"Why would this character be jealous of their friend's romantic relationships? Clearly they're in love with them" I don't know if you guys have ever Had Friends but it's actually pretty common for people to feel jealous if their best friend suddenly has less time for them and is prioritising someone they just met over them. That's not inherently romantic, that's the general human desire to be valued by the people you value.
Simon Riley with his weird ass acts of love and bizarre concept of boundaries
You’ll be waking up confused in the middle of the night, feeling a strange pulling at your feet, only to glance down and see your boyfriend has thrown the covers off and is attempting to clip your toenails for you
“What in the actual f-”
“I’m tired o’ your talons diggin’ into my legs every nigh’. This is for both o’ us, love.” He’ll grumble in that tone of his that leaves no room for argument, only the sound of nail clippers echoing in the room as your roll your eyes before shutting them again
Every so often when you’re on your period, you’ll be stepping out of the shower, bewildered to find that the night time pad and underwear you’d set aside with your pyjamas on the bathroom counter top, have been put together for you?
“Simon- you saved me all of two steps at most? Opening the wrapper and sticking it on?”
“And you’re welcome.” He’ll mutter casually with a quick kiss to your forehead before he’s off to brush his teeth
“I’m so confused. I might be losing it, Si.” You’ll mention one time, coming home after work with bags of greasy takeout food in hand, his brow only raising in question. “This is maybe the third time now I’ve noticed that the petrol was nearing a quarter tank, so I’d plan to fill up the next day. But next time I get in the car- the tank is fucking full! The first time I thought I had dreamt it, second time I thought I was hallucinating a little bit, but now-”
“Love, I’ve been filling up your car.”
“…what?”
“That’s me. Every time I’ve heard you say you need petrol- I’ve filled up the car.” Simon shrugs as though he’s simply telling you what the weather is for today, not that he’s been sneaking out in the middle of the night with your car keys to run a quick errand for you as you sleep
“I don’t know if I want to ask how or why first.”
“Well petrol’s fuckin’ expensive now, that’s why. You don’t need to be payin’ tha’.”
“You could have just … asked me?”
“… righ’. Noted.” He’ll nod in quick agreement before moving on to take the bags from you, no intention whatsoever of changing his habits
Twin - [Neteyam Sully x Omatikaya! reader] - Chapter 4
Masterlist
Series Masterlist/Summary
Word Count: 1k
Neteyam didn’t know why he sat down beside her. The urge to go for a walk that night and clear his head had come from her, yet he simply couldn’t help himself.
She looked different. He didn’t know how, but something was different enough to make his gaze fix on her, watching her intently in the moonlight. He had never seen her like this before, and-
“The moonlight makes you even more beautiful.”
The words had slipped out before he could think them through, but he was glad he’d said them when he saw her shy smile. He didn’t know why, but he wanted that moment between them to last, so he suggested they fly together.
He had never expected her to be so nervous about flying with him, it made him wonder if it was because they were so close.
He’d been hurt when she’d asked him to keep their nighttime meeting a secret, but the explanation that her parents were strict made sense. Maybe that was why she acted so differently during the day; when others could watch, she had people to please, and he understood the weight of that.
He even kissed her hand, he couldn’t help but be affectionate with her like that. Even though he had never done or said anything like that with Ila during the day, now it simply felt so right. Being with her felt right, touching her felt right. He was finally able to understand why Eywa thought Ila was the one for him, and not only did he agree, but he could already feel himself falling in love with the real Ila.
___
“I'm telling you, Neteyam, she can't be the one Eywa wants for you!” Kiri insists.
“She's right, bro. Have you seen what she's like?” Lo'ak adds.
“I have, and she's perfect for me” Neteyam says, a hint of irritation already evident in his tone.
He had been trying to be patient with his brothers. He knew they didn’t know the same Ila that he did, but lately they had started to become increasingly insistent in their protests. As much as he wanted to understand, their dedication in denying that Ila was his true mate was a stab in the heart.
She was perfect. Her laughter was like a melody and her voice like a song. Her luminous freckles were more beautiful than any constellation could ever be, and her eyes more beautiful than any moon. He spent his days longing for night so he could see her again, how unburdened she was with her kindness and tenderness toward all the creatures of Pandora.
He would never forget when she had taken him to the ikran’s nest. These animals, who were supposed to try to kill their rider when chosen or ignore the Na’vi when not chosen, welcomed Ila with open wings. They all cherished her, sought her affection and care, and even allowed her near the eggs and cubs as if she were one of them. The way they loved her made her connection to Eywa crystal clear.
Neteyam just wanted Kiri to see; he was certain that if any of his brothers saw what she was like, what she was really like, they would agree with him… but maybe they could.
“Neteyam, please-” Kiri begins, but Neteyam cuts her off.
“I’m going to show you.”
“Show us?”
“Yes, tonight, I’m going to show you how she is the mate that Eywa showed me.”
“Tonight?” Lo’ak asks, and Kiri stares at him wide-eyed.
“Is that why you’ve been sneaking out every night? To go see her?” Kiri asks incredulously.
“Yes.”
“Why? You can just be with her during the day!”
“But not like that!” Neteyam ends up shouting before taking a deep breath and starting over in a lower tone. “Just trust me, please. Tonight I’ll show you.”
___
Neteyam moves through the trees with complete mastery of the path he had taken so many times before to meet Ila at night. His footsteps are silent. Kiri and Lo'ak follow him at a distance. Their reluctance and disbelief are still evident in their behavior, but he is grateful they are giving him the chance to show them.
“Shhh” he signals for them to wait and remain silent as he spots Ila.
She was standing there, gently stroking Katir’s skin while humming a familiar tune. Keeping his presence hidden, he approaches from behind and, wrapping his arms around her waist, lifts her into the air and spins her around.
“Neteyam!” Ila shouts with laughter and clings tightly to the arms holding her to steady herself.
When he sets her down, she turns in his arms to face him.
“I’m happy to see you” he says, gently placing his hand on her face.
Ila opens her mouth to reply, but suddenly her eyes widen, and he can see the panic in them.
“It’s okay! They came with me and they won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
He can see the doubt and insecurity in her eyes. Gesturing for the brothers to come closer, he adds, “You’ll keep it a secret, right?”
“Yes” Lo’ak says.
“I promise” Kiri says.
Neteyam can see Ila wrestling with her doubts, but finally she sighs and smiles, that sweet smile that Neteyam loved and missed so much during the day.
“Okay, okay, so what's the plan for tonight?
-
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Context: Arranged to be married since a young age, the reader tries to be perfect in order to fit the status of "The Golden Boy's Wife." She changes her whole personality and does everything for Neteyam, yet she still cannot win his heart. Will their love bloom, or will Neteyam give his heart to another?
Author's Note: Have you ever watched Mamma Mia? There is a moment when— Meryl Streep sings: "The winner takes it all, the loser has to fall." That very verse made me think. About what it means to be groomed for perfection before you even understand what perfection costs. What happens when you pour your entire childhood — every lesson, every sacrifice, every quiet tear under Eywa's canopy — into becoming worthy of someone who never asked you to? Will a love like that ever bloom? Or will it simply... wither in the dark, bioluminescent and unseen?
Life would always play the silliest, most vicious little tricks on you. Even the ones you never deserved. Even the ones that dressed themselves up in fate and called it Eywa's will. Mine arrived the moment I was born — wrapped in the scent of night-blooming flowers and the glow of a Kelutral branch that had not lit up like that in living memory.
His name was Neteyam. Son of Toruk Makto. Son of the Olo'eyktan. First-born of the clan's most sacred lineage. And, according to two mothers standing beneath the Tree of Voices while the whole of Pandora seemed to hold its breath — my intended.
Our mothers had spoken of it long before either of us could walk. When we were both newborns, it is said that the Hometree's luminescent roots flared gold and teal in a pattern that no elder could explain. Mo'at herself had pressed a wrinkled hand to the bark and whispered something none of them were permitted to repeat. My mother took it as a sign. His mother — the fierce, war-painted Neytiri — had tilted her head, studied my sleeping face in the woven cradle, and said nothing. Which, my mother always insisted, was its own kind of agreement.
Neteyam, when he was old enough to understand, apparently did not share his mother's silence. He listened — because he was disciplined and the clan's golden son obeyed — but he listened the way rain listens to a drought. Politely. Without wanting to.
I did not know any of this the first time I truly met him, face to face, when we were both seven years old and the forest around the Omaticaya village smelled like rain and warm earth. I only knew that he was tall for his age. That his queue was already neatly braided the way older warriors wore theirs. That he frowned — not cruelly, but with the furrowed brow of someone deeply inconvenienced by the universe — and that his eyes, when they finally landed on me, were enormous and amber-gold and entirely unimpressed. My face went the color of a Pandoran sunrise. Warm and uncontrolled.
I know what you are thinking. How could you fall for a boy who did not do a single remarkable thing? Who stood there frowning at the dirt like it had personally offended him? Well. I have always had a soft heart for beautiful, unattainable things, and ofc my heart is extra weak when your that cute. My mother says I inherited it directly from her. She married my father because he looked unbearably handsome standing at the edge of a thanator hunt and did not flinch. It seems, i fell for a boy because he frowned and the world still bent around him like he was the center of gravity. Eywa forgive me. I have my work cut out for me.
Years passed the way years do when you are trying to become something you were not entirely born as. I trained. God, did I train.
While other Na'vi children were still learning to braid their queues and chase each other through the bioluminescent undergrowth at dusk — still falling out of trees and laughing about it, still pressing their small palms to the Tree of Voices just to feel the warmth without needing to understand it — I was already seated, spine straight, in a circle of the clan's eldest women before the morning mist had finished lifting from the forest floor.
I was eight years old the first time I was corrected for sitting incorrectly. Eight. I had crossed my legs in the way that felt natural, that every child sits when they are tired and the ground is soft and there is no particular reason to perform. Elder Ralu had looked at me without breaking her own posture and said, quietly and without cruelty, that the intended of the first son does not sit like she is waiting for nothing. She does not slouch. She does not fidget. She does not exist casually. I spent the next three hours learning how to fold my legs in a way that communicated presence, not comfort. By the time I was allowed to stand, both of my feet had gone numb and I had not yet said a single word.
That was the first lesson. There were hundreds more. I learned to weave ceremonial garlands — not quickly, but correctly, which meant a single crooked petal could undo a morning's work and earn nothing more than a calm instruction to begin again. I learned to walk with a clay vessel of water balanced on my head, first on flat ground, then on the uneven roots that snaked across the village paths, then on the narrow walkways that connected the Hometree's higher platforms, where the drop below was not something you wanted to think about. I spilled. I spilled many times. I was told to fill the vessel again and try once more, and I did, because I had no other choice available to me.
I learned the herbs. Which roots reduced fever. Which leaves, when pressed into a paste, drew infection from a wound. Which seeds should never be combined. Which bark the Tsahik preferred for the morning rituals and which was reserved for ceremony only, and the difference between those two things was not written anywhere — it was simply known, and therefore I had to know it too. I memorized it all. I recited it in my sleep. There were nights my mother would find me murmuring plant names into my pillow and she would smooth my hair back and say nothing, which was the kindest and saddest thing she ever did for me.
I learned how to speak in the presence of elders — not too softly, which reads as hiding, and not too clearly, which reads as performing. The correct pitch was somewhere between the two, as though you had an opinion you were confident in but were gracious enough not to impose. It took months before I found that register naturally. Before that, I practiced in front of still water, watching my own reflection make adjustments that I could not feel from the inside.
I learned the songs. All of them. The harvest songs that require four-part harmony and a specific tonal drop on the third verse that has no written notation — it must be felt. The mourning songs that the women carry when a warrior does not return from the hunt, low and circular, designed to pull grief out of the chest before it calcifies. The songs for iknimaya, for first bonds, for the naming of newborns, for the planting of the season's first seeds. I learned every one. My voice was not exceptional — it was adequate — and adequate, I was told, is its own kind of acceptable as long as everything else compensates.
I learned to embroider. The patterns that encode a Na'vi woman's lineage in thread — her grandmother's clan, her mother's role, the sacred name given to her at birth and the one she will carry after her bonding. I learned to do it without pricking my fingers, which is far harder than it sounds, and then I learned to do it in low light, and then I learned to do it while holding a conversation, which is the real skill, the one that no one names out loud but everyone expects.
I gave up the Tree of Voices. Not all at once — that would have been a grief I could have named and mourned properly. It happened gradually, in the way that important things are often lost: an afternoon replaced by a fitting, a morning stolen by a ceremony rehearsal, a whole season gone before I noticed that I could no longer remember the last time I had pressed my queue to the roots and simply listened. The other children went. I heard them talking about what they heard there — ancestor voices, old songs, something that felt like being held by the whole history of the clan. I smiled when they described it. I did not tell them that I had stopped going. It seemed like something worth being ashamed of, though I was not entirely sure why.
I gave up the floating rocks. The reckless, breathless joy of climbing them on a dare, of hanging off a ledge while the valley spooled green and impossible below you, of screaming just because the sky was that enormous and you were alive inside it. I was told once, gently but clearly, that the intended of the first son does not take unnecessary risks with her body. Her body belongs, in a sense, to the lineage she will carry. I understood this. I did not argue. I watched the other children from the platform's edge instead and practiced keeping my expression pleasant and still.
I gave up being seven in the way that seven is supposed to feel. I gave up ten, and twelve, and fourteen. Each age arrived and passed over me like a season that I had not quite been present for — I was always one step inside the next lesson, one correction behind the current expectation, one performance away from being ready.
There was one afternoon — I was twelve, I think, perhaps thirteen — that I keep returning to when I am trying to remember the exact moment I understood what this life was costing me.
I had been asked to serve at a small gathering in the Sully family's living space within the Hometree. Nothing ceremonial — simply a meal, a meeting of the clan mothers, the kind of quiet domestic occasion where an intended learns to move invisibly and usefully through a room. I had prepared for it. I had worn the right beadwork. I had practiced the correct way to present a vessel of food — two hands, a small inclination of the head, eye contact held for exactly the right duration before a modest glance downward.
And then I dropped it. Not dramatically. Not with a crash that shattered the gathering and drew every eye at once. It simply — slipped. The clay bowl turned in my fingers and hit the woven mat with a dull, definitive sound, and the contents scattered, and the smell of the food was suddenly too present in the quiet of the room, and every woman looked up.
I froze. I recovered quickly — bent, gathered, apologized in the right register, kept my voice level. But the heat in my face was uncontrollable, and the silence in the room had a particular texture, the kind that has an opinion in it.
It was Neytiri who spoke first.
Leave it. Stand up.
I stood. The bowl was still on the mat. My hands felt enormous.
You have been training for how long now? Four years?
Six, Ma Neytiri.
Six years. And you cannot carry a bowl across a room without losing it.
I — yes. I apologize. It will not—
Do not apologize to me. An apology is not a correction. Look at me.
I looked at her. Neytiri, who had ridden a Toruk. Who had fought the sky people in the dark of a burning Hometree. Who looked at me now with the flat, measuring gaze of someone who had very little patience for the performance of effort when effort itself was missing.
You are pretty. Everyone says so. The elders talk about your face, your posture, the way you hold yourself in ceremony. Very lovely. Very composed.
She paused. The other mothers had gone very still around us.
What is the point of being pretty when you fail your role?
The room did not react. The clan mothers looked at their hands, at the walls, at the space above my left shoulder. Nobody disagreed with her. Nobody said anything at all. I do not remember what I said in response. I think I said something measured and appropriate, because I had been trained to say measured and appropriate things, and by that point the training had gone deep enough that it activated even when the rest of me had gone completely blank. I cleaned the mat. I refilled the bowl from the cooking pot. I finished serving the meal without another mistake.
I did not cry until I was outside, around the curve of the Hometree's roots where the dark was thick enough to be private, and I pressed my back to the bark and breathed through it the way you breathe through something you cannot fix, long and deliberate, until it was small enough to carry again. I was twelve years old. And I understood, for the first time with my whole body rather than just my mind, that beauty was not the goal. Beauty was only the entrance fee. The goal was perfection, and perfection had no ceiling, and every time you believed you had reached it, the floor simply rose to meet you and the distance above remained exactly the same.
"What is the point of being pretty when you fail your role?"
I trained harder after that. I trained the way you train when fear has replaced ambition — not because you want to reach something, but because you cannot afford to fall short again. I trained until the bowl never slipped. Until my hands knew the weight of every vessel in the Sully household by memory. Until I could cross a room in any light, on any surface, carrying anything, and arrive at the other side looking as though nothing about it had cost me effort.
Eventually, I became precise. I became poised. I became — and the clan said this openly, as though it were a gift rather than a verdict — "The flower that attracts all." Every elder approved of me. Every ceremony I attended, eyes would follow. The mothers of unmated warriors would watch me pass and lean together to murmur. I had become, by every measurable standard of Omaticayan womanhood, the ideal.
What they did not say — what none of them ever said — was what it had taken. The twelve-year-old girl with her back against the bark. The years of sitting in classrooms of patience and refinement while her feet went numb. The mornings she had woken up already exhausted from the weight of the person she was required to be before she had fully finished becoming a person at all. They saw the flower. They did not ask about the roots.
Then the rumors started. They moved through the village the way whispers always do in a close clan — in glances, in pauses, in the sudden hush that falls when you walk into a gathering that was loud the moment before. I caught fragments. A name I did not recognize. A girl. A girl that Neteyam had been seen with at the edge of the forest canopy, away from the village paths, away from where the elders walked. Her name was Mhari.
The worst part was not the hearing of it. The worst part was the two seconds before I understood what I was hearing — when it was still just sounds, still just a name, still just a sentence without a shape — and how quickly that blankness curdpled into something I did not have a graceful word for. Not quite pain. Not quite rage. Something older and quieter than both. The feeling of having spent years building a house in someone else's name and arriving one morning to find the door already locked from the inside.
I had given up afternoons. I had given up the Tree of Voices. I had stood in a clan mother's gathering at twelve years old and swallowed Neytiri's words whole and trained harder because of them, because I believed that the harder I trained the more real this would become, the more he would see it — see me — and understand that I had chosen him, not just obeyed the arrangement, chosen him, over and over, every single day in every small sacrifice he never witnessed.
And he had been in the forest. With her. Laughing, presumably, the way people laugh when nothing is at stake. I had been so careful. I had been so unbearably careful. And it had not mattered at all.
I did not want to believe it. I am not, I told myself, a jealous creature. I had been raised to be gracious, to be composed. The perfect intended of the clan's first son does not run after rumors like a child chasing an ikran shadow.
But I was also, underneath every careful layer of training, still the seven-year-old girl who had gone red in the face over a frowning boy. And that girl — the one who had never been permitted to be unfinished, or useless, or simply young — she could not sit quietly and breathe. She was already on her feet. So I went to find him.
I found them at the edge of a mossy overlook not far from the village — a place where the bioluminescent fungi lit the ground in soft turquoise rings, the kind of spot that lovers chose precisely because it was beautiful and secluded and nobody who mattered would think to look there. Neteyam was there, leaning against a root as though the world owed him its ease. And beside him, laughing softly at something he had said — something small and private, the kind of thing you only say when you are completely comfortable — was a girl I did not know. Mhari.
She was lovely in the uncalculated way that things which have never been trained are lovely. Easy. Natural. Unaware of being watched in the way that I had not been unaware of anything since I was eight years old.
The sight hit me somewhere behind my sternum, in a place I had not known could hurt that particular way. Not a sharp pain. Something worse — a slow, spreading recognition, the way cold water rises. I had spent six years learning to be perfect for him, and he was here in the dark with a girl who had not tried at all.
I stepped forward. My voice came out far steadier than I deserved.
Neteyam. What is this?
He turned slowly. No startled guilt. No shame. Only that familiar, exhausted look — a boy braced for exactly this moment and deeply resentful of its arrival.
We are engaged. You understand that, yes? The whole village understands that. The elders understand that. What in Eywa's name are you doing out here with her — alone — where anyone could see you? Do you know the whispers already running through the clan? Do you have any idea what this looks like to the Tsahik, to your father—
Neteyam: Let go of my arm.
I'm not — I don't even have your arm, I'm just — Neteyam, talk to me. Please. Tell me this is nothing. Tell me I misunderstood. I will believe you. I want to believe you. Just say something that makes this make sense—
Neteyam: I am so tired.
...What?
Neteyam: I said I am tired. Of this. Of the engagement. Of watching you walk into every room like it's an audition. Of the way you speak to my mother's circle with that perfect, measured voice. Of the way you exist around me like you are always one step away from being graded. It is exhausting to be near you.
That one landed differently. Not like a blade — like something dropped from a great height, flattening everything underneath it on impact.
I am — I do that because — Neteyam, I was taught to—
Neteyam: I know you were taught to. That is the problem. Everything about you is taught. Every smile, every gesture, every word you choose. I look at you and I cannot find a single thing that is actually you. Do you even know who you are underneath all of it? Or did they train that out of you too?
That is not fair—
Neteyam: It is not about fair. It is about what is real. You are not real to me. You are a role. A very well-executed role. But I cannot — I will not spend my life standing next to a performance.
You think I don't feel things? You think I have stood beside you at every ceremony, learned everything I was asked to learn, become everything I was told to become — and felt nothing? I have felt everything. I have felt it for years and I had nowhere to put it because you never once—
Neteyam: Stop. I did not ask you to do any of that.
I did it for you—
Neteyam: You did it for an idea of me. There is a difference. You decided what I needed from a wife before you ever asked me a single question about what I actually wanted. You built your whole life around a version of me that I never agreed to be.
He said it so simply. Like it was obvious. Like it had always been obvious. Like I was the last one in the clan to understand something everyone else had long since stopped discussing.
Then tell me what you want. Tell me who Neteyam is and I will — I will learn that too, I will—
Neteyam: That is exactly what I mean. You will learn it. Like another lesson. Another thing to practice in front of still water until it looks convincing enough. Do you hear yourself?
What else am I supposed to say?! I don't know any other way — they didn't teach me any other way—
Neteyam: I know. And I am sorry for that. I genuinely am. But that is not a reason for me to pretend that what is between us is something it has never been.
There could be something. If you gave it time — if you just — Neteyam, we have barely spoken, how can you know that there is nothing when we have never—
Neteyam: Because every time I have looked at you, I have felt nothing. I have tried. I want you to know that — I have tried to feel what I was supposed to feel. I waited for it. And there was nothing. There was just a girl performing being my future and a weight in my chest that got heavier every season.
The bioluminescent fungi pulsed around us in their soft, indifferent turquoise. Mhari had not moved. She stood against the mossy rock with her eyes down, as though she understood that this moment was not hers and was trying very hard to take up less space in it.
And her? You feel something for her?
A pause. The kind that answers before the words do.
Neteyam: That is not what this conversation is about.
It is exactly what this conversation is about. Answer me. Look me in the face and answer me.
Neteyam: ...Yes.
One word. One syllable. And somehow it undid more than everything else combined — because everything else had been about the engagement, about the performance, about what I was or was not. But that yes was about something I could never have trained my way into. Something that simply existed between two people who had not been assigned to each other by a glowing tree and two mothers with opinions.
I gave up my childhood. Do you know that? I gave up climbing the floating rocks. I gave up the Tree of Voices. I gave up afternoons and laughter and being useless and young because someone told me that was how I would be worthy of you. I have bruises on my knees from kneeling on training mats for hours. I have memorized every herb in your mother's household. I have perfected a smile that doesn't reach my eyes because the reaching kind was called too eager. I did all of that. For you. And you stood in this forest and felt nothing.
Neteyam: I know. And I am—
Do not say you are sorry again. Do not say it.
He closed his mouth. The forest breathed around us — warm and bioluminescent and completely unconcerned. Somewhere above the canopy the floating mountains drifted, green and impossible and indifferent to every small human grief happening beneath them.
Neteyam: Do you even love me?
I—
Neteyam: Do not. Do not say it. That word, coming from you — it doesn't sound like love. It sounds like something you decided before you were old enough to decide anything. You do not love me. You love the version of me that would complete the story you were handed as a child. The golden boy. The first son. The ending your mothers planned. That is what you love. Not Neteyam. You have never even met Neteyam.
Then let me meet him. Let me — please, just—
Neteyam: It is too late for that.
How can it be too late? We haven't even—
Neteyam: Kehe. I am done. I am ending this engagement. I am sorry — truly, I am — but I will not say it again, since you have asked me not to. Do not follow me.
He walked away. Past the turquoise rings of glowing fungi. Past the moss, past the overlook, past the place where the floating mountains were just barely visible through the canopy — green and vast and silent. Mhari lifted her eyes to mine for exactly one second. Not unkind. Just honest. Then she followed him. And I stood there.
Alone under Pandora's sky. The bioluminescence pulsed around me, gentle and entirely uncaring, the way it always did. The way it would tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after that — because the forest does not register the specific weight of a girl standing in the dark realizing that the life she built has just been handed back to her, quietly and without ceremony, like something nobody wanted to keep.
I did not move for a long time. Not because I was dignified. Not because I was composed. But because every graceful thing I had ever learned — every step, every word, every carefully managed expression — had been arranged around the axis of him, and without that axis, I genuinely did not know which direction to face. The fungi pulsed. Pandora breathed. And somewhere in the warm dark of the forest, Eywa's network carried the weight of my grief into the roots, the way it had carried every grief before mine, without judgment and without answer.
My childhood was gone. I had handed it over willingly, in small pieces, every single day, like offerings pressed into soil — and the soil had taken everything and grown nothing in return.
I had not learned to play with the other young Na'vi the way they played — reckless and loud and beautifully present — because I had been too busy being prepared. I had not climbed the floating rocks for joy because I was told it was unbecoming of the first son's intended. I had not sat with my queue unbraided and my feet in the river, listening to nothing in particular, simply existing in the uncomplicated way that children are supposed to exist before someone assigns them a purpose. There was always another lesson. Another refinement. Another layer of polish to apply to a surface that nobody was ever going to look at the way I needed them to.
I had sat at the roots of the Tree of Voices not to listen to my ancestors — not to feel that warm, enormous hum of belonging that the other children described — but to rehearse. To practice what a perfect daughter-in-law would say in every imaginable social situation. I had approached Eywa not as a child running home, but as a student in a lesson she could never afford to fail. I had turned even the sacred into curriculum.
And now he stood in a bioluminescent clearing with a girl who laughed without measuring the sound, and he looked at her with something open and unguarded in his face — something I had spent years trying to earn and had never once been given — and I understood with the kind of clarity that only arrives when it is already too late that no amount of training, no degree of perfection, no sacrifice made quietly in the dark had ever been going to change what he did not feel.
You cannot train someone into loving you. I wish someone had told me that when I was eight years old, sitting with numb feet, learning how to fold my legs correctly. I wish someone had told me that at all.
The crying, when it came, was not elegant. There was nothing practiced about it, nothing composed, nothing that resembled the measured, appropriate display of emotion I had been taught to produce when grief was socially expected. It was the other kind. The kind that bends you. That starts somewhere deep in the chest and moves upward without asking permission, that takes your breath and your posture and every careful thing you have constructed and dismantles them simultaneously. I knelt on the moss and I pressed both palms flat against the forest floor — against the soft glow of Pandora pulsing beneath my skin — and I cried so hard my shoulders shook.
I cried for the afternoons. For the floating rocks. For the Tree of Voices and every ancestor I had never properly listened to because I was too busy rehearsing how to speak to the living. I cried for the twelve-year-old girl who had stood in a clan mother's gathering with a dropped bowl and absorbed Neytiri's words and turned them into fuel, who had believed — genuinely, completely, with her whole small heart believed — that if she tried hard enough, the trying itself would become a language he could hear.
I cried for the seven-year-old who had gone red in the face over a frowning boy and decided, in that ridiculous, tender, irreversible moment, that he was worth becoming someone new for.
He was not worth it. Or — no. That is not right either, and I have never been able to lie convincingly, not even to myself. He was worth it. He was. That was the cruelest part. He was worth every bit of it. He simply did not want it.
Was all of it not proof? Were years of silent devotion not love made visible? Or was I simply a shadow — not even a shadow of him,
but a shadow of someone who had never existed at all?
Somewhere far above me, through the canopy, the stars of a sky that was not Earth's burned in colors that had no names in any human language. I thought about what Mo'at had always said — that Eywa does not give signs without reason. That the bond of tsaheylu cannot be faked. That what is real will endure.
I had built something real. I had built it for years, brick by brick, lesson by lesson, sacrifice by sacrifice. I had believed in it with the whole weight of my childhood, with the entirety of everything I had been willing to give, and I had given so much. I had given until there was very little of me left that had not been shaped by the giving.
And it had endured for no one. It had stood perfect and untouched and entirely unwanted, like an altar built in a temple that nobody visited. The Eywa network hummed through the roots under my palms — ancient and enormous and full of every grief any Na'vi heart had ever pressed into the soil. I wondered if it felt mine. I wondered if it carried the weight of it the way it was supposed to. I wondered if, somewhere in the vast living archive of the forest, there was a record of a girl who tried too hard for too long and was not thanked for it.
And then something shifted, quietly, in the deepest part of my chest. Not healing — nothing so clean as that. Something more like a door closing. A decision made in the marrow before the mind has finished catching up.
What is the point of loving someone who does not even see your worth?
The trees bioluminesced above me. The fungi pulsed below. And for the first time in my life — the very first time, without an audience, without a lesson, without a purpose — I stopped performing. I simply cried, screamed wondering why such love even exist? why i can't have that one thing that i wanted, why loving someone must hurt so much. Until there was nothing left to cry with. Until I was emptied out completely, light and hollow and strangely, terribly clear. And then, when the crying was done, I made the only decision that had ever been entirely my own.
I went back to the village. I walked the path I had walked a thousand times, the one I knew so well I could have navigated it in darkness — and I did, because by then the forest's glow was the only light there was. I walked it perfectly, out of habit, because even now my body defaulted to what it had been taught.
I went to my sleeping space. I did not take much. The beadwork my mother had made for me when I was small — not the ceremonial pieces, not the ones they had given me for the engagement, just the childhood ones, the ones threaded before anyone had decided what I was going to be. A small carving. A length of woven cloth. Things that belonged to me, not to the role. I did not leave a note. There was nothing I knew how to say that was not going to sound like an accusation or an apology, and I was done performing both.
I walked out of the village before the first light touched the canopy. I did not look back. I had been told, once, that looking back is the body's way of asking permission to return, and I could not afford to ask that. Not now. Not when the asking would undo everything.
Pandora received me the way it always had — without opinion, without ceremony, bioluminescent and enormous and entirely indifferent to the smallness of one girl walking away from the life she had been assigned. The roots glowed beneath my feet. The canopy whispered above. Somewhere behind me, the Hometree stood as it always had, vast and ancient and unchanged. I did not say goodbye to it. I had given it enough.
He found out the way bad news always arrives — sideways, from someone who assumed he already knew. One of the younger clan women mentioned it in passing, the way you mention weather, the way you mention something unremarkable — a pity about the girl, leaving so suddenly, do you know where she has gone? — and Neteyam had stopped walking in the middle of the village path and said, very carefully, what.
She was gone. Her sleeping space was cleared. Her ceremonial beadwork was still there — all of the engagement pieces, every careful, beautiful thing she had been given to mark her as his — but the small childhood ones were missing. Whoever she had been before the training had taken what it could carry and walked out before dawn.
He stood in the empty space for longer than he intended to. It smelled faintly of the herbs she had always kept nearby — the ones from his mother's household that she had memorized so completely she had begun keeping her own supply. He had not known that. He had not known a great many things, he was beginning to understand, because he had not looked.
He found his mother in the place she went when she was thinking — high in the Hometree, on the platform where you could see the floating mountains through a gap in the canopy. Neytiri was sitting with her back to him when he arrived, and she did not turn around.
Neteyam; She is gone.
A long silence. The floating mountains drifted in the middle distance, unhurried.
Yes.
Neteyam: Did you know she was going to—
No. But I am not surprised.
Neteyam: — I told her the truth. I told her what was real. I cannot be blamed for—
Turn around and go back to your sleeping space, Neteyam. I do not want to say something I will regret.
Neteyam: Then don't. Just — talk to me. Tell me where she might have gone. I only want to make sure she is—
Safe?
She turned around then. And Neteyam, who had faced his father's disappointment and his teachers' corrections and the judgment of a hundred elders without flinching — Neteyam took a half step back from the look on his mother's face.
You are concerned about her safety now. Now that she is gone. Now that she made a decision you did not anticipate and it has unsettled you. Now you are thinking about her.
Neteyam: That is not fair—
Do not talk to me about fair. Do you know what that girl did? Do you have any idea?
Neteyam: She trained. I know. She trained and she prepared and she—
She was eight years old when she sat before the elder women for the first time. Eight. I was there. I watched her sit with her legs folded wrong and get corrected and fold them again without complaint. I watched her carry water vessels on those floating platforms for three seasons before she stopped spilling. I watched her come to my household and learn every herb, every root, every preparation — not because she was required to, not because anyone was standing over her with a consequence, but because she wanted to know the things that mattered to the people around you.
Neteyam said nothing. His mother's voice had dropped — not softer, but lower. The kind of low that means a fire burning at its base rather than its tips.
She asked me once — she was perhaps ten, eleven — she asked me what your favorite meal was. Not what was appropriate to serve at a ceremony. Not what the household required. What you liked. What made you happy when you ate it. I told her. She learned to prepare it. She never once served it to you because she was afraid it would seem like she was trying too hard. So she just — knew how. In case you ever needed it. In case it ever mattered.
The words settled over him like weight. Quiet, and accumulating.
Every single thing she did — every lesson, every sacrifice, every morning she woke up and chose to keep becoming something difficult — she did it with you in her mind. Not your title. Not your lineage. You. She used to watch you train from the upper platform when she thought no one was looking. She was not watching the golden boy. She was watching my son. She learned the difference between those two things long before you did.
Neteyam: sa'nok, I didn't — I didn't know—
No. You did not know because you did not look. Because it was easier to see the performance than to ask what was underneath it. You told her she was fake. You told her she was a role. You told her you felt nothing when you looked at her — and she stood there and listened and then she went home and she left. Because what else was she supposed to do? You took everything she had built and told her it was worthless, and then you walked away. You fool.
Neteyam: I—
Don't you know? Don't you understand what that kind of love costs? I do. I know exactly what it costs. Your father and I did not have an easy beginning either — but I saw him. I looked. I asked. You never once asked her a single question, Neteyam. Not one. In years. You decided what she was and you stopped looking. And she kept trying anyway. That is not performance. That is devotion. And you called it fake to her face.
He sat down. Slowly, without intention, the way a person sits when their legs have simply made the decision for them. The platform's edge, the gap in the canopy, the floating mountains hanging green and impossible in the air beyond. Something was moving in his chest that he did not have a clean name for. A recognition arriving in the wrong order — the understanding coming long after the moment it would have been useful.
