pairings: aged up ao’nung x metkayina female reader
notes: ao’nung is a womanizer, reader is shy & pure, ao’nung is tatted, angst with comfort, miscommunication, ao’nung & reader in their own turmoil, tsireya a literal sweetheart, slow burn but worth it cuz he’ll be obsessed soon, selective amnesia, ao’nung being a shameless yearner, tsaheylu, happy ending. smut & suggestive themes, p in v sex, ao’nung a muncher, corruption, virgin reader, tummy bulge, breeding.
i do not see ao’nung as a womanizer cuz one thing’s for sure is that he is like his father, a one man woman only. this portrayal of him is just for the plot cuz it’s fun to play around with personality of a character into something entirely different. don’t be an idiot yapping how they wouldn’t do this or that, this is fiction and i am not writing in their canon personality.
word count: 28.1k
prompt: you had always found ao’nung’s way with women to be disgusting, you believe sex should only be for the one you are mated with. everyone hoped he would change and it seems as if eywa had answered when you woke up calling the man you are disgusted with as your mate.
an: the lack of ao’nung & lo’ak fics in this fandom is making me tweak whenever i scroll. it does not help that ppl are wrong tagging, thought i found a good ao’nung or lo’ak fic after scrolling for god knows how long then it’s entirely a fic for another man with their tags smh
credits to @uzmacchiato (divider)
The sun hangs low over the reefs of Awa'atlu, casting a warm golden shimmer across the water that laps gently at the woven platforms of the village.
You sit cross-legged on a mat of dried kelp, your form draped in a simple top of woven fibers that clings lightly to the gentle swell of your breasts, the fabric shifting with each breath. Your wide hips settle comfortably against the mat, a natural curve that draws lingering glances from the warriors passing by. Their eyes tracing the smooth teal skin of your thighs before they force themselves to look away. However you pay them no mind, your reserved nature a quiet shield. Your pretty face, framed by loose waves of dark hair adorned with small shells, turned toward your best friend.
Tsireya.
She's perched beside you, her laughter bubbling up like the foam on the waves. She’s the only one who can coax the playful spark from you, drawing out giggles and shared secrets that make the world feel lighter. Today though, her expression carries a mix of exasperation and fondness as she leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You won't believe the earful my brother got from Mother and Father last night. They were pacing the marui going on about his... habits."
You tilt your head, a soft smile tugging at your full lips, though your wide eyes hold a flicker of disapproval. Ao'nung, Tsireya's brother, the future Olo'eyktan, has always been a topic laced with complexity for you.
"What did they say this time?" You ask, your voice gentle as your fingers idly twisted a strand of seaweed while you listen.
Tsireya sighs rolling her eyes with dramatic flair, her tail flicking against the platform.
"The usual. That he's too old for this nonsense, that as the eldest and heir, he needs to be mindful of his actions. Ever since he passed his Iknimaya, it's like he's on a mission to bed half the village. Father said why must he tarnish his reputation with such recklessness and Mother was just staring him down."
She mimics Ronal's glare and you can't help but chuckle softly, the sound light and rare, reserved for these moments with her. You nod as your expression turned thoughtful, the sea breeze lifting strands of your hair to brush against your high cheekbones.
"I think he's handsome. However, it annoys me how he... how he takes women without any real feelings behind it. Sex is sacred, meant for mating, for tsaheylu, for binding souls under Eywa's gaze. Using it for anything less feels wrong, disgusting even." Your words come out measured, laced with a quiet conviction while your fingers stilled on the seaweed as you glance toward the path leading to the village center. "That's why I steer clear of him."
Tsireya's eyes widen slightly, a teasing glint in them, but before she can respond, movement catches your eye.
Speak of the devil, there he is.
Ao'nung striding past, his legs carrying him with effortless poise, the muscles in his thighs shifting beneath his loincloth. A giggling Metkayina woman clings to his arm, her hand trailing possessively over the intricate tattoos that mark his status. Her body pressed close to his side, her laughter high and breathless. His arm is slung around her waist, pulling her nearer as they walk.
"See?" Tsireya murmurs, her voice dripping with exasperation as she nudged your shoulder lightly with hers.
You feel a flush creep up your neck but you hold your gaze steady, watching as Ao'nung's eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment. There's a spark there, recognition flickering across his handsome features, the sharp line of his jaw tightening just a fraction.
Ao’nung finds you pretty, the way your delicate features and voluptuous form stand out even among the clan's beauties. But that's all it is, a passing appreciation, nothing more. His life is a whirlwind of duties as the future leader and the parade of women who vie for his attention. Tsireya's quiet best friend barely registers his mind amid the chaos of his everyday life.
A memory however surges in his mind, pulling him back to the night before. The marui had been thick with tension, the air heavy with the scent of healing herbs from his mother’s stores.
Tonowari sat on the woven bench, his massive frame hunched forward, arms crossed over his broad chest, the weight of leadership etched in the lines of his face.
"Son." He had rumbled, his voice deep and steady like the ocean's undertow. "You are to be Olo'eyktan. The clan looks to you for strength, for example. These... actions of yours is a headache we cannot afford. They respect you and follow you without question. Do not taint it."
Ronal had stood nearby, her posture rigid, hands clasped over her pregnant belly as she fixed Ao'nung with a gaze that could pierce kelp. "You are great at everything and yet this rendezvous of yours? It dishonors the path Eywa has set for you. Settle on one. Choose a mate. Be done with this foolishness before it stains our family's name or so help me Eywa, I will forget you are my son."
Her words had cut sharp, worry and frustration simmering beneath her calm for her eldest.
Ao'nung had leaned against the wall, his tattooed arms folded, a tilt to his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll settle when Eywa wills it, Mother, Father. Not a moment sooner. I'm no skxawng, I know my duties but love? That's not something you command."
His tone had been firm, edged with unwavering resolve, though a shadow of doubt had lingered in the way his tail twitched.
Tonowari had sighed rubbing his temple while Ronal's lips pressed into a thin line, the conversation dissolving into uneasy silence.
The memory fades as quickly as it came, Ao'nung's gaze sliding away from yours back to the woman in his arms.
She whispers something in his ear, her fingers dancing along his chest and he smirks pulling her closer as they vanish around the bend of the path, their forms swallowed by the cluster of maruis.
You exhale softly turning back to Tsireya, your voice barely above the waves. "Your brother will probably never change unless a miracle happens."
She bursts into laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained, clapping a hand over her mouth as she nods vigorously. "Oh, you're right, (Y/N). A miracle indeed. But Eywa works in mysterious ways, doesn't she?"
You smile faintly, admitting to yourself the truth of your words earlier.
He is handsome, undeniably so.
The way his towering body moves through the water during hunts, spearing fish with unerring accuracy. Or how he's always been kind to you in passing, offering a steady hand when you stumbled on the reefs or sharing a quiet nod during clan gatherings. You've seen him help mend nets after storms, his strong arms hauling heavy loads without complaint. A great hunter whose prowess earns respect from even the elders. The only flaw, the one that sours it all is his reputation as a womanizer, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.
The girls in the clan chatter endlessly about it, their voices hushed during weaving sessions. "One day, I'll be the one to change him, to make him see me as more than a night's diversion."
They dream of taming the untamable but you shake your head at the thought. The day Ao'nung officially courts someone or Eywa forbid forms tsaheylu and mates, that would be the miracle of the ages.
Tsireya shifts closer, her expression turning curious, a playful lilt in her voice.
"Speaking of miracles... have you thought any more about those courting proposals? Narku from the hunting party left that beautiful shell necklace for you last week and Kiri'ka's been sharpening his spear extra sharp hoping you'll notice." She waggles her eyebrows, her tone light but probing with a genuine concern for your happiness threading through it.
You duck your head shyly, purple heat blooming across your cheeks as your fingers traced patterns in the mat.
"No, Reya. I refused them all. The necklace, the carved ilu figurine from Teylan, even the rare pearl from Vo'lek. They're fine warriors, strong and honorable but... it doesn't feel right." Your voice is soft and laced with that deep-seated reservation you always have, your body language closing in slightly with your shoulders hunched as if to ward off the idea.
She pouts but her eyes sparkle with affection. "Why? You're the prettiest in the clan. You'd make someone so happy!"
You laugh quietly shaking your head, the motion sending your hair cascading over your shoulder. The day you finally accept a courting proposal or mate with someone, that will be a miracle.
"I'm not in a rush, Reya. If Eywa wills it, love will find me when the time is right. For now, I'm content being by myself hanging out with you like this." Your words carry a peaceful certainty, your light smile genuine as you meet her gaze, the bond between you unbreakable.
She groans theatrically flopping back onto the mat, but her grin betrays her. 'Fine, fine. But I won't stop pestering you. I just want you happy, you know that.'
Her persistence is born of love, the kind forged since you were both tiny wriggling infants in the maruis.
Your mother, Riki'ea, had been best friends with Ronal. The two of them inseparable through hunts and healings, sharing secrets under the stars. When Riki'ea died bringing you into the world, her last breath a plea to the Tsahik. Ronal had sworn on Eywa's light to care for you as her own.
"She will be my daughter too." Ronal had vowed, tears streaking her face, her hand on Riki'ea's cooling one.
Tonowari and Ronal had stepped in without hesitation, helping your father, Ar'von, raise you amid the clan's rhythms.
Ar'von had never taken another mate, his heart tethered to your mother's memory, pouring all his devotion into you. Teaching you to swim before you could walk, his deep voice singing lullabies of the ancestors. He was a great warrior, Tonowari's steadfast comrade, until that fateful storm when you were thirteen. The winds howled like anguished spirits, waves crashing against the outriggers as he dove into the churning sea to save injured hunters, his strong arms pulling them to safety one by one. But the sea claimed him in the end, his body lost to the depths, leaving a void that echoed in your young heart.
Since then, Ronal had drawn you under her wing, training you in the healings arts. The careful grinding of herbs, the soothing chants over the wounded. She watched over you with maternal protectiveness, her guidance a balm to your grief of losing two parents. And through it all, Tsireya had been your constant, the two of you attached at the hip, exploring tide pools and whispering dreams late into the night.
Ao'nung had always been there on the periphery, hovering like a shadow. Offering a hand to steady you during your first free dive or quietly mending a tear in your fishing net without fanfare. He never crossed that line to true closeness, not like Tsireya. He was too absorbed in his own world of friends and rigorous training to forge deeper bonds but he was nice in his distant way, his presence a reliable hum in the background of your life.
Then came his Iknimaya, the rite that transformed him. He returned from the trials with those striking tattoos, bold lines curling over his biceps tracing the planes of his chest and back, symbols of his maturity and prowess. Women had flocked to him immediately, drawn to his newfound poise, the air in his step as he flexed those marked arms during communal feasts. You found it annoying, the way he toyed with their affections, careless with hearts that beat for him in earnest.
You've no experience yourself, no knowledge of the heated tangles of bodies or the raw urges that drive such encounters. The elders' teachings have painted it as sacred. A profound union reserved for the one you love, the partner with whom you'll form tsaheylu, weaving your kurus in Eywa's eternal bond. You believe in that love, pure and enduring, the kind that honors the spirit as much as the flesh.
For that, Ao'nung's actions disgust you. A perversion of something so holy and in quiet moments like this, you hope faintly that he finds someone who can pierce through his armor, someone to change his ways and lead him toward the man he could truly be.
Hours later, the afternoon sun beats down on the turquoise expanse of the reef, turning the water into a glittering mosaic of light and shadow as you guide your ilu through the currents.
Your body moves in harmony with the creature's powerful undulations, legs wrapped firmly around its sleek form, the cool rush of water caressing your bare skin where your loincloth rides up slightly against your thighs.
Beside you, Tsireya calls out with a laugh, her voice carrying over the splashes of the group of other gatherers from the clan who had nets at the ready to scoop up schools of fish darting through the coral. Ao'nung leads the way ahead, his broad back cutting through the waves, tattoos rippling with each stroke of his arms, his ilu responding to his commands with effortless precision.
You're focused, eyes scanning the vibrant underwater world for the telltale shimmer of a catch, your hair streaming behind you like dark ribbons in the flow. The ilu beneath you surges forward suddenly, chasing a cluster of plump fish and you lean into the turn, heart quickening with the thrill.
But then, chaos.
A rogue current twists unexpectedly, slamming your ilu against a jagged outcrop of coral hidden just below the surface. Pain explodes in your skull as your head connects with the sharp edge in a white-hot flash that blinds you. The world tilts as the water swallowed your gasp and darkness rushes in pulling you under.
Tsireya's scream pierces the haze first, raw and frantic as she wheels her ilu around, eyes wide with terror. "(Y/N)! Eywa, no. Ao'nung! Help her!"
Her voice cracks, hands trembling as she reaches for you but you're limp. Your body floating adrift, blood threading faintly into the water from the gash on your temple.
Ao'nung is there in an instant, his ilu powering through the water like a spear.
He dives off without hesitation, strong arms wrapping around your waist to haul you against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head to staunch the bleeding. Your unconscious form molds to him, soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his torso, your chest rising and falling shallowly against his ribs, wide hips settling against his as he kicks toward the surface. Water streams from your lashes, your pretty face pale and slack, lips parted in silent vulnerability.
This is the first time he's held you so close and under such a grim twist of fate. He thinks you're clumsy, always have been in your quiet way but seeing you like this, so breakable and fragile, stirs an unfamiliar knot in his gut.
"Tsireya, head to Mother’s marui!" He barks, voice edged with urgency he's not used to feeling as he surfaces with you in his arms, your head lolling against his shoulder.
Tsireya nods, tears streaking her cheeks, urging her ilu toward shore while Ao'nung swims quickly. Your weight no burden to his warrior's build. He doesn't let go until they're at the shallows, scooping you fully into his arms to carry you the rest of the way. Your legs dangling over his forearm, the warmth of your body seeping through his damp skin.
The path to Ronal's healing hut blurs in a rush of worried murmurs from the clan but Ao'nung pushes through with Tsireya at his side, her hand clutching your trailing arm. Inside the dim marui, the air thick with the scent of medicinal pastes and smoldering herbs, Ronal looks up sharply from her worktable, her expression shifting from calm to alarm.
