes from rare fruits, even a couple of carved bone jewelry pieces, he got to know you again.

He relearned the sound of your voice – not the one he usually heard, the blunt, uninterested tone. But instead the light airy tone that you held in casual conversation.

Relearned how your outer eyelid begins to droop when you're tired. How you refuse to sleep when there's much left to do, and how your eyes begin to tear up in protest to your stubbornness.

Relearned how you'll allow your bare foot to scrape against the dirt when you find a pebble. Most would move their foot, kick the pebble away, or if they must, plant their foot on top of it and try to ignore the sensation. You instead, embrace it.

Relearned how observant you are. Even if you look to be immersed in a conversation, you're still tuned into everything around you. Your ears will flick back at particularly loud laughs, eyes will steal glances when people begin to move in your vicinity.

He feels as if he’s relearned you entirely. Cataloged every piece of you that was missing in the past twelve years. 

You must have felt the same. Felt as if you came to understand him better. That every missed moment was now known and that you were as close as before.

Neteyam’s drifting thoughts led to him messing up his weaving. He had switched stitching styles midway and now the armband looked crooked and mangled. He grunts in anger before putting his fingers into motion to fix his mistake. 

“What is wrong?” 

His mothers voice rings out behind him. She was preparing for dinner, carving the roots and slicing the meat while Neteyam sat a few feet away. She was always so observant, her oldest son the easiest for her to read.

“Nothing is wrong mother.”

He can hear the knife she held being placed down on the stone she was cutting on. Can feel her body heat shifting closer to his.  “Something is wrong. You are tense, hunching over your craft as if it must be shielded from the world.”

Neytiri's palm presses between his shoulder blades. It urges him to sit up straight.

“I want it to be perfect.”

He can feel his mother peering over his shoulder. It brings tension back into his body as he holds his breath. If his mother didn't like it he isn't sure what he would do. 

“It will be.” Neytiri nods approvingly, “You do not need to rush.”

He did need to rush. Teylun told him this morning during training that he overheard that Korvyn had finished his courting gift. That could only mean that he would be presenting it to you tonight at the gathering, which meant that Neteyam had to finish his courting gift before then. 

The two of you had been close last night. Closer than usual, dancing next to the fire with other couples. Body's swaying and twirling around each other, never straying far enough for someone to slip between you two. If Korvyn got to you first tonight, Neteyam was nearly sure that you would accept his gift, that he would lose you to him.

So he just smiles tightly at his mother. Nods in faux agreement that he had time to complete it, that he could be patient. He knew better though, and he knew he could complete it. Hours spent training in the ways of his people meant that he was well versed, he would complete this easily before the festivities tonight.

Normally armbands were fashioned with feathers as accent pieces. Two or three that would hang down the wearers bicep, usually of a color that meant something to them. He wants the feathers to be something that stand out; a nice rich orangy-red. Not only would it stand out against your blue skin, but it’d also draw attention, garner questions about who made it for you.

The thought brought a small smirk to his face. You, confirming the suspicions that the two of you were becoming something more, to any and all who asked. 

As he approaches the fire he scans to look for you. You aren't at your normal log. You aren't settled where your friends are. Aren't nibbling on something near the edge of the forest. 

Where were you?

Maybe you were late. He had heard that you were going to wash at one of the hot springs after training today, maybe you just hadn't made it back yet. That would make sense.

He takes up position with Teylun, Li’ral, and the rest of their friends. He tries not to get too comfortable, to be ready to jump up and head over to you as soon as you breach the forest.

Neteyam didn't want to seem like a prude by not partaking in the activities while he waited. So he drinks some wine and assumes a casual, loose position. He converses with his friends, shares his opinions on their prospects, answered when they question his stance with you.

The conversation almost leads him to miss your arrival. But his ears flick towards the sound of your voice instinctually. He allows his head to swerve with them, to watch as you greet your friends. You seemed happy, smiling as you caught up with them, he wondered what you were talking about.