Neteyam: She watched me train.
Every morning she could manage it.
Neteyam: She learned what I liked to eat?
Years ago. And never used it because she didn't want to seem like she was trying too hard. Does that sound like someone who loved a title?
He pressed his hands flat against the platform and stared at them. The bioluminescence of the Hometree moved faintly beneath the bark. Slow and steady, the way a heartbeat is steady. The way hers must have been, he thought, when she stood in that clearing and tried to say something and he had told her not to finish the sentence.
Neteyam: ...I told her the word made me feel ill.
A silence. His mother did not fill it.
Neteyam: When she tried to say she loved me. I told her it made me feel sick.
Yes. You did.
Neteyam: — where is she? Which direction did she go, someone must have seen—
No one knows. She left before the light. She did not tell anyone because there was no one to tell — she had given every hour of her friendship and companionship to becoming your wife and had very little of either left for herself. She walked into Pandora alone. That is what you gave her.
Neteyam: Then I will find her. I will go now, I will follow the path toward the eastern forest and—
Neteyam.
Just his name. The way she said it when he was a child and had made a mistake that could not simply be corrected. He stopped.
Pandora is vast. She has a full night's head start and she knows how to move quietly — you made sure she never had reason to learn otherwise. You do not know which direction she went. You do not know which clan she might seek shelter with, or whether she intends to seek any shelter at all. You do not know, because she made herself invisible to you so carefully and for so long that you have no map of her. You never built one.
Neteyam: Then tell me where to start. Please. mother, please—
I cannot tell you what I don't know. And even if I knew — I am not certain I would tell you tonight, while you are still thinking about what you feel rather than what she needs. Go and think. Go and sit with what you have done. And tomorrow, if you still want to find her, you will have to earn that. The way she earned everything. Slowly. With nothing guaranteed at the end.
She turned back to the mountains. The conversation was over. He remained on the platform for a long time after that, not moving, with the Hometree's pulse beneath him and the wide dark of Pandora spread out in every direction below — vast and bioluminescent and full of a girl he had never properly looked at.
He thought about what she had said in the clearing. I gave up my childhood. Said it not as a weapon — said it as a fact, the way you name something that has already happened. No plea in it. No bid for sympathy. Just the accounting of a person who had kept meticulous records of every cost and was finally, briefly, permitted to read them aloud before the file closed.
He thought about the dropped bowl. He had heard about it, years ago, from one of the younger warriors who had a sister in the clan mothers' circle. He had filed it away as a story about her training and not thought about it again. He had not thought about what it cost a twelve-year-old girl to stand in front of his mother and receive those words and then go back and try harder. He had not thought about her at all, not really, not as a person with an interior life that continued when he was not present to observe it. He thought about her watching him train from the upper platform.
He had never noticed. He had never looked up. And somewhere in the vast living dark of Pandora, under a sky full of stars with no names,
she was walking away from everything she had ever built
toward something she had not yet decided to be
and he did not know which direction she had gone.
He had spent years certain he felt nothing. Standing at arm's length from her certainty, her devotion, her relentless, quiet, costly love — and feeling nothing, he had told himself, nothing, it is simply nothing.
But sitting on this platform with her gone and the empty space of her absence already reshaping the air around the village like a removed stone reshapes the current of a river — sitting here now, he was no longer certain that what he had felt was nothing. He thought it might have been something he did not recognize because no one had taught him what it looked like from the inside. He thought it might have been the beginning of something he had ended before it could finish becoming. He thought: I did not know. I genuinely did not know.
And then, with the particular cruelty of realizations that arrive precisely one moment too late: that does not change anything. She is still gone. And I do not know where she is.
"The winner takes it all.
The loser has to fall.
It's simple, and it's plain.
Why should I complain?"
— ABBA, Mamma Mia
Need help! Lost a Neteyam fic in this app and I really want to read it again!! The fic goes reader is a really good hunter and stood by Neteyam for long, Mo'at misreads the sign from Eywa and arranges Neteyam with someone else but that 'someone' has a foul mouth and keeps provoking reader with her dead mother, in the end, Neteyam & Mo'at chose reader to be Tsahik. It's like a slowburn story with lots of misunderstanding!! Plsss help me find it!!
notes friends to lovers, slow burn, heavy pining, down horrendous neteyam, inexperienced neteyam and reader, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving), dry humping
synopsis for twenty-two generations, your father’s family has guarded a sacred legacy: one woman will choose a life of solitude and remain unmated for life for the service of the great mother and the people. you decided it will be you now... except for one problem. neteyam. the boy who has looked at you with quiet and unwavering devotion since you were children.
word count 19.2k
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You sat perfectly upright in the healing pavilion, your fingers meticulously sorting herbs as Kiri hummed softly beside you, a little unfocused as she sorted her own set of herbs. She has always been a little too connected to the forest and all its creatures. Once, when you were children, she’s told you about how she can feel Eywa in every plant, and every animal that crawls and walks.
You believed her without thinking twice. You wished you could connect to Eywa the same way she does, because it is your greatest dream to follow the path of your great aunt, Äye. You could see her now in your mind’s eye, her skin mapped with the lines of nearly eighty years of wisdom. She has been serving Eywa and the people since the Tsahik that Mo’at succeeded, so her counsel is sought on all matters of faith and ritual, even by Mo’at.
For the past twenty-two generations, a woman in your father’s family chooses the same path. They are women who belonged to no man, but to the Great Mother and the people. You aspire to be just like all of them. Your great aunt is the blueprint of your soul, so at twelve years old, you had already decided to tuck away your heart, to pay attention to no boy in the clan, preparing your life for one of worship.
“He didn't even look back once,” Yaremu’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts, her chin now rested in her hands as she neglected the poultice she was supposed to be thickening. “Neteyam, I mean. He’s so focused... Remember what the elder hunters said about the sturmbeest hunt? My uncle said it was the cleanest kill he’s seen from a boy of thirteen years. Not a single wasted movement.”
“And those eyes...” Another girl, Tasi, gushed, her tail twitching with excitement. “He’s going to be such a strong Olo’eyktan one day. Imagine being the one who gets to stand beside him.”
You kept your head down, making their chatter a background sound to your more interesting work of grinding your herbs on a mortar.
“Kiri,” Tasi whispered, leaning in closer. “Since you’re the sister. Is he always like that? And what about Lo'ak? Just the other day, he teased me about my braids and I know I ought to hate it, but he’s so cute I forgot to be annoyed!”
Kiri, who was lazily braiding a length of vine, gave a lopsided grin. “Lo’ak is… well, Lo’ak. He’s a total boy. He spends half his time trying to prove he’s a man and the other half being rowdy and disobedient. He doesn't know when to be quiet.“ She rolled her eyes.
You nodded in agreement while the girls giggled.
Yaremu pressed on, “And Neteyam?”
“Neteyam is alright,” Kiri said, shrugging. “He’s the eldest, after all, so he has a lot to do. He takes care of us when Mom and Dad are not around, and since he’s a hunter now, he’s mostly out.”
“He's so handsome,” Yaremu breathed, nudging you. “Don't you think so, too? He’s always in front of you when we study. Surely you’ve noticed how good he looks when the sun hits his shoulders?”
You paused your grinding, your brows already furrowed. You did not notice that at all. You felt the weight of their gaze, three pairs of eyes curiously waiting for what you have to say. “I notice that his grinding technique is sloppy,” you said, your voice flat. “And that he distracts the circle with their nonsense. If he is to be a leader, he should learn that a healing pavilion is a place of silence, not a stage for his friends to sneaker and fool around.”
The girls exchanged looks, suppressing smiles and rolling their eyes playfully. Tasi bumped her shoulder against yours. “You’re always too serious, sister! You can always study really hard and still have eyes in your head. Everyone should appreciate a beautiful hunter.”
A sudden, raucous burst of laughter was heard from outside the pavilion, making Yaremu and Tasi sit up straighter, going back to their works in an instant. It was a sound you knew very well and it always seemed to follow a particular group. Your cheeks burned, feeling like you’d been caught talking about him even though you were just answering questions! You sat properly, your jaw tightening a little as the voices grew louder, nearing the pavilion.
“Neteyam, you almost dropped it!” a voice boomed, followed by a chorus of snorts.
“I did not! It was Lo’ak, he bumped me!” Neteyam’s voice, already deepening, carried a playful defiance.
A small, knowing sigh escaped your lips. These interruptions are now a constant backdrop to your studies, and you hated it. They weren't even supposed to be here, especially Neteyam, who had just successfully passed his iknimaya and gone through his uniltaron, yet here they were, led by him, no less. You can’t even complain because even though they are rowdy, they are not only eager to learn, this is also beneficial to them as future warriors and hunters of the clan.
Neteyam himself proved to be an exceptional student in the art of healing, which you think is simply natural for him for he excels in everything anyway. He has earned so much praise from Mo’at’s assistant healers that they are now discussing a new initiative with the senior warriors: making first-aid training a requirement for every young warrior and hunter.
The bead curtain at the entrance of the pavilion clattered as the boys spilled inside. You saw Neteyam leading the way, his stride possessing a new, grounded grace since he became a full-fledged warrior of the clan following his iknimaya last season. Close behind were Lo’ak, who was busy trying to trip Atan, while Kipey struggled to carry a bundle of practice splints. Suddenly, the pavilion felt small and their boundless energy made you dizzy. The serene atmosphere you and the girls have earlier is now all but a thing of the past.
Healers Sayka and Jahi entered the pavilion not long after, and because you were looking at them, your eyes caught Neteyam’s and saw him already looking at you. You felt the fine hair on your nape standing up, a bizarre feeling that made you smoothly roll your eyes away, greeting the healers the same time they did.
“Find your places, quickly now,” called out Sayka, the senior assistant healer, as she walked down the aisle followed by Jahi. “The Great Mother does not wait for boys to finish their jests.”
The boys scrambled to sit. Naturally, Neteyam chose the spot directly across from you and your eyes met his again which you quickly averted by looking down on your pestle and mortar. He sat straighter and every time you reached for a new herb or adjusted your posture, you could feel his gaze, not heavy or lecherous, but steady nonetheless, as if he's focusing on a single star in the night sky to properly navigate in the air.
“We heard of the incident during the hunt three days ago,” Sayka began, her eyes landing on Neteyam. “One of the hunters took a horn to the thigh. Messy business,” all of you gasped. “Neteyam took care of the first aid. Didn’t you, Neteyam?”
Your eyes drifted to him and you saw him glanced at you before he turned to Sayka to silently nod at her.
“Tell the circle what the wound look like and what you did before the hunter was brought to the Tsahik.”
Neteyam shifted his focus to Sayka, though you felt the ghost of his attention still lingering on you. “It was a jagged gash,” he said, his voice grounded. “The horn had hooked the flesh, so it wasn't a clean line. There was a lot of blood...”
You watched for any fear or anxiety on his face, but there was none, only certainty and confidence that shouldn't belong on the face of a fourteen-year-old.
“And how did you respond?” Sayka pressed.
“I used a cloth tie as a tourniquet above the wound to slow the flow,” Neteyam explained. "Then I used river water to flush out the dirt. I didn't have any paste, so I just held a soft fortune leaf over it with steady pressure until we brought him to Tsahik.”
“Good. Simple and fast,” Sayka nodded and swept around with her gaze. “A jagged wound is not like a clean wound brought by the slice of a knife. If you have observed a clean slice, it most often closes on its own, but a jagged wound is an angry one. It stays open. Neteyam did well to flush it because with a jagged wound, the first thing to do is to clean it. Dirt hides in the flaps of the skin, so you must use cool, flowing water to wash away the debris. If anything is still inside, you leave it for the Tsahik, but if there’s none, you must clean it thoroughly.”
You nodded eagerly. You haven’t dealt with wounds like that before. Mostly, it was just scraped or small cuts. You wondered what a jagged wound actually looked like and debated whether to ask Neteyam for further details after the class is over. You took a thick and waxy dapophet leaf from the bundle Jahi was distributing. As the leaves were distributed, the quiet was immediately punctured by Lo’ak’s muffled snickering. He was leaning over to Kipey, whispering something about how Neteyam sounded like a “grumpy old grandmother” when he talked about bandages.
You felt a familiar spark of irritation, looking up to to fix the boys with a reprimanding glare, but your eyes didn't even make it to Lo’ak. They crashed into Neteyam’s instead and saw him already looking. The dappled sunlight filtered through the woven roof, casting golden patterns on him and for a moment, you understood what Yaremu was talking about. He is handsome, especially when bathed in sunlight.
You felt something in you flutter. Somewhere in your belly and it tickles. You parted your lips to let out an indignant huff, snapping your gaze away to fix it on Jahi when she spoke. The girls have instilled such ridiculous notions in your head and now, this is what happens!
“The leaves in your hands have a tough outer layer, but inside it is filled with fluid. Now, each of your leaves have a jagged cut you must stitch close,” Jahi explained and you smiled excitedly, looking down at your leaf and the stitching materials being distributed. “Remember not to pierce it too deeply or pull the edges too hard, because the juice might run out. This is similar to a wounded person, you wouldn’t want to pierce them too deeply or pull their skin too hard, would you? You must be mindful to the weight of your own hands.”
You concentrated on your work, carefully stitching the leaf back together. The girls are also silent, which is something you love about them, because nothing could take away their concentration from studying, not even the boy they’ve been mooning over minutes earlier. What annoys you, though, is that you are the one distracted. You could feel his constant glances on you and you decided you’re done with it.
You lifted your head to meet his eyes and you found him with his eyes already on you, as if waiting for the contact. It was infuriating. “Is there something wrong with my stitching, Neteyam?” you asked suddenly, your voice cutting through the silence.
The boys froze. Atan and Kipey exchanged wide-eyed looks.
Neteyam blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “No,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re perfect. I mean, I mean your technique... It’s perfect. I was just looking to see... If I’m doing it right.”
Lo’ak cleared his throat and pretended to cover his face to cough, but his shoulders were shaking, and his face and neck darkened to purple. He was laughing. What’s so funny? You tilted your head and look at Neteyam’s leaf. He was doing it right. Your own face burned in embarrassment. Perhaps, he was truly just trying to look at yours to see if he’s doing his stitching right!
“I think yours is good. It looks like a clean stitch,” you said, returning to your leaf without waiting for a response.
“Thanks...“ he said, his voice still soft.
You heard the boys snicker and from your peripheral gaze, you can see them tease Neteyam with silent nudges. You looked at them and narrowed your eyes. The healers only left for a few moments and they are so rowdy again!
Neteyam, who had been grinning at something Lo’ak said, felt the weight of your gaze. You saw him turn, his golden eyes meeting yours, and his smile died instantly. The bravado drained out of his shoulders. He sat up straighter, his ears pinning back for a second before he composed himself into a mask of sudden, intense seriousness. Lo’ak started to let out another muffled laugh, but Neteyam’s elbow caught him sharply in the ribs.
“Shut up,” Neteyam whispered at his brother before clearing his throat and looking down at his own leaf with the intensity of a scholar.
The rowdiness of the boys died down into a strained, respectful silence, all because you had looked at Neteyam. Kiri turned to you with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her golden eyes. You fixed her with a confused look and she shook her head, softly chuckling to herself.
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You stood in a drawn circle at the training ground with your bowstring drawn back against your cheek. Tasi and Yareumu had already abandoned their targets, preferring to sit in the shade and braid flowers into each other's hair, giggling as they watched the young warriors spar in the ring. All four of you decided to train in archery just last season, but the two of them, including Kiri last week, already gave up on their trainings, citing its futility in the path they are choosing.
Two years had passed and the soft roundness of your childhood had now sharpened into lean, graceful lines of a young lady. At fourteen, the weight of the path you’re forging for yourself is no longer just a dream, but more and more like a shape forming true. You wanted to be of full service to the people, not just as a healer, but as a protector as well, even though you will not be Tsahik. So now, you’re planning to tame an ikran just like Kiri had the year before.
“It’s too much work for my arms,” Tasi sighed, waving a dismissive hand at her discarded bow. “Besides, why do I need to be an archer if I am to be a healer?“
“Because a healer must sometimes be the one to keep the patient alive before the wound is attended to,” you replied without looking back, releasing the arrow. It thudded into the center of the mossy target with a satisfying thwack.
“You are always so serious,” Yaremu teased. “Look, even the boys have stopped their sparring to watch you. Jeto looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe.”
You didn't spare them a glance. You think boys are stupid... Some of them have already wasted half an hour watching and hooting at your every move. The same bunch even tried to invent “accidents” in the past moons just so you would look at them. If Neteyam hadn’t scolded them, they would have continued distracting you in your trainings. Fortunately, they’ve stopped now... But the annoyance of their constant attention has not ceased.
Neteyam stood with Kiri far behind you, supposedly discussing your plan to go up the Hallelujah Mountains soon to tame an ikran for yourself, but he couldn’t help but watch you, his ears tuning out everything Kiri was saying.
You seemed so uncaring of the boys’ antics, your chin tilted high, your air always radiating that quiet, indifferent coldness that made you seem miles above the dirt of the training ground.
“She’s such a snob,” he heard one of the boys mutter behind a rack of spears.
“As if it’s your first time. Keep doing nonsense and she’ll keep ignoring you!” Another replied, followed by a chorus of laughter.
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, a familiar surge of irritation rising in him. Of course. Other boys saw in you what he saw, but he couldn't pretend you were exclusively his to appreciate. Everyone admired you, from their parents to the children, the girls and the boys. And he couldn’t claim to be so different from them...
He had known for a long time exactly what you were to him.
“Neteyam? Are you even listening?” Kiri’s voice poked through his trance. She was leaning against a wooden rack, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as if she knows a secret he doesn’t. “I said the wind currents near the mountains are shifting. If she’s going up in three days, we need to leave earlier."
Neteyam cleared his throat, adjusting the strap of his knife sheath to hide his flustered state. “I heard you. The eastern peaks. I’ll make sure the gear is ready.”
He stepped forward, his shadow touching the edge of your circle. He didn't hover or said anything stupid like the other boys. He’s a boy of sixteen years now, much more matured than the boy he used to be, and somehow, you’ve separated him entirely from the others. You respect Neteyam. He is the future of the clan after all, the next in line to the Omatikaya leadership, and nothing about his presence demanded anything from you.
He waited for you to release your final arrow before he spoke. “Your draw is getting faster,” he noted, his voice an octave lower, and Kiri couldn’t help but snicker at her brother’s attempt to make his voice sound manlier in your ears.
“I have been practicing,” you said, lowering your bow, turning to face him. Your expression was the same mask of cool indifference you wore for everyone, but your eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than they did on the others and sometimes... When it lingered too long, you can feel your belly do the thing. The crazy thing.
He tilted his head and your eyes fluttered, not knowing what to track. Dappled sunlight was on him again and his braids were longer. It annoyed you to think that no boy in the clan is as handsome as him... And perhaps your friends are right. Eywa gave the people a vision to appreciate beauty.
“I can tell,” he said, his voice soft as though he wanted only you to hear what he's saying. “But you’re gripping the bow too tightly. Your hand will cramp and it won’t be good for our climb in two days.”
“I will adjust it,” you said, tearing your gaze off of him.
“You should,” he replied, stepping a bit closer, effectively blocking the view of the snickering boys behind him. “If you’re going to tame an ikran, you can't afford a cramped hand.”
You nodded once, adjusting your hand on the bow. Neteyam watched you adjust your grip, his eyes tracing the line of your knuckles until they softened. He felt a fierce, silent satisfaction in the way his body acted as a shield between you and the persistent stares of the other boys. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way about his possessiveness... The first thing an eldest brother like him ever learned was to share... And yet.
Two days later, you found yourself climbing what seemed like a never-ending vine path upwards. You see nothing below you but mist and hear not but the splash of a distant waterfalls and heavy breathing from the three of you. From his position just behind you on the vine paths, Neteyam found it difficult to focus on the climb.
His eyes were constantly drawn upward to the way you moved. You climbed with a desperate kind of grace, your fingers gripping the ancient roots with a strength that made his chest ache. He saw the sweat beads glistening on your temple and the way your jaw remained set in that stubborn resolve.
Every time you reached a treacherous gap, he felt his own breath hitch. He wanted to reach out, to catch you or guide you, but he knew better. He knew you wouldn’t like being treated more than a casual peer, so he was careful with everything he did, determined not to be shut out like the other boys.
When you all finally reached the summit, he handed you a waterskin and a woven cloth to wipe your sweat with before he even thought of his own thirst and sweat. Though you had your own supplies, you accepted them, only realizing later as you drank the cool water that he’d given you his. He was already focused on watching the ikran, calmly assessing them without bothering to wipe his sweat.
“Hoo! That was one hell of a climb,” Kiri said, drinking from her skin. “You ready?”
You nodded, untying your own waterskin and stepping closer to Neteyam to hand it to him. “You gave me yours,” you said, your eyes sharp and reprimanding, assuming he was too tired to remember you had your own. He accepted it, but you pulled back and opened the lid for him. As your attention shifted to the shrieking, flapping ikran, you missed the way his eyes flared with surprise and intense attraction. Kiri saw it, though, and chuckled to herself. You turned to Neteyam again.
Before he could even get another sip, you huffed, your eyes eyeing the beads of sweat rolling down his temple that was, frankly, getting on your nerves. You grabbed your own woven cloth, your hand wrapping around his forearm. “Hold still,” you muttered, stepping into his personal space.
You didn't dab at him gently. Instead, you used firm strokes, wiping his forehead and the bridge of his nose. Your brow furrowed in a small scowl as you moved to his neck. He was standing perfectly still, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. He didn't care that you were practically buffing his skin raw, because to him, the rough friction felt like a brand. He wasn’t asking for reward, but don’t mind if he greedily enjoys this. He leaned into it a fraction, his chest rising and falling in a heavy rhythm that had nothing to do with the climb you all had just finished.
“There,” you said, finally satisfied. You shoved the cloth into his hand and his fingers touched yours. “Now drink. We don't have all day.”
You turned back to the ikran, missing the dazed, lopsided grin he directed at the back of your head. Kiri, standing a few feet away, just shook her head and gagged quietly. Could there be a worse nightmare for a 15-year-old girl than watching a romance unfold between her older brother and her best friend?
“I’m ready now,” you spoke, doing small jumps on the balls of your feet.
“Good luck,” Neteyam said in a hoarse voice, staying back with Kiri.
His heart hammered against his ribs like an forest ikran trapped in a vine as he watched you step onto the rocky arena, a lone figure among the beasts.
“Choose her,” he whispered under his breath, his fingernails digging into his palms. “See her as I see her.”
He watched a forest-green ikran lunge at you, its beak snapping with lethal intent. Most would have flinched, but you didn't. Neteyam’s breath caught in his throat, he practically stopped breathing as he watched you circle the beast, a blur of blue and shadow, as you dodge each of the beast’s attempt to strike.
When you finally leaped, clambering onto the beast’s neck and wrestling it toward the precipice, Neteyam took an involuntary step forward. His stomach dropping as he watched you both tumble over the edge, a chaotic mess of wings and limbs disappearing into the white abyss of the clouds. Your name tore at his throat, a shout full of fear. He was reminded of the many Omatikaya who died trying the same thing, and for a moment he felt his heart stop beating.
Silence stretched for eternity, both he and Kiri couldn’t talk, and then, a piercing shriek broke through the mist. Neteyam’s heart soared as you flew in the air, banked in a sharp, elegant curve. A lopsided grin broke through his mouth. You are now a rider. The way you sat atop the beast, your braids streaming behind you, and your face etched with a look of pure, wild triumph, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He didn't waste a second. He whistled for his own ikran that was flying aimlessly around the mountains. He mounted in one fluid motion and pushed his mount hard, diving into the sky to join you. As he pulled up alongside you, the wind roaring in his ears, he saw you look over.
The cold indifference was gone, burned away by the adrenaline of the bond. You laughed, a sound he had heard so rarely it felt like a gift, and for a second, his golden eyes locked onto yours.
I see you. I see you. I see you.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You gripped the pestle as you grinded the dried roots on the mortar. This is one those days when your friends are not with you, leaving you alone in the quiet of the Tsahik’s tent. You’re not quite sure which version you enjoy better, and you were just deciding that you actually like the peace and quiet when the flap burst open. Kiri stumbled in, her hair a mess and her expression frantic. In her arms, a very energetic and chunky Tuk was squirming, trying to catch a glowing fly.
“Oh, thank the Great Mother, you’re here,” she gasped, nearly dumping Tuk onto your worktable. “Grandmother just sent word. She wanted me to assist her in sister Tayke’s birth, apparently it’s complicated. Mom and Dad won't be back until eclipse. I have to go.”
You looked up from the tray of dapophet leaves you were sorting, blinking in surprise. "Kiri, I have three tinctures to finish before—”
“Please!” Kiri pleaded. “Neteyam is on patrol, Lo’ak is busy training the young ones, and Tuk is… Well, I can’t bring her with me. You’re the only one I trust not to let her eat a poisonous berry or wander off and fall to her death.”
You looked down at Tuk, who was now pulling at your medicine pouch with a wide, toothy grin. You felt warmth in your chest and your eyes soften, Kiri knew you were sold. “Fine,” you sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“You’re a life-saver! Literally!” Kiri shouted over her shoulder as she vanished back out of the tent.
For the first hour, it was chaos. Tuk treated the healing tent like a playground, toddling around and stacking your mortar bowls into towers and trying to “heal” her woven doll with the rarest medicinal pastes. But as the sun began to dip, her energy flickered out. The excitement turned into a sudden realization that she was tired and her mother wasn't there. Her small lips began to tremble, then came the first sob.
“I want Mama,” she said in a small voice, sending a pang to your chest.
“Oh, Tuk-tuk, no, don't cry,” you murmured, quickly moving to her. You scooped her up, tucking her small, heavy body against your chest.
You began to pace the length of the tent, swaying slowly which you had seen the mothers do a thosuand times. You hummed a low melody that seemed to soothe the child. Slowly, the wails turned into soft hiccups, and then into the deep breathing of sleep. You stayed there, standing in the center of the tent, swaying gently and feeling a strange, quiet peace settle over you.
Until the silence was broken by the soft thuds of footsteps outside. Neteyam moved the flap open, his large frame nearly filling the entrance. He had a large, bundled wrap of fortune leaves, the ones you had mentioned needing a few days ago. He had gone straight from his shift to the high ridges just to find them for you.
He stopped mid-stride, his breath catching in his throat at the sight.
He had expected to find you hunched over your work, with your brow furrowed in concentration. This was the last thing he would have expected seeing. The low glow of the hanging firepot illuminated the side of your face and the soft curve of your arms as you cradled his sister. You looked radiant, your face devoid of the mask of cold indifference you wear like an armor. From his current view, you are something warm, something attainable, something his.
Neteyam felt a surge of heat in his chest that made his pulse thrum in his ears. He noticed, with a sudden and sharp clarity, how the last few years had finished their work on you. The slight softness of the girl he used to trail behind had vanished, replaced by the striking, lithe form of a woman. Your beauty, the confidence in the way you stood, and the depth in your gaze all felt like a challenge to everything he knew about your vows. He knew of your great aunt Äye, he knew the weight your family’s traditions. But seeing you there, swaying his sister to sleep, made his heart ache with a hunger that no amount of prayer could suppress.
You turned your head slowly, your eyes widening as you saw him. “Neteyam,” you breathed, your lips curving into a soft, genuine smile.
It didn't help with the delusions he was currently having.
For you, the sight of him was no less of a shock. You were no longer the twelve-year-old girl who was simply annoyed by a rowdy boy. Now, those “stupid” teenage flutters in your belly had evolved into something more. Looking at him now, you felt a creeping heat settle on your nape and spread down your spine.
He had grown so much. He was so much taller and broader, his skin mapped with faint scars, and his golden eyes carry a depth that made you feel exposed. You hated how handsome he had become and how his presence seemed to command the very air in the tent. You looked at the heavy muscles of his arms, then back to his face, and felt a wave of shame.
These are bad thoughts, you scolded yourself, even as your heart hammered a rhythm of betrayal against your ribs. Your skin was tingling and you were practically fighting not to hug Tuk against you harder in your attempt to quell it. A woman on your path should not hunger for the touch of a man! But as your eyes met his in the dimmed light, the ’path’ you had walked so carefully for years suddenly felt terrifyingly narrow.
“You're back,” you whispered. “Kiri said you were on patrol.”
“I was,” he managed to say. He didn't move to put the leaves down. He didn't want to break the tether of this moment. “I found what you needed. Kiri said you were planning to go and get them yourself. Don’t want you going to the ridges on your own.” His head tilted, a brow rising in challenge.
“I’m perfectly capable of navigating the ridge, you mighty warrior. Thank you very much,” you countered, though the bite in your voice was softened by the warmth in your eyes as you swayed Tuk. “I’ve had my ikran for years now. Or did you forget who beat you in that race to the mountains last moon?”
Neteyam let out a short, huffed laugh, finally moving into the tent. “I didn't forget. I merely allowed the lady a moment of glory. It’s called being a gentleman.”
“It’s called being slow,” you shot back, a genuine smirk breaking through your face.
He reached out then, his large hands moving toward the sleeping toddler in your arms. “Here, give her to me. You looked like you’ve stood here for an hour already, I’m sure your arms are ready to fall off.”
As he leaned in to take her, Tuk stirred. Instead of reaching for her brother, she let out a tiny, sleepy whimper and buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, her small fingers clutching your necklace.
“Oh,” you both whispered at the same time.
“Aww,” you cooed softly, your heart vibrating in your chest, making you almost shiver.
Neteyam echoed the sound with a look of such raw tenderness crossing his face that you had to look away. He didn't pull back; instead, he leaned down and pressed a lingering, gentle kiss onto Tuk’s forehead. His face was inches from yours, the scent of mint and the heat of his skin registering to your senses. You felt like a puddle of candle wax. Soft, melting, and utterly ruined.
“I guess I’m stuck,” you whispered, your voice slightly breathless.
His eyes lifted to meet yours, flashing a smile that made your belly go crazy. “Then let me be of use,” he said, turning to your workbench. “Since your hands are full, tell me what to do. I’m at your command.” He raised a brow playfully.
You didn't hesitate. You needed your tasks done and if he wanted to stay, you’re done fighting the pull. For tonight. “Fine. Those fortune leaves you brought needed to be stripped and ground. Gently, Neteyam,“ you said in a stern voice.
“Oh, I know gentle,“ he quickly remarked, looking down at his leaves just as quick as if he didn’t want to see how you’ll react.
You felt your face heat up at his remark. It could be innocent, you know, but because your mind has thought of many bad things when it came to him, you can’t react properly anymore! Your eyes narrowed. “Just get to work. Don't use your warrior strength on them, or you’ll bruise it.”
He sat down, hunched over the mortar and pestle. The sight was so domestic and it felt dangerously right. You rubbed the soft skin on Tuk's back when she nestled to you. Neteyam looked up and you raised a brow. “How was the western perimeter?” you asked instead. "Kiri mentioned the trackers saw fresh signs of a palulukan near the falls."
Neteyam’s ears flicked. “They did. A big one, too,” he paused to wipe a stray bit of leaf from his thumb. “Apparently, it crossed their path the other day. They had to stay up in the trees for an hour just to let it pass.”
The conversation drifted into something comfortable and domestic. You asked about the next sturmbeest hunt, and he asked about the last herbs he’s given you that you turned into cooling salves. It was so easy, so natural, that you feel nothing but comfort and warmth.
“Is this enough?” he asked, holding up the mortar. The leaves had been transformed into a perfect, dark-green paste, the scent of crushed mint rising from the bowl.
“It’s perfect,” you said, stepping closer to inspect his work. “You’ve missed your calling, warrior. You’d make a fine assistant to Mo’at.”
“I think I’ll stick to my bow,” he teased, his voice dropping into that lower, private register. “Stirring pots is much more dangerous work. I might get ordered around too much.”
“You say that as if you don't enjoy it," you countered, meeting his eyes.
He wasn’t only enjoying it. He was happy. He was more than happy. Every time he glanced up and saw you cradling Tuk, a small child who share the same features he got from his mother, his mind went to places that felt both beautiful and forbidden. He dared to imagine a life where this wasn't a temporary favor for Kiri, but a permanent reality.
The teasing died away when you heard the horn for the evening meal echoed. You walked together toward the communal clearing, the weight of the sleeping child in your arms and Neteyam’s steady presence at your side giving you a sense of belonging that terrified you.
“Your parents aren’t back yet,” you noticed, glancing at the empty dais.
Tuk stirred in your arms, slowly waking up from her slumber. Her eyes drifted to Neteyam, dazed at first but when it registered that her older brother is in front of her, her eyes widened. “Neteyam!” her tiny voice a shrill.
You chuckled, handing her over when she wriggled in your arms, her own tiny arms reaching for Neteyam who readily accepted her with a huff. “Ow. So heavy,” Neteyam playfully said, blowing a kiss on Tuk’s chubby cheek before looking at you. “You carried this boulder for hours?” His free hand shot down to hold one of your arm, instantly massaging.
You chuckled, pinching Tuk’s cheek. “It's alright,” you said, noticing the inquisitive looks some people are giving the two of you. Your cheeks burned, quickly sitting down. Neteyam immediately followed, settling Tuk on his lap. He sat close, close enough that your thighs where brushing, and as the food was passed around, you naturally began to tear off small pieces of roasted fish to feed Tuk.
Across the fire, Lo’ak was huddled with Atan and Kipey. The three of them were barely eating, their heads bowed together as they whispered and pointed.
“Look at them,” Atan snickered, nudging Lo’ak. “If I didn't know better, I’d say the Tsahik’s seat was already filled.”
“Total parents,” Kipey whispered, grinning. “Neteyam looks like he’s ready for a family at nineteen.”
Lo’ak snorted, watching you reach over to wipe a smudge of juice from a stomping Tuk’s chin while Neteyam watched you with a look of such longing and admiration it was almost embarrassing to witness. “He’s gone,” Lo’ak muttered, shaking his head. “He’s been gone for years. He’s practically just waiting for her to melt up.”
“Nom nom!” Tuk said eagerly while a piece of the meat she was holding fell on your thigh.
Neteyam’s hand shot out to pick it up, quickly popping it into his mouth. You looked at him in disbelief. “That just fell,” you pointed out as you watched him chew.
“Not on the ground, but on your skin. That makes it a blessing,” he countered, his voice hummed with a playful vibration.
A blessing? You rolled your eyes away, focusing your attention on Tuk’s messy face to hide the flush creeping up your face. “You are disgusting,” you muttered, though there was no real heat in it.
“I’m efficient,” he corrected, leaning in closer so his shoulder brushed yours. “And hungry. Patrolling is exhausting work, especially when you’re looking for fortune leaves on the side.”
Tuk giggled, sensing the shift in energy, decided to pat Neteyam’s cheek with a sticky hand. “Neteyam silly!”