"What happened?" She demands, gesturing to the woven pallet as Ao'nung lays you down gently, your hair fanning out like seaweed across the fibers.
"Coral strike, head injury." Ao'nung says tersely, stepping back but not leaving, his eyes fixed on the slow rise of your chest.
Tsireya hovers, wringing her hands. "She was gathering then just... gone under."
Ronal works swiftly, cleaning the wound with cool water, applying a poultice of ground leaves that smells sharp and earthy, her fingers deft and sure.
Ao'nung lingers uncharacteristically still, concern etching his features. You're his sister's shadow after all and up close like this, you seem so soft, your supple form curled slightly even in oblivion.
Hours slip by in tense vigil, the light outside fading to the soft glow of eclipse. You stir finally, eyelids fluttering open to the thatched ceiling, a dull throb pulsing in your temple.
Tsireya gasps, leaning over you, her face a mask of relief and worry. "(Y/N), oh thank Eywa you're awake. How do you feel? Does it hurt that badly?"
Her voice wavers, hand squeezing yours tightly as her fingers interlaced with your slender ones.
Ao'nung stands nearby, arms crossed over his tattooed chest, a hint of relief flickering in his teal eyes at your awakening. He's still here, against his usual instinct to bolt after crises, drawn by some pull he can't name.
You blink up at them, vision clearing, and your gaze lands on him. His strong jaw, his piercing stare, the faint scar on his lip from a hunt gone wrong during your teen years. A warmth blooms in your chest, instinctive and sure.
"Ao'nung... why are you so far? Come here, ma muntxa."
The words tumble out soft and earnest, your head tilting in innocent confusion as you shift on the pallet, wincing slightly at the pull of your wound.
The room falls silent, shock rippling through them. Tsireya's mouth drops open, her grip tightening.
"W-what? (Y/N), that's... you can't mean—" She's stammering, eyes darting to her brother, remembering all the times you've whispered your disdain for his ways, how you've avoided him like a tainted current.
Ao'nung's lips curve into a smirk at first, a low chuckle escaping, thinking it's delirium or a jest to lighten the mood. "Cute but save the teasing for when you're not half-drowned."
But you only frown deeper, propping yourself up on one elbow, your free hand reaching toward him, the curve of your arm revealing the gentle swell of your breast beneath your top.
"Why would I tease? And why am I lying here like this? We should be together..." Your voice trails off shy but puzzled, eyes searching his face with a trust that feels utterly natural to you.
Ronal steps forward, her presence commanding as she kneeled beside you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Child, tell me your last memory. What do you recall before waking up?"
Her tone is calm and probing, eyes sharp as she assesses the blankness in yours.
You pause searching inward but there's only fog, a void where days and details should be. "I... I don't remember. Nothing's clear."
Your fingers twist in the edge of the pallet, vulnerability etching your features making your wide eyes seem even larger.
She nods unperturbed then leans closer. "And these words, you say Ao'nung is your mate? Explain, little one."
A shy smile graces your lips, cheeks warming as you glance at him again, seeing Ronal's son but overlaid with the certainty of your mating bond.
"Yes, Tsahik. We've mated, haven't we? For months now. Tsaheylu and all." Your voice holds a quiet joy, hand still extended toward him ignoring the stunned stares.
Ronal's gaze flicks to Ao'nung, catching the way his smirk falters into wide-eyed disbelief, his tail flicking sharply. A subtle smile tugs at her own lips, something knowing in her eyes.
Eywa's hand perhaps, weaving threads in unexpected ways.
As Tsahik, she senses the fragility of your state, the selective amnesia a veil over your true memories, and stressing it now could shatter the delicate recovery. "Rest now, child. Your body's mending."
Sleep tugs at you already, eyelids growing heavy, though not before you murmur with a soft and pleading voice. "Ao'nung... closer, please?"
He hesitates then steps forward under his mother’s piercing glare, kneeling beside the pallet so your reaching hand can brush his arm, the contact sending a faint spark through you both.
As your breathing evens into slumber, Ronal straightens, turning to her children with a stern whisper. "She must not be overwhelmed. No stress as her mind is healing, piece by fragile piece. This is my best friend's daughter, I swore to Riki'ea I'd guard her like my own blood."
Her words carry the weight of that old vow, eyes softening briefly before hardening on Ao'nung.
He opens his mouth as frustration bubbled in his chest but Ronal's sharp glare silences him.
Tonowari, who has entered quietly, places a heavy hand on his son's shoulder, voice rumbling low. "Just until she gets her memories back, son."
Ao'nung groans rubbing a hand over his face, the muscles in his jaw clenching.
Ronal presses on unyielding as she met his stare head-on. "You'll care for her, Ao'nung. She believes you're mates, pulling away now would wound her deeper than any coral. Stay by her side and let her heal in that belief until she remembers on her own."
Tsireya sighs deeply crossing her arms, her protectiveness flaring like a sudden tide.
"That means you stop your flirting, stop chasing every girl who bats her eyes. Don't hurt her Ao’nung, not while she's like this, vulnerable. She's my best friend and I won't let you play with her heart." Her tone is fierce as her eyes narrowed, a sister's warning laced with genuine concern for you.
Frustration coils in Ao'nung's chest at this situation he did not ask for.
You're pretty, always have been. That face like carved coral, body a temptation of soft curves and inviting lines but he's woven into the fabric of attention, the eager presses of other women against him, their whispers and touches a constant rhythm.
This? Pretending a bond that doesn't exist? It chafes against his freedom.
Ronal nods firmly. "Carry her to your marui. Mates wouldn't sleep apart, keep the illusion steady for her sake."
He sighs a long and defeated one, bending to slide his arms beneath you. One under your knees, the other supporting your back. Your body lifts easily, light in his hold, head nestling instinctively against his chest, your breath warm on his skin.
Tsireya glares daggers at him as she crossed her arm. "Take care of her Ao’nung or you'll answer to me."
He nods curtly just so they can all shut up, striding out into the cooling evening, your form cradled close to his chest.
You've always turned heads but now, with your lashes fanned against your cheeks, lips softly parted, he lets his gaze trail. Over the inviting line of your neck, the gentle rise of your chest with each breath, the way your hair clings damply to your shoulders. Something stirs unbidden as he enters his marui, the space sparse but his own, the woven walls of it fluttering in the breeze.
Carefully, he lowers you onto his sleeping mat, arranging the soft hides around your form, your legs curling slightly in repose. He stares for a long moment conflicted, the quiet of the space amplifying the thud of his pulse. Then shaking his head, he turns and walks out, needing to blow off some steam.
Not diving into beds this time but still, perhaps some flirting or a stolen kiss in the dark, something to reclaim the ease he's losing with this new situation at hand.
The first rays of dawn filter through the woven walls of Ao'nung's marui, casting a soft pearlescent light over the space.
Your head throbs with a persistent ache like the dull echo of waves crashing far offshore, pulling you from sleep. You shift on the sleeping mat, the hides warm beneath your bare legs as you blink against the haze, instinctively reaching out for the familiar solid presence that should be beside you.
Your gaze lands on him.
Ao'nung seated cross-legged a few paces away, his broad back to you, shoulders rolling with the rhythmic scrape of stone against metal. He's sharpening his spear, the weapon balanced across his thighs, its tip gleaming sharper with each precise stroke. The muscles in his arms flex subtly, tattoos shifting like shadows over his teal skin, and you can't help the sleepy smile that curves your lips. A surge of warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of your mate tending to his tools so early.
Quietly, you push yourself up, ignoring the twinge in your temple and shuffle forward on your knees. The mat whispers under you as you close the distance, your arms sliding around his waist from behind, palms pressing flat against the firm ridges of his abdomen through the thin weave of his loincloth. You nuzzle into the warmth of his back, inhaling the clean masculine scent of him, more of a sea spray and sun-warmed skin.
"Good morning, 'Nungie." You murmur, voice thick with lingering drowsiness yet still laced with an adoration that feels as natural as breathing.
He stiffens instantly, body going rigid under your touch, the spear pausing mid-stroke.
The nickname hits him like a sudden current, intimate in a way that sends an unexpected jolt through him. Your voice wrapping around it the nickname with such unguarded affection that it’s almost cute to him. Memories of his mother's stern command and Tsireya's warnings flash in his mind. No stressing you, no pulling away, or face the fallout if you break down in tears to his sister.
He exhales slowly, forcing the tension from his frame, and leans back into your embrace, the solid weight of his shoulders settling against your chest.
He tells himself in a few weeks, your memories will resurface and he'll slip back into the life he knows. Surrounded by eager women, their hands on him, their laughter filling his nights. A free man and away from this tangled obligation.
"Good morning, (Y/N)." He replies in a casual tone, almost offhand as if this is just another dawn.
Your forehead creases in confusion, a flicker of hurt tightening your features. You pull back slightly, rising to your feet with a soft rustle then circle around to sit in front of him, your knees tucked under you. Your lips form a cute pout, full and downturned, drawing his eyes despite himself. The way it plumps your mouth, making you look endearingly petulant in his eyes.
"What's got your lips in a pout, (Y/N)?" He asks, curiosity edging his voice as he sets the spear aside, the stone clinking lightly against the floor.
The pout deepens as your eyes narrowed just a touch, hands folding in your lap where your fingers twist together.
"See? There it is again. Did I do something wrong?" Your words come out soft but insistent, a thread of worry weaving through them.
He chuckles, low and puzzled, head tilting as he studies your face. "Huh?"
"You keep calling me by name. Are you mad at me?"
The question hangs between you, your gaze searching his, vulnerable in its directness, the morning light catching the subtle glow of your eyes as you gaze at him.
Ao'nung's chuckle fades as realization dawned on him like the sun cresting the horizon.
Your amnesia has rewritten your dynamic into something far more personal and that probably includes nicknames. He has no clue what endearment your fractured mind has invented for itself but stressing the truth now would only invite chaos.
Playing it safe, he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Oh, then what is it you want me to call you so you can stop pouting?"
This way, he fishes information without revealing the gap and he can keep the illusion intact.
You glare at him playfully, the expression making you resemble a sulking child. All wide eyes and stubborn chin which only pulls another laugh from him, genuine this time as it rumbled deep in his chest.
"Yawntu." You declare, crossing your arms over your chest, the motion accentuating the gentle swell of your breasts beneath your woven top which he tries not to look at.
Instead he nods, suppressing a smirk at how easily you've handed it over. "I'm sorry, yawntu. I was just messing with you."
You scoff, a light huff escaping as you uncross your arms, but the pout eases into a reluctant smile, his words smoothing the wrinkle from your forehead.
He thinks his ploy worked seamlessly, you buy it without question and the trust in your eyes a quiet weight he hadn't anticipated. Shifting gears, he scans your face as concern flickered briefly when his gaze drifts to the bandaged gash on your temple, the skin around it still faintly bruised.
"Are you hungry? Does your head still hurt?"
You nod, one hand drifting to clutch your stomach, the faint growl audible in the quiet marui. "I am hungry but my head only hurts slightly now. A dull ache, nothing like before."
He rises fluidly as he extended his hand palm up, visible calluses are seen, rough from years of handling weapons.
"Let's get breakfast then." His voice carries a casual warmth, masking the internal tally of how long this charade might last.
Your face lights up, a beam spreading across your features as you slip your hand into his, fingers interlacing with a natural ease that sends a subtle warmth up his arm. The contact lingers as you both stand and he moves to withdraw once you're steady on your feet but your grip tightens, holding firm as your thumb brushed absently over his knuckles.
He pauses then lets it be, the unexpected cling stirring a faint curiosity in him as you step out into the bustling morning of Awa'atlu.
The village hums with life, weavers calling to each other over glowing braids of kelp, children darting between maruis with laughter trailing like bubbles. Heads turn as you walk hand-in-hand toward the communal eating area, the sandy paths crunching softly underfoot.
Ao'nung, the clan's notorious charmer, linked with you. The elusive beauty who's turned away every suitor, always shadowed only by Tsireya's side. Whispers ripple through the air like wind over water. He's never paraded his flings like this. With them, it's waists gripped possessively or arms draped around his, only fleeting and bold.
But you?
Your hand in his feels different, your steps syncing with his in a rhythm that draws more eyes than he'd like.
You shrug off the stares with a soft inward smile, assuming it's lingering surprise at your mating bond, the clan still adjusting to the idea of you and Ao'nung as one.
He knows better.
Their gazes carry judgment, speculation, the sting of his altered habits hitting close. Yet he doesn't pull away, his fingers flexing slightly around yours, the warmth of your palm a steady anchor against the growing murmur.
Your eyes sparkle as you spot the sacred table ahead, elevated on a woven platform overlooking the reef, where Tsireya sits with Ronal and Tonowari. Fresh fruits and smoked fish steam in shallow bowls, the air rich with the aroma of roasted roots. Without hesitation, you tug Ao'nung forward, your pull gentle but determined, leading him like it's the most natural path in the world.
Ronal's sharp eyes soften at the sight, a pleased curve touching her lips as she watches you draw her son along. It warms her to see him yielding, even if temporarily. It was adorable really, the way your fingers stay laced with his, your body leaning slightly into his side as if seeking his strength.
Perhaps Eywa's guidance after all.
She muses stirring her tea with a subtle nod of approval.
Tsireya looks up, her smile bright and genuine as she waves you over. She says nothing about the hand-holding, though her gaze flicks to it with a mix of relief and caution, keeping the fragile peace.
"Come sit, (Y/N)! We've saved spots for you both." Her voice bubbles with forced normalcy, hiding the protective undercurrent as she pats the mat beside her.
The table draws every eye in the eating area. Clansfolk pausing with utensils halfway to mouths, conversations dipping into hushed tones. Especially the women, clustered in groups, their whispers sharp and envious.
You remain oblivious, focused on the spread, but Ao'nung feels the heat of their stares like prickling sunlight on his skin, a reminder of the attention he's traded for this pretense. Still, he doesn't release your hand until you're seated, the circle complete around the sacred space. In fact, as the meal begins, he reaches for the platters with his free hand, selecting pieces you favor. The tender strips of fish grilled with sea herbs, the juicy segments of reef fruit that you've shared with Tsireya on countless mornings he's observed from afar.