It seemed wrong to interrupt. When the conversation died down he'd slowly meander over, politely ask your friends to excuse you, and drag you away from prying eyes. Then he could present you with the armband and implore you to give this courtship a chance.

As he ponders how the situation would go, Neteyam can see a figure approaching. When his eyes refocus he notices its Korvyn. He's approached you while you talk, urging you away as Neteyam was just daydreaming he would. 

No.

No, no, no. Neteyam only has one thought coursing through his mind as he approaches – Korvyn would not ruin this for him. 

“Korvyn! Can I speak to you for a moment?” Neteyam places a firm hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Korvyn nods, “Of course.” 

Neteyam drags him away; away from prying eyes, away from their friends, away from you. 

“I heard you are going to give a courting gift tonight.” 

“I am.”

Neteyam lets his tongue lave over his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he picks his words carefully. “I do not think it wise to do that.”

“Why is that?” Korvyn’s brow furrows, nose scrunching before he schools his expression back to neutral.

“I wish to court the same person. And-” Eywa is he really doing this? Yes, he was and there was no turning back now, “and it would be embarrassing for her to deny you in front of everyone.”

“She has said that she would deny me?”

Neteyam lets his lips press tightly together, “I have not asked. But it would be wise to think of all possibilities.”

With another pat to Korvyn's shoulder Neteyam turns to leave. He makes his way back to the fire, back to the music, back to you. 

But you aren't there again. So he rushes to your friends, questions your absence like he should have done earlier. They tell him you were tired, that you had outdid yourself earlier and the hot spring loosening your muscles only made you more tired.

That is fine. Perfectly fine. He could see you in the morning, before training went underway. Drag you away to a more secluded area and confess his feelings then while he presents you with the armband he carefully crafted. 

So he goes back to his kelku. Laid down on his sleeping mat and pulled a pelt over his body before drifting off to sleep. When he wakes up he's excited, happy to see where this day takes him. Ever the optimist.

But when he gets to the training grounds you are not there either. It is fine, you were probably late again – you said you were tired the night before, maybe you just slept in today. 

Neteyam tries to keep his optimistic mood, to be the open and kind person that he should be. However it falters as the day goes on and he still does not see you. 

You didn't make an appearance for the midday meal. Fine.

Didn't show up to the weavers circle to gossip with your mother and the other older women of the clan. Fine.

Weren’t up high on the ikran rookery tending to your ikran as if they were your child. Fine.

Maybe your father had sent you out to duties he was unaware of. Things that drew you away from the village. But then you weren’t at the fire later on. Not the cookfire or the celebration fire either.

And to be honest, it was still fine.

Neteyam was able to emotionally regulate himself to not fall into a spiral. To not consider that something bad had happened, or that someone else was able to steal you away in courtship before he could. You were probably resting, and if you were not resting maybe you had fallen ill. 

So he lays his head down to rest another night, preparing to get up as the sun rises. He'd go to your kelku and ask for you before you had a chance to leave – not that you would be leaving, since you were sick, of course.

Upon arriving your mother greets him.

“Oh Neteyam! So good to see you – quite early though.. How is your mother? And your siblings, are they treating you well?”

A polite smile graces his face. He’d always been fond of your mother, and it’s important to answer all her questions diligently if he wanted to ensure she also liked him. 

“I apologize for the intrusion. She is well, I believe she's preparing for a hunt right now. My siblings are also well – troublemakers, but they are well under my watchful eye.”

Your mother nods along as he speaks, showing her interest, “That is good. I am very happy to hear the Olo’eyktan’s family is doing well.” She wipes her knife with a cloth, sheathing it before her face lights up, “Ah - I apologize, you must be here for something important if you came so early.”

Neteyam smiles, your name leaves his lips and he smiles politely. When your mothers expression falls into something morphed from confusion Neteyam realizes his mistake and continues.

“I was hoping to speak to her.”

“She is gone for the day already, another busy schedule.”

“Do you know where I might be able to find her?”