“See? Even the little one knows,” you teased, finally regaining your composure. You reached for a damp cloth to clean Tuk’s hand, but Neteyam beat you to it. His large fingers gently wrapped around his sister’s small wrist, wiping her palm with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
As you basked in the laughter of the people surrounding you, the thought of the solitary path you were always so sure of your entire life suddenly feel like a cold, lonely place that you didn’t notice you were already leaning closer to the warmth of Neteyam’s arm against yours. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The sounds of voices and of hunters sparring in the training grounds grew louder as you hurried past, your arms filled with fresh bundles of sterilization moss and clean cloths. Mo’at had sent word about the labor of one of the pregnant women in the clan. You were in a hurry, your pace swift yet your spine remained straight, your chin tilted high, as per usual.
A hunter called your name from the weapon racks. “Careful there, the ground is uneven! Do you need strong hunter to clear the path for you?“
“She won't answer you, skxawng,“ another laughed. “Perhaps if you bring her herbs, or better yet, if you were a better warrior than Neteyam!”
“Just ask me to be the next Toruk Makto, why don’t you?” The former remarked sarcastically.
Neteyam watched from the sidelines, a senior warrior was talking to him but his gaze was busy tracking you, watching how you didn't even break your stride or tilt your head. Your chin remained high, your eyes focused on the path ahead. He had known for a long time that to you, the voices of men who call to you were merely just buzzing of summer insects, something too beneath your notice.
“I’ll work on that, brother, then I’ll get back to you,” he told the senior warrior, nodding to him seriously. The latter clapped his shoulder before walking away.
“What a shame,“ he heard one of the hunters mutter. “To have such beauty in the clan, only for it to be locked away for the Great Mother. She takes after Äye. She won't ever look at a man, let alone mate with one.”
“Unattainable,” heard another agree, sighing. “She’s like the High Peak. Beautiful to look at, but no one is meant to live there.“
Their conversation, though, halted instantly the moment Neteyam strode out from the shade. His eyes were dark and unimpressed as he looked at them, that even the hunters a few years older than him couldn’t help but look away.
“Is that what we do now?” Neteyam asked, his voice low but cutting. “Stand around the racks, bothering those on tasks for the Tsahik? Talking about our women with disrespect?”
The first hunter looked away, embarrassed. “It was just a joke, Neteyam.”
“Your mouths keep buzzing like forest insects,” Neteyam snapped, stepping forward so they were forced to look at him. “This constant hooting at her is getting old. Have you not outgrown it? She is doing important work for the clan. If I see the bunch of you doing anything other than training again, I will personally ensure all of you spend the rest of the moon cleaning the waste pits.”
They nodded efficiently, their faces the poster of good behavior, but Neteyam would remember. The next time this happens again, it won’t be just scolding they are getting. He remained standing there though, reflecting on what the hunters have said. None of it had been a lie and he’d felt the bitter, familiar spark of pride and pain flickered in his chest. They are right, he thought, you are unattainable.
He knew better than anyone the depth of your conviction. Over the past years, your quiet friendship had become the foundation of his life, but it was a foundation built on a boundary he could never cross. He had seen you at your most vulnerable and your most powerful, and in his heart, he had long ago committed a quiet kind of blasphemy. He worshiped Eywa the best he could, but you were his deity on land, one whose words he followed without question. One he guards with all of him.
Now, at twenty-one, he had become as reserved as you are, making a silent vow of his own: if you were to be alone, he would be alone with you. He would make a good Olo’eyktan but he didn’t need to be mated to ensure that. The tradition of the leaders being mated was a strong one, but Neteyam knew he could never give himself to another woman when his soul and his heart had long been claimed by a woman who belonged to the Great Mother. If friendship was all the nectar you could offer, he would live his entire life on that single drop.
He turned back to his warriors. He would lead, he would hunt, and he would protect. And in the quiet hours of the night, he would continue to love you from the distance you required, content to be the only man you didn't ignore, even if he could never be the man you held
Hours later, you are alone in the Tsahik’s tent, the adrenaline of the birth you assisted for the first time had yet to leave your system. You were wiping down a set of obsidian scalpels when the tent flap lifted, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the familiar smell that always seemed to ground you.
Neteyam didn't speak at first, standing just inside the entrance. He had showered away the dust of the training grounds, his skin gleaming in the soft light of the firepot. You lifted your eyes, your lips still curved in a small, satisfied smile. You let your eyes do the thing they always do when he’s in front of you. Feast on. He was the very image of a future leader. Muscled, scarred, and radiating an authority that silenced most men with a single look.
“Hi,” you greeted.
His lips formed a boyish smile. “The village is finally quiet,” he said, his voice dropping into that private, velvet register. “Was the delivery alright? How was it?“
You sighed softly, and for the first time that day, your mark dissolved into a radiant, tired smile. “It was a boy,” you breathed, setting the scalpel down. “Healthy and loud. He didn't stop wailing until Mo’at placed him on his mother’s chest.“
Neteyam moved closer, leaning against a support beam near your herb rack. “And the mother?“
“Strong. She was incredible, Neteyam.” You moved to a bundle of dried leaves, your hands working quickly to sort them, your enthusiasm bubbling over. “But you should have heard Mo’at. While she was cleaning the babe, she looked at him and then looked at me and said, ‘this one is small. Neteyam, now, he was a giant. The biggest baby I have seen in all my cycles’. She said you were so large she nearly wondered if Neytiri had hidden a second child behind you.”
Neteyam’s ears flicked back, a rare flush appeared on his cheeks. He huffed a laugh, looking down at his large, callous hands. “A giant, was I? I suppose I’ve given my mother’s back quite the ache.”
You let out a genuine, silvery chuckle, the sound dancing through the quiet tent. “I truly wish I could have seen you then. You were the very first of your kind, your father’s blood... and that of ours. I’m sure you were beautiful.” you mused, your voice softening as you looked at him. You realized too late how that sounded, and you quickly turned back to your jars. “It is a wonder of Eywa.”
“Is that why you look at me so closely sometimes?“ he teased, stepping into your personal space to reach for a heavy jar on a high shelf you are struggling to reach.
“I do not look at you closely,” you lied, your heart doing that treacherous dance against your ribs as he reached over your head. His arm was a solid wall of muscle beside your ear, and the scent of mint enveloped you.
“You do,” he countered softly, handing you the jar but not pulling his hand away until your fingers were firmly around his. “You track my movements like I am a complex creature you are trying to categorize. It is quite intimidating, being under the gaze of the clan’s most devoted scholar.”
You rolled your eyes, though your hands were trembling. “You are imagining things. Why would I look at you...” Your lips pushed forward, your voice lacking bravado.
Your heart is beating too heavily against your chest and your palms are sweating. He notices. He knows your eyes are often on him. He knows you watch each of his movements, he knows you feel hot every time you see how his shoulder and chest significantly broadened and filled out with muscles, or how the sight of his muscled abdomen flexing makes your breath catch at your throat.
“Research? To see how the 'hybrid' grows?” he says, his voice too innocent.
Your teeth gritted at your attempt to stop a groan from escaping. You are going to hyperventilate! You cleared your throat. “Maybe,“ you managed to say, your voice tight as you gripped the jar he’d just handed you. “It is a healer's duty to be thorough. I simply... pay attention to detail.”
He chuckled while your face felt like it had been plunged into a firepot. Neteyam is too innocent, while your mind is filled with inappropriate thoughts that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. You are a woman firm on the sanctity of your path! For Eywa's sake, gather your wits!
“Well,” he murmured. “If the research is still ongoing, I suppose I am already here. Do you need to... measure anything else? Or is the height of the hybrid sufficient for today's report?”
Your breath caught in your throat. He was obviously teasing, his voice light and playful, but because you're guilty of your shameful thoughts, what is to him simple banter between friends is slow torture to you.
“I need to boil the nettles,” you said, abruptly turning your back you nearly bumped into a tray of obsidian.
Your hands trembled as you reached for a pot of water. Your mind, usually a home of prayer and medicinal formulas, was currently a chaotic mess. You’re both ashamed and shameless, because despite your guilt, you’re still thinking about how soft the chest on his skin looked in the light.
“You're using the cold-press pot for a boil,” Neteyam noted softly.
You felt him behind you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades as he reached around you to get the correct ceramic vessel. For a heartbeat, you were encased in him. You could see the way the veins mapped his hands, hands that were built for a bow and arrow but also held the young with devastating gentleness.
Eywa, strike me down, you thought, squeezing your eyes shut for a fleeting second.
“Right. Of course,” you choked out, grabbing the correct pot from him with an unusual rashness that his surprised eyes flitted up to meet yours.
“You seem distracted,” he said, his voice losing some of its playfulness.
Your brows furrowed, intending to give him a sharp dismissal, but your gaze caught on the way his lower lip was slightly tucked under his teeth, a habit he’d had since he was ten. It was so boyish, so familiar, and yet, on this man’s face, it was lethal.
“No, of course, not... I’m just tired. It’s been a long day,” you said.
He nodded, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray braid behind your ear. “I’ll work on that, you can go and sit down. I’ll clean up, too,” he said, his eyes searching yours with a sincerity that made you want to scream. His hand wrapped around your upper arm to gently nudge you away from the hearth.
“I can do it,” you said, though your feet were already moving.
“You've been on your feet since the first light,” he countered, his voice firm with that quiet authority he had perfected over the years. “Let me do it, alright? I’ve got so much energy to spare. I didn’t have patrol today, so I’m practically a live wire.”
He turned back to the hearth, his movements fluid and confident. You sank onto the woven mat and from this lower vantage point, the view was even more treacherous. You tried to look at the ceiling. You tried to recite the properties of your herbs. You tried to pray. But your eyes kept drifting back to the way the light of the flames danced across the broad expanse of his back, and the way his tail flicked in a slow, content rhythm as he worked.
“There,” Neteyam said after a few minutes, oblivious to the spiritual crisis happening three feet behind him. He set the pot to simmer and began to move around the workbench. “The nettles are on. I’ve organized the herbs, cleaned everything, and put the scalpels back in its place. Is there anything else, or can I walk you back home now so you can get a better rest?”
“I can walk myself,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly. You scrambled to your feet, desperately trying to reassemble the fragments of your dignity. “Thank you, Neteyam. For the... assistance.”
He stood by the tent flap, holding it open for you. He didn’t press, you know he never would. You passed by him and he gave you a small, tired smile. “Sleep well,” he murmured, your name on his lips a soft caress.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The summer heat had settled over the forest like a heavy, humid blanket, causing most Omatikaya youth to retreat to the river when the sun is at its high. Today alone, half the village had migrated to the banks, the air filled with splashes of water and sounds of laughter.
You sat on a smooth, warm boulder, the rock's heat seeping into your skin. Being bare was as natural as breathing for the people held no shame in the bodies Eywa gave them. Your legs were still submerged in the cold water as you eat the snacks you brought with you. Tasi and Yaremu were wading in the shallows nearby, their voices dropped to conspiratorial whispers that still carried easily over to you.
“He didn't stop there,” Yaremu was saying, her eyes wide and dancing with a secret, frantic energy. She was describing a rendezvous with her boyfriend las night, her hands gesturing toward her lower extremities submerged in the water. “He started at my ankles, and then… well, the way his tongue felt between my legs… I thought I was going to see the Great Mother right then and there.”
Tasi squealed and giggled, leaning in for more. “Was it better than the last time?”
“Oh, it was! It seems to get better and better, you know... We are exploring and learning each other’s bodies,” Yaremu grinned.
Tasi sighed dreamily. “I could say the same. But it’s the way he breathes against my neck that gets me,” Tasi whispered, her fingers tracing the line of her own collarbone. “The heat of it. And when he finally... when he enters, it’s like your whole body forgets how to be separate from his. You are basically a single entity, moving as one—”
Yaremu giggled, splashing a bit of water. “Oh, Great Mother! And the hands! How heavy they feel when they finally stop being polite and start claiming what they want.”
They both giggled, their bodies vibrating with frantic energy. Tasi looked at you and smiled a small one, “Oh, sister! I wish you could have experienced it... But the path reserved for the Great Mother is just as good,” she said.
You made a face of theatrical disgust. “Oh, don’t feel bad for me, sister, I’m not missing out. I can’t even imagine,” you said sassily.
But oh, that’s a big lie. Your mind, usually so disciplined, had been picturing a very specific set of calloused hands, a very specific weight. You saw them on your waist, just as Tasi had described, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of a very familiar body. You imagined the “weight” Yaremu spoke of, imagining how a certain body would weigh. Your mind even completed the picture by providing you with the familiar scent of mint and woodsmoke, you could actually smell it.
It’s like their words were seeds who fell into fertile soil, and now you felt a flush that had nothing to do with the sun.
That was when you saw him.
Neteyam was waist-deep in the deeper water a few paces away, his skin glistening. He was surrounded by a few other hunters, their voices a low drone but their laughter boisterous. He was mid-laugh, but anyone can tell his eyes would wander to you every now and then, because when his gaze drifted back to where you are, his laughter died down a little. His eyes locked onto yours, and the air between you seemed to burn.
There was no boyish embarrassment in the way he stared at you, no hurried glance at the sky. He watched you with a heavy, predatory stillness it made your nape feel like it’s burning as goosebumps pricked your skin. You are not ashamed in your nakedness, the people have always swam in the river like this, and nothing is new with seeing each other naked.
But the gaze of the man across from you had given you a defiant, primitive urge. Instead of hiding, you shifted. You leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to the side to let the sun hit your neck. You arched your spine slowly, a deliberate, feline stretch that pushed your chest forward. Your breasts, firm and perky, on display as the tips pebbled. You felt his eyes track the movement. From this distance, you could see his pupils blow wide, his tail breaking the surface of the water behind him in a sharp, agitated flick. He didn't move, but the tension radiating from him was palpable.
The tension followed you back to the village, and now, even as the sun dipped below the horizon and the communal fire dimmed, the memory of his gaze still made your skin hot. You were walking back to the Tsahik’s tent, intending to collect the herbs you dried and make the poultice you’ve been meaning to make.
The walk was silent, until it was broken by the sound of familiar footsteps behind you. You didn't need to turn around to know it was him. His scent had reached you and the air seemed to tighten, enough to tell you who it is. You plastered on a calm facade before you turned around, seeing him standing in the shadows, his silhouette tall and imposing, his breathing heavy as if he had run to get here.
“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, his voice a low, rough grate. He stepped into the light of the firepot, his expression uncharacteristically strained. “Earlier, at the river... I hope I did not frighten you.”
Your lower lip caught between your teeth. You remembered the way your body had reacted to him, the way you had arched your back, offering yourself to his eyes. The shame you expected to feel was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a blooming heat, and a frantic beating heart.
“I wasn't frightened,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You took a small, daring step toward him, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I’m... I’m glad you saw me.”
Neteyam’s breath hitched, and then a huff of chuckle escaped his lips. What you said was just the surface, small in the vastness of what he had always held for you. “I have always seen you,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
It seemed so simple, and yet it was all he could say. He wanted to tell you the truth of it, how he had been here since you were children, since the first time you ever looked at him after he had become aware of his feelings. That there was never been anyone else he truly saw. But he would not frighten you. To know that you were not frightened of him after his boldness at the river had been a relief.
You smiled softly, a genuine, aching look that reached your eyes. “I know... I also know that not everyone does...” you said, your hand lifted to press a palm against his muscled chest.
You are perceived differently by everyone in the clan. Just like Äye, you will soon be seen more as a figure of religion or the shadow of the Great Mother. But in your most private daydreams... This man in front of you sees you as a woman... But even if you know that he does, your path does not lead to him. Your palm felt scorched where it touched his chest, feeling the powerful thud of his heart against your fingertips. He was flesh and blood and heat.
He took a half-step closer, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “They are fools...” he whispered.
You knew you should pull back. You should change the topic and speak of the cooling salves or the morning rituals. But the memory of the river, of the way he had looked at you when you were bare and unashamed, was the only thought taking over your mind.
“Neteyam,” you breathed.
You voice was so soft, so lovely in his ears, that for the first time in his life, he dared to break through the boundaries. He leaned down, his movement slow, giving you every second to turn away. But you stayed. You stayed until his forehead and nose touched yours. You heart was beating too fast it was aching in your chest. You wanted to hold him, to grab him and hold him tight to you.
When his lips finally met yours, it was a collision of years of unspoken feelings and repressed hunger. You let out a soft sound into his mouth as your fingers curled into his chest strap, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you. The kiss was clumsy at first, the frantic meeting of two people who had only ever touched in dreams, but then his hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your braids to tilt your head just right.
As he deepened the kiss, his other arm wound around your waist, hauling you flush against the unyielding lines of his body. You felt the heat of his skin and the terrifying strength of his hold. For this one moment, the twenty-two generations of solitary women in your family were silenced. The path was gone. There was only the weight of his hands and the feel of his soft lips against yours.
When he pulled back, just an inch, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. He kept his arms locked around you, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with a look of pure, terrifying devotion. A huge smile sliced across your lips and he grinned, huffing a shaky laugh. You let a breathless laugh yourself, your fingers tangling in his braids.
“Are you making cooling salves? I can be of use. I make the best of them, you know that,” he said casually.
Your nose wrinkled. “I guess I’ll need the help,” you said, your eyes drifting back to his lips. “And the kisses, too.”
You startled when a thunder of laughter escaped him, pulling you to him for a more thorough hug. “Oh, my middle name has always been generous.”
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You felt his tail wrap possessively around your leg, a grounding, heavy weight as his mouth moved to the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder. Your head fell back, a soft, traitorous moan escaping your lips. “Neteyam...” you muttered breathily. “Don’t leave marks...”
“Hmm?” he hummed with humor, his mouth already sucking some skin into its warmth.
“Tasi pointed out... the marks on my neck the other day,“ you said. “I can’t keep telling her it’s insect bites.”
His body shook as he chuckled, lifting his head to press a kiss on your lips. Then his lips repeated a trail on your jaw, leaving wet kisses and licks, making you smile as you held him tighter. “Why... Can’t help it. You taste so good,” he murmured.
“I’m not a fruit,” you countered.
He hummed, sucking on your skin softly. “So sweet, nonetheless.”
You cupped his face, bringing it up so you could kiss him. You both have improved significantly in the past weeks, having found a different hobby aside from talking, when you two are alone. He helps you in the healing tent, but it’s not always that your companions are not around, like today. Kiri and Mo’at are in the tent, preparing for a severe injury a hunter got from a hunt. You had told Mo’at you will search for night-blooming lilies, but your feet had led you straight to where you knew Neteyam finished his scout rounds.
And now, you’re here, half-lying against a massive tree root, under the comforting weight of a warrior who couldn’t stop kissing you. He deepened the kiss and you felt his hand hover on your waist. One of your hands lowered to hold one of them and his hand immediately move to intertwine his fingers with yours.
You smiled, but that was not your intention. You brought his hand to one of your peaks, moving your top aside so his hand could touch the soft flesh bare. You gained a soft groan from him and he lifted his head to look at you. You rose to chase his lips, pressing his hand on your boob and moaning when he began kneading it.
“Yes...“ you mumbled.
His lips lowered down and you arched your back, waiting for his lips to reach your peaks, and when it did, you fought with your entire body just so you wouldn’t shake and buck. The sensation felt so good, it made you feel even hotter. It made you want to close you thighs, but because his body was between your legs, you could only buck against him.
“Oh...” you moaned, bucking against him again when you felt a hard ridge make contact with your clothed softness. “Neteyam...”
He hummed, his mouth full of your soft flesh, sending delicious vibration across your chest. You felt his hand move down to your hips, holding you in place before his hips came down on you, dragging that hard ridge you felt earlier across your crotch. You shivered, squeezing your eyes tight as you moaned. He repeated it again and again until you felt so ticklish in that spot between your legs, feeling a warm pool of liquid gushing out of you.
“Fuck,“ you heard him say, moving away from you a little to fumble at his loincloth. You felt a warm wetness land on your thigh and he groaned. “Fuck, sorry,“ his deep voice grated and you felt his hand, but you were already lifting your head to see.
You lips parted at the sight of his erected cock on display, a gasp escaping you. It was long and thick, its wide tip a flush of dark indigo, wet with his own release. Most of the glistening essence was on the floor and some were on your thigh. You genuinely didn’t know what to focus on. Your mind wandered to Tasi’s talks and this can’t possibly be the thing that enters a woman.
You curiosity got the better of you though, your hand shot down to grab it but his hand was faster, grabbing your wrist and moving it away. Your nose flared in annoyance and your eyes lifted to glare at him, but he met you with eyes that spoke of challenge.
“That's right. Keep your eyes up here,” he said in that private, lower register, his hand putting that thing back inside his loincloth.
You groaned and pulled your wrist from him. “I just want to touch it,” you whined.
He angled his head to kiss you. “Unless you want to drive me insane, you can’t,” his hand hovered over your thigh to wipe his release off of your skin.
Your hand shot down again, but this time, to dip a finger on his release, popping it to your mouth before he could even react. You were like a kid left unattended with a food that fell on the ground and he's the adult keeping you away from it, because now, he's staring at you both in surprise and wonder. You hummed at its surprisingly good taste and he wasn’t even able to stop you when you dipped a finger the second time around, scooping more essence, and keeping eye contact with him as if daring him to stop you.
You broke eye contact to look at it, intending to scoop down again but his hand already wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. You glared at him, groaning again, but he was already wiping your thigh clean with a piece of cloth. Your lips pushed forward, sad to see the essence gone. “You’re such a kill joy,” you said in a whine, your tail moving under you in an agitated flick.
He huffed a chuckle, his face moving to kiss your pouting lips softly. “Sorry, my love... Maybe next time,” he murmured.
Your hands lifted to hold his face properly so you could kiss him better, smiling against his lips.
A week later, you found yourself standing above the plains, overlooking the valley below as you gripped your basket half-full of cliff-blossoms. Neteyam was leading a pack of young hunters on a sweep of the forest floor. From this distance, he was a vision of controlled power, commanding the space around him without even speaking. You watched him signal a halt with a sharp, fluid movement of his arm. He barked an order, his voice carrying upward, deep and resonant.
He was wearing his full warrior gear, the woven chest straps accentuating the massive breadth of his shoulders and cummerbund hugging his muscled torso. You felt a wave of heat wash over you, settling low in your belly. You were practically vibrating with a hunger that felt both blasphemous and inevitable. You imagined him coming to the Tsahik’s tent later tonight, covered in the dust of the hunt, and the way he would look at you when he finally got you alone.
“A natural leader, isn’t he?”
You jumped, nearly dropping your basket. Kiri was standing a few paces away, her head tilted, watching you with an expression that was far too perceptive for your comfort.
“The clan is in good hands,” you said quickly, forcing your voice into its usual even tone. You turned back to the cliff-side, picking at a blossom with trembling fingers.
She didn't say anything else, but the way she sniffed the air, a subtle twitch of her nose, made your heart stop. For weeks, she had been quiet, but you know how observant Kiri is; she knew the difference between the scent of night-lilies and the scent of her brother who had been spending far too much time tangled in your limbs.
Later that evening, the Tsahik’s tent was filled with the sounds of your friends’ chatters and the air thick with the smell of boiling herbs. Mo’at was away at a naming ceremony, leaving you, Kiri, Tasi, and Yaremu to manage the evening prep.
“He was so frustrated,” Yaremu giggled, crushing a handful of seeds. “I told him we couldn't go all the way, so he just... he took my hand and guided it. I didn't know a man could make those kind of sounds just from a touch of the fingers.”
Tasi leaned in, her eyes wide. “Wait, you just... with your hand? Like you were kneading dough?”
“More like stroking clay, but faster,” Yaremu whispered, her face flushed. “They get so sensitive there. It’s like they lose their minds.”
Kiri let out a boisterous cackle, throwing a piece of bark at Yaremu. “You two are so inappropriate! We are at the Tsahik’s tent!”
You stared into the boiling pot, the memory of Neteyam’s... thing... flashing behind your eyes. You had never seen it again, he made sure of that. But you remembered the way he had stopped you from touching it, the way he had claimed it would "drive him insane."
“Is it... difficult?“ you asked without thinking, your voice cutting through the laughter.
The tent went dead silent. Tasi and Yaremu stared at you as if you had just grown a second head. Even Kiri stopped laughing, her luminous eyes narrowing as she shifted her gaze toward you.
“Difficult?” Tasi repeated, stunned. “Since when do you care about the mechanics of a man’s pleasure?“
“I am a healer,” you said, your chin tilting up, though your pulse was racing. “I am simply curious about the... response. Yaremu mentioned they make sounds. Is it a reflex, or a choice?”
Yaremu grinned slowly. “Oh, it's a reflex, sister. They can't help it. If you move your thumb just right over the tip... they break. Even the strongest of them.”
You swallowed hard, your mind instantly picturing Neteyam breaking under your hand. The thought made the tips of your breasts ache against your top. “I see,” you said, stirring the pot with a bit too much force. “Fascinating. From a research perspective, of course.”
“Of course,” Kiri echoed. She moved closer to you, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Might I ask, sister, if you have been giving Neteyam your favorite lillies... Because he’s been smelling an awful lot like them lately.”
Your lips parted. You haven’t even noticed that! “M-Maybe... Maybe he uses them when he bathes,” you lied.
She pulled away with a smile, nodding as if she understood, while Tasi and Yaremu continued to gossip, blissfully unaware of what’s going on. You didn’t know whether to be worried about Kiri’s reactions or not, still thinking about it even when the evening meal was over. You went back in the Tsahik’s tent, focused on grinding a stubborn root into paste, your pestle acting as a heartbeat for the quiet room.
Your entire body seemed to melt into a puddle, though, when you heard the tent flap rustle. Neteyam stepped inside, looking exhausted but exhilarated. He had shed his heavy scouting gear, leaving only the chest strap. A small smudge of blue paint was smeared across his temple.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice gravelly from shouting orders all day. He didn't wait for an answer before closing the distance, reaching out to tug playfully on one of your braids.
“How was the hunt?” you asked.
“Successful, except that we saw a palulukan on the way back. The Great Mother was kind, because it didn’t see us. Young Kamu was practically swallowing air by the time it was gone, the boy has forgotten how to breathe.”
You pictured the boy, one of the youth who just passed their iknimaya last season. “Cut him some slack, you mighty warrior. The boy is only fourteen,” you said, chuckling. You reached for a damped cloth to wipe the paint on his temple.
His hand followed yours, grabbing it gently and pressing a kiss on your fingers. “Your hands are shaking, baby. How long have you been at this?” he grabbed the pestle and mortar, his forehead furrowed.
“Since the sun was high. Don’t worry about it,” you said, because your hands weren’t shaking because of what he’s thinking, but yoy were grateful for the reprieve nonetheless. You leaned back against the table, watching him take over the task with effortless ease.
“Don’t worry? Your hands seem so overwork, what with that Tsahik’s tasks and your classes at the pavillion,” he reprimanded softly.
You pushed your lips forward, ignoring him as you took your damp cloth again and began to wipe the dust from his shoulders with a damp cloth, your movements lingering. “Yaremu and Tasi were talking today,“ you started, trying to sound clinical as you moved the cloth over the swell of his chest.
“About...“ he trailed after it took you long to continue, still focused on his paste.
“About how... a man responds to a certain touch. With the hand.”
Neteyam went still, and you saw his eyes zeroing in on something. “What touch?”
“They said it makes even the strongest warriors break. That they lose their minds,” you whispered, leaning in until your breath fanned over his skin. “I find the claim about reflex... questionable. I believe I need to conduct my own study. For research.”
He stared at you before letting out a choked, dark laugh. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a possessive heat. “Not here,” he whispered.
Your lips broke into a huge grin. “You’ll allow me?”
He moved to kiss the tip of your nose. “I will never say no to you,” he said.
“You did say no... Last week,” you pointed out and a deep laughter rumbled in his chest.
“I did say next time, didn’t I?” he replied, stealing another deep, searing kiss before pulling back with a wink. “I’ll finish here. Go up the higher branch, I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”
You pursed your lips and nodded, almost skipping your way out of the tent. The higher branch of the Hometree was so high in the clouds that the village sounds were reduced to a distant hum. It was a little cold but it was of the good kind, lulling the vibrations of excitement in your body as you looked far beyond the never-ending sight of the rainforest.
When Neteyam arrived, you two didn’t waste time. The moment he was within reach, he pulled you into a kiss that felt like a claim, his hands sliding down to anchor you against him.
“Show me this research, then,” he rasped against your lips.
Your hands were trembling as you reached for his loincloth, but curiosity was a more powerful force than shame. He was also trembling when he was finally bared to you, his cock looking even more formidable in the dimmed light. You caressed the length of it with your fingers first, hearing him take a swift, sharp breath, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, your lips parted at the heat and the velvet-like texture.
You remembered Yaremu’s advice, like stroking clay, but faster, and began to move. Neteyam’s head hit the bark of the tree with a dull thud as you caressed him, pumping your hand up and down high length. A low, gutteral sound tore from his throat, a raw animalistic noise you had never heard from him. His eyes were droopy but not even a palulukan could make him close his eyes right now.
"Oh, baby..." he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of you hips.
You watched him with fascinated eyes. He was breaking. This brave and mighty warrior was trembling under your touch, his breath coming in jagged hitches. Emboldened by your power, you moved your thumb over the wide tip, just as Yaremu had described.
Neteyam’s hips bucked uncontrollably, his entire body shuddering. "Fuck—wait, stop—"
But you didn't stop. The curiosity that had been burning in you all day reached a fever pitch. You lowered yourself, your hair spilling over his thighs, and before he could realize your intent, you took him into your mouth.
The sensation was overwhelming. The taste of him, the heat, the sheer size. Neteyam let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl, his hands flying down to grab your hair. He only let you stay there for a few seconds, his body vibrating so violently you thought he might actually fall from the branch, before he scrambled to lift your head up.
“No,“ he gasped, his face flushed, his eyes wild. He hauled you to straddle him, crushing your lips with a kiss that was almost feral. “Not yet. I can't... if you do that, I'll never let you go back to that tent.“
He held you tight, both your hearts racing and both of you gasping for air in the high, cold wind. You cupped his face, kissing him softly. Nothing mattered, not your path, nor your vow to yourself, it was replaced by the loud, screaming truth of what you were becoming to each other.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Weeks later, the celebration of the new harvest was in full swing. The communal clearing was filled of the sounds of drums, swirling colors, and the intoxicating scent of fermented berries. The elder warriors were generous with the brew, and for once, you didn't hold back. You leaned back against a carved root, a soft giggle escaping you as you watched a group of younger children unsuccessfully try to mimic a warrior's dance.
Kiri nudged your shoulder. “Careful, sister.”
“Let her have her fun, Kiri,” Neteyam intervened, though he was grinning just as widely. He held up his own bowl, the blue paint on his arm shimmering under the bioluminescent lanterns. “To the best healer-in-training and the worst berry-picker in the clan.”
“What?” you protested. “I am an excellent picker. It’s really just quality over quantity for me.” you said sassily, rolling your eyes.
“Is that what we're calling it now?” Neteyam laughed, the sound deep. He turned to Kiri. “She spent five minutes today analyzing a single fruit while I had already filled two baskets.”
“It's called attention to detail, Neteyam! You wouldn't understand,” you shot back, your eyes dancing. The brew was making everything feel warm and golden.
Kiri watched the exchange, her head tilting in that way that usually meant she was talking to the creatures, but tonight, she just looked at you two and smirked. Neteyam took a long sip of his brew, his eyes locked onto yours over the rim of the bowl, challenge sparking in them.
“I'm going to find Tuk before she tries to eat every pie there is tonight. Try not to get ‘lost’ in the woods, you two...”
She vanished into the crowd with a knowing wink. The moment she was gone, the space between you and Neteyam seemed to evaporate, and in the chaos of the festival, you were the only two people in the world.
“Another bowl?” he whispered, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him.
“I think,” you breathed, looking at his lips, “that I've had enough of the brew. I'm starting to want things they aren't offering.”
Neteyam’s grin turned slow and predatory, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh under the table. He tilted his head toward the dark periphery of the Hometree and raised a brow. You smirked, and bowed down to your food, picking a nut to pop it in your mouth. He stood up to go, and you waited before following him, your heart racing with a fluttering excitement.
By the time you reached the outskirts, the sounds of the party were a distant muffle and the cool night air hit your skin, but it did nothing to douse the heat between you. Neteyam walked closer to you, his pupils blown wide, his movements slightly sluggish and drunken, which only made him look devastatingly handsome.
He cupped your face and kissed you. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about it,“ he murmured against your lips.
“Hm?” you hummed, kissing him softly.
He trailed a hand down your side, his palm hot and heavy, before coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezed gently, his thumb tracing small circles. “I want to return the favor,” he whispered, his breath smelling of sweet berries and forest air.
“How?” you asked, your voice breathy, your body already leaning into his.
He leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Mouth or fingers?”
A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine. You feel like you know what this was. You looked up at him, a bold, drunken grin spreading across your lips.
“Both?”
Neteyam let out a sharp exhaled breath, a flicker of nervous energy crossing his face despite the haze of the brew. “Okay,” he whispered.
He started with your neck, his mouth hot and insistent, sucking at the sensitive skin until you knew a mark would be left for sure.
You two sat by the large root of a tree, his hands were everywhere, caressing and squeezing, until it untied your loincloth around your tail. When the fabric fell away, he didn't hesitate. He knelt before you, his golden eyes filled with a sudden, sharp clarity.
He pressed a reverent kiss there, and then he parted his lips so he could lick your slit from the base to the top, making you pull your hips away in a jerk. His hands on your hips firmly held you in place, though, keeping yoy from running away from his intense ministrations. You bit your lip but small sounds still escaped you, your thighs wanting to close, and when he added a finger, you had to cover your mouth to muffle your loud moan.
Neteyam let out a low, frustrated groan as his finger worked inside you, you were so tight. His mouth and tongue never left you and you didn’t know what hit you, you just began to tremble in his grip, your fingers tangling in his braids and grabbing hard at a handful.
“The world is spinning...” you chuckled as he kissed his way up to your body, sucking hard on your nipple.
“Yeah?“ his lips came down to kiss you softly, and then he lifted his body up, fitting himself between your parted thighs.
He stared at you, his chest heaving, his jaw set in a line of restraint. You moaned in protest when your felt his thumb rub your clit, but you didn’t pull back because it felt so good. You bit your lip and moved your hips gently against his finger. He looked, looking at your bare pussy, and how he had his hand on it, his thumb rubbing you.
And you liked it. He shivered at the reality of it all, his breath catching in his throat. If a year ago, someone told him he’d be here with you, he wouldn’t have dared to believe it... And right now, if he were only dreaming, the person who’ll wake him up will receive the punch of a lifetime.
You looked at him, watching how his pupil blew so wide it’s practically eating up the gold. You smiled breathlessly, reaching to cup his face, your heart overflowing. “What do you want to do, hm?” you craned your head up a little to kiss him sotfly. “Do it... do what you want.”