He piles them onto your plate, the motion deliberate, his arm brushing yours in the close quarters.
"Here, eat what you like." He says, voice low and almost gruff, masking the odd satisfaction in providing for you.
You glance up, a shy smile blooming as color touches your cheeks, your free hand covering his briefly in thanks before you finally let go to pick up a piece of fruit.
"Thank you, 'Nungie." You whisper, the nickname slipping out again, soft and intimate amid his family's chatter.
The sudden absence of your touch leaves his hand feeling oddly cool, fingers curling absently as if chasing the warmth. He shakes it off, turning to his own plate, spearing a chunk of meat with more force than needed.
The women's heated glares bore into him from across the way, longing and accusation in it but he ignores them. His jaw set, focusing on the flavors bursting on his tongue, the easy flow of conversation around the table pulling him into the moment despite the frustration simmering beneath.
After that, the days blur into a rhythm that's both unfamiliar and oddly comforting with your steps shadowing Ao'nung's through the winding paths of Awa'atlu. You trail him from the training sands where he drills with the younger warriors, your presence a quiet constant at the edge of the circle, to the marui where he repairs nets under the afternoon sun.
He doesn't shoo you away.
In fact, he slows his pace sometimes, glancing back with a nod that invites you closer. Your sweetness wraps around him like the gentle swell of tides. Your small gestures like brushing sand from his shoulder after a spar or offering a woven cord to tie back his hair when the wind tugs at it. Affection flows from you towards him, evident with a hand grazing his arm as you pass a water gourd or leaning into his side during quiet moments by the fire pits. Each time, surprise flickers in his eyes, a brief widening before it softens and he's starting to lean into it, the warmth of you seeping past his guarded edges.
It's a stark shift from the woman the clan knew. You were always so reserved, your laughter only for Tsireya's ears alone, your body language a careful veil of distance around everyone else. Now, you're blooming in his orbit, the very man whispered about as too wild to tether and it stirs something in the onlookers.
For Ao'nung, it's disorienting at first, this clingy devotion from someone who'd barely spared him more than polite nods before. But as the sun arcs higher each day, he finds himself anticipating your approach, the way your fingers seek his in passing crowds.
Nights have transformed too.
The first evenings after your accident, you'd curled against him on the sleeping mat, your limbs seeking his heat while he lay stiff, allowing the contact but withholding his own. His arms were folded and breath measured to avoid entanglement with you. Now, as twilight deepens the marui's glow, you press close with your cheek nestling into the crook of his neck, legs tangling with his under the hides.
He hesitates only a beat before his arm drapes over your waist pulling you flush, his palm splaying wide across the dip of your lower back. The difference settles over him like a sigh. Your softness molding to his harder lines as breaths synced in the dim light and for those hours, the world narrows to the steady rise and fall of your shared rhythm.
Time weaves you together in stolen pockets. Mornings breaking fast with shared glances across the communal mats, afternoons where you sit nearby as he carves bone tools, and evenings mending gear side by side. He's growing fond and undeniably, your quiet care chipping at the walls he's built, making the days feel less like a duty and more like... something real.
Yet beneath it, a pull tugs at him with the memories of his old freedoms. The rush of new skin under his hands, the electric chase of fleeting nights with women who knew the game as well as he did. He misses that spark, it was the variety that kept his blood humming.
And always, the question lingers in his mind, when will the fog lift from yours? When will those clear eyes remember the truth and shatter this fragile illusion?
Today finds you both at the beach's edge where the reef kisses the shore in frothy whispers. The sun hangs low painting the waves in molten gold and you've knelt in the shallows as water laps at your thighs.
Ao'nung stands a few paces back with his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with a gaze that's grown habitual.
You're gathering shells, fingers sifting through the damp sand, unearthing iridescent treasures that catch the light. A beam lights your face, wide and unguarded, with cheeks flushed from the salt spray and your hair cascading in loose waves down your back, clinging slightly where the mist has touched it.
He looks down at you, the angle framing your features in a way that steals his breath for a moment.
He silently admits you're pretty, the curve of your jaw soft under the dying light, your lips parted in concentration as you examine a find. He's long grown accustomed to seeing you in Tsireya's wake, a shadow of gentle poise. Your interactions with him limited to courteous words and that undercurrent of disappointment in your eyes whenever he'd stride past with another woman draped on his arm. Growing up in the same guidance of his parents, you'd shared spaces but never closeness. Your reserve a barrier he'd never bothered to breach, assuming it matched his own disinterest in anything.
Now though, your amnesia has rewritten the script. You cling to him with a faith that's both bewildering and intoxicating, your body seeking his like it's always belonged there.
Is this what mating truly means?
He ponders it as the waves curl at his feet, the warmth of your proximity a steady hum against the chaos of his past.
It's not the wild pulse of conquests, the quickened hearts and whispered promises that dissolved by dawn. This is quieter, a constant tide that’s reliable and enveloping, pulling him under without the crash. Before the accident, he'd been certain that his life of freedom was the only one worth living, no chains of commitment to dull the edge. But standing here, watching the joy radiate from you, doubt creeps in.
Which existence holds more? The fleeting highs or this deepening anchor?
You glance up suddenly, eyes sparkling like the foam around you. You were holding aloft of a shell in your palm, a flawless teal curve that’s veined with subtle pearlescence.
"Look, 'Nungie." You say, voice bright with delight, the nickname tumbling out with that endearing lilt, your smile stretching wide enough to crinkle the corners of your eyes. "It's the color of your eyes."
Adorable. Eywa, you're utterly adorable beaming up at him from the sand, water droplets tracing paths down your neck, soaking into the edges of your top where it clings to the swell of your breasts.
He crouches slightly to meet your gaze, a half-smile tugging at his lips despite the internal whirl.
"It is very pretty, yawntu." He murmurs, voice low and warm, the endearment slipping out smoother now and laced with a teasing affection that masks the way his pulse quickens.
Your smile widens, satisfaction glowing in your expression as you tuck the shell into the woven pouch at your hip, the motion swaying your hips subtly. Rising from the shallows, sand sluicing off your legs in rivulets, you close the distance in two fluid steps, the wet fabric of your loincloth darkening against your skin. Without warning you lean in, pressing a smooch to his lips, tasting of salt and the faint sweetness of the fruit from breakfast.
He freezes, body locking as your supple mouth softly molds to his, the unexpected press sending a shock of heat straight through him.
But resistance crumbles fast as instinct takes over, he kisses back with one hand rising to cup the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your damp strands. He deepens it, tilting his head to claim more, tongue brushing yours in a slow exploratory glide that draws a soft hum from your throat. His other arm snakes around your waist, hauling your frame against his, the contrast of your curves to his solid build igniting a low burn in his gut. Your body so pliant, pressing into him with innocent eagerness.
You smell incredible too, a heady mix of ocean brine and the faint floral trace of your skin, clean and inviting. And your form... it's a torment, all softness where he is taut, your breasts flattening against his chest, hips slotting perfectly into the V of his thighs. It was fucking delicious the way your waist nips in before flaring to those wide hips, the subtle give of your flesh under his grip, promising depths he hasn't explored but now craves with a sharpening edge.
You pull back first, a shy smile curving your lips against his, breath mingling in the scant space between you as your cheeks bloomed with a deeper flush.
He looks so handsome like this, up close. Tattoos curling over his shoulders like living vines, framing the sharp lines of his jaw, his full mouth still parted from the kiss. Those piercing eyes, half-lidded now with a hunger that's new and unchecked, drop inevitably, tracing the path down your body.
It lingered on the way your top strains over the full mounds of your tits, nipples pebbling faintly against the damp weave then lower to the shadowed cleft where your loincloth hugs the mound of your pussy, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the warmth beneath.
The gaze sends a shiver through you but you hold his stare, the air thickening with unspoken want, the waves' murmur the only sound as tension coils between you like a gathering storm. The pull of your lips lingers like a brand but Ao'nung draws back anyway, his breath ragged against your skin. Every fiber in him screams to dive deeper, to chase the heat blooming between you, but he reins it in sharply.
In your mind, this is the bond of mates, sacred and sure, but he carries the weight of reality. The accident's cruel twist, the amnesia that paints him as your everything when he's just the brother of your closest friend. He's bedded plenty, chased pleasure without strings but you... you're untouched, a purity he won't tarnish, not like this. Not when it's all built on fog and forgotten truths.
His thumb brushes your jaw once, a fleeting anchor before he straightens, voice roughened at the edges. "Come on, let's go back."
You nod as the afterglow softened your features and slip your hand into his, fingers lacing with a giddy squeeze that tugs at something deep in his chest.
The path back through the village feels charged, the air thick with the scent of salt and blooming night flowers as maruis glow softly in the dusk. Eyes follow you from the women of the clan, their gazes sharp and lingering on the man at your side, the one they've known as untamed, always slipping away before dawn. A sour twist knots in your gut, unfamiliar jealousy flaring as you catch their stares, possessive in a way that surprises even you.
One in particular stands out, leaning against a woven wall with arms crossed, her form silhouetted by the firelight inside.
Saraye.
Her name surfaces from the haze of your altered memories, a woman you'd glimpsed more than once in Ao'nung's company before everything shifted, her laughter echoing from his marui on restless nights. Her eyes narrow now tracing the joined hands, her lips pressing into a thin line of what might be envy or resentment. But Ao'nung doesn't spare her a glance; his focus stays forward, thumb absently stroking the back of your hand as he leads you onward, the simple act easing the bitterness in your throat into a faint relieved smile.
Inside his marui, the space feels more like home with each passing evening. The low ceiling draped in nets, the faint tang of sea air mingling with the herbs Ronal left for your healing. He settles you on the mat with a gentleness that belies his warrior's build, broad shoulders flexing as he portions out dinner of fresh fish grilled over a small flame, its flaky flesh steaming beside woven baskets of fruit. You eat side by side, his knee brushing yours, the quiet broken only by the distant crash of waves.
When the meal ends, you shift closer, drawn by the solid warmth of him, sprawling across his chest like it's the most natural place in the world. His arms encircle you without hesitation now, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other tracing idle patterns along your arm in skin to skin motion, the contact a steady pulse that lulls you.
Sleep heavily pulls at you contentedly but not before you nuzzle into the curve of his neck, lips brushing a soft drowsy kiss there, right over the ridge of his pulse. The spot tastes of salt and him, warm under your mouth, and you feel the vibration of a stifled groan rumble through his throat, his grip tightening fractionally on your hip. It's enough to send a lazy spark through you but exhaustion wins as your eyes flutter shut, breaths evening out and you drift off with your body lax atop his.
He lies awake longer staring at the woven ceiling, the echo of that kiss replaying in his mind. The unintended tease of your lips on his skin. Eventually, sleep claims him too, his hold on you loosening into something protective and instinctive.
Hours later, the morning light filters through the marui's entrance, a soft glow that stirs you from the depths of rest.
Ao'nung's movements rouse you full with the shift of his weight and the quiet rustle as he rises. His form looms in the half-light, tattoos stark against his blue skin, muscles coiling under the early chill as he straps on his gear.
"I have to leave early." He says, voice low and gravelly from sleep, patting your head with a large palm that lingers a beat too long as his fingers combed through your tousled hair. "Hunting party."
You nod rubbing sleep from your eyes, the mat cool where his warmth had been. He's turning away when your hand shoots out, catching his wrist in a loose but insistent grip.
"Kiss before you leave, 'Nungie." You murmur, voice thick with lingering drowsiness, lips forming a sleepy pout that tugs at the corners of your mouth. "It's our thing, remember?"
His heart stutters a heavy thud against his ribs. This simple request, so earnest and routine in your fractured world, hits like a spear's tip.
He imagines it then, the life of true mates, your lips meeting his each dawn before the hunt. A warm body waiting in the marui upon his return, steady and waiting. No more empty nights, no chasing shadows. But no, he shoves the thought down, clinging to the wilder memories, the freedom that still calls like an old habit.
This can't be it, not when it's all illusion.
Still, he leans in cupping your face with one hand, his mouth pressing to yours in a firm lingering kiss. Soft at first then deepening just enough to taste the sweetness of your breath, tongues brushing in a slow slide that leaves heat pooling low in his gut. He pulls back before it can ignite further, eyes dark with restraint.
"Go hang out with my sister to kill time." He says, voice steady despite the internal storm. "I'm sure she misses you."
You nod again, a sleepy smile curving your lips as you watch him slip out, the flap of the entrance falling shut behind his retreating form. The marui feels emptier without him but you burrow back into the hides, sleep reclaiming you for a few more hours, your dreams laced with the phantom press of his mouth.
When you wake properly, the sun climbs higher, warming the air. The pouch of shells from yesterday sits nearby, a colorful bundle that draws your eye.
You've missed Tsireya fiercely, your days swallowed by Ao'nung's orbit and the thought of her pulls you to your feet. Dressed in your simple coverings, the fabric light against your skin, you make your way to her family's marui, the village humming with midday activity of children splashing in shallows and weavers calling out rhythms.
You spot her on the deck outside, perched on a low stool with a basket of healing herbs in her lap, her frame relaxed as she sorts leaves, curls swaying gently in the breeze.
"Reya!" You call, voice lifting with genuine joy as a beam broke across your face when you approach.
She looks up, her expression brightening into a wide smile, waving you over with an enthusiastic sweep of her arm.
"Come, sit." She says patting the space beside her, eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth.
You settle close, the wood creaking under you, and the words tumble out. How you've missed her laughter, her stories, the ease of your shared silences now overshadowed by the pull toward her brother.
She pouts playfully, sticking out her lower lip in mock offense though her eyes sparkle.
"My brother's stealing you away." She teases nudging your shoulder with hers, the contact light and familiar. "I barely see you anymore."
You giggle, the sound bubbling up light and free, covering your mouth with one hand.
"Well, he's my mate now so my time has been consumed." You reply, the words matter-of-fact in your altered certainty, laced with a shy affection that colors your cheeks.