Neteyam feels as if he can see the gears turning in your mothers head. It’s as if he’s watching her weigh the pros and cons of revealing your location. He hopes that the pros outweigh everything else and that she’ll guide him in the right direction but he’s not foolish – he knows family should stick together. It’s his fathers favorite saying anyway.

“I do not. She has taken on many responsibilities recently.”

Neteyam can feel his face fall before he can school his expression. Disappointment settles in his bones, weighing his shoulders down. But before he can fully allow himself to count today's pursuit as a loss, your mother speaks again.

“She may be with the gathers. Fishing while they gather fibers for weaving. However, I am not certain.”

A smile graces his face at that. It wasn’t a definite answer of your whereabouts, but it's good enough. There were many spots to gather fibers down the river, and the walk would give him ample time to perfectly craft his confession. 

As he walks through the forest Neteyam allows himself to kneel and pick a few flowers. If all went well maybe you'd allow him to braid them into your hair. He could picture it now. The two of you sitting in an alcove of a fallen tree, the ambiance of the local fauna surrounding you, talking about any and everything that came to mind as Neteyam weaved your braided hair into other patterns to incorporate the flowers as well.

Sounds of rushing water and muffled voices force him out of his daydream. Arriving to the river means he has to attune himself to everything – he’d hate to miss you because you were on the other side of the river, or if the group you were with ended up being more inland. 

When he passes groups Neteyam puts on a proper face. He smiles, greets the clan members – sometimes he helps them with picking the fibers, or hauling a catch. When he comes upon the third group, he spots you nocking an arrow a few paces away. 

After you release the arrow, he calls out to you. He watches as your yellow eyes snap to his figure. You allow your head to fall into a slight nod of acknowledgement before wading out to retrieve your catch. 

Neteyam steps slowly, as if he is trying to not startle an animal. His hands reach out in front of him, trying to show that he means no hard as you yank the arrow from the octofins body. When you toss the fish into a basket filled with the rest of your kills, he finally approaches.

“Can I steal you from fishing for a few moments?”

He can see the way your tongue rolls over your top teeth beneath your lips. The way your eyes narrow just slightly, before you motion towards the forest.

Good. The denser flora would better muffle your conversation from prying ears. He wanted this to be a more intimate moment, and he’s glad to see that you share the sentiment. 

Neteyam feels like a child with how he brambles behind you. His feet snap twigs, his hands take ages to move the vines from his vision, and his heart is pounding in his chest. Any sense of preparation flees when you reach a clearing that you deem good enough.

“Speak.”

Not the joyous greeting he had hoped for, but it was fine, he could work with it. Perhaps you were just stressed about bringing back enough fish.

“How have you been? I missed you at the festivities the past few nights.”

You scoff, “I am fine. I have been busy – I am currently busy as you just saw. What did you come all this way for?”

“I wish to give this to you, so you can carry a piece of me with you always.” Before Neteyam can begin to dig into the satchel that rests tied to his tewng on his hip, a snarl from you halts his movement.

“Do not humiliate me. I will not allow it, not again.”

“I would never. These past few weeks have been very special to me. I feel as if I have gained ma txeylan back, as if we had never grown apart.”

Your lips tightly purse together, and you nod. This is not how Neteyam thought it would go. He believed that you would share his sentiment, that you would elaborate on how it felt from your perspective. Did someone else get to you first? 

“Do you not feel the same.. Did–did you agree to pursue someone else already?”

“Oh you are just so full of yourself! Can’t you see that?” You bellow, “You toss me aside for some new shiny friends, just to act like it’s my fault that we aren’t friends anymore. And now you bring up Korvyn? After you’ve forced your rank so that he does not court me?”

Neteyam allows his brow to crease. “What do you mean?”

“The other night! He had approached me to speak before you dragged him away, and yesterday morning I hear that he's been asked to stay away by the future Olo’eyktan.”

“No. No, not that.” He waves his hand dismissively, before looking back at you, “I did not toss you aside.”

“After your iknimaya. When Teylun first approached he called me a child. Then you brushed me off until your dream hunt, and then you only laughed at me and called me a child yourself!”