He stared at you and you yelped when his fingers pinched your folds. “Are you sure?” he rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel.
You nodded firmly. With an animalistic growl, he shed his own loincloth in one fluid motion, revealing the thick, pulsing length of his arousal. You tried to sit up to see his bare form better, but he pressed you back with a hand on your shoulder, and your body tingled at how dominant he seemed to be when he’s drunk.
He didn't enter you, not truly, but he lined himself up against your folds. He began to work his hips, dragging his ridiculous length against your slit in deep strokes from base to tip.
“Fuck, baby...” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he found a rhythm.
The friction was overwhelming. The thickness of him was overstimulating your clit until every nerve ending in your body was screaming. You arched your back, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his. “So good, ‘teyam...” you moaned in jagged breaths.
He groaned, catching your mouth in a feral kiss. “I’m coming... fuck...”
He wanted to hold out so bad, to prolong the moment, but it was so fucking difficult, especially when you keep whispering in his ear. He came in a hot rush on your stomach just as you came your high again. You clung to him, your body quivering in the aftermath. As he collapsed against you, you reached down, scooping a bit of his essence and bringing it to your lips. You moaned in pleasure, while Neteyam let out a soft, tired laugh, kissing your cheek and letting you do as you pleased.
Once you’re both dressed, you chased each other out of the woods but Neteyam’s hand snaked out, his fingers catching the end of your tail as you tried to dart ahead of him. He gave it a light tickle, a sensation that sent a playful jolt right up your spine.
“That’s cheating!” you squealed, spinning around with a wide, lopsided grin. You smacked his muscled abdomen, but it felt like you hit a warm stone wall, stinging your palm.
Neteyam didn't even flinch, he just huffed a breathy laugh. “Did you hurt yourself?“ he asked, catching your hand.
“Humble bragging, aren’t we?” you teased, stepping into his space and poking a finger into the center of his chest. “I think the brew caused your head to grow bigger than it already is.”
He caught your finger, pressing a kiss to the tip of it. “If my head is big, it is only because you occupy every corner of it.” He pulled you closer, his tail winding around yours in a tight, possessive curl. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you giggled, and for a few more steps, the world was nothing but the scent of him and the dizzying joy of the night.
But as you rounded the final thicket leading back to the communal clearing, the laughter died in your throat. At the sight of your father standing just outside the Hometree’s entrance, you moved away from Neteyam faster than lightning could hit the ground. He was deep in conversation with another senior warrior, his arms crossed over his chest. The shift in the air was instantaneous and your joy was replaced with cold anxiety.
Neteyam felt it, too. He immediately untangled his tail from yours and straightened his spine, his posture shifting from the relaxed lover back to the disciplined son of the Olo’eyktan. Your father turned his head. He didn't move, and he didn't stop his conversation, but his gaze locked onto the two of you. You walked faster to get to your father, feeling the guilt rise in you a little. You wondered if there were marks on your neck, or if your hair was in disarray.
Neteyam reached your flock, raising his hand in a formal warrior’s greeting, his voice steady and respectful when he greeted your father. Your father offered a curt nod, his stare never leaving Neteyam’s face for a long heartbeat. It looked like a silent warning, one that acknowledged the rank Neteyam held, but reminded him exactly whose daughter he was walking home.
“Go inside, daughter,” your father said quietly.
You didn’t look at Neteyam, turning on your heels to walk toward the entrance of the Hometree. You felt ashamed of your feebleness, how you folded so easily at the presence of pressure. You knew your father won’t let it go and that reckoning will soon come, so when you heard the tent flap rustle one evening and didn’t smell Neteyam’s familiar scent, you turned and saw that it was your father. You straightened up, greeting him as you would greet a superior.
“You spend much time in the Tsahik’s tent at night, daughter,“ he started, touching one of the hanging braided ceremonial beads. “And you are rarely alone. Kiri is your friend, isn’t she?”
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding. “Yes, father...”
“And Neteyam?“ he inquired.
You blinked, you knew this was coming, and yet, you weren’t able to prepare a proper excuse. “Neteyam is a good friend, father. We have been friends since we were kids,” you said, your words tumbling over one another.
He nodded. “I know that. Neteyam is a fine warrior, the pride of the Olo’eyktan... But a man of his vitality and youth does not seek out a woman of your path night after night, nor does he come out of the dark woods with the same woman.”
Your fingers tightened at the herbs. “We are friends, father. N-Neteyam helps me—”
“Friendship between a future leader and Eywa’s maiden is good, yes, but this is not it," he warned, stepping closer. He gestured to you, to the way you had begun to arrange your hair with more care, the subtle oils you used to make your skin glow. “You are becoming worldly. You are looking at the ground when you should be looking at the Great Mother. Do not forget the honor of our lineage. Do not forget the path that was chosen for you.”
That warning rang in your ears for days. You had shed tears about it, spending your days weakly. You are frightened. You fear that you do not have enough will to fight against this path that has long blurred for you. The only sight you can see is the path leading to the man you have loved half of you life. The man you will have to turn your back to in favor of your family’s honor. The man you will lose to another. You can’t even stand imagining it. He will mate someone worthy and strong... She will have him and his children, and there will be nothing for you.
Those thoughts weighed you down. It was a tragedy.
It followed you into the woods a week later, where you were meant to be foraging berries for a pie you had promised Kiri. The basket felt heavy, the vibrant reds of the fruit blurring before your eyes. You were standing in a patch of sunlight, but you felt cold, your tears freely flowing, something you couldn’t do when you’re back at the village because Neteyam will surely know.
But as if summoned, the large leaves near you shifted and Neteyam appeared, his smile was bright, his eyes searching for yours, but when he saw the tears on your cheeks, the slump of your shoulders, and the way your hands moved listlessly among the bushes, his expression shifted instantly to one of deep concern.
“Hey,” his voice murmured, coming to stand before you right away. “What is it? Did something happen in the village?”
You tried to give him a small smile. “No, I’m alright,” you said in a soft voice.
Neteyam has never seen you cry before, save for whe you are moved by wonder or by something sad happening to others. You have always been composed and laid-back, sometimes he doesn't even know if you ever get mad at all. Ans right now, you were crying, and it seemed so personal it’s breaking his heart. Gently, his lips pressed against your temple, pulling you close.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice so soft it made your heart spasm.
You wanted to say you’re alright again but it shattered before it even reached your lips. The dam you had built with such effort finally broke. A sob escaped you, and then the tears were falling, frantic and unstoppable. Neteyam inhaled a sharp breath, pulling you into his arms, his chest a solid, warm wall against your grief. He didn't ask questions; he simply held you, his hand stroking your hair as you wept into his shoulder, pouring out your fears on how the path now felt like a cage, how your father’s words had cut you, and most of all, the soul-crushing fear that you would be forced to watch him mate with another while you lived a life of cold, sacred solitude.
“I can't do it,” you choked out, clutching the leather of his harness. “I can't watch you take a mate. I cannot watch you belong to someone else. Neteyam, I cannot do it,“ you are crying so hard you could barely understand your own words.
Neteyam pulled back just enough to frame your face with his hands. The fear in your eyes threatened to break him from the inside out. He hadn’t known you had this much fear in you, and although he knew he shouldn’t feel good about it, he still felt it, but it would never be in him to want to prolong your agony. He loves you so much, his heart could burst. He wiped your tears with his thumbs, his gaze so intense it felt like he was looking directly into your spirit.
“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing honesty. “I have always loved you. Ever since we were children learning in the pavillion under the watchful eyes of the healers, you were the only one for me.”
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing as if in prayer.
“When I was young, I worked until my bones ached because I wanted to be worthy of you. I wanted to be a man who deserved to stand at your side. I wanted to be your mate. I wanted to be the father of your children.” His voice dropped to a reverent, shaky register, smiling at you. "But I also know the path you have chosen. And my love, listen to me, you will never, ever lose me. I have long made my decision. I promised myself I will never mate with another.”
Your breath hitched, your eyes wide with shock. “Neteyam, you are the future Olo’eyktan. You have to—”
“I can be a good leader without a mate,” he countered firmly, his eyes burning with conviction. “I have decided. If the Great Mother requires you to be alone, then I will be alone with you. I will be your shadow. I will guard you and walk your path from a distance, but I will never give myself to another woman. I have long been claimed.”
The image of him, noble, strong, and utterly alone in the dark because of you, shattered your heart into a thousand pieces. You didn't want him to be a shadow. You wanted him to be the man who held your hand in the light. You wanted it so much.
“Do you understand?” he asked, his voice low and steady. "Whatever happens, whatever choice you make, I am here. I will be here. You have me. You will always have me.”
You looked up at him and saw the absolute certainty in his eyes. It frightened you, to say the least, to know that he was willing to let the future of his bloodline wither away just to be the man who stood outside your door.
“You cannot,” you whispered. You cannot possiby be this selfish. You regretted telling him your fears for you know it only solidified his decision. “Neteyam, the clan... they expect a mother for the people. Your father and Neytiri... they want to see you happy. They want to see your children.“
“Then they will be disappointed,“ he said, his jaw tightening with an uncharacteristic stubbornness. His hands moved to cup the back of your head, grounding you. “There is no happiness for me if I am lying next to a woman who is not you. I would be a shell. How could I lead our people with a heart that is half-dead?“
“You wouldn’t be with me anyway...” you rasped, your head bowing.
He looked at you with sad eyes but still, he chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose. “You haven’t been paying attention, my love. I have long known that and I have accepted it,” he said. “I will do anything you ask of me, you know that, but you cannot ask me to be with another. I will not obey you.”
You parted your lips to breathe, gripping his forearms to feel the solid warmth of him. The selflessness of his love shamed you. What good have you done to deserve such devotion? That question lingered with you even after you two parted. You knew the answer: you have done nothing. You have never been willful your whole life.
Following your great aunt’s path, the path that twenty-two generations of women in your father’s family have taken, have never before felt like an order to be obeyed. You wanted it before you truly knew what you wanted, but now, as you looked back... Neteyam has always been there. He has always stirred your heart in the way only he could do. You have always loved him.
And you will never stop.
Driven by a desperation you couldn’t name, you found yourself at the secluded dwelling of your great aunt. The air was thick with incense and you knew this would be one of those few days where she could be disturbed from her prayers, and even now, she was a silhouette of stillness, her back to you as she whispered prayers that had been her only companions for sixty years.
You didn't speak. You simply sat behind her and began to pray, the minutes stretching into hours. You watched the way the smoke curled in the air, wondering if your life would be just like hers: sacred, hollow, and hauntingly quiet. You wanted to feel guilty for thinking it look gray, but it was what you were thinking.
When the last of the incense burned out, Äye turned slowly. Her eyes, fill of wisdom and spirit, settled on your face. She didn't see her successor; she saw the crumbling ruins of a girl in love.
“What is it that brings you to this quiet place with such a loud heart?” she asked, her voice both stern and full of concern.
“The medicinal roots in the southern ridge are coming in early this year," you said casually, your voice a dry rasp. “I’m thinking of beginning the harvest before the syaksyuk get to them."
She tilted her head, her eyes sharp and assessing. “You have been sitting here for five hours, praying to a Mother who has already answered you, yet you refuse to listen. I can see it in your face,” she reached out, tilting your chin up. “What is it? And do not tell me it is the harvest.”
You swallowed hard, the weight in your chest becoming unbearable. “I wanted to ask if... If your heart has ever stirred... For a person, I mean. Not for the Great Mother, nor for the people. For a man.” You paused, your voice trembling. “Have you ever felt... desire?“
You waited for her to look at you as if you’ve grown two heads but she didn’t. The old woman’s eyes softened, a distant. She didn't answer right away, instead, she let her hand fall to your shoulder. “Is that what is clawing at you?”
You looked away, the first tear finally breaking free. “This is my path, Auntie... I have known this my whole life. But... These feelings I have in my heart, I have carried with me long before I knew what it was. I have loved him since we were children. And this man loves me with all he is... I supposed it would be easier if he didn’t love me back. It would be easier to accept the solitary path ahead of me, but now, because he loves me, he will forsake his own duty to the clan just so he could freely love me.” You gripped your knees, your knuckles turned white. “I do not want that for him. I cannot let him be alone and empty, I cannot deny him the love I can give him...“
Äye let out a long, slow breath. “The son of Toruk Makto.”
Your eyes snapped to hers. “How... how did you know?”
A small, knowing smile played on her lips. “I have seen it, and I still see it. You have always had the boy’s eyes, and his heart. You see only now.”
“I am scared,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I look at the path laid out for me... This life of solitude and it feels like a cage. I want him... I love him. I want to give him myself...” you looked at her. “Is it wrong, Auntie? To want the ground more than the sky? To want a man more than a goddess?”
Äye reached out and cradled your face in her weathered hands.
“Is it truly the path she gave you?” she asked softly. “Eywa does not give paths, child. She simply makes us feel. What you feel here will tell you where you belong.” She smiled, her palm pressing firmly over your heart. “And clearly, your heart has been showing you the path for a very long time.”
You sniffled, leaning into her touch, a flicker of hope sparking in the dark.
“I have easily done my duty because Eywa did not see it fit to put desire in my heart,” Äye confessed, her gaze turning distant and thoughtful. “I walked this path because it was the only one I saw. But, if I had only felt love and desire for another... if I had felt even a fraction of what you described... I would have let it consume me. I would have allowed myself to be loved by someone I loved.” Her expression became fiercer. “It is a gift, child, and you must not deny yourself what Eywa has given you. You must not deny Neteyam the love that you could give him, or the life you two could live. To turn away from such a love is the only true blasphemy.”
“But my father... the clan...” you whispered.
She scoffed. “Do not worry about your father. He is handled,” she said with a small, knowing smirk. “You go to your warrior. Tell him everything you told me.”
The weight that had been crushing your ribs for years had simply evaporated. You hugged her and she patted your back. When you finally stood up, your legs feel so light, as though you were floating. You ran through the village, past the staring eyes of the hunters, straight toward the training grounds where you knew a certain warrior was spending his day.
You didn't care about the path anymore. There has only ever been one for you, and it led straight to him. The sounds of clashing practice staves and rhythmic grunts welcomed you as you reached the training grounds. You stood at the edge of the clearing, thinking about how you have never done this before even though you passed by it every single day. You’ve never even thrown Neteyam a glance when he was over here, so now, you indulged yourself to the sight of his skin glistening with sweat as he moved with lethal grace.
He was giving corrections, his voice commanding and steady, until his gaze swept toward the edge and snagged on you. He stopped mid-sentence and had to do a double look, his golden eyes widening in genuine disbelief. It was always he who sought you out, he who lingered at the edges, waiting for you to pay him attention. And now, to see you standing here, in the open light, was a surprise that seemed to steal the air from his lungs. A slow, radiant smile began to spread across his face, one that he didn't even try to hide.
The other hunters followed his gaze lazily, shocked as Neteyam was to see you standing there, looking only at him. When he signaled for a break, Neteyam practically glided toward you, his focus so intense it felt like he was pulling you toward him by an invisible thread. He opened his mouth to ask what had brought you there, but you didn't give him the chance.
You stepped forward to meet him halfway, reaching up, tagling your fingers in the braids at his nape to pull him down into a soft, lingering kiss.
The silence that fell over the training grounds was almost funny, jaws practically hit the dirt, and Lo’ak who was standing a few yards away dropped his staff, his eyes bulging.
“When will you be done?” you asked casually, your voice clear and steady. Your thumb traced the line of his jaw, grounding him.
Neteyam looked dazed, as if he were caught in a dream and was terrified of waking up. The smile on his face was huge and utterly devoted, it brought ache to your chest. “Now,” he rasped, his voice sounding hypnotized. He didn't even look back at his men. “I’ll finish this early. Right now.”
You let out a melodic chuckle, your palm pressing flat against the heat of his abdomen. “Don’t be silly. I can just wait here,” you said, gesturing toward the wooden benches.
He nodded fervently, his tail twitching with an excitement he couldn't suppress. You couldn't resist, he looked so uncharacteristically flustered and cute that you leaned in for another quick kiss before patting his chest.
“Go,” you whispered, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I’ll wait.”
Neteyam turned back to his warriors, but the sternness was gone. The men themselves were in a state of total shock, their eyes kept on darting back to where you are. The rest of the training session was a blur and you couldn’t take your eyes on Neteyam, and you’re glad he was the opposite. He was so focused on it, even though he was less strict, the intensity of his approach did not wane.
He dismissed the session right on time, handing his staff to a young hunter and was at your side in a heartbeat, his skin still glistening with sweat. He wiped it off with a soft cloth and you stood up, grabbing the cloth to help him wipe his sweat. “I need you to come with me,” you said, fighting the urge to smirk.
He breathed, catching your hand to graze a thumb on your knuckles. “Where? The forest? The high ridges?”
“Further,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your stomach. You grabbed his hand and his fingers intertwined with yours as naturally as vines coil on a branch.
The walk was surprisingly casual, the air cooling as the forest began its slow transition into the bioluminescent glow of dusk. You stepped over a spike plant and he gripped your hand tighter. “Careful,” he said, hopping over a fallen log and reaching back to steady.
“I am a healer, Neteyam. I know which leaves bite and which ones soothe. If anything, I should be the one worried about you. You almost walked straight into a stickyplant back there because you were too busy looking at me.”
“Can you blame the warrior for admiring the view?” he countered with a cheeky waggle of his brows.
You laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Getting bold, aren’t we? Must be all those pies Tuk didn't eat. I saw her trying to smuggle a third one past Mo’at at dinner last night. She looked like a prolemuris with its cheeks full of fruits.”
“She’s a menace,” he chuckled, his tail flicking with amusement. “The young these days...” he shook his head. “Just last time, I saw a young hunter trying to impress girls by showing off his battle scars. Most of them were from tripping over during drills.”
“Be kind,” you teased. “We were all young and desperate for attention once. Though some of us,” you glanced at him sideways, “didn't have to try quite so hard.”
Neteyam’s smile softened, his fingers tightening around yours. “I don't know about that. I spent half my youth trying to figure out why the smartest girl in the pavilion wouldn't look at me for more than two seconds.”
“I was busy studying!” you protested. “I had to learn the difference between a glow moss and a spice leaf. One heals a burn, the other causes a rash that lasts for three days. Imagine if I'd gotten those mixed up because I was staring at your growing muscles.”
“A tragedy for the clan,“ he joked, pulling you by the waist and pressing a kiss against your neck. “But a win for my ego,” he whispered.
You squealed and pulled away, running away from him. You heard him chuckle, chasing after you until you two reached the purple glow of the ancient sacred tree. You looked at him with a soft smile and he stared at you, his eyes softening into a reverent look as he savored the look of you bathed in purple light
“It is beautiful tonight,” he whispered, reaching out to caressed your jaw.
“It is,” you agreed, tiptoeing to kiss him again, your arms hooking on his nape.
His hands immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him as he deepened the kiss, his mouth devouring yours. You pulled him down with you onto the soft moss, laying back so he’d follow you. You spread your thighs and he settled his body between them, breaking away from the kiss as if he’d just noticed what position you had pulled him into under the sacred tree.
You smiled, leaning in to press a slow, deep kiss to his lips, “I love you, Neteyam...” you whispered as if it was your secret, kissing him again.
His head lifted, his lips curling into a small, yet triumphant, smile. “I love you more, baby. So much,” he said, his arm wrapping around you to pull you to him. “What’s going on?” he asked.
You smiled and kissed him again, you didn't let him break away, and as your hands moved to his shoulders, the kiss deepened. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your chest. You pulled back just an inch, your eyes locked onto his, and then, with a hand that didn't tremble, you reached back and brought your queue forward. Neteyam’s eyes snapped at your kuru, widening a fraction in a surprise so profound he actually moved back an inch.
“My love...” he rasped, his voice breaking. He looked from your kuru to your eyes, his face pale but his eyes dancing with joy.
You kissed him. “I want to be with you. I want to be your mate... I want to have your children...”
His smile widened, though his eyes still needed more answers. “Are you sure? Once this is done... there is no turning back to the path they chose for you. You will be mine. In the eyes of Eywa and the clan, you will be mine for life.”
“I have never been more sure of anything,” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. “The path I chose isn't the one they gave me. It’s this. It’s you.”
Neteyam’s hand was shaking as he brought his own queue forward. The intensity of the moment was suffocating, a silence so heavy it felt like the ancestors themselves were holding their breath. “I love you so much,” he said, the words a solemn vow. “You have me, until my last breath. You have always had me, baby.”
Slowly, deliberately, the pink tendrils of your queues reached out, entwining and locking together. You gasped, your back arching when a flood of physical sensations surged through you. You felt the raw, unbridled power of Neteyam’s love for you. The years of pining, the quiet agony of watching you from afar, the fierce protectiveness, and the sheer, blinding joy of this moment. And he felt yours. The fear you had felt, the desperate need for his touch, and the struggle you fought that led to this absolute certainty that you belonged by his side.
Neteyam let out a choked sound, pulling you flush against him, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that promised he would never, ever let go. You kissed him until you were both breathless, then his lips trailed down your jaw, making you arch into his touch as a low moan rumbled in your throat. Your hands found purchase in his braids, pulling his head back up, your gaze locking with his.
“Are we doing it?” you asked, your eyes looking up at him in both apprehension and excitement.
He caressed your thigh. “Do you want to? It doesn’t need to be tonight—”
“No, I want to! I want to... Just...” you cleared your throat. “I mean you’re big and... And how did the other girls take this—”
“What?” he whisper-shouted playfully. “There have never been other girls. I’ve never kissed anyone before you...” His eyes looked away from yours to look at your lips.
“What?” you chuckled breathily, the scholar part of you panicking. “No one here knows what to do?”
“No, I do know what to do,” he said, his eyes widening a little. “Trust me.“
You smiled and reached up to kiss him, he met you halfway, his mouth descending, but hungry now, no longer sweet and hesitant. His tongue plunged and you met his fervor, your own tongue dancing with his. His hands moved, tracing the curve of your hips, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you felt the hard ridge of his cock press against your thigh.
Your fingers fumbled with the straps of his loincloth, your fingers caressing the soft skin of his abdomen. He undid your own, hands quick and deft, discarding the simple covering the same time you shed his. His fingers found your slippery folds, caressing it as he kisses your jaw. Your hand shot down to wrap around his cock, caressing the thick and long flesh.
He huffed, his lips pressing against your cheek before he leaned down, his mouth finding your neck, his teeth gently nipping at where you’re most sensitive. You whimpered, your head falling back against the moss. His tongue traced a path down your throat, over your collarbone, until it reached the swell of your breast. He suckled, his mouth hot and wet, drawing your nipple into his mouth.
Your hips arched involuntarily. “Neteyam,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
He moved to your other breast, giving it equal attention before kissing his way down your body until you felt a long swipe of his tongue on the soft skin of your inner thigh. His fingers brushed against your slick pussy, followed by his warm tongue, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your core, his hands slid under your hips to tilt you toward him before his mouth lapped at your wetness like a man starved.
You clutched on a moss, letting yourself moan to your heart’s content until you were a shaking mess with a spinning vision. You can feel his lips and tongue working its way up your body but your mind was zeroing in on the electrifying sensation you’re feeling on your clit, your thighs jolting every time his skin grazes it.
Only when he positioned himself between your legs did you make the effort to lift you head up to look at him, catching him with his eyes darkened with desire as they devoured your nakedness. Your connected kurus pulsed brighter and you felt the jolt of excitement and ecstasy he is probably feeling. You bit your lip, looking at his cock, thick and heavy, pressing against your entrance. You looked up at him, your own eyes burning with desire, and he met your gaze, his lips curved in a small smile and his eyes suddenly became the look of longing and adoration.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice rough with need.
“Yes,” you gasped, pushing your hips up, urging him forward. “Now.”
He chuckled, his hand squeezing your hips before he thrusted, slowly at first, his thick shaft pushing past your eager lips, stretching you, filling you with a sensation so profound it stole your breath. You cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure, as he pushed deeper, until he was fully buried inside you.
He paused, letting you adjust, his chest heaving, his eyes closed for a moment in pure bliss. “It feels so warm... So tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with emotion.
You hugged him, a little breathless at the feeling of being so full of him and yet, you pulled him deeper still. “You’re so big...” you groaned, clenching around him.
He opened his eyes and you saw a primal look in them as he began to move, slowly at first, a gentle motion that soon picked up pace. He pulled almost all the way out, then plunged back in, his rhythm becoming more urgent, more demanding.
“Ah!” you moaned, your body arching, meeting his thrusts with equal enthusiasm. The sounds of your skin slapping together and the wet sounds of him moving inside you filled the air.
One of his hand found your folds, his thumb parting them to flick at your sensitive nub, making you buck and pull away in overstimulation but he only leaned down, his lips finding yours to devour your cries, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips continued its relentless rhythm. His hands gripped your hips to lift and tilt you, finding new angles that gave you so much pleasure. His cock felt enormous inside you, stretching you to your limits, yet it was a delicious fullness, a sense of being completely claimed.
The gentle rocking turned into powerful, rhythmic thrusts, his body slamming into yours with increasing force as you felt a familiar feeling in your lower abdomen, a knot that promised release. You clawed at his back, your nails digging into his firm muscles, leaving faint red marks.
“Harder,” you gasped against his lips, your voice hoarse. “Please, baby...”
He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming even more violent, more primal. He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in with a force that made you scream, the air whooshing out of your mouth.
“You like that, baby?” he rasped, his voice raw, his breath hot against your face.
You whimpered, unable to speak, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his every thrust. You felt your muscles clenched around his shaft, milking him, urging him on. He groaned and thrusted one last, powerful time, burying himself to the hilt, holding you tight as your body convulsed around him. Your climax hit you like a lightning strike, giving you a full body tremor that left you breathless and clutching at him. Your muscles seized, squeezing his cock, making him cry out your name.
His body tensed, then relaxed as he emptied himself deep inside you. You felt the hot gush of his seed filling you as he collapsed onto you, his weight heavy but welcome, his breath ragged against your neck. His heart hammered against your chest, mirroring the frantic beat of your own. You lay tangled together, spent and satisfied, the purple glow of the tree a silent witness to your mating.
“I swear to the Great Mother, if this were a dream I’d beat up the person who will wake me up,” he whispered breathily, kissing you.
You chuckled weakly, hugging him tighter to you and kissing his cheek. “It is real, husband. I am here with you,” you told him.
He melted in your embrace, kissing your forehead, and then your lips. “I love you so much...”
A few hours of sleep punctuated with a series of waking up only to make love later, you lay tangled in Neteyam’s arms under the glowing tendrils, your core still sore from the intensity of your last coupling. His chest was warm under your cheek, and you traced the faint, drying marks your nails had left on his shoulder. Neteyam shifted, his tail winding lazily around your thigh.
“The sun will be up soon,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hand tracing the curve of your hip with a new, possessive ease. You let out a soft sigh, tightening your hold on him. Neteyam pulled back slightly to look at you, his golden eyes clear and filled with a fierce, protective light. “I’ll face your father. I’ll tell him it was my doing. The haste, the lack of a formal ceremony. I’ll take the weight of his anger.”
You shook your head, reaching up to cup his face. “No. I made this choice just as much as you did. I won’t let you stand there like a criminal for loving me. I’ll handle him, and Äye said she would help. I’m more worried about Mo’at... I am a healer under her. Surely, she’d expect me to follow the traditions.”
“Then we face them together,” Neteyam said firmly, interlocking his fingers with yours. “As one. We are mated now. I am your husband and you are my wife.”
Those words brought you so much relief and joy, you couldn’t help but smile, especially when his eyes reflected a certain, even smug, light in them. The walk back to the village felt different, but as you approached the central clearing of the Hometree, the sight of the gathering made your heart skip a beat.
Not only were your parents already there, Jake and Neytiri were there, too, standing near the breakfast hearth, and beside them sat Mo'at and Äye. The air was thick with the smell of morning broth and an unspoken tension. Your father stood as you both emerged from the ramp, his eyes immediately dropping to your clasped hands and then to the unmistakable, glowing pride in Neteyam’s posture.
“You did not return last night,” your father said, his voice flat but not yet angry.
Äye, who was calmly sipping from a bowl of tea, let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, let the children breathe, Laykon. Do not overreact. Look at them, they look like they’ve finally found where the air is.”
Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, gently releasing your hand only to sink onto both knees before your parents. He bowed his head low, his forehead nearly touching the ground in a gesture of profound respect and apology.
“I ask for your forgiveness,” Neteyam’s voice was calm, carrying the weight of a leader. “I have acted with haste, and I have taken your daughter as my mate without the formal blessing of the clan. But I have loved her before I even I understood what it was. I ask only for your blessing now, for I will spend every day of my life proving I am worthy of her.”
You dropped to your knees beside him, your shoulder touching his. “Father, I love Neteyam, I have always loved him. This wasn't a mistake or a moment of weakness. It was the only truth I’ve ever known. I choose this life. I choose him.”
A long, suffocating silence followed. Jake looked at Neytiri, who had a soft, knowing expression on her face, one that spoke of a woman who had once made a similarly reckless choice for love. Finally, your father let out a long, heavy breath. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder, urging him to stand.
“I understand that, daughter,” he told you, his voice softening. “And I do not think this kneeling and bowing are necessary anymore. Words would have sufficed. You two are already mated in the eyes of the Great Mother; what is there for me to do? To fight the wind?” He looked at Neteyam, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his stony exterior. “It is my honor to have an honorable man as my son.”
Neytiri stepped forward then, pulling you into a fierce, warm embrace that smelled of woodsmoke and motherhood. “Welcome to the family, daughter,” she whispered.
You looked toward Mo’at, your stomach twisting with nerves. The Tsahik stood slowly, her face unreadable. Jake cleared his throat, glancing at the matriarch. “Mo’at? Perhaps, you can... give them the official blessing?”
Mo’at let out a sharp, huffed breath, reaching into the woven pouch at her side. To everyone’s surprise, she pulled out a bowl of ceremonial oils and a bundle of sage that had clearly been prepared in advance.
“Why do you think I am sitting here with these?” she asked, a rare humot flickering in her eyes as she looked at Äye. “Some people in this family cannot keep a secret. Come here, you two. If you are going to be mated, let us do it properly so the ancestors don’t think I’ve gone lazy.”
As Mo'at began the rhythmic chant of the blessing, marking your forehead and Neteyam’s with the cool, fragrant oil, you looked at your husband. The fear was gone. The gray path etched on sand was blown by the wind, leaving only the path forged by the Great Mother.
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The council meeting had dragged on for hours, with the elders debating trade with so much meticulousness that Neteyam can’t believe it’s starting to annoy him that the second Jake signaled the end, Neteyam couldn’t have exited the council hall faster than anyone. He moved through the village with a restless, joyful energy, his heart pulling him straight to the healer’s tent.
And when he pulled back the flap, the golden afternoon light spilled over you, hunched over a mortar, the same sight that had greeted him for years, but now, strapped to your chest in a soft woven wrap was your months-old son.
“Hello, baby,” Neteyam caressed your arm, leaning down to kiss you. He cupped your jaw and deepened the kiss.
You’d chucke at his eagerness if your son hadn’t let out a soft, melodic cry. It was as if he could sense his father has arrived before Neteyam even greeted him. Neteyam looked down at his son, his large hand caressing the boy’s head.
His face split by a wide, devoted grin. His large hands gently lift the bundle from your chest and you gave him his son, watching him settle the boy into the crook of his arm, his thumb tracing a tiny, rounded cheek. “How was he? Did he give you trouble while I was on patrol?”
You chuckled, wiping your hands on a cloth. “He is just a baby, ma ‘teyam. He slept almost the entire day, only waking to eat and then falling back to sleep.”
Neteyam let out a deep, vibrating chuckle that made the baby’s eyes fly open. “You’re the hungriest boy in this village, do you know that, hm? The biggest baby, too. You’re growing so fast, my son, look at you.”
You leaned against the worktable, watching them with a chest full of warmth. You reached out to tickle your son’s ear, watching his tiny shoulder shrug in reflex. “Remember when Mo’at said you were the biggest baby she’d ever seen?” you laughed. “She said your boy rivals you. Look at his tummy. So full, aren't you, sweet boy?”
The baby suddenly let out a tiny, gurgling chuckle, his first real laugh.
Your eyes snapped to Neteyam’s in shock. You both froze, breath held for seconds, before you both bursted into a quiet laughter. The boy stretched, his chubby limbs sprawled across his father's powerful arm, looking utterly content. As you looked at the small person you had created together, your eyes began to glisten with unshed tears and when you lifted your eyes to meet Neteyam’s his own eyes were pooling with tears.
Neteyam leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Have I told you how thankful I am that you chose me?”
You grinned, cupping his face. “You do every day, 'teyam. But I am more thankful to you. I couldn't imagine not living this life... you made me realize what I truly wanted.”
“I love you so much,” he mumbled against your lips.
“I love you more, ‘teyam—”
“That couldn't be possible—”
“Uhhmp!” A sharp, demanding shriek from your son broke the moment. His tiny hand had clamped onto your beaded top, his neck craning with singular focus toward your chest.
You laughed, booping his nose. “Hungry again?“
Your smile was huge as you reached for him. Neteyam gently handed him back, chuckling as you settled the boy and eased your top aside. The baby latched in an instant, a rhythmic, quiet sound filling the tent. Neteyam sat beside you, his gaze fixed on the sight.
He remembered being in this same tent years ago, watching you hold Tuk in your arms and drowning in a forbidden pining. Now, you are his wife, and the child in your arms is one you two created. He was no longer your shadow, he is now the man whose life is inextricably woven with yours. Your cold indifference was long gone, and in its place was a woman full of his love and the promise of his future.
maybe being mated to the perfect son, the perfect husband was starting to kill you.
it sounds dramatic, sure, but you didn’t want to dwell on it or you’d just get snappy with the kids and then he’d give you that look, that disappointed “you’re supposed to be the leader” look, and then you’d have to spend the whole night apologizing while he just stares at the wall.
and you can’t stand it when he’s quiet.
so you just keep your mouth shut. you play the part.
but honestly, sometimes you feel like a guest in your own home, like you’re just there to fix the nets and bring in the meat and make sure lo’ak doesn’t kill himself, and you’re starting to get tired of it.
you don’t hate him, obviously. you love he more than anything. you remember how he looked when you first met him or when you were pregnant with your first daughter, how he held your hand when the sky people came back, how he’s the only person who actually makes you feel safe.
but god, Neteyam is exhausting to live with.
you’re always the one who has to remember the small stuff, the specific way the bows need to be strung, the exact time to start the fire so the kids don’t get cranky, and if you miss one thing, just one tiny thing, it’s like the world is ending. and you’re the one who has to fix it.