A flicker crosses her face, it was hesitance, brief but there like a shadow over clear water. She wonders in that split second if your memories will return before Ao'nung's old ways resurface, before he crosses a line that could shatter you both. But she masks it quickly, nodding with a soft hum.
"I know." She says, voice gentle, steering the conversation onward.
You smile shyly pulling out your weaving tools and the shells from your pouch, fingers deftly beginning to thread them into an armband. It was of teal and pearlescent strands twisting around a base of supple vine, each piece chosen for its luster.
"I can't believe I'm mated to him, Reya." You confess, eyes focused on the work but voice dreamy, a soft wonder threading through it. "It feels like yesterday when we were talking about how he'd never be tied down."
Tsireya's smile stiffens at the edges, the irony twisting in her chest. It is only several days ago, those same conversations where you'd wrinkled your nose at his reputation but you can't recall. She forces a light laugh, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.
"I know." She echoes, tone careful. "My brother has been so soft with you. It's... different. Good different."
Your face lights up at that, a bright flush warming your skin as you glance at her, pride and happiness mingling in your gaze.
She gestures to the armband taking shape in your lap, the shells catching the light like captured stars.
"For my brother?" She asks, curiosity tilting her head.
You nod shyly biting your lower lip as your fingers pause, the vine curling under your touch.
"I haven't given him anything yet." You admit, voice dropping to a murmur as a touch of embarrassment heated your ears. "It feels right though. Something to show... him."
She giggles then, the sound genuine and light, easing the tension in her shoulders.
"He'll love it." She assures, watching your progress with an approving nod but her mind races ahead, and she adds almost casually. "I'm also surprised he hasn't made his advances."
The words catch you off guard, a subtle warmth stirring low in your belly at the implication. Tsireya's eyes widen slightly at her own boldness but she recovers with a quick smile.
"He's respecting your purity and innocence." She explains softly, choosing her words like steps on uneven ground. "You have no experience, remember? Maybe he doesn't want to pressure you."
You bite your lip harder, the plump flesh whitening under your teeth, a flicker of uncertainty mixing with desire. Ao'nung's restraint has been a quiet frustration. The way he responds to your touches but never pushes, always drawing the line just beyond your reach.
"Maybe I should give a hint?" You muse, voice tentative as you glanced at her for guidance. "It's okay because we're mated. Sex must be for my mate only."
Nervousness tightens her features, a subtle crease at her forehead. She knows your true stance, the disgust you'd voiced for casual unions, the reverence you hold for bonding. And worse, you're not truly mated, a truth she can't voice yet without unraveling everything. She swallows reaching for your hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
"I think you should wait first until you're really ready." She says gently, her tone laced with concern masked as sisterly wisdom. "I know how much you cherish yourself. Don't rush what feels sacred."
She's right, the words settling like a cool wave over your heated thoughts. Ao'nung has been nothing but patient, mirroring your pace, his responses a mirror to your affections without overstepping.
But still, what if you try?
"I guess so." You agree, a small sigh escaping as you resume weaving, the shells clicking softly.
By the time the armband is finished, the sun dips toward the horizon, the piece a delicate band of color and texture, perfect for wrapping around his strong forearm. You hold it up admiring the way it shimmers, a shy anticipation building within you.
Tonight when he returns from the hunt, you'll give it to him as a token, a step closer in this life you believe is yours.
The sun hangs low over the reef, painting the waves in strokes of molten gold as you stand at the shore's edge, the damp sand cool between your toes.
You've taken care with your appearance today, the beaded necklace top clinging just enough to accentuate the gentle swell of your breasts, each strand of shells and pearls shifting with your breaths, drawing subtle outlines against your skin. The loincloth hugs your hips tighter than usual, the woven fabric tracing the curve of your thighs leaving your legs bare to the breeze that carries the tang of salt and distant kelp.
Inside Ao'nung's marui, tucked safely away, waits the armband you've crafted with a quiet promise and woven with intention.
Your gaze scans the horizon, heart quickening with each passing moment until the silhouettes emerge from the sea. The hunting party with their ilus gliding through the shallows, riders dismounting with spears in hand and hauls of fresh catch slung over shoulders. Your eyes lock immediately on him, Ao'nung, his broad frame cutting through the water like a shadow given form.
He's already watching you, those intense eyes narrowing with a heat that sends a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks, turning your skin a deeper shade of turquoise.
You smile widely up at him, the giddiness bubbling over as your stare roams his body.
The intricate tattoos swirling across his teal chest and arms, inked lines that speak of battles won and rites passed, his muscles still taut from the hunt, glistening with seawater that traces rivulets down his abdomen.bIt dips lower, your gaze trailing to the low-slung loincloth that barely conceals the powerful lines of his hips and your thoughts scatter as heat pooled low in your belly.
You haven't crossed that final threshold yet, the bond in your mind sealed only by the memory of tsaheylu, a spiritual tie without the physical claim. But tonight, after you present the armband, perhaps you can offer more. Your first time given freely to the mate you know him to be. The idea makes you bite your lower lip in a sharp tug of anticipation as he strides toward you, the other hunters trailing behind with knowing glances.
Without a word, you step into his space, arms wrapping around his waist in a tight hug, your cheek pressing to the damp warmth of his chest as you inhaled the mingled scents of ocean and exertion.
"I've missed you, 'Nungie." You murmur against him, voice soft but laced with that earnest longing that's become your rhythm.
He chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you, a rumble that eases the ache of the day's separation, even as the men around you exchange teasing smirks and elbow nudges, their laughter muffled but present.
Ao'nung's arm curls around your shoulders, pulling you closer for a beat before he guides you away, your hand finding his naturally, fingers intertwining as you walk the path to his marui. You feel his stare on you the whole way, heavy and appraising as it lingered on the way your top sways with each step, the tighter cloth molding to your form and highlighting the sway of your hips.
Inside, the space is dimmer now, lit by the fading light filtering through the entrance, the air still carrying the faint spice from earlier meals.
You've prepared ahead, knowing the toll of a hunt. A spread of roasted stingray, its flesh tender and spiced with reef herbs, alongside sliced fruits and a bowl of fermented root drink.
His eyes widen slightly as he takes it in, surprise flickering across his features before softening into something appreciative, a nod of thanks as he sinks onto the mat beside you.
You eat together, the flavors bursting on your tongue and you fill the quiet with tales of your day. Tsireya's laughter over shared shells, the way she braided a new strand into your hair, her gentle probes about your budding life with him.
He listens intently, fork paused midway to his mouth, his gaze steady on your face, absorbing every detail with a quiet intensity that makes your pulse skip.
But you're bolder tonight, touchier, your knee pressing against his thigh under the pretense of closeness, fingers brushing his arm as you gesture. Each contact deliberate, a slow seduction woven into the mundane. When the meal ends, he clears the remnants with efficient movements, stacking the mats and rinsing the bowls in a nearby basin, his back to you for a moment, his tattoos flexing with the pull of his shoulders.
You wait heart thumping until he turns back and then you rise, holding out the armband with shy fingers, the shells catching the low light in a shimmer of teal and white.
"For you." You say softly, eyes lifting to meet his as a flush creeped up your neck.
Surprise etches his face, deepening the lines around his eyes but he takes it gently, turning the piece over in his large hands, admiring the careful weave and the way the colors echo his own markings.
"It's... beautiful." He muttered, voice rough with unexpected emotion as he slipped it onto his forearm where it fits snugly, hugging the curve of muscle and inked skin like it was made for him.
A symbol of him taken, bound to you in the eyes of the clan.
You beam at him as joy lightened your face and before he can settle, you move straddling his lap with a fluid grace, the heat of his body seeping through the thin barriers of cloth.
A surprised grunt escapes him, his tattooed hands instinctively settling on your hips, fingers splaying wide to steady you, the grip firm against the softer give of your flesh.
Leaning in, you capture his mouth with yours, tentative at first. Your tongue parting his lips clumsily, exploring without the map of experience, driven only by instinct and the rightness of it all. He responds in kind but deeper and hungrier, his kiss consuming you like a tide pulling under, tongue stroking yours in slow deliberate sweeps that draw a whimper from your throat. Emboldened, you guide one of his hands upward, pressing his palm over the soft mound of your breast, the beaded top yielding under the pressure.
He squeezes unable to resist, the flesh molding to his touch and you moan into the kiss, the sensation sharp and electric, unlike anything you've known. His fingers delve further, slipping beneath the strands to find your nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger with a teasing pinch that sends sparks racing down your spine. You mewl against his lips, the sound muffled but needy, the foreign pleasure coiling tight in your core.
Good, so achingly good as his mouth claims yours again deeper.
Your hips move on their own, grinding forward in a slow roll against the growing hardness beneath you, the massive bulge straining his loincloth. He bucks up to meet you, a low growl vibrating in his chest, the friction building a slick ache between your thighs.
"'Nungie." You mewl breaking the kiss just enough to breathe his name, your usually soft voice husky with want.
He freezes beneath you, body going rigid, and then his hands clamp on your hips, stilling your movements with unyielding strength. He pulls back from the kiss, breath coming in harsh pants, eyes dark and conflicted as they search yours.
"We should stop, yawntu." He says with a strained voice like it's costing him everything to form the words.
You frown in confusion, chest heaving as the heat lingers unanswered.
"But we're mates." You protest softly, a plea edging your tone as your hips shifted again in a desperate grind seeking that lost rhythm. "I want to be close... like this. That’s what mates do, right?"
A deep and tortured groan rips from him, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder, his hot breath fanning your skin as his body trembles under the restraint.
The confusion swirls in you, thick and stinging.
Is he not drawn to you this way? Your lack of skill, the women he's known who move with practiced ease, their bodies honed for pleasure, do they eclipse you? Does he find your untouched form lacking, unworthy of the warrior he is?
You bite your lip hard, the doubt twisting like a knife as he lifts you off him with careful hands, setting you aside on the mat as if you're fragile glass. Your heart aches at the distance, the blatant pullback leaving a raw sting in its wake, the rejection blooming cold in your chest.
"We should sleep." He mutters, voice flat now, heavy with fatigue he didn't show moments ago. "I'm tired from the hunt."
"Oh." You whisper, the single word hollow, echoing the sudden emptiness as you watch him stretch out on the sleeping hides with his back to you, the armband a stark band against his skin.
You follow quietly curling onto your side without reaching for him, the usual urge to nestle close withered under the weight of hurt.
He doesn't turn, doesn't seek your warmth, his breathing evens into sleep's rhythm, his broad shoulders rising and falling leaving you staring at the expanse of his back, the tattoos a blurred pattern in the dimness.
Doubts flood in relentless waves. Your inexperience a barrier, your body not enough to hold him, the bond you feel so surely perhaps one-sided in its fire. You bite your lip again tasting the faint metallic tang and curl tighter into yourself, willing sleep to come.
Tomorrow, you hope the morning light will mend this fracture, chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts so cruelly.
Hours later, the first rays of dawn filter through the woven walls of the marui, casting soft patterns on the sleeping hides where you stir awake, your body heavy with the remnants of uneasy dreams.
You reach out instinctively, fingers seeking the familiar warmth of Ao'nung's side but your hand meets only cool empty space. A frown tugs at your lips as the events of last night crash back. The tentative touches, the heat building between you only for him to pull away, his voice clipped and distant. And now, he's gone before you even open your eyes, slipped out like a shadow before the light could catch him. The sting lingers sharp in your chest but you push it down shaking your head slightly.
No, you won't let doubt fester. He's your mate, bound to you in ways that transcend fleeting moments. There must be a reason, maybe hunting duties or perhaps early chores. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra as you rise, smoothing the hides and stepping out into the morning air, the scent of dew-kissed fronds mingling with the ever-present salt of the sea.
Your steps carry you toward the cluster of maruis where Tsireya's family resides, her presence a beacon you crave, always knowing the right words to untangle the knots in your mind.
The path winds past the communal fires, still smoldering from last night's embers and your gaze drifts idly toward the distant stretch of beach where the waves lap gently at the shore. There, two figures stand close, their forms silhouetted against the rising sun. One broad and commanding, the other slim and poised.
Your breath catches as recognition hits.
Ao'nung, your mate and beside him, Saraye, the woman whose stare had burned into you days ago from across the sands.
She's the one the clan whispered about, the beauty who everyone believed could finally tether Ao'nung's wandering spirit. Unlike the others he'd discarded after a single night, she'd been seen with him more than once—twice, three times, her laughter echoing in his wake, her touch lingering on his arm during feasts.
A cold knot twists low in your stomach as you watch her tilt her head, her long braids swaying with the motion, her skin a smooth canvas of teal that catches the light just so.
She's pretty in a way that commands attention, her body honed by years of knowing exactly how to move, how to draw eyes and hands alike. She knows his body in ways you don't. Maps of pleasure you've only begun to imagine, experiences that make your own innocence feel like a barrier rather than a gift.
The rejection from last night floods back sharper now, your advances met with his sudden withdrawal, his hands lifting you away as if your touch burned. Maybe that's it, he isn't drawn to you like that, not with the fire he must have shared with her. Perhaps he's trapped in this bond with you by circumstance, his heart pulling toward Saraye, the one who fits his old life seamlessly.
You see it in the way he laughs now, an easy sound carrying on the breeze, his head thrown back slightly as she gestures animatedly, their familiarity a knife's edge against your resolve. They stand close, shoulders nearly brushing, her hand hovering on his forearm, the very arm now adorned with the band you wove for him as he converse with another woman.
Your heart fractures under the weight, the pieces scattering like shells on the tide. The cold shoulder of his rejection, waking to an empty cot, and now this, him seeking her company while you ache alone. Hot and unwelcome tears prick at your eyes as you tear your gaze away, hurrying along the path before the sight can carve deeper.
Tsireya's marui comes into view soon enough, its entrance draped with fresh kelp weaves and you call out softly, your voice trembling just at the edges.
She emerges quickly, her face lighting with a warm smile that fades the moment she takes in your expression. The downturned mouth, the shadowed eyes, the way your shoulders hunch inward.