Realization dawned on his face. Much had happened in the past years, so much that he had buried that memory in his head, refused to allow it to see the light of day.

“I… I am so sorry.” You huff a laugh, disbelieving smile adorning your features before Neteyam continues, “I was taken with the praise that was being bestowed upon me, blinded by their perceptions of who I was that I didn’t consider how rude and childish my actions were.”

“Even if that were true, you only started taking an interest in me when you saw others approach – not because you truly wanted to reconnect.”

“It started like that, but I have always enjoyed our time together.” Neteyam hopes you can hear the earnestness in his tone. 

He tries to assess the non vocal signs you give him. The way your ears are slightly tilted back in annoyance, the way your tail is lashing angrily, how your fingers dig into your elbows where you hold your arms together. And despite your standoffish stance, you don't snap at him again.

“Actions must be paired with your words. Do not embarass me.”

A smile graces his lips, overjoyed that you're giving him a real opportunity, “You wont regr–”

“If you try to humilate me again the beating you recieve will be worse than the last.”

“Of course.” The smile falls a bit, but he cannot shake it from his face entirely. “May I help you bring back the fish you have caught?”

The thought dances around your mind before you shake your head, “No. You may begin with whatever you're trying to achieve tomorrow. Let me fish in peace.”

Not wanting to ruin his chances, Neteyam listens. Withdrawing from the area bidding the lingering clan members a goodbye before he begins his trek back through the forest. It hadn't gone as he planned, but you hadn't taken away his opportunity. Hadn't sealed and locked your heart away like one of the pressurized doors at the human outpost. 

He hoped that his luck would play out. That he would be able to charm you into feeling the same way for him. But time would only tell.

Everyday Neteyam worked on something. Something to impress you. Something to show he cared. That he considered you as more than a prize to win. 

At first they were simple things. 

A nice feather to tag your arrows with. 

Materials to help you craft a stronger grip for your knife.

Polished rocks that could be carved down into something to adorn your body or be used as decoration.

But Neteyam knew those things would only mean so much. Deep down he knew that anyone could retrieve those items for you – he had to distinguish himself somehow, to show how much better he was for you then any of the other candidates.

So the gifts progressively got more elaborate.

When you carved yourself a new bow, he weaved fibers together to make you a string to match its fury.

When the two of you somehow ended up in the same hunting party, he placed you in prime positions. No longer watching for unseen stampedes, but now being the one to arrive at hometree with the delight of knowing the clan would feast on your kill tonight.

He spent time making new meal combinations. Picking the ripest fruit to pair with savory mushrooms. He’d scour for ferns to crush into spices for meats. Swim out to rocks in the middle of lakes and rivers to catch the bigger fish that resided there. 

Neteyam wished to make you clothes, jewelry, shawls, anything that could adorn your body. He wanted others to look at the craftsmanship and question where you found the time to make something so intricate when you were so busy. He wished for a deep purple tint to find your cheeks when you admitted that Neteyam made them for you, that he somehow found time in his even busier schedule to make you such detailed gifts. But he knew he had to wait –  that he should wait, at least until you accept his courting.  

So until then he continues with other acts.

He makes mental notes of beautiful hidden alcoves that he sees on patrol. Which he later begs you to accompany him to. Some are in the forest, hidden behind vines and trees but bright with glowing flowers and moss. Others are in the floating mountains, lush green spots that contain shallow bodies of water for the two of you to lounge in after a long day.

Most importantly, well most important in Neteyam's mind, he makes more of an effort to listen and also show you that he heard you. 

When he asks about your day, he makes sure to delve into the little details about what fibers you're using for your weavings. Then the next morning more miraculously arrive outside your kelku. 

When you state that a meal didn't come out as good as you hoped because the fruit you used wasn't of the rarest quality because you didn't want to scale the mountain for it, Neteyam makes sure that not only the fruit, but the meat and the nectar you were using show up with him the next day. You tried to take it from him with a polite apology, but he insisted that the two of you cooked together. He couldn't stop himself from getting caught up on the fact that you let him feed you when taste testing the meal.