“i’ll sharpen the spears after i eat, i promise.” is what you said, just trying to sit down for five minutes after a twelve hour patrol of trying to get your two daughters to sit down and he just looks at the pile of wood you haven’t chopped yet and makes that clicking sound with his tongue. “the hunt is at dawn, yawne. ‘after’ doesn’t help us then.”
you just feel this hot spike of annoyance in your gut and you want to tell he to do it himself if it’s so urgent, but you see spider and kiri watching from the mats and you just deflate. “you’re right. i’m sorry. i’ll do it now.”
and you do. you always do.
you’re the one who stays up late working while your hands ache. you’re the one who says sorry when he’s being unreasonable. you’re the one who carries all the weight because you’re the “strong one” and you’re not allowed to be frustrated.
until that night.
The fire’s burned down to embers, the kids are finally asleep, and he’s been pressed against your back, deep In your pussy for a while now , his arm draped over your waist as he slowly glides your hips back onto his hard cock.
You should be asleep too, but your mind won’t quiet, won’t stop picking at the seams of the day.
His cock is hard against your hole, and before you can even protest, he’s sliding inside you again from behind, slow and thick, filling you up until you’re gasping into the furs. He’s been grinding into you for what feels like forever, his hips rolling in lazy, deep circles, his breath hot against the back of your neck.
You can feel his last release dripping out of you every time he pulls back, only to push in again, his cock dragging through the mess he’s already made.
His hand slips under your arm, fingers finding your nipple, pinching just hard enough to make you whimper. “Fuck, yawne,” he growls, his voice rough, his hips stuttering as he bottoms out inside you.
The sound of your pussy is obscene in the quiet room, wet and sloppy, and you can’t help the way your body clenches around him, greedy for more.
His lips brush your shoulder, his voice a low, desperate whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—” His words dissolve into a groan as your toes curl against his leg, your body shuddering through an orgasm that leaves you trembling. He doesn’t stop, though. He just keeps fucking you, desperately, whispering apologies about his words from earlier.
And then, because you’re a glutton for punishment, because you can’t let it go, you ask, breathless: “Did you put the food up?”
His cock twitches inside you. His body tenses. And then he sighs, his hips stuttering for a second before he pulls back just enough to slam into you harder. “Why is it always something with you?”
You should’ve kept your mouth shut because now that you look back, it wasn’t the best time to mention it. You know you should’ve. But the words are out now, and his thrusting turns much more harder than before, his thrusts getting hard and deepening, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave marks. “Because if I don’t ask, it’ll rot, and this isn’t the first time you’ve forgot. ” you bite out, even as your body betrays you, arching back into him.
He sighs, and suddenly he’s fucking you even harder hard, relentless, his cock pistoning in and out of you with a wet, sloppy sound that fills the room.
His other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to press his mouth to your throat, his teeth grazing your skin. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice is a snarl, but his hips never stop, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. “You think I’m a kid that needs to be micromanaged???”
His grip on your hair tightens, fingers twisting in the dark strands as he yanks your head back harder, forcing your back to arch sharply against his chest. “My cock is this deep,” , he pushes his cock as deep as it can go letting his balls squish again your ass. “ and you still think I don’t know what I’m doing.” he snarls, voice low and dangerous, each word punctuated by a brutal snap of his hips.
The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt echoes through the quiet marui. Your pussy is a sloppy, creamy mess—his previous loads and your own slick dripping down your thighs, coating his heavy balls as they slap against your clit with every punishing thrust.
He’s so deep it hurts in the best way, the fat head of his cock battering against your cervix like he’s trying to bruise it.
You can’t stop the broken moan that rips from your throat. “N-Neteyam—ahh—fuck!”
He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder, hips snapping forward with savage force, stretching your tight walls around his throbbing length.
His hand leaves your hip only to slap your ass hard enough to sting, the sharp crack cutting through the obscene squelching of your cunt.
“You just can’t let it go, can you?” he growls against your ear, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of your neck hard enough to leave a mark. “Even with my cock buried–mhh fuck, –this deep”
He pulls almost all the way out, leaving just the swollen tip inside your fluttering hole, before slamming back in with a brutal thrust that makes your whole body jolt.
Your tits bounce heavily with every thrust, nipples tight and aching. His free hand reaches around to pinch and twist one, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers until you’re crying out, tears of overwhelming pleasure pricking at your eyes.
Your pussy clenches violently around him, gushing more slick as another orgasm crashes through you. Your walls flutter and milk his cock, but he just keeps pounding you through it, using your spasming cunt like a toy.
“look at you,” he hisses, voice dark with anger and lust. “Cumming so hard on my cock while you scold me. You like scolding me, huh? Is that why you’re always so angry?”
He releases your hair only to grab both your hips with bruising strength, yanking you back onto his cock as he rails you from behind.
The wet slaps of skin on skin are loud and relentless. His balls are soaked, slapping messily against your swollen clit with every thrust. You’re drooling into the furs, eyes rolled back, body shaking as he uses you.
It’s too much. Too rough. Too deep. And you fucking love it.
But then Neteyam seems to realize something.
Neteyam’s rhythm falters. His harsh breathing catches. He stills deep inside you, cock twitching against your abused walls as the anger suddenly drains from his body. A quiet curse leaves his lips.
“Shit… yawne.”
He pulls out of you slowly, his thick cock glistening with your combined mess. Before you can protest the sudden emptiness, he gently flips you onto your back. The furs are soft beneath you as he settles between your spread thighs, his large frame hovering over yours.
His golden eyes are softer now, filled with regret as he looks down at you—your flushed face, your heaving breasts, the way your pussy is still clenching and leaking his cum.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice rough but tender. One large hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I was too harsh. I didn’t mean to be so rough with you, I just—”
You cut him off by reaching up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down into a deep kiss. Your legs wrap around his waist instantly, heels digging into his lower back as you whisper against his mouth, “I liked it.”
Neteyam groans, forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to ruin me.”
You don’t let him pull away. Your hands slide down his broad back, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his ass as you pull his hips forward. His cock, still rock hard and slick, nudges against your dripping entrance.
“Inside,” you breathe. “Please.”
He sinks into you in one smooth thrust, filling you to the hilt in missionary. This time it’s slower at first… deeper, more intimate. His hips roll against yours in long, sensual strokes, grinding his pubic bone against your swollen clit with every thrust. You can feel every thick inch of him dragging along your sensitive walls, the messy mix of cum and slick squelching lewdly between your bodies.
Neteyam kisses you like he’s trying to apologize with his mouth, slow, deep, filthy kisses where his tongue slides against yours, tasting every moan you give him.
His hand cradles the back of your head while the other grips your thigh, holding you open for him.
But you want more.
Your hands squeeze his firm ass harder, nails digging into the muscle as you pull him deeper. Your lips brush his ear, voice a desperate, broken whisper:
“Faster… please, Neteyam—harder. Fuck me harder.”
He shudders above you, a low growl vibrating in his chest.
You beg again, lips against his jaw, voice trembling with need. “I can take it. Please—give it to me. Harder.”
That’s all it takes.
Neteyam’s control snaps. He braces his hands on either side of your head and starts fucking you with deep, punishing strokes, fast and brutal, just like you wanted.
The wet slap of his hips against yours fills the marui again as he rails you into the furs.
“Yes—fuck—yes!” you whimper, legs locked tight around him, hands desperately gripping his ass as you urge him deeper, faster. “Don’t stop—harder, please—!”
He gives you exactly what you beg for, pounding into you relentlessly. His balls slap wetly against your ass, your pussy creaming around his thick length as another orgasm builds fast and violent inside you.
Neteyam buries his face in your neck, kissing and biting as he fucks you senseless, the perfect son and husband completely lost in the filthy need between you.
First time doing something so dominate, how did u feel about it?
Your home is gone in this NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure -- and as you navigate this strange, foreign place, Neteyam is there by your side to help you make sense of it... somehow.
Neteyam x Fem!Reader
NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure
CW: All characters have been aged up by 6 years
🔗 READ/PLAY HERE
🎮interactive fanfic "Past Susurrations" by Renegade
📖 Episode 1 of ?
Idea/Summary: You were walking around the campus until you spotted Neteyam working out with his friends near the training ground. Women were drooling over him, and you got jealous since he was yours.
Warnings: jealous reader, a bit of sexual tension, best friends to lovers, saliva sharing, & girls drooling over neteyam.
Theme: fluff w sum good make out session w nete <3
Neteyam Sully, the honorable eldest son of Toruk Makto. The future olo'eyktan who is called the mighty warrior. His clan whispers about him being bright amongst his peers, and when he was young, he had always been praised as the youngest warrior that defeated a palulukan at the age of 13. Some might say he's more intelligent than some elders. He is now 23 years old and mighty, courting Y/N, one of the best female warriors.
Years before Neteyam and Y/N were courting each other, they were always together, whether it be tending the ikrans, training, hunting, joining on patrols, cooking, weaving, etc.; they were always together. Even if one were busy, they would always make time for one another. Ever since they were young, the clan saw their relationship more than just friends. They kept on saying it is Eywa's will. Everyone knew they were destined to be together.
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You were walking towards the tsahik's tent since you are the tsakarem. You assist Mo'at alongside Kiri with the herbs. You arrived at the tent as you greeted the Tsahik and Kiri. Then you sat beside Kiri as she was arranging some herbs. Mo'at spoke, "Y/N, we are running out of Dapophet plants. Could you quickly grab some?" You replied, "Yes, Tsahik. I will go now." You then stood up, and of course, you couldn't resist teasing Kiri, so before you left the tent, you tickled her sensitive spot on her neck, making Kiri yelp in surprise, and then she playfully hissed at you. "Y/N!" Before she could grab your hand, you immediately left the tent giggling.
You grabbed an empty basket as you hummed a lullaby, going to the forest to get some dapophet plants. It is usually used to treat burns and injuries. After 20 minutes of gathering the plants, your basket was filled to the brim. You grinned to yourself because you knew Mo'at would be delighted to have a basket full of herbs. You then held the basket happily. While walking back, you immediately thought of Neteyam. You guys haven't been spending that much time anymore due to your duties. But once a day you would only interact for 30 minutes max, and then you'd part your own ways due to the busy schedules. It wasn't enough for you, and, you know, Neteyam felt the same way about it too. You then decided to go visit him at the training ground.
As you were walking towards the training ground with the basket full of herbs, you heard girls gossiping and looking at the warriors who were working out. They were ogling at their sweaty, muscular bodies. You huffed and rolled your eyes until one comment you heard from a Na'vi woman said, specifically, "Le'ra." Le'ra is a quite well-known weaver in the Omatikaya clan. There are quite a few times you'd request her to make you a top, and sometimes you'd ask her to fix a headpiece, loincloth, or anything with fabric. Not that you don't know how to weave. You simply don't have the time to, so you spend your time giving your stuff to Le'ra to fix it for you while you run some errands. Le'ra spoke about a specific warrior, YOUR warrior exactly, Neteyam. She said, "Look at Neteyam's arms. So big and strong." She blushed at his sweaty body while he was doing push-ups with the other warriors. The women giggled alongside her.
You were furious yet amused by her comment. You decided to be petty and show her that you can be the only one who can touch him. So you immediately put the basket on the side as you fixed yourself a bit, and then you walked towards the warriors, specifically your warrior, Neteyam. You yelled, "Ma'Teyam!" You smiled at him the pretty smile that always gets Neteyam on his knees. He looks up at you, and then he stands up immediately. "Yawne," he says, and he immediately engulfs you into a tight hug. His sweaty yet muscular body pressed against yours as his huge arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. You giggled at his clingyness.
You whispered in his ear softly, "I missed you so much, Teyam." You nuzzled your face on his neck, inhaling his scent. Sweaty or not, he still smells amazing. He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. "I missed you more, Sevin." He then cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands, yet he was being gentle with you. His tail wrapped around your thigh as he pressed a soft kiss on your lips, which took you by surprise. You then kissed him back. Then a few seconds passed, and you broke the kiss off. You giggled as he looked into your eyes with so much love, and then he asked, "What's my baby doing here, hm?" He buried his face in your neck as he planted soft kisses on your neck.
You felt shivers down your spine when you felt his soft lips pressed against yours. You left out a breathy moan only for him to hear. He immediately smirked as he looked at you, waiting for a response. You immediately huffed and said, "Teyam, not here... I can't answer your question when you're kissing my neck as if we're the only ones here." He just chuckled as he then stopped and looked at you. "Fine, my love, I'll stop." He then gently held your hand and guided you to a nearby hut that provides shade. It isn't far from the training grounds. Most warriors go to the hut to take a rest. You sat down on the floor with Neteyam sitting down next to you.
You then laid your head on his shoulder. "Teyam, last time you did push-ups, you could do 50 with no breaks. How many now?" you curiously asked your suitor. He chuckled and said, "Only 100, Sevin." You were shocked. "What do you mean ONLY?? That's insane! Teyam! You're really strong! Ugh, I want to see you do push-ups!" You whined to him as you held his arm. Suddenly one of his friends, Ru'ka, came in and chimed in on the conversation. "Well… you can watch him do push-ups. There's a competition going on with the warriors who can carry the heaviest weight while doing push-ups." Ru'ka glances at Neteyam then looks at you. "You want to see Neteyam doing some heavy lifting?" Ru'ka smirked.
You nodded immediately, then you looked at Neteyam. "Nete! You should definitely join," you said excitedly as you immediately told Ru'ka to lead the way, and then you grabbed Neteyam. He groaned in response, but then he laughed at your antics as he then intertwined your hands together. He noticed the sun was hitting your face, so he switched sides and covered the hot sun for you. You noticed his action and smiled at him. He gripped your hand tightly as he led you the way to the training grounds. There he saw some warriors with baskets on their backs while doing push-ups. Grunts were released as women were watching the warriors do the push-ups. They were all over the warriors. These women were imagining touching the warriors' muscles and possibly doing more than just touching them.
Then Ru'ka announced that Neteyam would be joining, so you immediately giggled and pushed Neteyam to the warriors who were already competing. Neteyam got into position as they placed two heavy baskets that were hung on a stick and placed it on Neteyam's back as he did his push-ups with ease. His biceps flexed as he went down, the veins on his hands becoming more visible. Then he pushed up, showing his abs that were sweating and his mouth panting. His face concentrated, making him look extra hot. Then they eventually kept on adding weight until they ran out of weight to put on. Soon Neteyam was panting, and you immediately grabbed a bowl of water and gave it to him. You said, "You did good, Teyam. You looked absolutely ravishing when you were sweating and panting." You teased him. He looked at you and then pressed a deep, passionate kiss on your soft lips. One hand is on your head and the other on your hip. He pressed your head deeper, wanting his tongue to enter your mouth. You gave him access to your mouth as your tongue and his are fighting for dominance; eventually he won. He is more familiar with your mouth than he knows his own freckles. Soon you broke the kiss with a wet pop and a saliva string connecting you both. You were panting; the same goes for Neteyam.
After catching your breath, you saw Neteyam looking at you, and he spoke. "You want to know how strong I am, Syulang?" you asked. You looked at him and said, "Obviously, I do." You huffed as he stood up, then held out a hand to you, helping you stand up. Then he guided you back to the center of the training ground. You then looked at him. "Why here?" he said. "So everyone can see us." He smirked, and then he eventually did the push-up position and said, "Sit on my back, Yawne." It took you by surprise. "Your back? Are you sure?" You hesitated at first, then sat on his back. He then went down and then went up. Doing push-ups with you on his back. The warriors stopped doing their job and watched their future olo'eyktan doing push-ups with his future mate on his back. You blushed at how strong Neteyam is as you then gently laid your hands on his back muscles, fingers tracing each muscle and absorbing every grunt Neteyam makes. Gosh, his scent and his sweat mixed almost made you cum on the spot.
He truly is a mighty warrior; he did 50 push-ups while you were sitting on his back. Then gently he spoke, "Yawne, I'm finished now." He waited for you to leave his back as he gently stood up and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. You kissed him back softly and then gently pulled away, making a wet pop sound and leaving a saliva string. You chuckled then looked at him. "You're strong, very strong, my yawne." You pressed your forehead on his forehead, and your noses are touching, doing an Eskimo kiss. He smiled at you, showing his cute bunny smile. "I'm always strong for you, baby." He then buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close to him.
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Note: This is my first-ever one-shot! Please don't be shy to reach out and give me tips to improve my writing! I hope you enjoy reading it. <3 (P.S : Y/N completely forgot to deliver Mo’ats herbs…)
Hey queen, I have a requestttt (kinda angsty and lots of fluff)
It can either be loak x reader or neteyam x reader and it’s a misunderstanding trope where reader has had a crush on neteyam for years now but never said anything, rumour goes aroynd that neteyam has found his mate and she gets so depressed and it’s kinda angsty. Then she finally confesses her feelings to tsireya or kiri and neteyam overhears EVERYTHING and he has a crush on reader too. However reader avoids him a lot cuz she thinks he’s already mated while neteyam keeps trying to talk to her like multiple attempts, then finally someone forces her to talk to him and he confesses
(Sorry it took this long, but Uni has been killin my ass lately. Hope you like it. )
Like a tidal...
༉‧₊˚✧Pairing : Neteyam x Fem!Reader
༉‧₊˚✧ WC :
Love. To love, to be loved, and to be in love.
Among your people, it was more than a feeling - it was a bond whispered and carried by the tides, and blessed by Eywa herself.
Like a tidal.
You had always held it close, fragile and sacred, like a glowing seed cupped carefully in your palms. Never spoken too loudly, never shared too freely - as if naming it might break it.
That was simply who you were.
A heart worn openly, like the shimmer of the sea carried by the sun. Your emotions were not something you hid, they flowed through you, visible in every glance, every breath, every soft tremor in your voice.
A spirit as fierce as yours demanded a heart just as powerful—and yours… was hopelessly drawn to love.
And yet, beneath that warmth, there was fear.
Because love, you knew, was not always returned.
And to love alone, to give everything and feel nothing echo back, was a kind of drowning no ocean could rival.
A silent, suffocating ache. One that could hollow you out until nothing remained but the memory of what once was.
So you were careful.
Careful with your smiles, with your lingering glances, with the way your heart reached without permission. You told yourself that you only had one heart to give, and it belonged to someone who had not yet found you.
Someone chosen - not by chance, but by something deeper. Something sacred.
But no amount of care could prepare you for what was to come.
For the quiet unraveling of something once so pure.
You still remember the first time the Sullys arrived.
The sky had darkened under the shadows of their ikrans, their wings slicing through the golden light as they descended upon the shores of Awa’atlu. The villagers watched in silence, tension coiling through the air like an unseen current.
They were outsiders, carrying stories, scars, and a past that clung to them like salt on skin.
Some called them cursed. Others simply kept their distance.
But you… you couldn’t.
Something about them pulled at you, deep and insistent. Like the tide answering the breeze. Maybe it was curiosity, or perhaps admiration, but they were unlike anything you had ever known.
Different, yet undeniably powerful.
Like a storm that had learned how to walk on land.
Everyone knew their story.
Jake Sully - the Toruk Makto, the one who had once led a revolution, the one born of sky-people blood who chose to become something more. And Neytiri - the fierce daughter of the forest who gave up everything to stand beside him.
They had lost their home. Their roots. Their world.
And yet… they endured. Because they had each other.
“Sullys stick together.”
It wasn’t just something they said, it was something they were. You could see it in the way they moved, in the way their eyes always searched for one another, in the silent understanding that passed between them without words.
But it wasn’t the legend that caught your attention.
It was him, the one carrying himself like the Sun.
Neteyam.
From the very beginning, your gaze found him as if it had always known where to look.
The eldest son. The firstborn.
The weight of expectation resting heavily across his shoulders, yet he carried it with a quiet grace that made it seem effortless.
He stood tall, like his father. Moved with purpose, like his mother.
And yet, there was something softer beneath it all.
Something… gentler.
Neteyam was a warrior, yes, but not just in the way others were. His strength wasn’t only in his skill or his bravery, but in the kindness he carried so naturally.
It was rare. Almost startling.
Like finding still water in the middle of a raging sea.
When he spoke, his voice held warmth. When he smiled, it reached his eyes.
And when he stood beside you… the world felt quieter.
Lighter.
As if all the sharp, jagged pieces inside you slowly began to smooth themselves out, reshaping under the quiet influence of his presence. You found yourself softening without meaning to, mirroring him, drawn into that calm like something instinctive, something inevitable.
At first, you didn’t even notice it happening.
The way your heart lingered a little longer when he was near. The way your thoughts drifted back to him when he was gone.The way your chest tightened, not painfully, but achingly, when he smiled at someone else.
It grew slowly. Quietly.
A glance here. A shared moment there. A laugh that lasted just a second too long.
And you kept it to yourself.
Guarded it like a secret only Eywa could hear, waiting for the right moment - the perfect moment - to let it bloom into something real. Something spoken. Something returned.
But time has a way of slipping through your fingers when you’re not looking.
Days became weeks.
Weeks softened into months.
And before you could truly understand what your heart had become…
Years had passed.
Growing up beside Neteyam had never felt like something that needed effort. It simply… was.
Like the tide meeting the shore, like breath filling your lungs without thought.
You learned each other in quiet, instinctive ways - matching steps without realizing it, finishing each other’s thoughts with nothing more than a glance.
Wherever you were, he followed, or maybe you followed him. At some point, the line blurred so completely that it no longer mattered.
When you sat with the other girls, polishing shells and threading them into delicate patterns, he would always find his way beside you, clumsy fingers fumbling through the process just to hand you the prettiest shell he could find, a shy, crooked smile tugging at his lips.
And when you braided someone’s hair, your touch careful and practiced, there he was again - lingering close, asking Kiri just loud enough for you to hear to braid his hair the way you always did.
Always there. Always close.
Those small things, those tiny, almost meaningless gestures, became everything.
They fed the quiet flame inside you until it burned brighter than you could control, until loving him stopped feeling like a choice and started feeling like something carved into your very being.
You didn’t just fall for him, you became entangled with him.
It reached a point where everything that belonged to Neteyam - his voice, his scent, the sound of his laughter carried by the wind - felt like something you needed, like air, like water.
You dreamed of him with your eyes open, imagined him beside you not just as he was, but as something more - your mate, your other half, the one Eywa had shaped you for.
And the more he grew, the more he seemed to become exactly what your heart had always been searching for… or maybe your heart had shaped itself around him all along.
In your eyes, he was perfect - not flawless, but yours.
The way he made you feel had no name, too vast and consuming to be contained in words.
You couldn’t get enough of him - always finding reasons to be near, to touch him in passing, to laugh a little too loudly at his jokes.
You circled him like a restless songbird, bright and devoted, without ever realizing you had made him your center.
He was your happiness, and he didn’t even know it.
He didn’t need to - because for a long time, it felt like he was yours anyway.
But happiness like that is fragile, and fragile things break the loudest.
It didn’t happen all at once - just a crack, then another, until the glass world you had built around the two of you shattered before you could understand what was happening.
Rumors had always existed, clinging to the Sullys like shadows.
Some admired them, praised their strength and the way they proved themselves again and again.
Others whispered, their jealousy sharp and quiet.
You had learned to ignore it, to let it pass like wind through leaves, but then the whispers began to change, to shift, to circle closer and closer until they wrapped around him.
“Of course he doesn’t want a mate yet… why would he settle for one when he can have many?”
“Seyra followed him into the forest… she came back hours later like she had seen the stars themselves.”
Each word struck like something cursed.
At first, you refused to believe it, you couldn’t.
Not him. Not Neteyam. He wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be.
He was… yours. Wasn’t he?
But doubt is cruel - once it slips in, it spreads quietly, patiently.
And your heart began to ache long before the truth ever reached you. You could have asked him, you should have, but the fear of hearing it from his own voice was unbearable.
So you waited, clinging to a fragile thread of hope even as it unraveled in your hands.
Until one day, you saw them.
Neteyam walking in perfect sync with Seyra - close, comfortable, certain.
And just like that, everything ended.
The boy you had loved so quietly, so completely, had found someone to stand beside him, and it wasn’t you.
Not after all those years, not after everything you had been to each other.
The bitterness of it settled deep, because Seyra was everything you were not - taller, stronger, shaped like a true warrior of the reef, her name spoken with admiration among your people.
She fit beside him in a way that made sense to everyone, and of course they celebrated it, of course they were happy for them.
And you… you were left behind in the quiet, slowly poisoned by something you couldn’t fight.
You mourned a love that had never even been given the chance to exist, like a widow grieving a life that had never been lived. It hollowed you out, drained you until even breathing felt heavy.
Knowing he was near, just a few steps away from your marui, was enough to twist something deep inside you, sharp and unbearable, so you hid.
Curled into yourself, rooted to the same place for hours, replaying everything over and over again, searching for the moment it slipped away.
When did it change?
When did he turn away from you… or had you imagined it all?
Eventually, you had to step out of your home, if only to keep up appearances.
Too many people had started to worry, their glances lingering a second too long, their voices soft with concern whenever they spoke your name. You couldn’t hide forever, no matter how much you wanted to.
Still, the moment your feet touched the warm sand again, something felt… wrong. The sun no longer kissed your skin the way it used to, its warmth dull and distant, like it belonged to someone else.
The grains beneath your feet didn’t tickle or soothe you, they were just there. Everything was.
And you… you weren’t.
It was as if something inside you had gone quiet, leaving behind a hollow, echoing cold that spread from your chest to the very tips of your fingers.
People noticed.
Of course they did. How could they not?
The girl who once moved like living light - always laughing, always reaching, always there - had faded into something unrecognizable.
Your presence no longer filled a space, it barely occupied it.
It showed in your eyes most of all - those deep blue hues that once shimmered with turquoise brightness, now dulled, dimmed like a sky before a storm that never breaks.
Your arms stayed wrapped around yourself as if you were trying to hold something in place, something fragile that threatened to fall apart at any moment.
Your lips, once so quick to smile, now pressed into a thin, tired line.
And somewhere beyond your awareness… Neteyam noticed it first.
Your absence unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
At first, it was just a thought - she hasn’t been around much.
Then it became something sharper, something that tugged at him with quiet insistence. He knew you too well to dismiss it as nothing.
You weren’t the type to disappear, not without reason.
And when reason didn’t present itself, concern took its place.
He asked about you - casually at first, then more often, his voice tightening ever so slightly each time your name came up without a clear answer.
But the worst came when you began to avoid him entirely.
Every time he tried to catch you alone, something stood in the way.
You were sleeping. You had somewhere else to be. You slipped away before he could even reach you, turning your back the moment his presence brushed against yours.
It wasn’t subtle, it couldn’t be, and it left him with a quiet, gnawing ache he didn’t know how to name. He had thought your bond was something shared, something mutual. Not something that could simply vanish overnight.
Were you hurt? Were you sick? Had someone done something to you?
He didn’t know. And not knowing ate at him.
“Come, come…”
Tsireya’s voice broke through the haze, light and insistent, as she patted the sand beside her.
Before you could even think of an excuse, Kiri’s hand had already wrapped around your wrist, pulling you along with a familiarity you didn’t have the strength to resist.
The two of them sat as they often did, small baskets of beads scattered between them, threads catching the sunlight in soft glimmers. It was such a normal scene, so painfully normal, that it irritated you in a way that felt foreign, almost wrong.
All you wanted was to go back, to curl into yourself and disappear into sleep, to escape the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin.
But Kiri never took no for an answer, and Tsireya’s smile was already too warm, too expectant. So there you were, back in your old place, like nothing had changed.
Your lips parted, a complaint ready to slip out, heavy and sharp, but Tsireya cut you off before you could speak.
“We missed this,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet joy as her fingers continued their work. “So yes… you’re staying.”
And just like that, guilt settled over you, thick and suffocating. It pressed against your chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.
It wasn’t fair. Not now. Not when you could barely hold yourself together.
You had the right to be selfish just this once… didn’t you?
Then why did it feel like you were the one doing something wrong?
Being around them only made it worse.
Their laughter, their ease, the soft rhythm of their movements, it all felt like a mirror reflecting everything you had lost. Everything you no longer were.
Their happiness twisted something deep inside your stomach, a quiet reminder of how out of place you had become ever since… him.
And Kiri, Eywa, Kiri was the worst of it.
Not because of anything she did, but because of what she was.
There was something about her - her softness, the way she carried herself, the quiet strength beneath it all - that echoed him in ways you couldn’t ignore.
She felt like a reflection, like a fragment of him standing right in front of you, and it made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t put into words.
“I don’t know what to say about this…” you finally murmured, your voice distant, fingers dragging absent patterns into the sand just to avoid looking at them.
Both girls stilled, their attention shifting to you immediately.
It wasn’t like you, not at all.
You loved these moments, cherished them.
So where had that version of you gone?
“Y/N…” Kiri’s voice softened, her hands leaving her work as she turned fully toward you, concern written clearly across her features.
“You’re like our sister. Seeing you like this, it’s worrying us. Please… talk to us.” Her hand came to your shoulder, rubbing gently, grounding, comforting.
And just like that, it hit you.
That unbearable, suffocating need to cry. To let it all spill out, raw and ugly and real. It clawed at your throat, burned behind your eyes, but fear held it back.
Fear of saying it out loud. Fear of hearing it.
Fear of making it real in a way you couldn’t undo.
“I… I’m just tired.”
The words came out wrong - tight, strained, barely holding together as the knot inside you twisted painfully.
Even you didn’t believe them.
Tsireya moved without hesitation, closing the distance between you in a single motion. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you firmly against her chest, warm and unyielding, like something meant to protect rather than comfort.
There was no escaping it - not that you truly tried.
“I can feel your spirit,” she murmured gently, her voice low and certain. “Something is hurting you. You were fine… not long ago. What changed?”
You did.
That’s what you wanted to scream.
Your heart did. Your feelings. Your foolish, fragile hope that had grown into something too big, too consuming to survive.
You fell in love.
And it destroyed you.
“Nothing, really. I’m just going through a rough phase, I believe. Just… give me some time to figure myself out.”
Your voice came out softer than you intended, fragile at the edges, as if it might crack apart if pushed even a little further.
Tears burned behind your eyes, already threatening to spill, but you forced yourself to look away, far beyond them, far beyond everything, fixing your gaze on the endless stretch of sea. The waves rolled in and out, steady and indifferent, as if nothing in the world had changed.
Just a little longer.
If you could just hold it in a little longer… you could break later, when no one was there to see.
The silence that followed was heavy.
You didn’t need to look at them to know they didn’t believe you.
How could they?
You had grown up together, shared too many moments, too many pieces of yourselves. They knew you like the lines of their own hands.
To them, you were as easy to read as clear water over white sand.
“If you don’t want to speak to us…” Tsireya began carefully, her voice gentle but firm, “you could speak to someone else. Lo’ak, maybe… or my brother. Neteyam is worried too. He’s been trying to talk to you for so long…”
And just like that, everything shattered.
His name struck something deep inside you, something raw and unhealed, and before you could stop it, the tears spilled over.
Your chest convulsed violently as sobs tore their way out, sharp and uncontrollable, each breath catching painfully in your throat. It hurt, just as much as it had every other day, tight and suffocating, like your lungs refused to work properly under the weight of it.
“Great Mother, help us, Y/N, what’s happening to you?!”
Kiri’s voice broke, panic slipping through as her hands came up to cup your face, turning you toward her as if searching for an answer hidden somewhere in your expression.
But there was nothing there to find.
Just broken breaths.
Shaking shoulders.
Tears that wouldn’t stop.
“I’m sick of it… I’m sick!” The words ripped out of you, jagged and desperate, as you pushed yourself away from them, your body trembling as your hands pressed into the sand, grounding yourself against the sudden surge of emotion.
“Both mentally and physically-...it’s like a parasite, eating me from the inside out!”
Your voice rose, strained and unstable, your fingers clawing instinctively at your neck before dragging down to your chest, pressing hard against the place where your heart throbbed erratically beneath your ribs.
“This heart is messing with me- I… I want it out!”
The words came out almost hysterical, laced with something raw and dangerous, your eyes flashing with a kind of anger that didn’t belong to you, not really.
“It sickens me, do you get it?!”
The two of them froze.
Neither of them knew how to respond, your words hanging in the air like something forbidden, something wrong.
It was as if they were looking at a stranger, someone twisted by pain into something unrecognizable.
“We can talk about it, okay? It will be fine—...” Kiri tried, her voice soft, careful, reaching for you like she always did.
But this time, you recoiled.
A sharp, almost feral hiss slipped through your teeth, your body tensing as if her touch burned.
“Stop this crap!” you snapped, your voice breaking under the weight of everything you had been holding in.
“You don’t know anything! It’s not like I could help myself either - do you think I like the way I am now? Hell no!”
Each word came out heavier than the last, soaked in bitterness, in frustration, in something dangerously close to self-loathing as your hand pressed harder against your chest.
“And for what? Because of this stupid heart I have?”
Your breath hitched, voice dropping into something quieter, more broken, yet somehow more painful.
“I got cursed…”
The words trembled as they left you, barely above a whisper now.
“Cursed by loving someone who was never meant to be mine.”
Your lips quivered, your vision blurring again as fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, unstoppable.
“I wasted the one thing I treasured… for what?” your voice cracked, hollow and defeated. “For nothing.”
Silence fell again, but this time, it was heavier.
Different.
“…But you never looked at anyone,” Tsireya murmured slowly, confusion threading through her voice as she tried to piece everything together. “You never told us you were interested in someone…”
A laugh escaped you - low, hollow, and completely lifeless. It didn’t sound like you at all.
“I didn’t want to,” you admitted, your voice trembling as your gaze dropped back to the sand, unfocused.
“Not until I felt him… falling for me the same way I was falling for him.”
The words felt bitter on your tongue.
“Can you imagine?” you let out another weak, broken breath, shaking your head slightly.
“All those years… trying to matter to him. Trying to be seen.”
Your lips trembled again, your chest tightening painfully.
“And another woman got him… in just a few weeks.”
The shame hit harder when you said it out loud. It burned through you, hot and suffocating, making your face flush as if the truth itself was something humiliating.
Something you should have hidden better.
“Are you speaking about—...” Kiri started carefully, her voice barely above a whisper.
But you cut her off immediately. A weak, trembling motion of your hand, as if even the sound of his name would break you further.
“Don’t,” you breathed, your voice fragile now, almost pleading. “Don’t even say his name… I beg you.”
Your throat tightened again, your stomach twisting violently at the mere thought of him being close, existing somewhere within reach.
“Just thinking about him being near me…” you swallowed hard, your voice dropping into something quiet and raw, “makes me sick.”
You drew in a shaky breath, your body still trembling, your heart still aching...
“…the worst part is that I still love him.”
From afar, Aonung jabbed Neteyam sharply between the shoulder blades, the sudden impact snapping the forest Na’vi out of whatever thoughts had taken hold of him.
His body tensed instinctively, head turning with a quiet, irritated breath, only to be met with Aonung’s knowing look, brows slightly raised, lips curled in something halfway between amusement and concern.