"What's wrong?" She asks stepping close, her hand reaching for yours with that instinctive gentleness. "You look like you've seen a storm. Did you give my brother the armband?"
You nod, whispering the words as if they might shatter if spoken louder. "Yes, I gave it to him."
Her brows knit in confusion, head tilting as she searches your face. "Did he not like it?"
"He liked it." You reply, voice barely above a breath, the confirmation twisting the knot tighter.
"Then why the sadness?" Tsireya presses gently, guiding you to sit on a nearby log, her body angling toward yours protectively, the morning light gilding the fine tattoos on her face from her Ikinimaya.
A sniffle escapes you and you lean into her side, the solid warmth of her shoulder a small anchor as the words tumble out in a rush, it was laced with the raw edge of hurt.
"Last night... I tried to be close to him, Reya. I sat on his lap, kissed him, touched him like mates do, and for a moment it felt right. He was responding but then he just... stopped. Froze and pulled away, said we should sleep because he was tired from the hunt."
Your voice cracks on the last word, fingers twisting in your lap.
"And this morning he was gone before I woke, no note, no warmth left behind. I thought maybe it was nothing but then I saw him on the beach with Saraye. They're laughing so easy together like they share secrets I don't know. She's the one who was with him more than once, the only one who could tame him, everyone said that before. She's experienced, knows how to please him in ways I don't. I offered myself, my first time, and he rejected it. What if he doesn't want me like that? What if he's cheating or worse trapped with me when he wants her, wants his old life of many women instead of this bond? I feel so... unworthy, Reya. Like my body isn't enough, my innocence a curse instead of something to be cherished."
Tears spill now, tracking warm paths down your cheeks and Tsireya pulls you into a full embrace, her arms wrapping tight around your trembling form, one hand stroking your back in slow soothing circles.
"Oh, syulang." She murmurs against your hair, voice thick with empathy, her own eyes glistening as she holds you close. "You're not unworthy, not even close. My brother... he's an idiot sometimes but that doesn't mean your feelings aren't valid. He shouldn't have left you doubting like this. You're beautiful inside and out, any man would be lucky to have you. Ao'nung's just... complicated with his past and all. Give it time, he'll come around. And Saraye? She's just a shadow from before. You're the light he needs right now."
She doesn't spill the truths she guards of the amnesia and the false bond but her words weave comfort without deceit, her tone fierce with protectiveness. Internally, anger simmers in her usually cheery demeanor. She'll corner him later, give him the earful he deserves for hurting you this way despite her warnings. She thought he was changing, softening under your genuine affection, but this? It stings her too. And Eywa, she hopes your memories return soon, to shield you from this pain.
You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, managing a watery smile at her.
"Stay with us tonight in our family marui. You need space from him, a night to breathe without the weight. My parents would not mind, you're like another daughter."
Gratitude swells in your chest, warm amidst the ache, and you nod squeezing her hand. "Thank you, Reya. You're more than a friend, you're my sister."
The day unfolds in her company, a deliberate distraction by weaving new nets by the lagoon, her laughter pulling reluctant smiles from you as she splashes water your way. Sharing midday fruits under the shade of a sprawling mangrove, her stories of childhood antics lightening the shadows in your mind. Even a quiet swim, her hand in yours as you glide through the clear shallows, the cool water easing the tension from your limbs.
She doesn't pry further, just fills the hours with easy companionship, her presence a balm that soothes without erasing the hurt.
As night falls, the family marui envelops you in its familiar hush, the sounds of the ocean a lullaby through the walls. You settle onto a spare mat near Tsireya, the hides soft beneath you but sleep evades at first. She told Ronal you were just here for a girly sleepover to avoid letting them know of the troubles with Ao’nung but there was a knowing glint in her eye even if she nodded.
Your thoughts circle back to Ao'nung, of his strong jaw, the way his tattoos shift with his breaths, the brief fire in his kiss before it all crumbled.
Why must he wound you like this, with silences and distances that cut deeper than words?
But you're not one to cling selfishly.
If space is what he craves, if his heart pulls elsewhere, you'll grant it even as it splinters yours further. Tomorrow you'll step back, let him roam without your shadow, the bond in your mind a fragile thread you won't force anymore.
The decision settles heavy in your chest, a quiet resolve mingled with sorrow and finally exhaustion claims you, pulling you into a restless slumber with a heart weighed down by unspoken fears.
Hours later, the sun climbs higher the next morning, its light spilling across the village paths like spilled honey but you linger in the family marui folding a spare wrap with deliberate slowness, your fingers tracing the woven fibers as if they hold answers. Returning to the shared space with Ao'nung feels like stepping into a trap, the air there thick with unspoken regrets so you avoid it entirely.
"Come gather with us, it’s our schedule." Tsireya says linking her arm through yours, her touch light but reassuring, the faint scent of sea blooms clinging to her skin from an early rinse.
You nod, grateful for the distraction though a quiet hope flickers that Ao'nung won't be leading the group, his presence would only sharpen the edges of your hurt.
The shore buzzes with quiet energy as you arrive, ilus shifting restlessly in the shallows, their sleek forms cutting through the lapping waves. Your eyes scan the assembly briefly, heart sinking when you spot him.
Ao'nung stands tall among the gatherers, his broad shoulders squared under the weight of command, the armband you crafted glinting on his bicep like a mocking token. And there, pressed too close to his space is Saraye as if it’s her righful place and maybe it is, since Ao’nung was letting her be there.
You force your gaze away fixing it on the horizon where the sea meets the sky in a hazy line, pretending the space he occupies is empty air. No glance and no acknowledgment, the rejection still burns too fresh, a bruise you won't prod.
Tsireya senses the shift in you immediately, her fingers intertwining with yours in a subtle squeeze, her thumb stroking the back of your hand as she shoots a sharp glare across the group toward her brother. It's a silent warning, her teal eyes narrowing, lips pressing into a thin line that speaks volumes of her frustration.
You feel Ao'nung's stare then, heavy and probing like a current tugging at your edges but you keep your face turned, climbing onto your ilu with steady grace, the creature's warm hide flexing under your thighs as you settle into it.
The group surges into the water, ilus plunging forward in a synchronized rhythm, foam cresting around their flanks as you ride toward the reef. The salt spray mists your skin, cooling the flush of unease rising in your chest and you urge your mount faster hoping the task ends swiftly so you can retreat to the shadows of avoidance, away from prying eyes and tangled bonds. The rocks loom ahead soon enough, jagged outcrops alive with clinging anemones and darting fish, the water deepening to a vibrant turquoise.
You guide your ilu close, fingers dipping into the currents to pluck iridescent shells, the cool flow soothing your palms but then a presence draws near, the subtle displacement of water signaling another rider as your pulse quickens.
Please let it be Tsireya.
Her familiar chatter a shield against the world but instead, a voice slithers through the air, low and laced with a sultry edge that sets your teeth on edge.
"Do you still have that selective amnesia?" Saraye's words hang there, her ilu gliding parallel to yours, her body leaning slightly forward.
Confusion knots your forehead and you turn to her, the question spilling out sharp and bewildered. "What?"
She smiles coyly, her full lips curving as her sharp and assessing eyes lock onto yours. "You hit your head a week ago. Woke up with selective amnesia thinking Ao'nung is your mate."
Her tone is casual and knowing, almost conversational as if discussing the weather or the tide's pull but it lands like a spear to your gut.
Your mind reels, the world tilting as fragments of her words clash against the fragile reality you've built.
"What are you talking about?" You manage, voice thin over the rush of water, your grip tightening on the ilu's reins until your knuckles pale.
Saraye shrugs lightly, her shoulders rolling with effortless poise, guiding her mount closer for a moment before easing back.
"Ao'nung told me. I was wondering why he's spending so much time with you so suddenly. He mentioned it yesterday, how he's being forced by their mother to be there for you because of your selective amnesia."
She delivers it without malice, just fact, her gaze flicking toward the group ahead where Ao'nung leads, his form cutting through the waves like he owns them.
Your breath hitches, ragged and caught as the currents around you stir growing choppier, the sea mirroring the storm brewing inside.
Forced.
The word echoes, unraveling everything. The kisses, the touches, the armband that now feels like chains.
"I hope you get your memories back." She adds patting your arm with a smile that's almost sympathetic, her fingers cool against your heated skin. "So Ao'nung can go back to his life."
With that, she steers her ilu away, veering smoothly back toward him, her laughter trailing like a taunt as she rejoins his side.
Tears sting your vision blurring the reef into a watercolor haze, hot tracks threatening to spill as the truth crashes over you.
So that's why he rejected you. It was pity, obligation, nothing more. He doesn't like you, not in the way your amnesia-woven dreams painted. You're not mates, it was all an illusion. A cruel trick of the mind, the tsaheylu you'd imagined nothing but vapor of fake memories.
The waves swell rougher now, unforgiving, mirroring your inner turmoil and in a blink disaster strikes again. Your ilu bucks against a sudden surge throwing you forward, your head slamming against the unyielding rock with a crack that echoes in your skull.
"(Y/N), hold on!" Tsireya's voice pierces the chaos, frantic and distant but the world fades to black, pain blooming sharp and consuming before swallowing you whole.
When consciousness returns to you hours later, it's in fragments. A dull throb pulsing at your temples, vision swimming in blurry edges, your mind a whirlpool of lost pieces slotting back into place.
Memories flood out of nowhere, the accident that started it all, the disdain you'd once felt for Ao'nung's careless ways, the rejections of suitors you'd turned away with quiet resolve, Tsireya's unwavering loyalty through orphaned years. And him, not your mate but a reluctant guardian, his kindness a mask for duty.
"(Y/N), you're awake!" Tsireya's voice breaks through laced with relief, her face hovering close, eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears, her hands gentle on your shoulders.
Your vision clears gradually, sharpening on the familiar confines of Ronal's healing marui. The low ceiling woven with healing herbs that release a faint earthy aroma, the soft glow of bioluminescent pods casting blue shadows.
Ronal stands nearby, her presence steady and authoritative, her arms crossed as she watches you with measured concern. Tsireya is at your side but no Ao'nung. His absence makes a bitter kind of sense now as the illusion shattered, though a faint sting lingers in your chest. You'd grown accustomed to his solid warmth, the way his gaze had softened in those fabricated moments, fond of the role you'd played as his.
You blink the lingering ache away, pushing down the hollow echo of those false affections as Ronal approaches, her steps measured, the beads in her hair clicking softly.
"How are you feeling?" She asks, voice calm but probing, settling on the edge of the mat, her cool hand pressing lightly to your forehead. "You've been unconscious the whole day. It's night now."
Silence stretches for a beat, your thoughts settling like sediment after a storm before the words emerge, steady despite the tremor in your core. "I remember everything now."
They share a look, a fleeting exchange heavy with unspoken relief and apology as Ronal's eyes softened and Tsireya's widening further.
"You do?" Tsireya whispers leaning in, her fingers squeezing yours.
"Yes." You confirm, the truth settling like a weight lifted and replaced by another.
Ronal nods slowly, her grip on your hand firm yet tender, calluses from years of healing rough against your skin.
"We are sorry for lying to you when you didn't remember." She says, her tone laced with genuine regret, eyes holding yours with the weight of her role as Tsahik. "But your recovery was fragile, it was matters of the brain that demanded caution and Eywa guided us to protect what was mending."
You nod, the understanding coming easy, gratitude threading through the sorrow. They had shielded you, woven a temporary truth to cradle your healing mind. Yet the ache persists, a quiet throb for the emotions you'd nurtured in that haze. The pull toward Ao'nung, the vulnerability you'd offered freely now exposed as fleeting shadows.
"It's okay, Tsahik." You reply softly, managing a small weary smile. "I understand."
Tsireya shuffles closer then, her body curling protectively around you in a hug, her cheek pressing to your shoulder, warm and trembling slightly with her own relief. You meet her gaze as she pulls back, the bond between you unbreakable, forged in shared secrets and losses.
"Can you get my things from Ao'nung's marui?" You ask, voice even, though the request carries the finality of severance. "I'll move back to my own now that I remember the truth."
She bites her lip as a flicker of hesitation crossed her features, guilt perhaps for the part she played before nodding softly, her hand lingering on yours. "Of course. I'll bring them right away."
Ronal rises, her expression resolute as she places a hand on your shoulder.
"Come see me every day so I can check on your wound." She instructs, the command softened by care.
Leaning down, she presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips dry and warm, a blessing in the gesture. She watches as you and her daughter rise unsteadily supporting each other toward the entrance, the night air cool and starlit beyond the flaps.
"I hope Eywa grants you healing, child." Ronal calls after you, her voice a quiet anchor in the darkness.
Tsireya's arm wraps around your waist as she guides you through the village paths, her grip firm yet tender, the warmth of her body seeping through the thin fabric of your wrap against your side. The night air carries the distant hum of waves crashing against the reef, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves overhead but neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with the weight of the day's unraveling.
Her steps are measured syncing with yours though you can feel the tension coiled in her frame, the subtle clench of her jaw, the way her free hand fists at her side. Guilt gnaws at her, evident in the downward tilt of her gaze, shadowed by the bioluminescent glow of nearby maruis and beneath it simmers a fury directed at her brother, her breaths coming a touch sharper than usual.
You both slip into your marui, the familiar space feeling both sanctuary and echo chamber, the woven walls curving protectively around the simple cot piled with soft hides. Dust motes dance in the faint light filtering through the entrance flap and the scent of dried sea grass lingers, a reminder of quieter days before the illusions took hold.
Tsireya leads you to the cot, her hand lingering on your elbow as you lower yourself onto the edge, the hides yielding under your weight with a faint creak, your body heavy with exhaustion, muscles aching from the twin blows of injury and revelation.
"I'll sleep with you for the night." She murmurs, her voice soft but resolute, eyes meeting yours with a depth of protectiveness that eases the knot in your chest just a fraction.
You nod, gratitude swelling warm and wordless. The thought of solitude tonight, a vast echoing void, too much to bear. Your limbs feel leaden, the throb in your head a dull pulse syncing with the hurt radiating from your core, memories now sharp and unrelenting crashing against the fragile peace you'd clung to.
