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
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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.
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“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.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 thank you to all these amazing writers for sharing your stories with us ! and to readers who might read these words: please, don’t be afraid to leave your thoughts and feedbacks under every fics you read. it means a lot to authors
‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ golden brown - the stranglers
last updated : 1st june 2026 with let me earn you by @neteyamthinker
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𑣲 what does this mean? slangs, kissing, slightly sugestive ⋮ come here. hurt & comfort ⋮ taste of the sun. enemies to lovers, canon-typical violence by @dasvidny4
𑣲 bare your fangs. enemies to lovers, slowburn, slight soulmates, childhood rivals, forced proximity, smut by @saduko (my bedtime story .ᐟ)
𑣲 watching. fluff ⋮ just wait. fluff by @yoxiaogi
𑣲 always yours. fluff by @beautifullytragicmess
𑣲 reckless. angst, hurtcomfort, couple fighting by @neteyamslovrr
𑣲 just fine. high tension, light fluff, intimate moments by @itzj4ylene
𑣲 don't cry. a𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝗐𝖺𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗍 by @teyuvo
𑣲 the hearts that bind us. idiots-to-lovers, childhood friends-to-lovers, one-sided pining ⋮ like blood despite water. death, angst, hurt / comfort, implied neteyam x reader (but could possibly read platonic as well) ⋮ all mine. fluff ⋮ like a diamond under pressure. established relationship, neteyam is sweet as always and reader has a lot of thoughts / doubts ⋮ my love. a lil angst, hurt / comfort, fluff ⋮ warm hands. angst, misunderstanding, fluff by @loaksky
𑣲 reprieve. friends to lovers, pining, angst, friendship breakup, post AFAA, miscommunication, mild AFAA spoilers, eventual smut, slowburn by @thesilverset
𑣲 tsan’ul. angst, comfort ⋮ yayayr. misunderstandings, nudity, slight sexual innuendo, angst ⋮ ketsun -> sang. cannon divergence, yearning, sharing a bed, ‘i dont want ninat’ vibes, misunderstandings, tshaeylu, suggestive by @hanginginthevoid
𑣲 i'll miss you. fluff by @sweetlyth
𑣲 mighty warrior. sfw, some vague threats, protective neteyam, lots of fluff ⋮ mini me. sfw, slice of life vibes, fluff, humor ⋮ lovely dreamer. sfw, slice of life vibes, lots of fluff, sleepy neteyam, a little playful teasing, mates sharing a hammock, non sexual intimacy ⋮ teach me. fluff, humor, suggestive ⋮ supersonic. fluff, humor, slice of life by @paskalinn
𑣲 you kiss all your friends like this? cheeky neteyam, naive reader, first kisses, escalating physical affection (making out), handsy behavior, parental interruption, mild embarrassment ⋮ crybaby. cheeky neteyam, jealous reader, crying, teasing, kissing ⋮ five more minutes. cheeky neteyam, kissing, fluff by @ruya4four
𑣲 the princess and the warrior. childhood friends, reunion, angst, yearning ⋮ fly (me to your heart). fluff, romance, slight angst by @koiibiito
𑣲 the storm. headcanons, "she fell first but he fell harder", angst, fluff by @moonpetrichors-blog
𑣲 little secret. secret dating, secret relationship, kissing, making out, a tiny tiny amount of sexual themes, suggestive mentions of mating by @nyctophicbtch
𑣲 carry me. fluff by @keisobe
𑣲 the inevitable. angst, super cute and fluffy, a tad bit spicy by @xluvablz
𑣲 learn to share. fluff by @d0llcuries
𑣲 inches between us. fluff by @luvsellie
𑣲 stay. angst, death, smut by @makkto
𑣲 the space between blood and belonging. graphic depictions of war and violence, character death, trauma, blood and injury descriptions, omegaverse dynamics, emotional distress/mental health struggles, suicidal ideation, descriptions of burn injuries/fire, mentions of bones as trophies/weapons by @rori-ol
𑣲 i will burn happily, baby. loverboy neteyam, smut, trauma, mangkwan reader ⋮ let met earn you. mean neteyam, angst, smut by @neteyamthinker
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
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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.”
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