“Pay attention,” Aonung muttered under his breath, though his gaze flickered past Neteyam almost immediately, toward the scene unfolding not too far from them.
Both Lo’ak and Aonung had noticed it - the shift in the air, the way your voice had risen just enough to carry, strained and breaking in a way that didn’t belong to you.
It wasn’t hard to connect the pieces.
Not when Neteyam had been restless for days, distracted in a way that was unlike him, his attention always drifting, always searching.
And now… this.
Neteyam frowned, confusion knitting his brows as his gaze followed theirs, landing on you.
At first, he didn’t fully understand what he was seeing - your trembling frame, Kiri and Tsireya gathered close, the tension thick around you like a storm about to break.
But then your voice carried again, raw and uneven, and something inside his chest tightened sharply.
“…Don’t even say his name… I beg you…”
He froze.
It wasn’t just what you said, it was the way you said it.
Like it hurt. Like it destroyed you just to speak.
A strange, uneasy feeling crept up his spine, something cold and unfamiliar. His jaw tightened slightly as his eyes stayed fixed on you, trying to understand, to make sense of something that refused to fall into place.
“What’s wrong with her?” Lo’ak murmured, his voice lower now, stripped of its usual edge as concern settled in. His brother couldn't really figure out if he was worried because of you or for his mate, who was desperately trying to help you cope with your emotions.
Neteyam didn’t answer right away.
He couldn’t.
Because something about this felt… wrong.
You had been avoiding him, he knew that much.
Felt it every time you turned away, every time you slipped through his reach like something he wasn’t allowed to hold onto anymore.
And now, seeing you like this - broken, shaking, unraveling right in front of him - it didn’t sit right with anything he thought he knew.
“…I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice quieter than usual, rough around the edges.
Both Aonung and Lo’ak shared the same look - one that sat uncomfortably between irritation and something almost pitying, their expressions tightening as they watched the scene unfold.
“Man, I told you to stop getting involved with that woman,” Lo’ak muttered under his breath, though there was nothing light about it this time.
His hand lifted, gesturing sharply toward where you sat, barely held together between Kiri and Tsireya.
“Look what you did… to the one who actually loves you.”
The words hit harder than any blow.
Neteyam’s jaw clenched, a quiet, frustrated sound leaving him as he dragged a hand down his face, but he didn’t argue.
He didn’t deny it. Because deep down, far deeper than he ever allowed himself to admit, he knew they were right.
They had always been right.
From the very beginning. And still… he chose not to see it.
Or maybe it was easier that way.
Easier to pretend, easier to push it aside, easier than facing something he didn’t know how to handle.
Because the truth was simple, and yet painfully complicated.
Neteyam didn’t understand feelings.
Not the way others did.
He had grown up learning that emotions could be dangerous, that they could cloud judgment, weaken resolve, put not only him but the people he cared about at risk.
He had seen it happen, seen how deeply things could spiral when feelings took control. He had watched it through Lo’ak, through every reckless decision driven by impulse and heart rather than reason.
And so, Neteyam learned the opposite.
He learned control.
Distance.
Neutrality.
Or at least… he thought he did.
Because none of that prepared him for you.
At first, it had been easy to explain.
You were always there, always just behind him, beside him, laughing too loud, pushing too hard, never afraid to challenge him in ways no one else dared.
You were part of his life in the most natural way possible, woven into it so tightly that he never thought to question it.
You were… his responsibility.
Something like a younger sister - someone he had to look after, to guide, to protect.
That’s what he told himself, over and over again, whenever his chest tightened a little too much when you smiled at him. Whenever his gaze lingered a second too long.
Whenever your absence felt… wrong.
He ignored it.Buried it. Because it didn’t make sense. Not when you had always been you. But time had a way of shifting things, whether he wanted it to or not.
You grew. Changed.
And somewhere along the way, without him realizing it, without him allowing himself to realize it, something inside him changed too.
It wasn’t sudden.
It was quiet. Subtle. Dangerous in the way it crept up on him slowly, until it was already there, already rooted too deep to be ignored.
The way his heartbeat picked up when you were near.
The way your voice lingered in his mind long after you were gone.
The way no one else - no one - ever seemed to hold his attention the same way you did.
And when it finally clicked…
It unsettled him. Because it wasn’t supposed to be like that.You weren’t supposed to be the one.
And yet… you were.
You - with that taunting smile that always managed to get under his skin.
You - the only one bold enough to push him, to challenge him, to make him feel something other than control.
You - with your rough edges and ocean-deep eyes, impossible to ignore, impossible to forget.
It had always been you.
And seeing you like that - drained, hollow, nothing like the girl he had known his entire life - forced something into place inside him with a sharp, almost painful clarity. It hit him all at once, heavy and undeniable.
Every broken word that left your lips, every tear that carved its way down your pale cheeks, twisted something deep in his chest until it hurt to even breathe.
He had done this.
Not intentionally, not cruelly, but that didn’t matter.
The result was the same.
He had stood there, silent, uncertain, letting others speak for him, letting assumptions grow into something ugly and untrue. He had let the wrong story be written… and you had paid the price for it.
“I… just—shut it, guys. I’ll fix it.” His voice came out low, strained, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “I’m the one responsible for this.”
There was no hesitation left in him now. No doubt.
Only urgency.
His steps moved almost on their own, faster with each second, cutting through the distance that suddenly felt unbearable. The closer he got, the heavier it all felt - the tension, the pain, the weight of everything he should have said long ago.
He expected resistance.
Expected you to push him away, to look at him with anger, with hurt—with anything that matched what he had done.
And you did.
But not in the way he had prepared for.
The moment his presence reached you, it was as if something inside you snapped. Your entire body reacted before your mind could catch up, tensing, recoiling, your head turning sharply toward him as if he were something to be feared rather than known.
Something feral flickered behind your eyes.
Something broken.
“Y/N…”
His voice softened instinctively, cautious, careful, as if approaching something wounded - because that’s what you looked like.
His ears pressed back against his head, his posture lowering just slightly, the way it always did when he felt… wrong. When he didn’t know how to fix what stood in front of him.
But this time, it wasn’t enough.
Just when you thought the fire inside your chest had reached its limit, when you were certain nothing could burn worse than this, it did.
Because there he was - close, too close.
Reaching for you with the same arms that had always meant safety, warmth, something dangerously close to home… and yet now they felt unbearable, heavy in a way that made your skin crawl, like something sacred that had turned into a burden you could no longer carry.
“Get away!”
The hiss tore out of you before you could stop it, raw and primal, sharp enough to freeze the air around you.
It wasn’t just anger - it was something feral, something wounded, something that had been locked away for far too long.
No one dared to interfere. Not Kiri, not Tsireya.
They saw it clearly, this was the breaking point, and it belonged to you.
Neteyam didn’t step back.
Of course he didn’t.
His ears flattened instinctively, that familiar crease forming between his brows as his tail lashed once behind him, restrained but tense, like he was holding himself together by force.
“Y/N… we have to sort this out, okay?” His voice was steady, but there was something underneath it now - something strained, something almost desperate.
One sharp glance toward the others was enough to send them away, reluctant but understanding, leaving the space between you exposed, raw, suffocating.
Just the two of you, standing in the wreckage of something that once felt unbreakable.
“What is there left to talk about, huh?”
The words spilled out harshly, your throat burning with the effort of holding everything else back.
Tears threatened again, blurring your vision, but this time you refused them, you would not let him see you break again, not like before.
Not when he was the reason.
He frowned, confusion flashing across his face, real and unfiltered, and somehow that made it worse.
“What happened to you, Y/N? To us? Why didn’t you come to me? Why couldn’t you tell me what was bothering you?”
There was no blame in his voice, no anger - just sincerity, just that same quiet care he had always carried for you.
And for a second - a single, dangerous second - it made your chest twist with something that almost felt like regret.
Almost.
A hollow laugh slipped from your lips, bitter and lifeless, nothing like the sound he remembered.
“Eywa must hate me,” you murmured, your voice trembling despite everything you did to steady it.
Every nerve in your body felt like it was burning, small tremors running through you, making it harder to even stand still.
“I’m so sick of pretending… pretending about what I feel, pretending this - this friendship is enough, pretending I’m okay watching everyone circle around you like it doesn’t tear me apart from the inside out.”
Your breath hitched, uneven, your hands curling into themselves as if you could somehow hold everything in.
“It’s the worst curse someone could have.”
Confusion shifted across his features again, but this time it wasn’t empty - it was searching, desperate, like he was finally starting to see the shape of something he had missed for far too long.
But you didn’t give him time to speak, because if you stopped now, you would fall apart completely.
“I can’t be your friend anymore.”
The words landed heavy, final, cutting through the space between you like something irreversible.
“Not because I don’t want to…” your voice cracked despite your efforts, betraying the truth you were trying so hard to control, “but because it hurts. It hurts to have the one thing my heart wants so close to me and still not be able to reach for it.”
Your hand pressed weakly against your chest, fingers trembling over your racing heart.
“Because it doesn’t belong to me.”
You laughed again, quieter this time, broken, painfully aware of how it sounded even as you said it.
“I know… I know how stupid it sounds. After all these years…” Your gaze dropped for a moment, your body swaying slightly under the weight of it all.
“And Eywa knows I tried - I tried so hard to stop it, to ignore it, to kill it before it could turn into something like this.”
Your voice faltered, breath catching as everything you had buried clawed its way out. “But it was too late.”
Slowly, you looked back at him, no anger left now, no sharpness - just something raw, something completely exposed, something that had nowhere left to hide.
“Because this stupid heart of mine…” your voice broke, barely holding together, “chose you. From the very beginning.”
He followed every word like it was something sacred, something fragile that could slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold onto it tightly enough.
His ears twitched with each sound, catching not just what you said—but what you meant, what trembled beneath your voice, what broke between your breaths. He had never listened like this before. Never needed to.
And now… now it felt like if he missed even a single piece of you, he would lose you entirely.
Because that’s what this was.
A breaking point.
You stood there, both of you, on the edge of something neither of you fully understood - he didn’t know if he was about to lose you, and you didn’t know if you were about to lose him too.
And for the first time in his life, Neteyam felt something dangerously close to fear wrap around his chest, tightening with every second you looked at him like he was already gone.
“I see you…”
His voice came quieter than before, stripped of control, stripped of that practiced calm he had always hidden behind. It wasn’t the voice of a warrior now.
It was just… him. Raw. Unguarded.
“Body and soul. More than you think… more than I ever allowed myself to admit.”
He took a step closer—not enough to crowd you, not enough to push you—but enough to close the distance that suddenly felt unbearable. His movements were careful, like he was approaching something sacred… or something that could shatter at the slightest touch.
“You think I didn’t notice?” he continued, his voice low, almost breathless now, like the words had been waiting for too long and didn’t know how to come out properly. “The way you look at me… the way you’re always there, always reaching, always giving more than anyone ever asked of you?”
His gaze softened, something aching settling deep within it.
“I noticed everything.”
A pause. A breath.
“I just didn’t understand it… not at first.”
His hand lifted slightly, hesitating mid-air before falling back to his side, like even now he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you anymore.
“You were always there,” he murmured, quieter now, almost like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “Always beside me. I thought… that was all it was. That you were just…” he exhaled shakily, searching for the right words, “…mine in a way that didn’t need questioning.”
His jaw tightened slightly, regret flickering across his features.
“But then it changed.”
His eyes met yours again, steady this time, even if everything else about him wasn’t.
“And I didn’t know what to do with it.”
There was no pride in his voice now. No certainty. Just honesty—painfully clear, painfully real.
“My heart started to… react to you,” he admitted, the words slower now, like each one mattered too much to rush. “The way you smiled, the way you fought me, the way you challenged me like no one else ever could…” A faint, almost broken hint of a smile touched his lips. “You made me feel things I wasn’t taught how to handle.”
He swallowed hard, his voice dipping lower.
“And that scared me.”
The confession lingered between you, heavy and unpolished.
“So I did what I thought was right,” he continued, quieter still. “I ignored it. I buried it. I told myself it wasn’t real… because I didn’t know how to face something that could take control away from me.”
Another step closer. This time, slower. More certain.
“But it was real.”
His voice steadied, not because the emotion was gone, but because he had finally stopped running from it.
“It’s always been real.”
Now, when his hand lifted again, it didn’t hesitate as much—fingers reaching carefully, slowly, until they hovered just inches away from yours.
Close enough to feel the warmth, but not yet touching. Waiting.
“You think you’re the only one who suffered?” he asked softly, not accusing, just… asking.
“You think it didn’t hurt, watching you pull away from me? Feeling you disappear without knowing why?”
His brows drew together, pain flickering across his face.
“I thought I was losing you… and I didn’t even understand what I had done wrong.”
A breath. A pause.
“And now I do.”
His voice dropped into something deeper, something steadier—something that carried weight.
“I was too late.”
The words hurt to say. It showed.
“I let fear make choices for me… and it pushed you away.”
Finally, his fingers brushed against yours, barely there, hesitant, like he was asking without words if he was still allowed.
“But listen to me…”
His gaze locked onto yours, unwavering now, filled with something that could no longer be mistaken.
“You didn’t love alone.”
The words settled softly, but they carried more truth than anything else he had said.
“I loved you too.”
A breath caught in his chest, like even now, saying it out loud felt unreal.
“I just didn’t know how to say it… until it was almost too late.”
His hand finally closed around yours, gently but firmly, grounding himself as much as he was grounding you.
“You were never a mistake,” he whispered, his voice rough now, emotion breaking through despite everything. “Never something I overlooked. You were the only one who ever reached that far into me… the only one who made me feel like I wasn’t just what I was meant to be.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, a small, trembling gesture that said more than his words ever could.
“And if you think I’m letting you walk away now…”
A faint, fragile smile broke through the tension, soft and aching. “…then you really don’t see me as well as you think you do.”
“But what about the woman you were spending all that time with, huh?” The words came out uneven, fragile despite the sharp edge you tried to give them.
Your eyes, glassy with unshed tears, searched his face like you were trying to carve the truth out of him, piece by piece.
“All those days… just the two of you, running through the forest, so close…” Your voice faltered at the end, quieter now, almost breaking under its own weight, as if even saying it out loud hurt more than you had prepared for.
For a split second, Neteyam just looked at you - really looked at you -and something softened so deeply in his expression it almost undid you.
Then, to your surprise, a quiet laugh slipped from his lips. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just… relieved, almost disbelieving, like he couldn’t quite grasp how something so simple had twisted into something that hurt you this much.
Before you could react, he closed the distance completely, his forehead pressing gently against yours, warm and grounding.
He rubbed it lightly against you, a familiar, affectionate gesture that felt so him it made your chest tighten all over again - but differently this time. Softer.
“She’s building a place for her mate,” he murmured, his voice low, calm now, like he was smoothing over every sharp edge inside you with each word. “Somewhere hidden. Somewhere safe… in case they ever need it.”
His breath brushed against your lips as he spoke, close enough that you could feel every small shift in him.
“She loves her woman,” he added, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, something almost amused flickering in his tone. “Deeply. Enough that if I had even thought about making a move…” he huffed softly, shaking his head just a little against yours, “…I would’ve been torn apart by both of them before I could even explain myself.”
One of his hands came up slowly, carefully, like he was still afraid you might pull away, his fingers brushing along your arm before settling there, steady, warm.
“I was helping her,” he continued more quietly. “Keeping it quiet so no one would question where she was going, what she was doing. That’s all it ever was.”
There was a pause then, a breath shared between you, the tension shifting, unraveling, piece by fragile piece.
“And all that time…” his voice softened further, almost a whisper now, something heavy with meaning settling into it, “…you thought I was choosing someone else.”
His forehead stayed pressed to yours, unmoving now, like he didn’t want to risk losing this closeness again.
“I was never looking at anyone else.”
You felt the heat rise instantly, spreading across your cheeks until it burned, impossible to hide.
There was no denying it - you were ashamed.
All those days spent crying, breaking, convincing yourself of something that had never even been real.
All that pain, all that misery… because you had been too afraid to ask, too afraid to face him. In that moment, you felt painfully, embarrassingly small.
“Her… woman?” you echoed weakly, lips pulling into a crooked, uncertain line as you glanced up at him, still trying to process it. “Eywa… this is just—...”
You didn’t even get to finish.
Neteyam laughed, soft at first, then fuller, warmer, like something had finally lifted from his chest.
His hands came up to cup your face, fingers spreading gently over your flushed cheeks, thumbs brushing lightly beneath your eyes where tears had once fallen.
There was no mockery in it, no cruelty, just relief, affection, and something deeply fond.
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, still smiling as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into something softer, more intimate. “You fooled yourself… all because you were too scared to come to me.”
His thumbs traced slow, absent circles against your skin, grounding, steady. “Little skxawng…” he added under his breath, the word lacking any real bite, softened completely by the warmth in his tone. “Making me wait for you like a mad, driven man…”
Your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat as he leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours. Everything slowed, the sound of the waves, the distant voices, the world around you fading into something quiet and distant.
“And now…” he whispered, his voice barely there, lips just a breath away from yours, “let’s stop wasting time.”
There was no rush in the way he moved. No hesitation either.
Just certainty.
His hand shifted slightly, one thumb tilting your chin up just enough to close the last inch of distance between you, and when his lips finally met yours, it was softer than you had ever imagined.
Gentle, careful, as if he was afraid you might still disappear if he pressed too hard.
It wasn’t overwhelming.
It wasn’t rushed.
It was… right.
A quiet kind of right that settled deep in your chest, unraveling every knot that had been tied there for so long. His lips lingered against yours, warm and steady, like he was memorizing the feeling, like he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had - only neither of you had known it.
And when he pulled back, it wasn’t far.
His forehead rested against yours once more, breath still mingling with yours, his hands never leaving your face.
“There,” he murmured softly, a faint smile in his voice. “Was that so hard?”
-----------------------------------------------------
note i’m just obsessed with a parallel universe where neteyam reached adulthood and had a family of his own :')
warnings: the cutest toddler on pandora, lil smut in the end (p in v)
wc: 2.4k-ish
Sunlight filters through the thick canopy of the Hometree, dappling the woven fibers as your fingers, nimble and accustomed, guided the threads, creating a vibrant pattern that would soon become a new sleeping mat. A soft gurgle, followed by a delighted squeal, pulled your gaze from your work.
Your son, a miniature Neteyam in every conceivable way, sat cross-legged on a soft hide beside you. His tail, a thick, plush extension of his small frame, twitched with an independent life of its own. He clutched a crudely carved ikran, its wooden wings spread as if in flight.
“Fly, fly, little ikran!” you watched him whisper, his voice a sweet, high-pitched melody. He bounced the carving gently on the hide, a soft thud accompanying each landing. “Go to the big tree! Find the yummy fruit!”
You smiled, a warmth blossoming in your chest. His imagination, even at such a tender age, was boundless.
“Is your ikran on an adventure, little warrior?”
He looked up, his bright, golden eyes, so like his father’s, sparkling with mischief. He pointed a chubby finger at the carved creature.
“He is brave, Mama! He fights the big, big skunk-worm!”
You laughed, a genuine, heartfelt sound. “A skunk-worm? Oh, no! Is he winning?”
He nodded vigorously. “He uses his sharp claws!” He mimicked the shing sound that Neteyam often makes when telling stories about how sharp a palulukan’s claws are with his mouth, making exaggerated clawing motions with his free hand.
“My brave boy,” you murmured, reaching out to gently smooth the soft skin of his arm. “You make the best stories.”
He preened under your praise, a wide grin spreading across his face. He returned to his play, the ikran now swooping and diving through an invisible sky, its wooden companion, a small direhorse, galloping beneath it.
Hours later, the sun dipped lower, casting long, shifting shadows across the forest floor. You had moved from your loom to the Tsahik’s tent, the familiar scent of drying herbs and ancient wisdom filling the air. Your son, ever your shadow, remained close, now nestled against your hip as you sorted bundles of luminous moss.
“This one, for the stinging nettle rash,” the Tsahik’s voice, calm and steady, instructed. “And this, for the fever tree berries.”
You nodded, carefully separating the herbs. Your son, meanwhile, had found a discarded seed pod, its intricate patterns fascinating him. He turned it over and over in his small hands, murmuring to it as if it held profound secrets.
Suddenly though, his tail, which had been idly swishing, stiffened. A tiny tremor ran through his body. His head, previously bowed over the seed pod, snapped up. His ears swiveled, straining to catch a sound only he could hear.
“Papa!” your son shrieked, his voice piercing the quiet of the tent. He launched himself from your side, a blur of blue and boundless energy, scrambling towards the entrance.
The hide flap parted, and Neteyam’s towering form filled the opening. He was a vision of strength and grace, his warrior’s braid swinging gently as he bent to enter. His eyes, tired from patrol, softened the moment they landed on you and then his son.
“My little hunter!” Neteyam’s deep voice rumbled, a sound that always sent a shiver of warmth through you. He scooped the boy into his arms, effortlessly lifting him high above his head.
Your son squealed, his small hands gripping Neteyam’s thick braids, tugging playfully. Neteyam laughed, a rich, open sound that always made your heart sing.
“Did you protect Mama today?” Neteyam asked, lowering him to rest on his shoulder.
“I fought the skunk-worm!” your son declared proudly, puffing out his chest.
Neteyam’s eyes met yours over his son’s head, a silent message passing between you. A shared understanding, a deep, abiding love for this small creature who had so completely captured your hearts.
“A fearsome warrior, indeed,” Neteyam murmured, nuzzling his son’s cheek. “And what did Mama teach you today?”
“Herbs!” your son chirped, pointing a finger at the pile of moss you had been sorting. “For sick people!”
Neteyam smiled, a gentle, tender expression. He brought his son over to you, settling him back on the hide beside you. He then knelt, his gaze sweeping over the herbs, a silent acknowledgment of your continued learning.
“You are well, my love?” Neteyam’s voice was low, for your ears alone. His hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, a familiar comfort.
You leaned into his touch. “Always, with you here.”
As dusk deepened into night, the sounds of the forest grew louder, a symphony of chirps, rustles, and distant roars. Inside your family’s pod, the bioluminescent plants cast a soft, ethereal glow. Your son, exhausted from his day of adventures, lay curled in his small hammock, his tail twitching occasionally in his sleep.
You watched him, a profound sense of peace settling over you. He was a perfect blend of you and Neteyam, his golden eyes and proud nose Neteyam’s, his delicate fingers and the curve of his smile, yours. He was a living testament to your love.
Neteyam sat beside you, his arm a warm weight around your shoulders. He watched his son with an intensity that never failed to move you.
“He grows so fast,” Neteyam whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
“Too fast,” you agreed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Soon he’ll be off hunting with you.”
Neteyam chuckled, a soft rumble against your ear. “He has much to learn yet. But he will be a great hunter. A great warrior.”
You hummed, content. The silence stretched, comfortable and familiar, punctuated only by the gentle sway of the hammock and the soft sounds of the night.
Later, much later, your son was deeply asleep, his breathing soft and even. You and Neteyam lay entwined on your own sleeping mat, the soft hides yielding beneath you. The faint glow of the bioluminescent plants painted his strong features in shades of blue and violet. His eyes, usually so sharp and alert, were heavy lidded, filled with a deep, languid desire that mirrored your own.
His fingers, calloused from his bowstring, traced the curve of your hip, sending shivers across your skin. A low groan, raw and guttural, vibrated in his chest as he pulled you closer, your bodies molding together. Your breath hitched as his lips found the sensitive skin behind your ear, his tongue tracing a hot, wet path down your neck.
“My love,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that ignited a fire deep within you. “You are more beautiful than the stars.”
You arched into his touch, your own hands finding the thick braids at his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the dark strands. His mouth descended, capturing yours in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue, slick and powerful, plunged into your cavern, exploring every curve, every crevice.
You met him with equal fervor, your own tongue dancing with his, a primal, intimate exchange. He tasted of the forest, of desire, of everything you craved. His hips pressed against yours, the hard ridge of his cock, still sheathed, a tantalizing promise against your wetness. A soft moan escaped your lips, swallowed by his kiss.
He broke the kiss, his eyes, dark with passion, searching yours. His hand slid lower, over your stomach, down between your legs, his fingers finding the soft, moist folds of your labia. A gasp tore from your throat as his thumb brushed over your clitoris, a spark igniting a wildfire.
“So wet for me,” he breathed, his voice ragged with need. He moved his thumb in a slow, deliberate circle, each stroke sending a wave of pleasure through you. Your hips instinctively bucked against his hand, seeking more.
His fingers parted your lips, finding the entrance to your pussy. He slid one finger inside, then another, stretching you, preparing you. You whimpered, a low, animal sound, as the delicious pressure built. The shlicking sound of his fingers entering and withdrawing, slick with your wetness, was a symphony to your ears.
He watched your face, his gaze unwavering, devouring your reactions. He leaned down, his mouth finding your nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a soft suckle. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak, sending a jolt of pure ecstasy through your core. You arched your back, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“More,” you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, Neteyam, more.”
He responded by pulling back slightly, his eyes still locked on yours. With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached down and unsheathed his cock. It sprang free, thick and engorged, glistening with pre-cum. It was twitching, a testament to his desire. You gazed at it, your breath catching in your throat.
He positioned himself between your legs, his cock pressing against your opening, slick with your wetness. He hesitated, drawing out the exquisite torture, his eyes burning into yours.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “Look at me as I take you.”
You nodded, your eyes wide, mesmerized by his raw power. He pushed, slowly, deliberately, his cock inching into your pussy. A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips as the head stretched you, pushing deeper, deeper. The sensation was intense, a glorious fullness that consumed you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on.
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he finally sank fully inside you. Your pussy gripped him, tight and hot, a perfect sheath for his thick cock. The air left your lungs in a whoosh as you felt him deep within you, filling you completely. The squelching sound of your bodies joining was loud in the quiet pod.
He began to move, a slow, powerful thrust, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back in. Each stroke was a delicious agony, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your entire body. Your hips met his, a rhythmic dance, a primal mating ritual. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, a rhythmic thud that added to the intoxicating rhythm.
You cried out, a strangled moan of pure pleasure, as he found your G-spot, hitting it with each powerful thrust. Your clitoris, already swollen and sensitive, throbbed with every movement. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body convulsing around his cock.
“Neteyam,” you gasped, your voice thick with desire, “Oh, Neteyam.”
He thrust harder, faster, his breathing ragged, his face contorted in a mask of primal pleasure. You could feel the pressure building, the glorious, unbearable tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.
Just as you felt the first tremors of your orgasm begin to ripple through you, a small, sleepy whimper drifted from the hammock.
Neteyam froze, mid-thrust, his body rigid above yours. His eyes, still clouded with passion, flickered towards the sound.
“Papa?” a tiny voice whimpered again.
Neteyam groaned, a sound of pure frustration, his head falling back against your shoulder. His cock, still buried deep inside you, twitched.
You, however, were still riding the edge of your own climax. The sudden interruption, while frustrating, had only intensified the sensation. You tightened your muscles around his cock, milking another groan from him.
“Just a moment, little warrior,” Neteyam muttered, his voice strained. He pulled out, slowly, reluctantly, the wet, shlicking sound of his cock leaving your pussy echoing in the silence. He quickly re-sheathed himself, his breathing still heavy.
He rose from you, his movements stiff, and went to the hammock. Your son, rubbing sleep from his eyes, reached out for him. Neteyam scooped him up, cradling him against his chest.
“Did you have a bad dream, little hunter?” Neteyam murmured, his voice now soft, soothing.
Your son shook his head, burying his face in Neteyam’s shoulder. “I heard… noises.”
Neteyam’s eyes met yours over his son’s head, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. You couldn’t help but smile, a soft, knowing smile. Your body still throbbed, aching for release, but the sight of Neteyam comforting your son, his warrior’s hands so gentle, filled you with a different kind of warmth.
He rocked your son gently, humming a low, wordless tune. Slowly, your son’s breathing evened out, and he drifted back to sleep. Neteyam carefully placed him back in the hammock, adjusting the blanket around him.
He returned to you, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He lowered himself onto the mat beside you, pulling you into his arms.
“Eywa, the size of his ears proves to be very efficient,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “He always knows when I’m coming home.”
You chuckled as you nestled into his eyes, touching one of his ears. “He got your ears, my love,” you whispered, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “He got everything from you.”
Neteyam snatched your hand and kissed the palm of it. “I’m never living down the bunny teasing,” he said as laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “And it seems I passed it down to our boy.”
You grinned before silently laughing into his chest, remembering the time Lo’ak and Spider brought out Norm’s laptop to show everyone a Terran animal that they swear looked like Neteyam. It didn’t look like him, of course, but you also see why they think so. It’s the huge ears that sometimes propped so straight and his two front teeth.
Neteyam hugged you to him, kissing your forehead. You still felt a delicious ache between your legs, a lingering throb of unfulfilled desire. But the night was long, and your son, for now, was asleep.
“He loves you so much,” you murmured, tracing the strong line of his jaw.
“And I him,” Neteyam replied, his voice thick with devotion. He pulled the soft hides over you both, enveloping you in warmth and darkness. “And you, my love. I love you.”
You closed your eyes, a content sigh escaping your lips. The night was still young, and there would be other moments, other nights. For now, the warmth of Neteyam’s embrace, the soft breathing of your son, and the quiet rhythm of the forest were enough. You drifted to sleep, a smile playing on your lips, dreaming of a life filled with love, laughter, and the occasional, delightful interruption.
notes fake dating (this trope was requested <33), he falls first AND harder, yearning neteyam, reader is the sweetest girl in the world, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis neteyam offered a proposition to the most quiet girl in the clan: pretend to be his intended to make another girl jealous... but a short time into it and the lines had blurred for him. not for you, though! you’re serious about the mission, much to his frustration.
word count 14.4k
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“The moons are ripening,” Elder Peyka remarked. “The courting season will be upon us before the next great hunt. The young warriors are already preening like forest ikrans... Oh, how nice to see.”
“And the girls are no better,” another elder chuckled, tightening a string of seed beads. She turned her clouded but sharp eyes toward you. You were sitting a few paces away, your fingers flying across a loom. “Child. Look at me.”
You paused, your heart giving a small, nervous flutter as you looked up. “Yes, elder?”
“You are of age now, are you not?”
“I am,” you replied softly, your voice barely rising above the rustle of the loom.
Peyka sighed, shaking her head. “If only you would go out there and be seen, child! You have the grace of the willow, but you hide like a yerik. You are too shy for your own good. If you do not lift your head, the season will pass you by and you might actually become a spinster, weaving alone while the rest of the clan sings of mates!”
A chorus of gentle, teasing laughter erupted from the circle. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly ducked your head back down, focusing intensely on a loose thread. You let out a small, embarrassed chuckle of your own, a soft sound that barely escaped your lips.
You are painfully aware of that but you don’t know where to start. You have friends, yes, but they are not friends you hang out with outside of the weaving looms. You are almost always alone, and while other girls had found their places among the hunters, practicing their war cries or vying for the attention of the said men, you found yourself hidden in the looms to enjoy the repetitive routine of weaving.
It’s not like you were the best weaver, too. You are not the best, not the worst either, just a girl whose hands were often stained with berry dyes and whose eyes were usually cast downward. It was safer that way. When you didn't look up, you didn't have to see the way the world seemed to orbit around people who weren't you.
A few feet away, leaning against a sturdy root, Neteyam sat silently. An elder weaver was currently binding a new leather guard to his forearm, and while he appeared to be focused on it, his ears were swiveled toward the elders' conversation.
He watched you.
Neteyam knew everyone in the clan. It was his duty as the future Olo'eyktan, but as he looked at you now, he realized he has never even heard you speak. He knew your name, he knew your family, but he couldn't recall the sound of your voice until that very moment. Your shy, quiet laughter brought a warm feeling to his chest for some reason, making him take a deep breath.
His mind drifted to Ka’ani. She was the finest huntress among their peers, just like him. And he’s always thought of a partnership much like the one his parents have. His father is a great warrior and so is his mother. To be a great leader is to stand beside a fearsome woman as well... And he thinks it’s Ka’ani.
But right now, she was becoming a challenge. She’s making him look like a fool, flitting from warrior to warrior to test his patience. She wanted him to chase her until he was exhausted, and Neteyam, the proud, capable, and unaccustomed to losing firstborn of the clan’s pillars, was reaching his breaking point. He was never fond of playing, but some games need strategy, too.
Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you. You were still working, your movements steady and humble, completely unaware of the weight of his stare. A slow, calculated thought began to take root in his mind.
“Finished, Neteyam,” the weaver said, patting his arm.
“Thank you,” Neteyam murmured. He stood up, taller and broader than most men.
Instead of heading back to where the warriors were gathering, he turned his steps toward the shadows. He walked with deliberate strides stopping right in front of your loom until his shadow blocked your light. “You’re doing that wrong.”
The voice startled you so badly that the bone needle slipped. “I—what?” you stammered, finally looking up.
Neteyam was standing over you. In the flickering firelight, his bioluminescent freckles were glowing like stars. “The weave,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the basket in your lap. “It’s too tight. It will snap when it dries.”
“The ones I did last moon were fine,” you murmured. You tried to look back down, to disappear into your work as you always did. “Is there something you need?”
Instead of answering, he sat. The movement was fluid, but there was a heaviness to it, sitting so close to you that his knee brushed against yours.
“I have a proposition for you, Y/N,” he said. His voice was low, dropping into a register that felt dangerously intimate. He knows your name?
You blinked, your insecurity rising up like a shield. “A proposition? Do you need help with the weaving?”
“No, no, I don’t,” he answered. “The elders speak the truth, you know,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone. “It would be a shame for you to be hidden in the dark.”
You finally looked up, your eyes wide. Neteyam wasn't looking at the fire, he was looking directly at you, and for the first time in your life, the Golden Son was smiling as if you were the only person in the clearing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathed, your voice trembling.
He leaned in just an inch closer, his amber eyes sparking with a hidden intent. “Hear my proposition... It might just solve both our problems with the coming season.”
You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You were a weaver of threads, but sitting before you was practically the weaver of destinies in this clan. You know he could alter your life and he was looking at you with a terrifying amount of focus.
“Our... problems?“ you whispered, your fingers curling tightly around the bone needle. “I don’t have problems. And I don’t think someone like you have problems, Neteyam.”
He let out a short, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if his eyes weren't so sharp. “Everyone has a role to play. Sometimes, that role becomes... suffocating. My mother is already looking at the daughters of the council. She expects a match that strengthens the line. I’m thinking of Ka’ani. She’s the finest huntress my age.”
At the mention of her name, his jaw tightened. You remembered the last time you saw the girl. She was draped over the arm of a young warrior, her laughter loud and pointed, as if it was a performance, designed to reach the ears of a certain warrior. You remembered Neteyam standing in the training grounds then and everything clicked in your head.
“She wants a chase,” Neteyam continued, silencing your thoughts. “But I do not have the time for nonsensical games. And you... The elders say you are a shadow. That you will be left behind.”