"Thank you, Reya." You whisper, your voice cracking faintly at the edges.
She nods settling beside you, her form curling close as she draws you into a sisterly embrace, arms encircling your shoulders, her cheek pressing against your temple. The steady rise and fall of her chest against yours grounds you, her skin smooth and sun-kissed carrying the faint salt tang of the sea.
You grow quiet in her hold, the silence stretching until words bubble up unbidden, raw and vulnerable.
"I grew feelings for him, Tsireya." You confess, the admission hanging in the dim air, your fingers twisting into the edge of a hide. "Even if it was built on a lie at first."
"Oh, (Y/N)." She breathes, her voice thick with empathy, pulling back just enough to cup your face in her palms, thumbs brushing away the dampness gathering at the corners of your eyes.
Her touch is gentle yet it conveys the depth of her sorrow for your pain.
"It's okay." You continue, forcing a steadiness into your tone even as your throat tightens, the illusion's warmth now a cold void. "I know he doesn't see me that way. I've robbed him of his freedom, his life, because of the amnesia I had."
The words taste bitter, self-recrimination lacing each one, your hips shifting uncomfortably on the cot as you draw your knees up, the curve of your form folding inward protectively.
She holds you closer, her embrace tightening, body heat enveloping you like a shield, though you sense her own turmoil. The way her breath hitches, her mind racing. She'd harbored quiet hopes that this twisted path might weave you and Ao'nung together.
You, with your steadfast rejections of every suitor, waiting for Eywa's true sign. Him, the restless future Olo'eyktan, chained by his wandering appetites, unable to root himself. But now, the threads snap, her optimism crumbling like dry kelp, leaving only frustration and a fierce protectiveness for you.
"Before I hit my head." You add, voice dropping lower, the memory fresh and stinging like salt in a wound. "Saraye talked to me. She said Ao'nung told her he's just being forced to pretend, that she hopes I get my memory back so he can be free."
Your words tumble out, laced with the disorientation of that moment, the sea's roar drowning your thoughts.
"My vision blurred and I was so overwhelmed I didn't register the waves until it was too late. Until I hit my head. I guess in a way, they both were the reason for me getting my memory back."
A hollow laugh escapes you, empty and brittle, echoing off the marui walls, your supple chest rising and falling unevenly with the force of it.
Tsireya's fury ignites anew at the revelation, her body stiffening against yours, eyes flashing with outrage. Saraye's careless barbs rendering you vulnerable, a catalyst for yet another injury, her brother's indiscretions the spark. She bites back a retort, jaw working silently choosing instead to hold you tighter, her fingers threading through your hair in soothing strokes until exhaustion claims you both, sleep pulling you under in tangled limbs, the night's quiet broken only by the distant call of nocturnal creatures.
The next morning, sunlight filters through the cracks in the marui weave, painting golden streaks across the floor and Tsireya stirs first, her movements careful not to disturb you.
She shakes your shoulder softly, her touch light as a breeze, voice a gentle murmur. "I'll leave now to get your things."
You nod sleepily, eyes heavy-lidded, the remnants of dreams of fleeting images of shared warmth now soured clinging like mist.
She rises fluidly, her form silhouetted against the entrance, curls swaying as she pauses to press a quick sisterly kiss to your forehead before slipping out, the flap falling closed with a soft whisper.
It's time I talk to my brother.
She thinks, resolve hardening her steps as she weaves through the village toward Ao'nung's marui, the morning bustle a blur around her. Fury simmers in her veins, a protective fire for you, mingled with the sting of dashed hopes. She pushes aside the entrance flap without ceremony, finding him seated on the low bench, his broad frame hunched slightly, tattooed arms resting on his knees, gaze fixed blankly on the woven floor.
The space feels emptier already, the absence of your presence a subtle shift in the air, his handsome features etched with something unreadable, regret perhaps or the weight of solitude returning.
"I'm getting (Y/N)'s things." She announces with a clipped voice, teal eyes locking onto his with unyielding accusation as she moves to the corner where your sparse belongings wait.
Ao'nung looks up slowly, his jaw tightening, the muscles in his neck cording briefly under the teal sheen of his skin.
"Why?" He asks calmly though his tone carries an undercurrent of defensiveness, rising to his full height, the armband you'd woven still circling his bicep, its beads catching the light like reluctant stars.
"She remembers everything now, Ao'nung." Tsireya retorts, her hands swift as she gathers your wraps and trinkets, folding them with precise angry motions, the fabric rustling sharply. "You can be free to do whatever you want now. Be with Saraye and all those women."
The words bite, laced with sarcasm, her glare piercing as she straightens, bundle clutched to her chest.
He scoffs, a low, rough sound rumbling from his throat, stepping closer to watch her dismantle the traces of you from his space, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean Saraye?"
"(Y/N) saw you the other day all close with her." Tsireya shoots back, her voice rising with frustration, cheeks flushing with the heat of her anger.
"And?" He presses arms crossing over his chest, the play of muscles under his skin a testament to his warrior build, though his stance holds a flicker of unease.
Tsireya glares undeterred, her body tensing as she continues packing, fingers trembling slightly with restrained fury.
"I know we've forced you to play a part but you didn't have to hurt her like this. She came to me that day almost in tears, telling me how you rejected her the night before, how she woke up the next morning to you gone, only to find you with another woman. A woman you've been so intimate with countless times." Her words hang heavy, charged with the pain she'd witnessed in your eyes, the vulnerability you'd bared to her alone.
Ao'nung's jaw clenches visibly, a shadow crossing his sharp features, his breath escaping in a controlled hiss.
"She misunderstood." He mutters, voice low and edged with irritation, though doubt flickers in his gaze, the realization of the chasm he'd widened settling like lead.
Tsireya rolls her eyes, the gesture sharp and dismissive, slinging your gathered items over one shoulder.
"It doesn't matter anyway. You've already hurt her. Also, you're free now, you don't have to play the part anymore." She turns toward the entrance but pauses, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Thank Saraye for (Y/N) getting her memory back. If she hadn't told (Y/N) yesterday how you're being forced because of the selective amnesia, (Y/N) would still be believing she's mated to you. In a way, that bitch of yours made (Y/N) hit her head, literally and figuratively."
Ao'nung stiffens at her words, his form going rigid as fury bloomed across his face, eyes darkening and fists balling at his sides as the true catalyst of your accident yesterday slams into him.
Saraye's meddling, his own careless confidence spilling secrets, the rough waves claiming you in your distress, it all converges a storm he hadn't anticipated, his pulse thundering in his ears.
Tsireya pauses at the entrance, your things balanced in her arms, her expression softening just a fraction with sorrow.
"She really did like you, Ao'nung." She says quietly, the words a final arrow. "And I thought you did too."
With that she slips out leaving him in the hollowed quiet of the marui, the space echoing with absence.
The cot where you'd slept undisturbed, the faint imprint of your scent on the air, the way sunlight now slants across empty corners without your form to soften it. His eyes drift to the armband on his bicep, fingers tracing its weave absently, the beads warm from his skin.
He'd grown used to you, to the rhythm of your shy smiles lighting the dim interiors, the press of your body against his in stolen moments, the idea of being yours, of being binded solely to one woman. The freedom you’d handed back feels less like release and more like a void, his chest tightening with the unfamiliar ache of what might have been.
That night, when your body pressed against his in the dim confines of the marui, your hips grinding instinctively in the haze, Ao'nung's resolve had cracked but held just barely.
He pulled away not out of disinterest but a respect for the innocence you held sacred, the purity you guarded like a hidden cove, untouched by the casual waves of fleeting encounters. He knew the bond you believed in wasn't real, woven from the fragile threads of amnesia and he wouldn't be the one to shatter it with his touch, to claim what wasn't truly offered in clarity.
Your wide hips had curved invitingly against him, the soft swell of your breasts brushing his chest through the thin barrier of hides but he turned from it all, forcing his body to face the woven wall, the cool night air doing little to quell the heat pooling low in his gut.
His cock throbbed insistently, hardened to an ache from the friction of your warmth rubbing against it, the slick promise of your untouched folds teasing through the fabric. If he'd pulled you close, wrapped his arms around your supple form and buried his face in the crook of your neck, he wouldn't have stopped.
He imagined it then in the dark.
His mouth descending to feast on your virgin pussy, tongue delving into the sweet uncharted heat, lapping at your folds until you arched and whimpered beneath him. He pictured plunging deep inside your tight hole, the velvet grip yielding to him inch by inch, breeding you with a primal urgency, marking you as his in the most irrevocable way.
The thought clawed at him but he denied it, breaths ragged and controlled until sleep finally claimed him in fitful fragments that night.
In the morning light, filtering soft through the entrance flap, Ao'nung stirred before you, his gaze lingering on your sleeping form. Your face, framed by loose strands of hair, held a serene beauty of full lips parted slightly, lashes casting faint shadows on your cheeks, the gentle rise of your chest a rhythm he'd come to anticipate.
"So beautiful." He murmured, voice a low rumble and thick with unspoken apology, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips, lingering just long enough to taste the warmth of your breath. "I'm sorry, yawntu."
The endearment slipped out heavy with the weight of what he withheld before he rose quietly, his broad shoulders rolling as he slipped out toward the beach, the sand still cool underfoot.
He needed to do something—anything—to bridge the gap he'd enforced so he crouched by the tide pools, fingers sifting through the damp grains for shells that caught the dawn's glow. Iridescent spirals, smooth pebbles veined with color, each one selected with care for the necklace he'd craft as an apology, a token to adorn the column of your throat.
The water lapped gently at the shore when Saraye emerged from the shallows, her form cutting through the waves, water sluicing off her teal skin in rivulets that traced the curves of her hips and the swell of her breasts. She approached with a sway, braids dripping, a knowing smile curving her lips.
"Ao'nung, I haven't seen you in a while." She said, voice lilting with feigned casualness, eyes flicking over his tattooed arms as she drew near.
He shrugged not pausing in his search, the muscles in his back flexing under the morning sun.
"Been busy." He replied evenly, tone neutral, his focus on a cluster of tiny pearlescent shells half-buried in the sand.
Saraye's smile deepened, stepping closer until her shadow fell across his hands, her scent wafting toward him.
"With (Y/N)? I thought you didn't settle down." She teased, a glint of challenge in her gaze, her fingers trailing idly along the edge of her loincloth.
Ao'nung straightened slightly, wiping sand from his palms, seeing no harm in the truth, it wasn't a secret to unravel.
"She has selective amnesia." He explained, voice steady, meeting her eyes without warmth. "She believes we're mates. My parents asked me to take care of her until she recovers her memory."
Her eyes glinted sharper, a flicker of opportunity crossing her features as she tilted her head, lips pursing in mock sympathy. "So you're being forced? I feel sorry that you're stuck with taking care of her when you can spend your time with me."
The words dripped with invitation, her body angling toward him, one hand resting on her hip to accentuate the dip of her waist.
He laughed then, a short bark of sound escaping his chest, genuine amusement bubbling up at her presumption, the sheer audacity of assuming his chains were so easily chafed. It wasn't interest fueling the chuckle but the irony of her misread, the way she painted his days with you as a burden when they'd become something he guarded.
That was the moment you glimpsed him from afar, the sound carrying on the breeze, twisting in your mind into flirtation, a dismissal of the fragile world you'd built.
"She's not a duty to me." Ao'nung said firmly, shaking his head as the laughter faded, his expression hardening with sincerity. "I would have left already if I didn't like taking care of her. No one can force me to do anything I don't want, Saraye."
His words cut clean, leaving no room for her advances and he turned back to the shore dismissing her with the set of his shoulders as he resumed his hunt for more shells, each find a step toward mending what he sensed fraying.
The day stretched on without your return to the marui, the empty space gnawing at him as the sun climbed high then dipped toward the horizon. Worry coiled in his gut, a tight knot that had him pacing the woven floor, his bare feet silent on the hides. He ventured out as dusk painted the sky in bruised purples, scanning the paths until he spotted you near the edge of the village, your laughter ringing soft and clear as you leaned into Tsireya's side, her arm slung companionably around your shoulders.
The sight eased something in him, your face animated, the tension in your posture loosening in her company, and his heart softened, a quiet understanding blooming at how you must have missed her steady presence.
He wouldn't intrude, wouldn't crowd the space you clearly needed. Instead he retreated to the marui, the bundle of shells clutched in his fist.
Night fell but sleep evaded him, his mind replaying the curve of your smile, the way you'd murmur “Nungie” in those unguarded moments, your voice a balm he craved.
He sat by the low table, fingers fumbling with the materials. Rough cord from dried vines, the shells he'd polished smooth against a stone. Weaving wasn't his skill, his hands moved clumsily, the strands twisting unevenly, beads slipping before catching. But he persisted, the necklace taking shape as a simple adornment, its asymmetry a claim mirroring the armband you'd given him.
Yours on his skin, this for your neck, a silent vow to the bond he hadn't dared voice.
Daylight crept in again, the marui warming with the sun's rise and Ao'nung finally set the finished piece aside, its weight light but meaningful in his palm. He headed to the beach for the gathering, his role as leader pulling him to the water's edge where ilus bobbed in the shallows, their sleek forms glistening.
He knew your schedule intertwined with Tsireya's today, gathering kelp and pearls from the outer reefs and he waited, eyes scanning the horizon, the necklace tucked into a pouch at his hip.
Saraye steered her ilu closer, her mount brushing his with deliberate proximity but he paid her no mind, gaze fixed on the approaching figures, jaw set in quiet focus.
You appeared then, mounted gracefully on your ilu, the wind tugging at your braids but your eyes slid past him without pause, the avoidance a sharp twist in his chest, your posture rigid as you guided your creature to join Tsireya's side.
He swallowed the pang, figuring the distance was necessary, that he'd speak to you later in private. Away from the eyes of the clan, no pressure to you in the open where whispers could wound. The group set out, ilus slicing through the waves in formation, the sea's rhythm steady under him as he directed the paths, his commands barked low and efficient.