When you complained others speaking about you, Neteyam set them straight. 

To’lei said that the future Olo’eyktan couldn't have a carbon copy of himself as a mate, that he needed someone with a slightly different personality. So he politely reminded her that his mother not only matched, but exceeded in some senses, his fathers personality and their leadership has been strong and prosperous. 

Ulkan mentioned how the two of you had always butted heads, that this complete change did not make sense. Neteyam informed him that people can change and mature, but also that mistakes and misunderstandings happen and those are mendable wounds.

And before Teylun and Li'ral could even think of making a comment Neteyam took the initiative to speak to them. He tried to not dwell on the past, to blame them for his past mistakes, but he did make it clear that they would have to respect you from now on, along with more of the clan's women. Specifically for you however he made it clear that it is not to be because of his interest in you, but because they can acknowledge your skills and prowess in what you do.

After weeks of changing his ways, of proving himself to you Neteyam began to think that it would not work. That you wouldn’t ever take him seriously and all of this was for naught. Sure, you had softened – allowed him to be around you more, laughed freely, and teased him as you once did. But that didn't mean you'd give him a real chance at proving how good of a mate he'd be.

But one morning as he's making his way to the training grounds he sees you already there. You’re teaching some of the children how to properly hold their bows – what stance their feet should be in, how to twist their hips, and how to line their shots. That isn't unusual, the children loved to learn from you and you didn't view it as a hindrance as long as they listened.

What was unusual was the bright orange and red feathers that adorned your bicep, upon trailing his eyes up a bit more Neteyam could see that they were attached to a very familiar pattern. 

He couldn't stop the smile from gracing his face. The boyish grin bringing a sparkle to his eyes as he approached calling your name. 

“You accept?”

You startle. Wave the children off dismissively, and huffing a bit when they don't disperse easily because of their nosey habits. But then you turn to him fully and nod. 

“I am willing to try. It is as if you brought back the aspects of the boy I grew up with and paired them with the actions of a man.”

“That was my goal.” His hands reach towards your hips but they hover instead of landing, “May I touch you?”

When you nod again he allows his hands to fall. His thumbs begin soothing over the skin they rest on, “How about a kiss too? I promise I will not disappoint you.”

Instead of answering you allow your lips to press to his. It's brief, nothing to cheer or shout over, but it's everything to Neteyam. It's proof that all his months of trying have now progressed into something palpable, and it means that his feelings are reciprocated. When he moves to kiss you again, you press a hand to his chest halting his movements.

“There are children around.”

“It is nothing they have not seen from their parents.”

“Do not be hasty. How about we go flying tonight, and we can… continue then?”

Neteyam nods eagerly, dislodges himself from you and begins to make his way across the training grounds. If he were to stay nearby with this recent revelation hanging in the air he wouldn't be able to contain himself. 

So he strides away, takes to sharpening a spear with an even wider grin than before adorning his features. He cannot wait for the future that he is so sure will happen – mating before Eywa, the ceremony with the clan, the births of your children, and eventually falling into the roles of leaders.

He should make a stop by the spirit tree to thank Eywa later. Neteyam is sure that she has had a role in this. That she had opened your heart and mind to the idea of him, and that without her he would have never been able to atone for his past mistakes, and never had won you back.

He would have never become important in your eyes again if not for her.

Maybe he would even take you - to prove that she had blessed this communion. Or maybe not, he should save that for when you consummate the union anyways.

Translation: Eveng - child Ma txeylan- my best friend Rumaut - cannonball fruit Ma’ite - my daughter Kelku - home Kaltxì - hello Tewng - loincloth Skxawng - idiot/moron Kalintu - sweet person

a/n: lowk didn't love the ending of this but i wanted to write it instead of figuring out my ten minute presentation thats due in a few days or studying for my super important exam on monday soooo it is what it is

Dividers by @cafekitsune

tag: @skepticalvoidhedgehog

pls like/comment/reblog/come into my inbox and tell me what u think of the fic <3