“I am fine being a shadow,” you countered, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s not complicated. I will have what comes and accept what doesn’t.”
“Shadows are lonely,” he said softly. “Be my partner. Not just for the ceremonies, but the communal meals as well. I will be with you. Let the clan see us, let them see you.”
Your heart gave a violent thud. You weren't a fool. You knew what this was. You were the girl no one would suspect he will actually notice, which made you the perfect weapon to make Ka’ani lose her mind with jealousy.
“You want me to be a decoy,” you said. “You want her to see you with me so she’ll get jealous. You want her to stop playing around.”
Neteyam didn't flinch at your bluntness. Instead, he reached out, his large hand covering yours where it rested on the loom. His skin was warm, his touch steady. “Correct. And in return, you will no longer be the girl the elders pity. You will be the woman everyone sees. When the season ends and the act is over, every hunter in this clan will finally know your name. You won't be a spinster, Y/N. I’ll make sure of that. You’ll have your pick of any man here.”
It was a cold, calculated trade. He will get the girl and you get a reputation and a way out of the shadows. He looked so sincere. You knew you should say no, you wouldn’t know how to act around him. But the thought of being someone for once, of walking through the village and not having people look through you, was a siren song you couldn't resist.
“What if I'm not a good actress?” you asked, your voice a mere breath.
Neteyam’s smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of a strategist who had just moved his final piece into place.
“Just sit by my side. I’ll do the rest.” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles.
You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. I'll do it.”
Neteyam squeezed your hand once, a seal of the contract, before standing up. He offered his hand to help you up, and when you took it, the world felt like it shifted on its axis. You were stepping out of the dark, and into a fire that you knew, eventually, would burn you to ash.
Neteyam is a meticulous director and it was very hard for you as an easily embarrassed person. Being seen isn’t even enough for him, the act had to be over the top! He wanted it to be undeniable.
“Chin up,” he whispered one afternoon. You were walking to the central clearing for the communal meal, his hand hovering over your waist. “You look like you’re walking to a funeral. Look at me. Smile.”
“It’s hard to smile when I feel like a piece of bait,” you murmured, keeping your eyes down, feeling at least a hundred eyes on you.
Neteyam let out a sharp breath. He stopped walking, maneuvering you to turn and face him. To anyone watching from a distance, it looked like a tender, private moment between lovers. Up close, his eyes were scanning the crowd, pinpointing exactly where Ka’ani was sitting with her friends.
“You agreed to this,” he reminded you, his voice low and firm. He reached out, his fingers tilting your chin upward. His touch was warm, but it lacked the softness you’d imagined his touch would have. It was the grip of a hunter holding a prized bow. “If you don't look happy, she’ll know it’s a ruse. Do you want the elders to go back to pitying you by tomorrow sun-up?”
The reminder of your own invisibility stung. You forced your lips to curve, a small, shaky smile that felt brittle. “Is this better?”
He studied your face for a beat too long, his thumb grazing your jawline. For a split second, his focus shifted from the crowd to the way your eyes searched his, but he shook it off quickly. “Better. Keep it there, hm?“
He led you toward the long tables. This was the stage. He made a show of picking out the best cuts of roasted meat for you, leaning in so close that his braids brushed against your shoulder. He was performative, ensuring the warriors nearby heard him.
“And since you’re starting a new tapestry,” he said, loud enough for Ka'ani to hear from across your table. He draped an arm over the back of your seating mat, effectively fencing you in. “I’d fly to the borders to get you fibers for it.”
You pursed your lips, lowering your head down to chuckle. “Your voice is too loud, Neteyam...“ you mumbled. “I’ll end up with busted ear drums by the time this is over.“
His own head lowered and angled toward you to catch what you’re saying, but it threw back as he let out a bark of genuine and deep laughter. You startled, your hand flying to his chest unconsciously, your head swiveling to the crowd of people who are now looking at you. You caught a glimpse of Ka’ani’s sharp eyes narrowing to slits.
The mission is working. You know it is working, you’ve seen Ka’ani’s candid reactions in the past days and it was almost comical. You don’t understand how she can let other men touch her when it was Neteyam she truly wants. It’s confusing, especially because you can see how she jealous she looks.
“You can relax, Neteyam,” you whispered, leaning toward him. “She’s gone. She stomped away five minutes ago.”
Neteyam’s posture didn't soften. He didn't pull his arm back. He took a slow sip of water, his expression unreadable. “The act doesn't stop just because the primary audience leaves, Y/N. There are other eyes. Word must travel. That is how a reputation is built.” He looked at you then, and for a moment, the strategic coldness was all there was. “Eat your food. We have a walk through the groves. People need to see us.”
The following days, and weeks, was a blur of choreographed intimacy. Neteyam was serious with his acts, he was everywhere you were. If you were gathering fibers, he was there, scouting the perimeter but always staying within your line of sight. During communal meals, he always ate with you, listening to you ramble and chuckling at everything you say.
Now that he has brought you out to light, more and more men were trying to talk to you, asking you random stuff they wouldn't even bother asking before. For them, you were almost unreachable in the past. You are too shy, too aloof, to be in the selection of girls they dare to play with.
But as the days pressed on, the meticulous director started losing his grip on the script.
The script had been clear: Neteyam would bring you into the light, and the hunters of the clan would finally notice you. It was exactly what he had promised. But as he stood on a ridge overlooking the path back to Hometree, watching you walk beside a hunter who was carrying your bundle of fibers under his arm, the air in his lungs seemed to turn to ice.
The hunter was Ki’ong, a young man known for his easy smiles and a way of speaking that reminded him of the way you speak. If he saw this moons ago, the match would have made so much sense. The gentle hunter matches your gentleness. But today, he felt only bitterness. You were laughing, the sound he wanted to bottle and bring with him on patrol to help him calm down.
Now, Ki’ong is easily basking in it, his tail twitching with a rhythmic interest that Neteyam recognized all too well for he was a man, too. His hand tightened around the grip of the bow until the wood groaned. His jaw locked. This was the trade, wasn't it? He had told you that by the time the season ended, you would have your pick of any man in the clan. So why did he feel like he wanted to shoot an arrow through the dirt at Ki’ong’s feet as a warning?
His feet moved, and by the time you reached the shadow of the massive fern near the entrance, Neteyam was already there, blocking the path, calling your name in a sharp and dangerous tone that made Ki’ong stop in his tracks.
“Neteyam!“ you said, surprised. “I thought you weren’t back from the scout yet.”
Neteyam ignored you, his amber eyes fixed entirely on the other hunter. He stepped forward, entering your personal space with a possessiveness that felt far too real to be an act. You looked around. There was no crowd and no Ka’ani at all, and this confuses you. What more, Neteyam wasn’t even looking around for the audience. He was looking only at Ki’ong’s hand, which was hovering just a bit too close to your elbow.
Ki'ong blinked, his easy smile faltering under the sheer weight of Neteyam's stare. “I saw her in the forest, Neteyam, uh... What she was carrying was heavy—”
“Thank you for that, but I’ll take it from here,” Neteyam cut him off, his voice dropping into a warning growl. He reached out, not gently, and pulled your fiber basket from the hunter.
“I'll... see you later then... Y/N,” Ki’ong said before walking away.
Neteyam’s head snapped back to Ki’ong’s retreating form, his entire body coiled like a viperwolf ready to strike at the mere mention of a later. You watched him, your confusion slowly melting into a mischievous realization. You looked around one more time, and there’s still nothing but a stray woodsprite. No Ka’ani. No prying hunters. Just a very, very grumpy warrior holding a basket of fibers as if it were a thermal detonator.
A bubble of laughter escaped you, and you poked his rigid bicep.
“Wow,” you giggled, leaning in close to peer up at his stormy face. “Neteyam, that was... incredible. The growl? The death stare? You’re getting really good at this. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were actually trying to pick a fight over my honor.”
Neteyam didn't relax. His jaw remained a hard line. “He was overstepping. He was touching you.”
“He was just helping me,” you countered, your eyes dancing with amusement. You started walking, motioning for him to follow with your basket. “But honestly, I’m impressed. You’re such a perfectionist. Even with no audience, you’re still acting the territorial suitor.”
He fell into step behind you, his tail still lashing even though he’s not speaking.
“Oh, come on,” you teased, walking backward for a few steps so you could admire his scowl. “Let’s just hope Ki’ong tells everyone about your reaction. If word gets back to Ka’ani that the great Neteyam almost bared his teeth at a hunter just for carrying my basket... well, our mission is as good as won. It’s going to make it sound so real!” You turned back around, a satisfied hum leaving your throat. “But I don’t think Ki’ong is the type to talk about stuff like that. He seemed too nice to gossip.”
“How would you know? You don’t know him,” Neteyam cut you off, his voice sharp.
You laughed again, the sound light and airy. “Maybe I just know. I can sense if people have good hearts,” you said, reaching back to give his chest a playful, comforting pat. “Come on,” you smiled, oblivious to the way his hand tightened on the basket handle until his knuckles turned pale. “Let’s bring that to the looms. You can put all that 'warrior energy' into helping me sort the threads.”
You turned on your heels and skipped ahead, feeling lighter than you had in days. Behind you, Neteyam stood for a beat longer, his eyes locked on the sway of your braids.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You two were swimming in the river, not alone anyway, because it’s just one of your many stages. His fellow hunters and warriors were swimming in the river several paces away from the two of you, but he has since swam to a secluded bend away from their prying eyes. You don’t always swim in the river. Mostly because you don’t want to swim alone, so now, you’re enjoying everything, even the reflection of the shimmering canopy above. You kept diving for as long as you could, the act momentarily paused because he had stirred you two away from the audience. You shrieked when you felt something tiny dart on your ankle. You dove your head, swimming after the tiny fish, your hand shotting forward to catch it and you bubbled a laugh underwater when you actually caught it.
You swam to the surface, holding up the fish as you laughed, the sound of your mirth echoing off the rock walls like bells. Neteyam stared at you from where he is, leaning against a mossy boulder, his chest heaving slightly, though he had been idle the entire time. You waded toward him, bringing him the fish, but he looked so serious that your lips pushed forward instead. Neteyam gritted his teeth at the sight of your smile fading.
“You looked like the sky had fallen on you. What is it?” you asked, putting the fish back in the water and watching it dart away from you with a small smile.
“Our scout yesterday everning” he said suddenly, his voice low.
You nodded. He was late to the dinner last night... You figured there was something wrong, but you heard no news about it.
“There was a near skirmish with a violent clan. They were one of those clans whose lands were spoiled by the sky people's actions. Apparently, they’ve been looking for a place to settle in, but they are also harming non-combatant clans.”
You stopped splashing, the water settling around you. You hadn't heard about this. The elders usually kept such news quiet to avoid panic, but to know this now, and to see how burdened Neteyam was by it, you couldn't help but be bothered.
“The council expects me to be like him,” he said, staring at his reflection in the water. He didn't specify who him was and he didn’t have to. You know who he was talking about. As the firstborn of Toruk Makto, Neteyam has always lived in the shadow of a legend. “Every battle, every hunt, every word I speak... it's measured against a standard I will never reach.”
You stopped creating ripples in the waters, looking up at him. “You don’t need to be your father, Neteyam,” you said softly. “Have they considered a dialogue between the people of that clan? Perhaps... The chieftains of our neighboring clans could convene in a large council and speak with their representatives. I don’t think it needs to lead to people getting hurt when speaking would reach a much better conclusion.”
Neteyam went still, his gaze snapping from the water’s surface to your face. He watched you with an intensity he had directed to no one, but you wouldn’t know that. For a moment, the weight in his shoulders seemed to flicker, unsettled by the peaceful logic of your words.
“A dialogue,” he repeated. He had been so focused on formations, weapon readiness, and the cold calculations of a warrior that the idea of a diplomatic council felt like a sudden breath of fresh air. “Why do you think I am a warrior?” he asked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I am taught to protect. To fight.”
“You are taught to lead,” you corrected gently, lightly splashing a bit of water toward his chest. “And a leader’s first duty isn’t to fight, but to ensure peace. Your warriors will think of war, you will think of how to protect the people and the forest. The people of that clan is desperate, for sure... They lost their home, they are living like beggars. There is a reason they steal and harm the people who stop them. Have the clans thought of helping them?”
He blinked, his amber eyes searching yours as if he could find all the answers there now.
You smiled lopsidedly, “You can think of all that later though,” you said softly, reaching into the crevice of the rock wall and plucking a small, ripe fruit that hung low. His eyes watched you peel it with nimble fingers. “But right now? The water is cool, the fish are annoying, and you can rest your mind. Try being here for five minutes.”
You gave him the fruit and when he took it, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering in a way that wasn't for show. He ate it slowly, watching you as if you were a piece of the puzzle he found after a long search. The silence was warm, humming with a new, dangerous kind of energy.
“You think it could be that simple?” he asked, his voice a low vibration.
“I think you make it too hard,” you laughed, feeling a sudden surge of playfulness. You stepped back, the water splashing around your chest. “I’ll bet a week’s worth of weaving that I can reach the falls before you!”
Before he could answer, you dove, your body disappearing into the water.
Neteyam stood there for a heartbeat, stunned. He didn't check the treeline. He didn't look back toward the other hunters. He didn't think about his father's expectations or the violent clan at the border. He simply dove in after you.
He caught up to you just as you reached the white water of the falls. You surfaced, gasping for air and laughing, only to find him right there, his eyes bright with a genuine, carefree light you had never seen before. You panicked at the sight of him, though, shrieking and kicking the hand that held your ankle. He barked a laugh, deep and resonant, that even he knows he hasn't laughed that way before. He reached out again, his hand finding yours under the water, squeezing it before pulling you to him. For the first time, he wasn't holding you so people would notice. He was holding you so you wouldn't drift away.
That night, as you both walked back to the village, Neteyam’s hand stayed on your waist even after you had passed the last group of onlookers. When you saw Ka’ani appeared near the communal fire, looking particularly striking in her new top and loincloth that seemed to match the feathers in her hair, Neteyam didn't even turn his head even after you pointed it out. He was too busy listening to you describe the specific shade of teal the river turns into when the moons are at a particular shade. There's lightness in his chest that made him feel like he was flying.
Several nights later, Neteyam moved through the crowd with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there days prior. The communal dinner was buzzing with different conversations, but for him, it was merely a background, his eyes locked on your form, looking like a man who had finally found the trail home.
Earlier that afternoon, the Council had been tense. Jake and the elders focused on battle plans, on dispatching warriors to fight when necessary. Neteyam saw how the council, including him, lack the sight you have to see things differently. He didn't know where it was coming from, but his chest was puffing with full confidence on the idea you had given him, that when he spoke of dialogue, of the displaced clan’s desperation, and of communal aid rather than battles that would only end in loss, his voice was laced with certainty.
Jake had looked at his son with a mixture of surprise and pride. “That is a path well thought of, Neteyam,” he said.
“You think like a true leader of the people now, son,” Neytiri had added, her hand resting on his shoulder. “You have grown.”
Neteyam had offered them a small, humble smile. “I cannot take the credit, Mother. It was a good friend who gave me the perspective I needed,” he said.
Neytiri tilted her head. “Oh? Who is this friend?” she asked.
Neteyam had looked at his mother. It was the easiest question he’d been asked, but it strike him quite deeply that he didn’t know what to say. “Someone I... trust deeply.”
Now, standing in the glow of the fire, Neteyam didn't even pause to greet the other hunters who called out to him. He made a beeline for the corner where you sat, tucked away with your latest weaving. When you looked up, your eyes widened at the sight of the massive, genuine grin splitting his face.
“They accepted it,“ he said, dropping down beside you, his presence instantly making your corner feel warmer. “The envoys will be sent at first light. My father and the elders... actually listened. We’re calling a council of all the neighboring clans to help the displaced.”
You felt a swell of pride in your chest, your grin matching his. “See? Sometimes, you need to rest your mind and your soul, clear it until it is still water,“ you gestured in the air and be watched you with a lazy smile. “Only then can you see the path clearly.“
Neteyam’s gaze was soft, lingering on your face in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was no longer the calculated look of someone directing a performance, it was the look of someone truly seeing you. You tear your gaze away, picking at the nuts on your leaf plate.
“I have something for you,” he murmured, reaching into the small pouch at his waist. He held out his hand, palm up, revealing a mountain of perfectly ripe berries, the kind that only grow on the highest, most dangerous ledges.
You gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out for one. “Neteyam, these are rare. How did you—”
“I was scouting the upper ridges,” he lied effortlessly, though his eyes twinkled with the truth of the effort he’d put into finding them just for you. “They’re all yours. Take them.”
You popped one into your mouth, the burst of sweetness making you hum. Neteyam let out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you enjoy the small gift. He didn't even notice the silence that had fallen over the nearby tables as they all watched him dote on the girl whose voice they rarely heard.
From across the fire, Ka’ani felt the roasted meat in her mouth turn to ash. She couldn't even swallow. She had been so sure of what Neteyam wanted, sure that it was her in her strength and vitality. She was merely trying to break at his carefully cold facade, but he never did give her the satisfaction of seeing it.
But as she watched him now, she saw the way he leaned toward you, his body instinctively closing off the rest of the world to keep you in his private circle. She saw the way he laughed, unguarded, soft, and intimate. She had never seen that light in his eyes directed at her. She had never seen him look at anyone with such... peace.
Her fingers dug into the bark of her seating mat. This wasn't a game anymore. The challenge she thought she was winning had been forfeited by the man she wanted most, and the realization made her blood boil with a jealousy that was no longer a performance. As fot Neteyam, he has long forgotten to look if Ka’ani even had her eyes on them, and tonight, he had forgotten she was even there.
Days later, you were at the washing stream, submerging your fibers in the cool water. You were thinking too much of Neteyam and the ride you had on his ikran last night when he brought you to the Hallelujah Mountains, but your peace was disrupted with the presence of another. You stopped and turned around, your breath hitching when you saw Ka’ani step out from behind a massive fern.
“Ka’ani,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. You adjusted the empty leaf plate in your hands, refusing to cower.
“How does it feel?” she sneered, pacing a slow circle around you, her tail lashing behind her. “To be the little pet? To be the girl Neteyam uses to get a reaction from me? You think those smiles of his mean anything? You think that look in his eyes is real?” She let out a mocking laugh. “He’s a warrior. The future Olo’eyktan. Do you think think I don’t know what he’s doing? He wants me, and he’s using a quiet mouse like you to punish me for playing hard to get.”
You pursed your lips to stop yourself from chuckling. This is comedy to you, but you also feel guilty that she seems to be really upset. If only she weren’t being mean, you’d have advised her to go to Neteyam and talk to him properly, so that they can fix things between them.
“If you are so certain of that, Ka’ani,” you said, your voice dropping to a calm, melodic register that seemed to grate on her nerves, “then why are you talking to me?”
Ka’ani froze, her lips pulling back in a snarl.
“If you're so sure he’s yours, go to him,” you continued, stepping closer into her space, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Whine to him. Demand his attention. Tell him to come back to you. Perhaps it will do you better.”
You didn't wait for her to respond, you walked past her, maintaining your composure until you were well out of her sight. You stopped when you’re well away from her, pursing your lips. “Wah... That was a good one from me. That’s literally method acting,” you chuckled to yourself.
At the same time, Neteyam was on patrol through the high canopies of the Omatikaya lands’ borders. Patrols are usually a time of hyper-vigilance for him, he was trained to scan for the unnatural glint of obsidian or the misplaced shadow of a predator. But today, his eyes kept snagging on a bright plant. He spotted a cluster of a familiar stalk, their ribbed skin a good shade of cerulean.
Moons ago, he would have seen them as a slippery obstacle on a landing branch. Now, he found himself hovering his ikran near the cliff edge, reaching out to pluck a single stem. He rubbed the surface, watching the pigment stain his thumb.
This, he thought, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, this is the blue she said looked like the deep water in the eastern seas. He found himself wondering about every plant he passed, not for its toxicity or its strength which he is wont to do as a vigilant hunter, but for how beautiful its hidden colors would be in the eyes of a weaver he keeps thinking about. He didn’t even have names for the shades he collected, but he knew you would find them beautiful.
When he finally returned to hometree, he didn’t head for the warriors' lodge to report in. He went straight to the weaving looms. His heart doing a strange, light hop when he saw your form hunched over a weaving loom. He silently crept up behind you and leaned down to tickle the curve of your ear with the cool tip of the blue plant.
You shrieked, your shoulders jumping as you nearly dropped your bone needle. You whirled around, your eyes wide but when you saw Neteyam, standing there with that lazy, genuine grin, you glared but still laughed.
“My work will be ruined because of you,” you breathed, clutching your chest.
“I thought a weaver's hands were supposed to be steady,” he teased, his voice low, handing you the blue stalk. “I saw this on the ridge. Is it the one that turns to ink when you boil it?”
You took the plant, your fingers brushing his. “It is. I.. I'm surprised you remembered.”
“I remember everything you say,” he said, and for a second, the air between you felt thick and heavy with a truth that had nothing to do with your deal. He tore his gaze away when his cheeks burned at the realization of what he said.
Before he could lose his footing, an elder weaver called out from the circle, asking you to venture into the lower groves to find specific climbing fibers for the council’s new tapestry.
“I'll accompany you,” Neteyam said before you could even reach for your basket.
As you walked into the dappled light of the forest, your fear of the ruse ending began to fade, replaced by the sheer comfort of his presence. You started to ramble, and Neteyam, as you have discovered in the past weeks, was a good listener. He didn't interrupt, or patronize. He simply watched you with a curious, steady gaze that made you feel... heard.
“You see that?” you said one afternoon, pointing to a cluster of deep crimson berries clinging to a damp log. “Most people think they’re just for eating, but if you crush them with a bit of limestone and the sap from a yellow stalk, you get a purple that looks like the sky before the sun sets. It’s the only color that stays after the fiber is boiled.”
Neteyam leaned in, peering at the berries as if they were a new species of prey.
“And those,” you continued, stumbling over your words in your haste to explain. “If you harvest them when they’re still young, they give a gold that practically glows in the dark. I used it for the elders' ceremonial sashes last year. Everyone thought I’d traded with the reef clans for it, but it was just right here, under our feet, being stepped on.”
You laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the trees, but when you realized you were rambling, you quickly shut your mouth, touching your lips.
“Sorry. I’m talking too much,“ you gripped the basket hard.
Neteyam stopped walking. He turned to you with a genuine frown on his face. “You can talk my ears off. I’ve spent my whole life looking at the forest for threats or targets. I never realized how much I’m missing what was right in front of me.” He chuckled, a low vibration in his chest. “I found myself looking at different plants lately, wondering if it was the right kind of hue for your weaving.”
The admission was bold and he didn’t even feel shame even though he did feel his cheeks burn. He was thinking of you when you weren't together. The deal was working, but the lines were blurring so fast he doesn’t even care about the reason it began.
Weeks later, the success of the sturmbeest hunt was the reason for the thrumming of drums and chanting of the Omatikaya warriors dancing in the hometree’s communal clearing. High on the central dais, the Olo’eyktan’s voice carried over the throng as he announced the success of the council’s efforts to begin a dialogue with the displaced clan that has been disrupting the way of lives not only of the people, but that of the neighboring clans as well.
The chieftains of the other forest clans had apparently agreed to convene in a Great Council with the envoys returning with messages of unity. Neteyam stood beside you in the crowd, his shoulder brushing your arm. The rigid, perfect posture of a mighty warrior was gone, replaced by a relaxed stance he only seemed to find when he was within your orbit.
“You did it,” you whispered, grinning up at him.
Neteyam looked down at you, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “We did it,” he corrected softly. “I was ready to lead a war party until you handed me that fruit and told me to breathe. I would have missed the obvious path if you hadn't been standing there to point it out.”
You shrugged, picking a berry out of the leaf bowl he gave you. “So, what happens now?” you asked. “Now that the chieftains have agreed?”
“The next step may be the hardest,” Neteyam said, his expression turning thoughtful. “We have to send someone to the displaced clan. Not to fight, but to invite their Olo’eyktan. Someone has to show them we aren't their enemies and that we’ll help them settle and get back to their own feet.”
You looked at him, admiring the way the light caught the beads you’d given him which he had immediately put in his braids. “You should go, Neteyam.”
He blinked, looking surprised. “Me? My father will likely send an experienced diplomat, or perhaps a senior warrior.”
“No,” you insisted, stepping closer. “You’re the one who suggested it to the council. It’s a great opportunity for you to hone your diplomatic skills. You’re going to lead this people one day, and this might not be the last time a clan is desperate or angry. If you go, you’ll learn a lot.”
Neteyam went quiet, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He listened to you as if every word you spoke was important. “You really think I can do it?”
“I know you can,” you said firmly. “You have the heart for it.” You looked at your berries again, eating more of it.
The wind shifted then, kicking up a swirl of fine wood-dust from the dancefloor. You winced, your hand flying to your eye as you felt a sharp things.
“Ow—wait, something’s in my eye.”
“Don’t rub it,” Neteyam said immediately. His hands were suddenly on your face, his touch firm but incredibly gentle as he cupped your jaw. “Look at me. Keep it open.”
You looked up at him, your vision watering and blurred. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, and blew a soft, steady breath across your eye to clear the dust.
“Is that better?” he whispered, blowing another.
You chuckled as you blinked several times, your heart doing a frantic dance in your chest. “It’s just a bit of dust, Neteyam, you look so serious,” you said, smiling.
He stared at you, still not pulling away and when you didn’t move your head, he tilted his and pressed his lips to yours. It was deep, soft, and carried the weight of his yearning in the past moons. He didn’t know how long he had wanted to do that, but the softness of your lips is making him melt like candle wax.
In your belly, it felt like a hundred forest ikrans had suddenly taken flight. You felt giddy, almost lightheaded, but the thought of the deal flickered in your mind. When he pulled back just a fraction to let you breathe, your eyes pierced through him and spotted Ka’ani across the fire, her face fuming as she watched Neteyam’s back, specifically how he was bent at the waist just so he could kiss you.
“She’s looking...” you murmured against his lips, your voice a shaky mess.
Neteyam’s mind was hazy, drugged by the taste of your lips. His brows furrowed. “Who?” he asked, his voice a gravelly rumble as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands tightening on your jaw.
You closed your eyes, feeling the spark of his skin against yours. “Ka’ani...”
“And?” he responded, his nose nuzzling yours before he angled his head to kiss you more firmly. “Open up...”
“Uhm, about what? I mean, she talked to—”
Neteyam let out a low, vibrant chuckle that vibrated through your lips. “Your mouth, space cadet.”
Before you could even process what he meant, he darted his tongue out and licked at the seam of your lips. Your head reared back in genuine shock though, your eyes popping wide open.
“That was...” you sputtered, your face turning a deep, embarrassed crimson. “Why did you lick me? Neteyam!”
He barked a deep, resonant laugh, a real, belly-deep sound that made his whole frame shake. The sight of your shocked expression was too much for him. You tried to maintain your dignity, but his joy was too infectious.
“It’s a sweet gesture!” he laughed, reaching out to pull you back toward him.
“What? Like a fwampop?” you asked, but you were already giggling, the two of you leaning against each other and laughing so hard you forgot the rest of the clan was even there.
The festival fire continued to crackle, but for the rest of the night, Neteyam didn't leave your side. He followed you to the communal food pits when you offered to help the cooks, not letting you carry the heavy food trays so you just rambled about anything you could think of. Every time your hand brushed his, or you leaned in to tell him a secret about one of the dancers, he looked at you with a gaze so heavy and warm.
The next morning, the festival fog had settled over the village, but Neteyam was already awake and waiting by the weaving looms. He was standing there with a slightly large, intricately carved wooden bobbin. Something he spent days working on, but he won’t tell you that.
“Bobbin?” you asked with a huge smile when he gently handed it to you.
He shrugged nonchalantly, as if coming here early in the morning before his patrol to bring you something he had worked on for days meant nothing. “I saw you struggling with the one that kept snagging your thread,” he said. His fingers lingered on yours as you accepted it, his thumb tracing the back of your hand in a slow caress.
“Wow... This is perfect, Neteyam,” you said, beaming up at him as marveled at the craftsmanship.
He stared at you, fighting the urge to punch the air or beat up his chest as if he won a huge prize.
“You really didn't have to. Do you not have patrol?” you asked.
“I have,” he said. But he wanted to see you. Talk to you about last night, to clarify that the kiss had nothing to do with your deal.
“Alright, then. I’ll see you at lunch,” you said, your attention already focused on your new bobbin. He stood there for a few more seconds, just watching you, his ears twitching at the sound of your voice.
Later that afternoon, though, the rain began to pour while you were in the forest, the raindrops caching you near the lower groves. You tried to shield your basket of dyed fibers with your own body but just as heavy drops soaked your braids, you saw a familiar figure coming, holding a massive, broad leaf.
“Neteyam?” you uttered in surprise.
He had a boyish grin on as he held the leaf over your head. He was getting soaked, the rain slicking down his blue skin and making his muscles gleam, but he didn't seem to care. He stepped so close that his chest was almost touching your shoulder, the heat from his body acting as a shield against the chill.
“How did you even know I was here?” you asked, chuckling and pulling him close so he won’t get wet.
“I think I already know your routines,” he said, smirking playfully, though his voice was thick with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He reached out and tucked a wet strand of braid behind your ear, his touch far more lingering than it needed to be. His eyes dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to yours, as though searching for something.
You tear you gaze away. “I swear, you’re going to catch a cold! And you’re all muddy. What if Ka’ani sees you? You always have to be in character, you know?” you exclaimed, trying to push the leaf more toward his side.
Neteyam’s smile faltered for a second, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he masked it with a soft chuckle. “Right. The act.”
He guided you back toward the shelter of the Hometree, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back. As you walked, he intentionally slowed his pace, pulling you closer to avoid a puddle. When you reached the dry roots of the tree, he didn't immediately let go. He leaned down, his face close to yours.
“Do you really think I'm doing all this for the audience?” he asked, his golden eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like a plea.
Your brows furrowed, panic rising in you before laughing nervously, patting his arm and moving away into the shelter of the hometree’s canopy. “Well, you're a very dedicated actor, ‘Teyam. I have to hand it to you. Everybody believes us,” you said with a huge smile.
Neteyam went still. He stared at you, his hand still in the air, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he let out a long, slow sigh, his shoulders dropping just an inch. “I suppose I am dedicated,” he said quietly, a sad, lopsided smile touching his lips.
“I’m just glad I can help you with this. I’ve never had an actual friend, you know?” you said brightly, grabbing your basket from him. “See you at dinner? I heard they’re serving the smoked fish you like.”
Neteyam watched you walk away, your silhouette disappearing into the winding ramp. He looked down at the hand that had held the leaf, his fingers still tingling from the brief contact with your skin. “Damn it...” he whispered to the empty air. This isn’t an act anymore and he doesn’t know how to cross the threshold between the stage and the reality.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“No way! You can't move there, that's against the rules!” Lo’ak barked, leaning over the board.
“You’re not one to talk about rules!” Spider countered, reaching for your game piece to help you. “Go on, girl, take his territory. Do it!”
You laughed, your face flushed with the kind of rowdy joy you usually only heard from a distance before. You slammed your piece down, successfully “capturing” Lo’ak’s base. You turned to Spider and Lo’ak, throwing up a hand for a high-four. “Did you see that?“
Spider barked a laughter. “Tell him, ‘suck it!’”
“Suck it?” you repeated with a confused smile.
The word had barely left your lips when the air in the room seemed to shift. Neteyam, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar watching you with a soft, protective smile as he sharpen his bows suddenly went rigid. He looked at Lo’ak and Spider, who were both chuckling, explaining to you what it meant.
“Hey, don't look at us,” Lo’ak muttered, though his tail was twitching with mischief. “She’s just part of the crew now, brother. One of the guys.”
Neteyam pushed off the pillar, stepping into the circle. He ignored the snickering from Lo’ak and Kiri’s knowing smirk. “She is not one of the guys,” Neteyam hissed under his breath.
You turned to him, still grinning from your victory. “Neteyam,” you called and his ears twitched at your soft voice. “Are you angry?”
He blinked, shaking his head right away. “No, no, of course not,” he told you, his eyes softening but a flitter of reprimanding gaze to Lo’ak and Spider promised later. He had just introduced you to them more than a week ago, for Eywa’s sake, and now, they are already teaching you the wrong things!
“You're teaching her the wrong things,” Neteyam told the two later that night when you left the small kelku they created for their games.
“Brother, I think she’s enjoying just fine. I’ve seen her before, she’s usually alone. I’m sure Lo’ak and Spider are just who she needs,” Kiri said,
“Right! She’s really fun. Just yesterday, we played with squid fruit by the river and she threw a mashed handful on my face. Look, I still have stains all over!“ Spider said, pointing at his pink-stained face.
“What?” Neteyam replied, horrified, remembering the stain on your temple that he saw last night. “Just what are you two—”
Lo’ak snicked. “Bro,“ he put a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Don’t be too grumpy. You said you want her to have more friends and we are her friends now,“ he grinned.
Neteyam let out a huff, rolling his eyes. He understands this. You’d told him you have never had an actual friend and he thought he could remedy that. He’d give you everything, if he could.
A few days later, he insisted on coming with you to the forest and you agreeed, knowing you will have to pass by the training grounds where Ka’ani could be and she was indeed around, her eyes following Neteyam as if she’s waiting for him to spare her a glance but he was focused on the path ahead, oblivious or uncaring to her longing stares.
“Ka’ani was looking at you,“ you grinned up at him, nudging his side with your elbow.
You saw his brows furrowed for a moment and then his face hardened. You pushed your lips forward. You assumed it was because Ka’ani still didn’t go and talk to him. The woman is fierce warrior, she was probably too proud to see that as an option. She wants Neteyam to come to her. To her credit, you had not seen her in the company of man in the past weeks... You wondered if Neteyam has realized that.
“You know... I noticed Ka’ani has not been hanging out with guys lately? Have you noticed that?“ you asked, angling your head to look up at him as you rambled, “What if she’s just waiting for you to go and talk to her? I think that’s what she wants. She talked to me, you know? She was mad, so I think she was jealous, isn’t that great—”
“She talked to you? And she was mad?” he turned to you, his face etched with both anger and worry.
You grinned. “Yes. I can tell she was jealous—”
“Did she hurt you?”
“No, she didn’t...” you said. “She was just angry, because the act is working—”
You saw the bone in his jaw tick as if he was clenching his teeth. “Let’s not talk about her.”
Your lips pushed forward and you shrugged, listening instead to the soft crunch of dried leaves breaking beneath your feet. Neteyam fell quiet then, his tail twitching with a restlessness that told you something was weighing on him. You walked faster to match his face, pressing a palm on his chest which made him stop walking... and breathing, too.
“What’s bothering you?” you asked, standing in front of him and feeling his chest slowly deflate.