Silence wrapped around his thoughts until Tsireya's voice shattered it, a shout laced with panic of your name tearing from her throat.
He whipped around, heart slamming against his ribs, the world narrowing to the sight of you slumped forward on your ilu, blood trickling from a gash on your forehead, staining the teal of your skin in stark rivulets. Terror gripped him, cold and visceral, a echo of that first accident replaying in brutal clarity.
He urged his ilu forward in a surge, closing the distance in seconds reaching out to gather you from Tsireya's trembling arms, her face pale, tears streaking her cheeks as she passed you over.
Your body felt limp and fragile against him, the warmth of your form seeping into his chest even as the metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils, soaking into his skin where he cradled your head. It was déjà vu, the rush of waves blurring as he kicked his ilu toward shore, holding you secure, one arm banded around your waist, the other supporting your neck, your blood smearing across his torso in warm streaks.
"Eywa, please." He whispered fiercely to the wind, pulse thundering. "Let her be okay."
The village blurred past as he barreled toward his mother's marui, Tsireya's ilu splashing close behind, her sobs carrying over the surf. He burst through the entrance flap, the space dim and herbal-scented, laying you gently on the healing mat as autopilot took over. His ears ringing, vision tunneling to the pale cast of your features, the shallow rise of your chest.
You looked so vulnerable, lashes fluttering weakly against your cheeks, the curve of your lips slack, blood matting a strand of hair to your temple.
Ronal moved swiftly, her hands steady as she took you from his grasp, assessing the wound with practiced eyes. Tsireya tumbling in behind to explain in halting bursts of the rogue current, the hidden coral outcrop, your focus lost in the moment.
His chest and arms glistened with your blood, sticky and cooling, but his eyes never left you, fixed on the fragility of your form, the way your fingers twitched faintly at your side.
"Go clean yourself up, Ao'nung." Ronal commanded, her voice firm yet laced with concern, glancing at him briefly before turning back to you, her fingers already mixing a poultice.
He nodded numbly, rising on unsteady legs, the weight of hope and fear pressing down as he backed away whispering to himself. "She'll be okay. She has to be."
As the memory fades and Tsireya left, alone in the dim hush of his marui, Ao'nung paced the woven floor. His broad chest heaved with a sigh, muscles taut under his teal skin as he raked a hand through his braids, the beads clinking softly.
What he'd once craved of nights tangled with whoever caught his eye, the thrill of no strings, the freedom to chase the next wave has now twisted into something hollow, a shadow against the vivid pull you exerted on him.
"Fuck." He growled low, the word rough and edged with frustration, fists clenching at his sides as he sank onto the mat, staring at the armband you'd woven for him, its fibers a constant press against his bicep.
Tomorrow he'd corner you, lay bare the truths gnawing at him.
How your innocence had hooked him deeper than any fleeting liaison, how pulling away that night wasn't rejection but a desperate bid to honor the purity you valued even if the bond was born of fogged memory. He'd explain the laugh with Saraye, the shells he'd gathered just for you, the necklace burning a hole in his pouch. But doubt coiled in his gut, sharp as a spear tip.
Would she listen or had the recovered memories sealed me out for good?
Sleep came heavy and reluctant, his body curling into itself, dreams fractured with visions of your curves arching under him, the slick heat he'd denied himself leaving him waking with a insistent throb between his legs.
Dawn broke with a soft glow over the village, the reef's colors bleeding into the sky as Ao'nung slipped from his marui, the clumsily woven necklace clutched in his palm. The shells strung unevenly, a pearl at its center catching the light like a promise. He made his way to your dwelling, the path familiar now, his steps measured but urgent, heart pounding a steady rhythm against his ribs.
You emerged just as he approached, your form silhouetted against the entrance flap, the sway of your wide hips accentuated by the tight weave of your loincloth, the supple swell of your breasts rising with each breath under a beaded top that clung to your skin. Your face, that exquisite blend of soft features and wide guarded eyes, turned away before locking on him, lashes lowering in deliberate avoidance.
"(Y/N)." He called, voice low and laced with a plea stepping closer, the pouch at his hip swaying.
But you didn't pause, shoulders stiffening as you veered toward the communal path, bare feet padding silently over the packed earth, your long hair swaying like kelp in a current.
He thought of Saraye's bold assumptions, how you'd twisted his laughter into betrayal and it fueled him. You believed him reverted to old habits, tangled with her perhaps, chasing skirts while your heart mended elsewhere. The idea ignited a possessive fire in him, his gaze tracing the line of your spine, imagining pinning you against a palm, hands gripping those birthing hips as he ground against your ass, showing you exactly who consumed his thoughts.
He followed at a distance, shadowing your steps like a hunter tracking elusive prey, the thrill of the pursuit sending heat coiling low in his belly.
You headed to the weaving circle where women gathered under shaded fronds, their hands busy with fibers and dyes. dTsireya was there, her frame bent over a half-finished mat but she glanced up as you approached, her eyes flicking past you to Ao'nung lingering at the edge, his tattooed arms crossed and jaw set. You settled beside her, fingers deftly twisting cords but your movements were tense, the curve of your neck exposed as you leaned forward, oblivious or pretending, to his presence.
"Tsireya." You murmured, voice soft with forced lightness, though your cheeks flushed faintly. "Pass me the red fiber? I need to finish this band before the tide turns."
She obliged, shooting him a warning glare over your shoulder but he didn't retreat.
Instead crouching nearby pretending to inspect a nearby basket, his eyes devouring the way your thighs pressed together as you shifted, the faint sheen of sweat tracing a path down your collarbone into the valley between your breasts. Obsession bloomed sharper as images flashed of your legs parting for him, that virgin slit glistening, begging for his tongue to trace its folds, to taste the sweetness he'd only fantasized about while denying himself.
"(Y/N), wait." He said finally, voice rougher now, edged with the strain of restraint as he rose and closed the gap, ignoring Tsireya's sharp intake of breath.
You stiffened hands pausing mid-twist but kept your gaze on the weaving, the fiber snapping taut under your grip.
"I need to talk to you. About everything." His words hung heavy, charged with the undercurrent of desire he barely leashed, his body heat radiating as he knelt beside you, close enough that his knee brushed your outer thigh sending a jolt through him at the contact.
You exhaled sharply, a flicker of hurt crossing your features before you masked it, lips pressing into a thin line.
"There's nothing to say, Ao'nung." You replied coolly, though your voice wavered, betraying the storm beneath your shy reserve. "You've made your choices clear. I thank you for taking care of me but you can now go back to... whatever life you had before me."
The words stung laced with accusation, your wide and shimmering eyes finally meeting his for a heartbeat before darting away, the beauty of your face twisting his gut with regret and want.
He leaned in, breath warm against your ear, the scent of your skin stirring his cock to half-hardness beneath his loincloth. He really doesn’t know what’s wrong with him and why his body is like this with you now.
"It's not what you think." He murmured, low and insistent, fingers itching to trace the shell of your ear, to tilt your chin and claim your mouth until you melted against him. "Saraye means nothing. Let me explain yawntu, please."
The endearment slipped out raw with longing but you pulled back rising abruptly, the sway of your hips hypnotic as you excused yourself to Tsireya with a murmured apology, heading toward the shore path.
He trailed you again, the sun climbing higher, warming the sand underfoot as you reached the water's edge, bending to rinse your hands in the shallows, the waves lapping at your ankles.
Your loincloth rode up slightly, revealing the firm curve of your ass and he bit back a groan, vision blurring with the urge to drop to his knees behind you, hands spreading your cheeks to bury his face there, tongue delving into your untouched heat until you buckled moaning his name. Obsession clawed deeper within him, a thrilling ache that made his pulse race.
He couldn't let you slip away, not when every glance, every avoidance, only heightened the carnal hunger building like a storm.
The beach wasn't empty, a few hunters sparred nearby, their grunts echoing but he ignored them, matching your pace as you wandered along the tideline, picking at driftwood absently.
"(Y/N)." He tried again, voice dropping to a husky timbre, stepping into your path this time, his taller frame blocking the sun, casting a shadow over your form.
Water droplets clung to your skin tracing lazy paths down your arms and he followed one with his eyes, imagining licking it away, his mouth exploring the soft underside of your breast, teeth grazing the peak until it hardened under his assault.
You halted, chest rising faster, the beaded top shifting with the motion, outlining the pert tips beneath.
"Why are you doing this?" You demanded, frustration bleeding into your tone, eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something softer, a vulnerability that made his heart clench. "Following me like I'm some obligation? Just like before when I thought... when I was wrong about us. Leave me be, Ao'nung. Go find Saraye, she seemed to make you laugh."
The bitterness twisted the last words, your hands fisting at your sides as your knuckles paled.
He reached out, fingers grazing your wrist, light and tentative but electric, the contact sending sparks up his arm straight to his groin, where his length strained fully now, tenting the fabric obscenely.
"That laugh wasn't for her." He said fiercely, thumb stroking the pulse point there, feeling it flutter wildly. "She assumed I was trapped with you, like caring for you was a chore. I laughed because it's absurd, being near you is the only thing that feels right anymore. I pulled away that night because I respect you, (Y/N). Your innocence, what you hold sacred. I won't corrupt it with half-truths. I wouldn’t fuck you knowing your mind is under a haze even if I badly fucking want to."
His gaze dropped to your lips, full and parted on a shallow breath, imagining them wrapped around his cock, sliding down inch by inch, your shy eyes watering as you took him deep.
You yanked your hand free but didn't flee, the tension crackling between you like lightning over the reef, your body leaning imperceptibly closer despite yourself.
"Respect?" You echoed voice trembling, a flush creeping up your neck. "Or regret? Now that I remember, you're free again. Back to your ways."
The words were a challenge, laced with the pain of your shattered illusions but your eyes betrayed the lingering pull, the way they traced the hard planes of his chest, the V of his hips.
The thrill intensified, his obsession a living thing now urging him to close the distance, to press you against the nearest rock and rut against your core until you felt his undeniable raw need.
But he held back, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "No regrets. Only want. For you, all of you. Let me show you, not with words but... give me a chance."
He lifted the pouch, the necklace glinting as he drew it out, holding it toward you like an offering, the uneven weave a testament to his fumbling devotion.
You stared at it, conflict warring on your feature. The pretty bow of your mouth softening, eyes widening at the shells that mirrored the ones you'd admired together. But then Tsireya's call echoed from afar, pulling you back and you turned away once more, leaving him standing there, arousal throbbing unmet.
The chase far from over, each step you took only drawing him deeper into the intoxicating web of desire and denial.
You walked away from him on the sun-warmed sand, the waves whispering at your heels like secrets you weren't ready to hear, your heart a tangled knot of doubt and lingering ache. The necklace he'd offered glinted in your mind's eye, a fragile thing that tugged at the edges of your resolve but you pushed forward, your hips swaying with each determined steps.
Behind you, Ao'nung stood frozen for a heartbeat, the shell strand clutched in his fist, its edges biting into his palm as resolve hardened in his chest like coral forming over time.
No more holding back.
With your memories restored, the fragile veil of your amnesia was gone and so was the restraint he'd imposed on himself out of some misguided respect for the innocence you'd carried like a sacred flame. He never saw your purity as a barrier to shatter but a canvas to paint with his touch, to draw out moans and shudders until you craved him as fiercely as he burned for you. He'd use every whisper of pleasure and every slide of skin on skin to weave you into his world making the bond real, sealing it with the heat of your bodies joining.
His old ways called to him, that shameless pursuit of ecstasy but this time it was singular, laser-focused on you. On the curve of your spine, the plush give of your breasts, the untouched warmth between your legs that he'd claim inch by aching inch.
His parents' words echoed faintly, a nudge he'd ignored for too long.
Settle, mate, build a legacy.
Fine. He'd do it, but only with you.
Filling you until your belly swelled with the promise of their grandchild, your wide hips cradling the life you'd create together. But first, he had to break through that shy wall you hid behind, tease it down with lips and fingers until you begged. Gripping the necklace tighter, the pearl warm against his skin, he started after you again with his strides longer and more predatory, the throb in his loincloth a insistent drumbeat urging him on.
You veered toward the village center, where the midday bustle hummed.
The hunters sharpening spears under woven awnings, children darting between legs with laughter like splashing water, women carrying baskets of fresh catch from the reef. The air hummed with the scent of smoked fish and blooming vines but your focus narrowed to escape to the cool shade of the gathering pavilion where Tsireya might be waiting. Your bare feet sank into the soft path, each step sending a faint tremor up your legs, your breasts shifting gently with the motion, nipples pebbling against the beaded strands from the breeze off the sea and Ao’nung's advances earlier.
He caught up before you reached the pavilion's edge, his hand wrapping around your upper arm, not rough but firm and halting you mid-stride. The contact seared, his callused fingers pressing into the soft flesh and you felt the heat of him radiate through your skin, stirring an unwelcome flutter low in your belly.
"(Y/N)." He breathed, voice a low rumble that vibrated against your back as he pulled you slightly aside into the partial shelter of a broad-leafed plant, its fronds casting dappled shadows over your faces.
His body crowded yours, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades but the hard line of his arousal was evident against your hip when he shifted closer unashamed.
It was a whole 360 from the restraint he had when you were under the selective memory loss and was humping him like you were in heat. Still, you twisted in his grip, cheeks heating as you met his gaze. Those intense teal eyes darkened with hunger, his pupils blown wide like the deep sea at night.
"Let go." You whispered, voice trembling with the effort to sound firm though your body betrayed you, leaning just a fraction into his warmth.
Innocence cloaked you still. You knew the basics of mating from hushed talks with Tsireya, the sacred joining under Eywa's gaze but the raw mechanics of the stretch, the slick slide, the overwhelming fullness remained a hazy mystery, one that made your pulse skitter when his thumb traced a slow circle on your arm.
Ao'nung didn't release you.
Instead he stepped nearer, his free hand rising to cup your jaw, tilting your face up so your lips hovered perilously close to his. His breath fanned hot over your mouth, carrying the faint tang of salt and desire.