This is crazy. He has never noticed girls’ voices before, but now, they could probably use yours to cool him off. Your voice caresses him and your laugh sounds like bells in his ear. He wouldn’t have said a word if a different person had asked him, but you always have a way to make him open his mouth and just talk.
“The council... they are advising against it,” he said, his voice heavy. “They think sending me to the displaced clan as an envoy is too much risk, because they see me as a target, not a diplomat.”
Your eyes searched his face and he felt warm inside. “And what does your father say?”
He let out a frustrated sigh and your hand caressed his chest. His hand rose to catch your hand, pressing it against his lips. “He doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He just listens and only then he’ll decide. I’m worried he’ll take their advice,“ he looked at you.
You huffed a breath, patting his chest, and giving him a supportive smile. “Then remind them, Neteyam, that you are no longer a child to be shielded. At your age, your father was already Olo’eyktan. You have to learn diplomacy just as much as any other leader. It wouldn't do you any good to be a leader who is ill-equipped in the discussions of peace.”
Neteyam’s gaze softened, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he looked at you. You removed your hand but he caught it again. “Thank you... for always sharing my burden. I don't think I could have faced them today without hearing that.”
You chuckled, swinging your joined hands lightly. “Bro, it’s nothing! That’s what friends are for, as Spider says,” you beamed at him before turning back to the path ahead, missing the way his face completely dropped.
His smile faltered, and then it deadpanned. It was a total double-kill. Bro and friends in a single breath. You might as well have just shot him in the head and he would have taken it lighter. He huffed, his tail lashing once in irritation as he followed after you.
“I’m not your 'bro,'” he said, suddenly reaching forward to grab your basket from your arm.
Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you laughed at his sudden grumpiness. “Silly! We’re all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Great Mother,” you said, lightheartedly twirling as you walked, enjoying the dappled sunlight. You didn't even notice how his eyes narrowed as he watched you move through the forest with no care in the world, seemingly oblivious to how much Lo’ak and Spider were ruining his life with their vocabulary lessons.
He had reached his limit.
Before you could twirl again, Neteyam stepped toward you. He reached out, gently but firmly grabbing your arm. Your eyes widened in surprise as he guided you backward, gently pushing you against the trunk of a nearby tree. You looked up at him, your breath catching. His face was inches away from yours, his golden eyes burning with a sudden, fierce intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
“Neteyam?” you whispered, your eyes dropping to his lips before you stupidly, unconsciously licked yours.
He leaned down, and when you didn't pull away, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was deeper and more demanding than the one at the festival. He licked your lips again and you chuckled against his mouth but when his tongue darted inside yours, you made a sound that sounded so womanly it surprised even you. His tongue tangled with yours as his lips devoured yours.
Everything made you feel hot, and weirdly, tingly between your legs that you had to close your thighs together.
When he finally pulled back, his hands moved to cup your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said, his voice low and trembling.
You blinked. “Now?”
“There are things that needs to be dealt with first,“ he said, caressing your jaw. You nodded.
The thing that needed dealing was Ka’ani. He didn’t know the extent of the conversation you had with the huntress, but he knew how Ka’ani talks, and the fact tha you said she was mad solidified what he knew. You two walked back to Hometree, with him carrying your basket for you. The elders giggled at the sight of him following you around like a loyal pet, and when he left with a lingering brush of his thumb against your cheek, they nosed around and asked if the warrior was truly courting you like they kept hearing from the youth.
“No, he’s not... He’s a friend,” you said, noticing the arm band on your basket. You took it and thought perhaps Neteyam had left it there.
You followed after him, thinking he hasn’t gone far yet, but when as stood in the Hometree’s shadowed entrance, you saw him approach Ka’ani near the training grounds, your breath hitching. Ka’ani tilted her head and smirked at him, turning on her heels into the privacy of the deeper woods. You saw Neteyam follow and you tucked yourself behind a massive fern, your pulse thrumming in your ears.
In the dimmed bioluminescence of the forest, Neteyam stood in front of the huntress, seeing that Ka’ani was already smiling, a triumphant, sharp look. “No need to say sorry, Neteyam, if that’s how you’ll start your piece. Because I know,” she said. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing. You’ve used that weaver girl to make me jealous, to straighten me up. I get it, so you can drop the act now. I’ve learned my lesson. I know it’s me you want—”
“I do not want you, Ka’ani,” Neteyam’s voice cut through her arrogance like a blade. “I never even thought I wanted you. Yes, you are a strong and fierce warrior, and I once thought that was what I needed by my side for when I lead one day... but I didn’t realize just how much I needed to see and be seen.“
“And have I not seen you?” Ka’ani snarled, her tail lashing. “We trained together, Neteyam! We fought, we hunted! I was always here! You just spared that girl a glance literally like yesterday and you think she’s perfect for you—”
“You don’t know me in the ways that matter, Ka’ani,” he countered. “I’ve had more connection with a rock, and I don't know why I ever entertained the thought that I needed someone strong by my side when strength is not the only thing this clan needs.”
Ka’ani’s face contorted, her pride wounded in front of the man she wanted so much and thought wanted her, too. “We can get to know each other! I regret it, alright? I regret playing around. I’ll focus—”
“Don’t regret what you did,” Neteyam said. “I’m glad you did it, because not only did it prevent me from making a huge mistake, it also brought me to her. And now, I have the rest of my life in front of me, bright and clear as day.” He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping to a warning growl. “Have a good life, Ka’ani. And do not ever approach my woman to tell her nonsense again.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Ka’ani watching him in deep contempt. All those last words he said not to do? She will do it. Back at Hometree, you sat by your loom, your fingers trembling as you picked up a strand of gold thread. You forced a smile onto your face, practicing the words of congratulations you would give him, even as you felt like the sky was turning a purple far deeper and darker than any storm. That was probably what he was going to talk about with you...
Outside, Neteyam walked back to Hometree with a sense of purpose he’d never felt before. He headed straight for the weaving looms. Tonight, you will be his. He’d tell you the act ends here and you two will start something real. No act from here on end. No games. Just the two of you.
But he never made it to the looms.
A hunter intercepted him midway, out of breath and frantic. “Neteyam! The night patrol was ambushed by the violent clan. Two are wounded. Your father is calling for the council.”
The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous. The soft, yearning man disappeared, replaced by the disciplined warrior. He hurried to the council, standing before Jake with a firm resolve. “I’ll go,” Neteyam insisted. “Fighting would be the last thing I’ll do. I’ll talk to them, Dad. You call for the chieftains to convene and I’ll convince them to come.”
He left within the hour, riding on his ikran, but his heart was back at Hometree, in the weaving looms... He thought he’d be back by light, but he didn’t know he’d be gone for days.
You had been crying. You learned that Neteyam left for a mission regarding the displaced clan, so even though you were heartbroken, you went to the Tree of Souls to pray for his journey. Your vulnerability was too obvious as you walk back to Hometee, and in it, Ka’ani found her opening. You were so close to Hometree when she stepped out from the shadows, a satisfied smirk on her face.
“Hi,” she greeted. “I’m pretty sure you’d heard of Neteyam going to battle... Did he say good bye to you?”
You lowered your gaze and shook your head.
“Where do you think he was last night before he went to battle?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock pity. “He was with me... getting his strength from me.” She stepped closer to you to tilt your head up. “He apologized to me, weaver. For losing sight of what’s truly for him... which is me. He loves me, which I’m sure you know... And he did make me feel loved... see?”
She tilted her head back, exposing the dark hickeys on the side of her neck. To your untrained eyes, it simply looked like bruises, but you knew what you were talking about. Pain bloomed in your chest and you felt ashamed for feeling it. You’re not supposed to feel it. You knew where this is leading to, you knew it was all an act. This woman in front of you was the only reason he approached you.
Ka’ani giggled. “Neteyam was insatiable. He missed me, as you can see... and now, I’m still sore, honestly,” she sighed, looking at you with that mock pity again. “Do you get it? He’s back with me... After he strayed. I hope you can respect that?”
You blinked, your lungs feeling as though they had turned to stone. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until she turned and walked away, and you felt like you might collapse, but the sound of Spider’s familiar voice cut through the silence. He came running toward you, laughing, with Tuk trailing just behind him.
“Was that Ka’ani?” Spider asked, his smile faltering. “What did you two talk about?”
You forced yourself to blink, the world slowly coming back into focus. “Uh... nothing. What are you two doing?”
“Playing tag!” Tuk squealed, slamming into your waist and hugging you tight. You automatically reached down to ruffle her braids. “Tag! You’re it!” she shouted, tapping your belly with a giggle before darting away.
Your soul wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark corner and let the tears fall, but looking at Tuk’s bright face and Spider’s expectant grin, you couldn't bear to be the killjoy.
“Oh, you’re going to get it now!” you called out, forcing a smile as you chase after them.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Neteyam had done the impossible. He had returned not just with his warriors intact, but with the promise of a unified forest. The first pace of the Great Council’s efforts to help the displaced clan find a dwelling land, he had secured a future for the displaced and for that, he was their hero.
The clan had a small celebration for it, but as the smell of roasted meat filled the air, Neteyam’s eyes were only on the winding path toward your family’s hut. He hadn't seen you in the crowd. He hadn't seen you at the landing where he expected you would be. Waiting for him. Kiri did tell him you were sick, though, which had sent a cold spike of dread that halted his celebratory high.
He didn't wait for his father’s final toast before slipping away, feeling a worry he didn't even feel during his mission. He arrived at your family’s hut, breathless, practically vibrating with the need to pull you into his arms and tell you that he had thought of nothing but your face as he sat among the displaced.
When you emerged from the flap, he froze. You were pale and your eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the telltale signs of the days you spent in quiet agony. His brows furrowed, his feet moving before he could even think. He stopped when he saw you step back though.
“I... I’m sick,” you said when you saw the question in his eyes. You didn't look at him with the warmth he’d been dreaming of. You looked at him as if he were a threat.
He stepped toward the platform, his hand reaching out instinctively. “I know. Kiri told me. But what made you sick? Why are you crying?" His voice was thick with a worry so raw it made your chest ache. “I haven't even been gone for a week, and this is what I return to?”
You stepped back into the shadows of the hut, a sharp scowl flickering across your face. “I... I don't know why I got sick. But I do know I want to lay down and rest. So if there's nothing else, I’ll go do it.”
Before he could utter another word, you grabbed the woven flap and slammed it shut. Neteyam stood there in the silence, staring at the closed entrance. His brows furrowed, his head tilting in genuine, painful confusion. He had expected a hug, a laugh, perhaps even a repeat of that soul-searing kiss in the forest. Instead, he had been shut out like a stranger. The victory he had carried on his shoulders suddenly felt hollow. For this, he didn't return to the celebration at all. He walked back to the his family’s hut in a daze, laying awake for hours wondering what could have poisoned the air in his absence.
The next day was filled with council meetings. He sat through hours of strategy and relocation discussions, but his mind was in the looms which he would check every time there's a chance, ready to scold you for working while ill, but your spot was empty. It wasn't until the following morning that he found you. You were sitting at your spot, your movements stiff and mechanical. And it seemed like you were waiting, too, because you looked at him the moment he stepped into the looms.
“Let’s talk,” he said, his voice firm, trying to reclaim some shred of authority to hide how much his heart was racing.
You stood up, your face impassive. “We do need to talk.” you said, your voice cold and sharp.
He stopped in his tracks, staring at you for more than a minute. For the first time in his life, after facing predators, raids, and the weight of a legacy, Neteyam felt a genuine, cold prickle of fear. But as he looked at the fire in your eyes, a small, reckless part of him couldn't help but admire it. He feels crazy. You are so hot when you’re mad.
You walked into the forest, feeling even more slighted when you remembered him going in this same route with Ka’ani. You felt his hand on your elbow though, steering you toward a different path instead. You glared at him. “Where are we going?”
The sight of direhorses answered your question though. You saw some warriors riding their mounts and Neteyam whistled for his. You saw Ka’ani among the warriors nearby and saw how her eyes narrowed at the sight of you and Neteyam. Shame rose in you and you tried to wriggle away from Neteyam’s hold, especially when a warrior came jogging toward you.
“Brother, will you not watch the young tame their mounts?“ The warrior asked. “They’ll be here in five minutes.”
The warrior glanced at you and you took your elbow from Neteyam again, but you weren’t able to get away though, because his hand found your waist and pulled you to him.
“No. I got something more important to do,“ Neteyam said. “I’m sure they’ll do well.”
The warrior snickered, “Enjoy then,” he glanced at you meaningfully before nodding to Neteyam, and turning away.
Neteyam’s hand spanned your waist and lifted you up on his direhorse in under ten seconds, making you slightly shriek. He mounted the beast behind you, making tsaheylu with it before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. You tried to move away, but the direhorse had started moving, and in a second, it was running.
The wind roared past your ears as the direhorse ate up the miles, forcing you to lean back against Neteyam’s chest just to stay balanced. You enjoyed the sight during the ride, fighting the urge to move your head away when you felt him pressung a kiss to the crown of your head. You felt sad when he pulled on the reins, already missing the exhilaration of riding and the good view.
Neteyam slid off the mount first before reaching up to lift you down, his movements fluid and sure. He didn't let go immediately, his hands lingered on your waist as he looked around the clearing. He felt a surge of triumph that you hadn't jumped off and bolted, though he felt a twinge of guilt, too, because he’d brought you this far specifically so you couldn't run away.
The glade was breathtaking and it immediately snagged your attention. Under any other circumstances, you would have danced through the high grass, but the weight in your chest kept your feet heavy.
Neteyam turned to you, the light dabbing across his face. “Alright," he whispered, his jaw tightening. “Tell me. What has changed since I left?”
You scowled, the image of Ka’ani’s smug face flashing in your mind. “Are you sure things didn’t change before you left? I’m pretty sure you made up with Ka’ani, and did more than just talking.”
The accusation hit him like a physical blow that his eyes widened, his head snapping back in shock. “I did not ‘make up’ with Ka’ani. Yes, I talked to her, but I simply told her to back off. I told her never to approach you again. Did she talk of nonsense to you again?” He was practically vibrating, his tail lashing behind him.
“Yes, she did! We talked,” you threw back at him. “She showed me the hickeys on her neck, Neteyam! She said she was so sore... because you were insatiable! Because you missed her so much that you had to get your 'strength' from her before you left!”
“What?” The word was a rasp of horror. A visceral disgust washed over his features, his body shivering at the image your words painted. “I did not lay with her. I never did and I never would. Oh, Great Mother... that woman is a huge liar!”
You searched his face. You looked for a flicker of guilt or lie, a shift in his eyes, but all you saw was a man who looked genuinely nauseated by the very idea. You believe him, despite yourself and without your consent, the suffocating clouds over your head began to lighten. He stepped toward you, his hands reaching for your arms, but you crossed them over your chest, refusing to let him in just yet.
“Believe me, please,” he pleaded, his words beginning to tumble over each other in a frantic rush. “That night after we were in the forest, all I did was find her and shut down her delusions. I was so mad that she dared to talk to you, dared to get mad at you, so I told her to back off and never approach you again. I was coming back to you, baby. I was going to tell you our ruse ends there and then. I was going to beg you for a chance to make it real.”
He palmed his face , sounding completely undone.
“But then the incident with our warriors happened and I had to go... Jesus. I was so stupid. I should have gone to you before I left, but I was thinking... I was thinking I probably wouldn't be able to leave at all if you told me you’d give me a chance.”
His heart was beating too fast and to hard against his chest, watching the fire in your eyes finally die out, replaced by a soft heat. You believed him. It wasn't in your nature to stay angry when the truth felt so solid, and you knew Neteyam well enough now to know he would never play around. The fact that Ka’ani had looked so bitter earlier suddenly made sense. She hadn't won anything, she had just tried to burn down your bridge.
You bit your lip, your shoulders finally dropping. “Alright...” you whispered.
Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped into your space, gently wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest. “That’s it? ‘Alright’?” he asked, his voice soft and breathless, his face so close yours.
You pushed your lips forward in a small pout, though you didn't pull away. “I guess I believe you... I don’t think it’s in your character to lie like that.”
A wave of shame washed over you as you realized how quickly you had let Ka’ani’s poison work. You had given him so little confidence, believing a lie over the man you know to be so genuine and kind. But then, you had been protecting yourself; you were in an act, and the lines had been so blurred you didn't know where it all ended.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured “I just... I thought it was still an act. That we were still acting to get her back...”
Neteyam tightened his grip, lowering his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ve long forgotten about the deal. I think I stopped truly caring about it just a week after I started spending my days with you. I just didn't know what it was I was feeling until the thought of it ending and not being with you anymore felt more terrifying than any battle.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb caressing your cheek. “This is why you’ve been crying...”
You pushed your lips forward. You wanted to forget that part! “Let’s just forget it...”
“No, we won’t. You don’t know how much it broke me to see you cry, to see you so gray, and not know why. She hurt you, she meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice hard and his jaw tightening. “And I played a part in it. I should have talked to you, clear everything for us so you would have confidence in me. So you won’t believe her.”
You looked up at him, your hand pressing against his chest to calm him down. “It’s over and done with, Neteyam... What’s important is that we’te okay now. Right?”
He looked down at you, his head tilting. Ka’ani was lucky that you are so kind, but she wasn’t that lucky because he’s not. He leaned down to kiss you, “Right. There will be no more acts and games... Just us.”
You looked up at him, the weight finally gone, and for the first time in days, the light returned to your golden eyes. “Just us.” you beamed at him.
He sucked in a breath, pulling you and tilting your head to kiss you hard. He was a man starved and you could tell with how he's holding and kissing you. He moaned when your tongue licked his lower lip, making him pull his head back to look at you.
“It’s you I missed so much...” he mumbled, kissing you softly. “It’s you I’d be insatiable for... And you I’ll make so sore—”
“Neteyam!” your hand lifted up to clamp around his mouth and he laughed. You shrieked when you felt his warm and wet tongue lick at your palm.
“I know... I’ll court you... Then you'll accept me as your mate... And then you’re in big trouble wth me—”
You groaned, your cheeks burning purple. He kissed your cheek before angling his head to kiss you for real.
The next afternoon, the Sully siblings were in on the plan—though only Kiri truly understood the gravity of it. They had dragged you down to the river, telling you they’ll teach you how to properly splash a person without getting soaked yourself.
“Focus! You have to cup your hand like this,” Spider shouted, sending a wall of water toward a ducking Lo’ak.
You laughed, the sound genuine and bright, completely unaware that Neteyam had quietly slipped away. He had seen Ka’ani heading toward the upper trails, and he wasn't about to let another sun set without finishing this. He intercepted her near the high roots, his silhouette blocking her path. Ka’ani stopped, her smirk faltering when she saw the look on his face. He didn’t look friendly at all, not that he had look friendly the last time they talked, but the hard storm masking his face right now was the look of a man who had seen a threatening the peace.
“Neteyam,” she started, trying to reclaim her cool composure. “I thought you'd be busy with your little weaver.“
“I am busy,” Neteyam said. “I am busy realizing how wrong I was about you. I thought you were a warrior of honor, Ka’ani. I thought that even if you were proud, you were noble. But to purposely hurt a woman who did you nothing wrong? To lie about the most disgusting things just to see her cry—”
Ka’ani’s eyes narrowed, her tail lashing. “I know what I’m doing, Neteyam! You were only using her to straighten me up! I just leveled the playing field. I was reclaiming what was mine—”
“I was never yours,” he cut her off, disgust for her delusions crumpling his face. “There was nothing to reclaim, you had nothing. The life you are living is the one you actively chose. Even if we had tried before, I know I would have quickly realized it would never work, what with our lack of connection. The only thing we shared was the training grounds.”
Ka’ani winced as if he’d struck her. “I... I was just blinded, Neteyam. I was jealous! I was envious. I’m sorry, alright? I was just trying to get you back.”
Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “I wasn’t yours to get back, we had nothing to do with each other. And you’re not really sorry. At least not yet, because you didn't think of taking your words back during the days I wasn't home. You knew she was crying. You knew she was hurting from your lies, and you sat back and enjoyed it. You are only sorry now because I am standing here confronting you.”
Ka’ani opened her mouth to argue, her hands trembling, but no words came out. The truth of his gaze was too heavy to deflect.
“I hope you grow,” Neteyam said, turning on his heel.
“Neteyam, wait!” she called out, sounding frantic as he turned to walk away. “I’m sorry! I’ll go to her right now. I’ll apologize to her! Please... can we still be friends? We’ve known each other our whole lives.”
Neteyam stopped, but he didn't turn around. He looked over his shoulder, his profile sharp against the sunlight filtering through the leaves.
“We were never friends, Ka’ani. You don't see me as a friend. You see me as a prize to be won.” He took a breath, thinking of your laugh echoing by the river. “Friends don’t hurt the people you love. And that is exactly what you did to the woman I love. After that, I don’t think your wish can be possible.”
He left her standing there, the weight of her own choices finally settling on her shoulders. When he returned to the river, he saw you. You were dripping wet, laughing as Tuk tried to climb onto your back.You looked up and caught his eye, beaming at him with a warmth that made his heart feel like it was soaring home.
He didn't say a word about Ka’ani. He just waded into the water, pulled you into a lopsided embrace, and whispered into your ear, “I think it’s time I started that courting I mentioned. Properly.”
And just like that, the moons had drifted by like dust in the wind, and Neteyam had kept his word. He courted you openly and even formally asked your parents for your hand, which they initially did not want to grant him. They think your life wouldn’t be as peaceful if you mated Neteyam instead of a simple man in the clan. Honestly, your parents didn’t know what to do with him. Neteyam was so intense in his courtship to you and your family that, most times, your parents were literally hiding from him. By then, he had already brought your family the finest meat and the rarest fruits, but surprise of your parents’ lives probably came when he brought Jake and Neytiri. He wasn’t really planning to bring them along, it was just... Neytiri is apparently getting impatient over the fact that Neteyam isn’t an official suitor yet, and Jake wanted to relieve your parents of their worries over you being Neteyam’s mate.
And today, the celebration for the new village of the displaced clan felt like the culmination of everything you and Neteyam had built. It seemed so long ago when you two discussed the matter when you were swimming in the river, and now, the clan found a home by the river. The Olo’eyktan of the displaced clan stood before the grand fire. You’d met him only today, but you could already tell the respect he has for Neteyam.
“For too long, we were ghosts in this forest,” the Olo’eyktan started. “We lived like beggars, raiding for sustenance, hurting our brothers and sisters among your clans, and also fearing their spears, but a path was cleared where we saw only hopelessness. Our homes are standing here today because of Neteyam te Suli, our brother of the Omatikaya. Because of him, we have peace. Our children will know only the beauty of the forest and never the tragedy that forced us out of our lands.”
You grinned as the crowd erupted, but Neteyam tried to sink into his seat, his ears pressing back in embarrassment as his arm pulled you to him. He hated the attention, but the chieftains wouldn't have it. They pushed him to the center, where he was forced to give a piece of his mind.
He cleared his throat, his golden eyes immediately finding yours in the crowd as if to ground himself. “The peace you see today was not born in my mind,” he began, his voice steadying as he looked at you. “I am a warrior, I was ready to lead with my bow. But it was my woman who showed me the wisdom in a hand offered instead of an arrow. She gave me the strength to listen when I wanted to fight. If this land is a home today, it is because her heart guided my way.”
Neytiri turned to you and smiled as the men in the crowd roared to tease the warrior they’ve been acquainted with in the past moons. As he strode back to you, pulling you into a deep kiss of victory, a warrior from a different clan hooted from the side. “Careful, Neteyam! Keep your wits about you and don’t let her hit her head, or she might wake up and realize she could leave your ass behind!”
Neteyam let out a deep, resonant laugh, pulling you flush against his side. “I have no intention of ever letting her get far enough to find out!”
As the party reached its high, Neteyam’s eyes found yours, looking at you meaningfully, in a way that made your skin tingle. You raised a brow and he jerked his head toward the dark woods. You pushed your lips forward in a playful pout but tugged his hand anyway, leading him away from the noise and into the glowing embrace of the forest.
You skipped hand in hand, admiring the bioluminescent flora lighting your path and when you reached the secluded bend of the river, the sounds of the festival was nothing but a hum. You turned to him with a grin and, without a word, untied the ties of your beaded top. His hungry eyes followed the movement, his breath hitching as if he has not seen them for a hundred times already. You untied your loincloth next, letting it pool on the floor.
He watched you with an intensity that excited you, and when his own loincloth fell, you bit your lip, seeing of the hard-on you had become quite well-acquainted with over the past moons. The glow of the river and the forest illuminated his handsome face so perfectly your heart hammered against your chest. He is so handsome.
“Hi,” he whispered, his large arms on your waist pulling you close.
Your smile grew to a grin. “You’re silly,” you chuckled, pressing a palm against his muscled chest to gently push him back. “I’m going to swim... why are you holding me?”
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Oh, I think there are other things that need swimming, too,” he teased, his voice dropping as his hand caught yours, bringing it down so you could feel his hardened cock. “Your babies want to swim in you.”
“Neteyam!“ you called, almost swiveling your head around in case someone could hear him. You’ve learned, in the past moons, how lewd he can be with his words but your habit of looking around will probably stay for a few years more.
He angled his head to press a hard kiss against your lips. “What? Don’t you want our kids to have fun time?”
You laughed, the sound like bells in his ears. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “Am I in big trouble again?” you whispered against his ear.
He groaned. “You’re always going to be in big trouble with me if I had my way.”
You smirked, tilting your head. “I want to take care of you tonight...” you mumbled, your hand on his chest caressing his skin and pushing him back.
He raised a brow, always surprised still whenever you show him fire. You pulled him down to kiss him, your lips crashing into his with a hunger that made him vibrate in excitement. He let you push him back against the trunk of a towering tree, letting out a gravelly groan when his head thumped back against the bark.
His hands gripped your waist, pulling you so flush against him that the ridge of his hard-on felt like it was imprinting itself on your belly. With practiced ease, he reached behind himself to bring his queue forward, while his other hand found yours behind you, making you break the kiss for just a second, watching through hooded eyes as the pink tendrils of your kurus began to reach and weave together.
The familiar psychic jolt of his intense love, raw devotion and desire for you flooded your mind, feeling his heart hammering against your ears, echoing the rhythm of your own. His fingers cupped your jaw to kiss you again, ad you smiled against his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing your lips down. You licked and kiss his neck, your palms staying flat on his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart as you kissed your way down over the hard ridges of his stomach.
“My warrior...” you murmured, kissing his lower abdomen.
You peered up at him, seeing his head pressed against the tree, but his eyes were looking down at you. You kissed sharp V-line of his hips before your hand reached out, fisting his girth. Neteyam’s breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping his throat as your hand began to move. The bond between your queues flared, sending waves of his pleasure crashing through the both of you.
“You are celebrated tonight,” you whispered, looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes that contrasted the sinful movement of your hands on him. “I think you deserve a reward, don't you?”
“Baby...” he rasped, his hands fisting as he tried to ground himself.
You didn't give him a chance to respond. You lowered your head, taking him into your mouth with a heat that made his entire body shudder. Through the bond, you felt the exact moment he weakened. His hands flew to your long braids as your mouth started sucking around his girth, your tongue playing with its underside, getting another sharp intake of his breath. You drew back slightly, then plunged deeper, taking more of him down your throat. You worked your mouth, your lips sealing around him that made him tremble. His fingers tightened in your braids in a gentle tug, guiding your movements, urging you faster.
Your tongue swirled, licked, teased, tracing the veins along his length. You felt him grow even harder in your mouth. You pulled back, then swallowed him again, your breath hitching as you felt the wide head deep inside your throat. His hips began to thrust, his hand on your jaw, meeting your eager mouth until you tasted him, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils. Your throat ached, but the pleasure in his groans kept you moving.
“Oh, baby,” he gasped, his body trembling.
His hips bucked, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. You felt the first warm gush of him erupt into your mouth, hot and thick, and you swallowed as his body convulsed, still pouring into you. He groaned deeply, a powerful sound that made you shiver, his fingers digging into your hair as he emptied himself.
He slumped, his breathing ragged. “Enough, my love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, trying to pull your head up.
But you weren’t finished. You wanted to clean him, to savor every last drop. You ignored his pleas, your tongue flicking out, licking away the remnants of his pleasure, tracing the underside of his shaft. You heard his sharp intake of breath, his abdominal muscles tensing again. He was literally fighting to hold onto his strength, and you felt his cock twitch, hardening slightly at your continued ministrations. You ran your tongue along the tip, then sucked gently, drawing out the last of his cum.
“Fuck. I regret teaching you, you know?” he said weakly, his knees buckling.
You glared at him before reluctantly releasing him, your lips glistening. He reached down, pulling you up with a sudden, fierce strength that lifted until your bodies collided. His mouth found yours in a hard, demanding kiss, his tongue plunged into your mouth, mirroring the thrusts of his shaft earlier, tangling with yours. You met him with equal fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer still, your hips instinctively grinding against his.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw and your throat in a fiery path. He lifted you, cradling you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist before he lowered you gently against the soft moss. He knelt above you, his golden eyes devouring your body like a man starved. His hand traced the curve of your waist, then upward, toward your breasts. His fingers brushed against your nipple and you arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one of the pebbled tips, sucking hard. You gasped and shivered, your fingers tangling in his braids, pressing him closer. His tongue swirled around your breast, while his other hand kneaded the other, his thumb circling the aroused tip.
“What a great reward,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your flesh. He suckled hard that it made you arch your back both in ache and pleasure. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same intense attention until you cried out, your body writhing for more.
He pulled away, his eyes hot with a familiar predatory hunger in them. He shifted, kneeling between your legs, which had instinctively parted for him. He leaned down, his mouth moving lower. You moaned, knowing what was coming, your hips lifting in anticipation. His tongue flicked out, tracing the velvety folds of your pussy, already wet with anticipation,
He spread your lips, his tongue plunging directly into your clit, making you arch your back, your fingers scratching at his back. He licked, sucked, and torment, his mouth relentlessly sucking and his tongue playing more than it licks. He used his fingers, too, parting your lips to allowing his tongue full access on you. He tasted you, the salty-sweet essence, a taste that always drove him wild.
“So sweet,” he murmured against your folds his voice a low growl, his tongue flicking faster, harder.
Your breath came in ragged gasps, your legs trembling, wrapping around his head, pressing him deeper into your pussy. You felt the suction of his mouth and the relentless assault of his tongue on your clit, and your orgasm coiled in your belly. You whimpered, unable to form words, only sounds of pure pleasure, your hips bucking as your body shivered with release, leaving you gasping. You felt the soft shudders of your pussy, contracting around his tongue.
He pulled away, moving above you, his hard cock pressing against your folds. You whimpered, still quivering from your orgasm that your pussy was still throbbing and incredibly sensitive. He still pushed though, the head of his cock sliding inside. You moaned and he pushed deeper, stretching you, and filling you completely.
You wrapped your arms around his body that hovered above yours, his eyes locked with yours. He began to move, a slow thrust, then another, pulling almost completely out before plunging back in deep and hard. The sounds of him sliding in and out of your wetness filled the air, mingling with your gasps and his grunts. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, urging him deeper and faster.
He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, lifting you slightly to control the angle, to thrust even deeper. “Harder,” you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your hips bucking to meet his.
He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming a furious assault. He pounded into you, deep and relentless, filling you with every thrust. You felt yourself tightening around him, your muscles clenching. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring. You cried out his name, again and again, as your body convulsed, leaving you gasping, clinging to him.
He groaned, his body trembling above you as he thrusted a few more times, deep, desperate strokes. His body tensed, his seed erupting inside you, hot and thick, filling your womb with your babies that needed swimming. He collapsed onto you, heaving, his breath ragged against your neck. You lay there, your entwined bodies both slick with sweat and release.
He let out a long, shaky exhale, his tail giving one final, exhausted twitch against your leg. With a groan that sounded sated and delirious, he pulled out of you, watching the gush of his heavy and thick cum dripping out of you. “You emptied me,” he mumbled, his voice thick.
You chuckled, breathless. “Complaining, are we? You’re the one who started talking about ‘swimmers’ in the middle of our conversation,” you smirked.
Neteyam let out a dry, boyish laugh, propping himself up on one elbow. He looked down at your stomach, then back at your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I believe in my warriors. They’re fast.”
You groaned, reaching up to swat his chest, but he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Neteyam, if my mother sees me walking back looking like this, I’m going to receive a scolding.”
“Tell her you are a mated woman,” he suggested shamelessly, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest.
“Neteyam... They don’t know that yet. We are following the traditions!” you whisper-shouted playfully. “Beside, what happened to being modest for my parents?” you narrowed your eyes at him.
He laughed, a genuine, chest-shaking sound that made you feel warm all over again. He rolled to his side, his hand grabbing your waist with a renewed look of heat in his eyes that made you groan. You sat up and his head angled to catch the pebbled tip of your breast into his mouth.
“‘Teyam...” your hand clutched at his shoulder.
“Just one more...” he said, his words muffled because he had your flesh in his mouth.
You bit you lip and laid back on the soft moss, spreading your thighs as your hand caressed the soft skin on his back. You watched his large, formidable form hover over you, his thick and long cock already pointing at your pussy as if it knows its target. You shivered at the sight of it, your excitement vibrating in your body. His hand clasped under your knee and pushed your leg back, stretching you before his cock nudged your entrance.
His other hand moved over your pussy, his thumb rubbing your sensitive nub as his length disappeared in you. You moaned a long one, arching your back, offering your rounded breasts to him and he lowered his head to take one into his mouth, his tongue immediately swirling on your nipple. In a sudden, hard movement, his hand on your hips pulled you to him, burying himself to the hilt inside you.
“Ah!” you moaned, your thighs quivering to close around him but he kept them open, restraining both of them tightly befote delivering a series of hard and intense pounding.
You held onto him, your eyes flying open and meeting his. You probably looked so aroused and fucked, because his pupils blew even wider, almost swallowing the gold. Your mouth remained perpetually gaped, releasing jagged breaths and moans as he continued pumping into you. Your hand pressed against his lower abdomen and his thrusts quickened and hardened even more.
He lowered his head to kiss you, his tongue immediately plunging into your open mouth. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his hard muscles contrasting his soft skin until all the sensations he’s giving you pushed you to the edge. He came first, shuddering above you despite his efforts to hold out longer. You hugged him tighter when you felt yourself erupt.
He kissed your neck softly, feeling your body shudder against him, you legs literally quivering as your walls clenched around him to milk him dry. He chuckled, pressing a hard kiss against your jaw. “I told you. Big trouble.”
You let your head fall on the mossy ground, feeling him lick the skin on your exposed neck. “I think I can handle the trouble,” you murmured. “As long as it’s yours.”
He squeezed your hip, giving you a lingering kiss. “I love you so much, space cadet,” he mumbled. “Now, let’s put on act that we just swam in the river and are too tired to return to the festival.”