"I can't." He admitted, the words rough and laced with a yearning that twisted his features, brows furrowing as if the confession pained him. "Not anymore. You think I'm chasing Saraye? That laugh was at her foolishness, nothing more. She's a shadow, (Y/N). You... you're the one pulling me under."
His thumb brushed your lower lip parting it slightly and you felt the damp heat building between your thighs, unfamiliar and insistent, making you clench instinctively.
Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as you fought the pull, the way his touch ignited sparks along your nerves.
"Prove it." You challenged softly though your voice cracked, body arching subtly toward him despite your words. "Words are easy for you. You've said them to others."
The accusation hung between you, your free hand pressing against his chest as you feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath the firm muscle, his tattoos curling like waves over his pecs. He groaned low, the sound vibrating through his chest right into your palm, his grip on your jaw tightening just enough to hold you steady as he leaned in with his nose brushing yours.
"Easy? This is torture." He murmured, lips grazing the corner of your mouth in a tease that sent liquid fire pooling in your core. "Every night with or without you in my marui, I ache hard from the thoughts of burying deep inside you, feeling your walls clench around me for the first time. Your innocence drives me mad, yawntu. I want to ruin it, show you how good it can be, how you'd drip for me, beg for my cock to fill that sweet virgin pussy but I had to hold back because I do not want you to hate me once you got your memories back. I did not want you to think I’m taking advantage of your selective amnesia just to get my dick wet."
The words were filthy, explicit, yet honest as it painted pictures that made your knees weaken and your heart soften in understanding.
You shoved at him harder though your push lacked conviction, fingers splaying over the ridges of his abs, tracing the dips involuntarily.
"Stop." You gasped but it came out breathy, your hips shifting restlessly, the friction of your loincloth against your swelling clit a new torturous sensation.
He was obsessed, you could see it in the way his eyes raked over you as it devoured the swell of your tits straining the beads, the flare of your hips he wanted to grip while thrusting home. Blooming festering love simmered beneath the lust making his yearning palpable like a tide dragging you under its pull.
But you held firm, barely, the doubt about Saraye a anchor keeping you from melting. "Not like this. Not when I see you with her in my mind."
Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears and it only fueled his determination, his hand sliding down to your waist, thumb dipping just under the edge of your top to stroke the soft skin there. Ao'nung's jaw clenched, frustration and adoration warring in his expression as he pulled back slightly enough to scan the growing crowd nearby.
The villagers milling about the pavilion, conversations dipping as eyes turned toward your secluded spot. Tsireya lingered at the edge, her gaze sharp while Saraye hovered further back, arms crossed watching with narrowed eyes.
Perfect. If words weren't enough, action would be.
He straightened, keeping one hand possessively on your hip, the necklace still fisted in the other and raised his voice, letting it carry over the hum of the village like a hunter's call.
"(Y/N) is mine as I am hers." He declared, the words booming with finality, drawing gasps and murmurs from the gathered clan.
Heads turned, whispers rippling like waves as Ao'nung, the untamed future Olo'eyktan, announced a courtship? He'd never done this, never laid claim publicly, always keeping his entanglements fleeting and private. No woman worthy enough to be considered to be courted yet here is he now.
"I am courting her officially under Eywa's light. No other. She is the only woman I see, the only one who stirs my blood, who I'll bond with body and soul." His eyes locked on yours pleading as he pressed the necklace into your palm, closing your fingers around it. "Prove it? This is proof. You're it for me."
The crowd erupted in stunned chatter, faces alight with surprise as hunters exchanged wide-eyed looks and women clutching their baskets tighter in envy. Tsireya's lips curved into a knowing smirk, her gaze sliding to Saraye who paled, shoulders slumping as the implications sank in.
You stood there with the necklace warm in your hand, heart pounding wildly, the lewd promise in his earlier words still echoing making your body hum with unspent tension. You hadn't given in fully, not yet as the hesitance in you held you back demanding more time to believe but the public vow cracked something inside leaving you trembling on the edge, his obsession a thrilling current pulling you closer.
The murmurs of the clan still swirled around you like the eddies in a tidal pool, eyes lingering on the two of you with a mix of awe and curiosity but Ao'nung's declaration hung in the air like a claimed territory.
You searched his face, those sharp features etched with a sincerity that cut through the haze of your doubts.
He wasn't a liar, no.
The future Olo'eyktan might chase skirts and leave hearts in his wake but deceit wasn't his vice. He was transparent with everything. His words had weight, forged in the heat of his affections for you and they settled over you, heavy yet oddly reassuring.
Hesitantly you nodded, the motion small, your chin dipping just enough to signal surrender to the moment.
A wide triumphant grin split his face, his teeth flashing white against the teal of his skin as he stepped closer, the crowd fading into a distant hum. His fingers brushed the nape of your neck sending a shiver racing down your spine. The necklace's cool pearls slid against your collarbone as he fastened it, the shell pendant nestling between the soft swell of your breasts right where your beaded top parted slightly with each breath.
"You're so beautiful, yawntu." He murmured, voice dropping to a husky timbre that vibrated through the scant space between you, his gaze tracing the way the light caught the curve of your jaw and the full pout of your lips. "I'll court you every day, even after we're mated. I always will."
His thumb lingered at the clasp, a gentle press that made your pulse stutter, the warmth of his body invading your senses of musk and sea salt mingling with the faint earthy scent of his arousal.
You bit your lower lip, the plump flesh caught between your teeth as uncertainty flickered in your chest, words caught in your throat like fish in a net. The public vow was one thing but the intimacy of his promise tugged at something deeper, a shy ache that made your thighs press together subtly.
Ao'nung's eyes darkened at the sight, his breath hitching as he leaned in, forehead nearly touching yours.
"Come home?" He asked, the plea raw in his tone, laced with a vulnerability that cracked his usual bravado. "The marui doesn't feel like home without you in it anymore."
His hand found yours, fingers interlacing with a possessiveness that sent heat blooming across your skin, his calluses scraping lightly against your palm. Warmth flooded your chest, a gentle tide washing over the remnants of your resistance, easing the knot there. You nodded again, more firmly this time, letting him lead you away from the pavilion's edge, his stride confident as he wove through the thinning crowd.
The path to his marui wound along the lagoon's fringe, bioluminescent vines glowing faintly in the late afternoon light, their tendrils swaying like silent witnesses.
Behind you, Tsireya's voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with satisfaction as she turned to Saraye who stood rigid with her arms still crossed over her chest. Tsireya's smirk was a blade, her eyes gleaming with protective glee.
"He was never yours to begin with." She said, voice low but carrying the weight of finality, her posture straight and unyielding. "You better be glad my brother is too busy with her right now or you would have been punished for what you did."
Saraye's face drained of color, her lips parting in a silent retort but Tsireya turned away leaving the words to fester like an open wound.
Ao'nung was all smiles as he guided you up the familiar woven steps to his marui, the entrance draped in kelp curtains that parted with a soft rustle. The space inside enveloped you as he pulled you deeper, his hand never leaving yours until you stood in the heart of it, the low platform bed piled with soft furs in the corner.
"I'm taking your things back from your marui tomorrow." He declared, his grin softening into something warmer and more intimate as he faced you fully, his broad shoulders filling the doorway behind. "You belong here."
His free hand rose to trace the necklace's path along your throat, fingers dipping lower to skim the edge of your top where the beads clung to the underside of your breast. You nodded, the motion automatic, your body already yielding to the pull of his presence, the way his tattoos seemed to shift with each flex of muscle under his skin.
He exhaled slowly, stepping closer until his chest brushed yours, the hard planes pressing against your softer curves.
"I cannot erase my past, (Y/N). I was a skxwang." He said, voice rough with earnestness, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "But I will do everything in my power to shield you from it. You... changed me. I want to be better for you and I will."
The confession hung between you, his hand sliding to your waist, thumb circling the dip above your hipbone igniting a spark that traveled straight to your core.
Your lips parted, a soft exhale escaping as you searched his face, the sincerity there chipping away at the last barriers.
"How?" You whispered, voice trembling with a mix of fear and curiosity, your fingers tightening in his grip. "You've always been... free with your affections. What makes this different? Me?"
Ao'nung's jaw tightened, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he pulled you flush against him, the rigid length of his cock pressing insistently against your belly through his loincloth.
"Everything." He breathed, his mouth hovering near your ear, breath fanning the sensitive shell. "You make me burn, yawntu. Not like the others who were just fleeting fires. With you, it's a storm, crashing and endless. I dream of tasting you, of making you writhe under me until you forget anyone came before you."
His words were a caress, filthy and direct, stirring an unfamiliar heat between your legs, a slick warmth that made you shift restlessly. You swallowed hard, cheeks flushing as naivety mixed with the budding ache.
"Tasting?" The question came out breathy and innocent, your wide eyes meeting his unaware of the depths he meant.
A feral glint entered his gaze, his grip on your waist firming as he guided you backward toward the bed platform, the furs yielding under your calves.
"Let me show you." He urged, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper laced with hunger. "No further than this, not yet. Just... let me worship you. See how it binds us closer than words."
His free hand trailed down your side, hooking into the tie of your loincloth loosening it with deliberate slowness, the fabric whispering as it fell away exposing the smooth expanse of your thighs and the untouched mound between them.
Your heart hammered with a shy protest rising but it died on your tongue as he knelt before you, his strong hands parting your legs gently, thumbs stroking the inner skin until gooseflesh prickled.
"Ao'nung..." You murmured, half plea and half wonder, your hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle there.
The air felt charged and heavy with anticipation, your body trembling as he looked up at you, eyes dark with obsession.
"Trust me." He said, the words a vow, his breath ghosting over your core, making you gasp at the sudden sensitivity.
He leaned in, nose brushing the softness above your slit inhaling deeply, the musky sweetness of your arousal hitting him like a drug, his cock twitching painfully against the confines of his cloth, pre-cum beading at the tip.
"Eywa, you smell like sin and salvation. So fucking good." He groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin as his tongue flicked out, tracing a tentative line along your outer fold.
The sensation was electric, a jolt that arched your back, your thighs quivering as you gripped him tighter. You innocence shattered in that first touch of the wet and insistent tongue parting your lower lips to lap at the slickness gathering there. You whimpered needily, your hips bucking instinctively toward the source of pleasure as unfamiliar waves build low in your belly.
He growled in response, feral now, hands clamping onto your wide hips to hold you steady, his fingers sinking into the plush flesh as he devoured you. His mouth was relentless, tongue circling your entrance before delving inside, thrusting shallowly to taste your depths, the lewd wet sounds filling the marui like a forbidden chant.
"So tight, so fucking delicious." He mumbled against you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine, his nose nudging your swelling clit with each eager press.
You moaned head falling back, the necklace's pendant swaying with the motion and cool against your heated skin. Pleasure coiled tighter, a pressure you'd never known making your toes curl into the furs.
"What... what is this?" You gasped, voice breaking as his lips sealed around your pearl sucking gently then harder, teeth grazing just enough to tease.
"This is you coming alive for me." He rasped, pulling back briefly, his chin glistening with your essence, eyes wild with lust as he stroked himself through his loincloth, the outline of his thick shaft straining.
The sight made your core clench emptily, a fresh gush of wetness coating his waiting tongue as he dove back in, lapping sloppily and nastily like a man starved. His tongue flattened dragging from your entrance to your clit in long deliberate strokes savoring every drop and every quiver.
Minutes blurred in agonizing bliss as he alternated between soft licks and fervent sucks, one hand sliding up to pinch and roll your nipple through the beads, the dual assault making stars burst behind your eyelids. Your breaths came in pants, body slick with sweat and breasts heaving as the tension wound higher, your innocence yielding to the raw ecstasy he coaxed from you.
"That's it, yawntu." He encouraged between laps, voice muffled and desperate, his free hand fisting the furs to keep from touching himself further, cock leaking steadily now, the damp spot growing. "Let go for me. I want to feel you flood my mouth, mark me as yours."
His words pushed you closer, the obsession in his tone mirroring the love that simmered beneath, his mouth working you with single-minded fervor.
The peak crashed over you slowly at first then all at once. A tidal wave of sensation that had you crying out, thighs clamping around his head as your walls fluttered, release soaking his eager tongue. He drank it down, humming in approval, not stopping until you sagged boneless and spent, his kisses turning gentle on your trembling thighs.
Rising slowly, he pulled you into his arms, cock still hard and insistent against your hip but he held back, forehead resting against yours.
"See?" He whispered, voice hoarse with restraint. "This is just the beginning. You're mine now, in ways words can't touch."
Your body hummed with aftershocks, the corruption sweet and irreversible, drawing you deeper into his web.
Since then, your days blurred into a rhythm of relentless pursuit from him. Ao'nung's promises weaving into the fabric of your shared life like vines claiming a trellis. From that charged day in the marui, he hadn't faltered, not once. His courtship unfolded with a shameless fervor that left the clan buzzing with whispers trailing you both like schools of fish in the lagoon. He was a man unashamed, his affections poured out in broad daylight drawing eyes yet there was a steadiness to it now, a depth that silenced the skeptics over time.
Ronal's approval came first, her sharp gaze softening in ways you'd rarely seen.
As the family gathered in the central marui for the dawn meal, the air thick with the scent of roasted fish and fresh ilu kelp, she pulled Ao'nung aside after the others had scattered to their tasks. You lingered near the entrance, adjusting the shell bracelet he'd gifted you the day before, its smooth edges cool against your wrist. Tonowari nodded from his seat by the fire pit, his broad frame relaxed but it was Ronal who spoke, her voice a quiet command laced with warmth.
"Take care of (Y/N)." She said, her hand resting on his arm, fingers pressing into the inked patterns that marked his lineage. Her eyes, usually piercing with the weight of her tsahìk duties, held a rare tenderness, the lines around them crinkling faintly. "As much as you are my son, she is also a daughter to me."
The words carried the gravity of her promise to Riki’ea and Ar'von, her posture straightening as she glanced toward you with a subtle smile curving her lips.
Ao'nung met his mother’s gaze steadily, his jaw set with resolve, the muscles in his neck shifting under the morning light filtering through the woven walls.
He knew the roots of her affection, your mother had been her closest companion, a bond forged in youth and shattered too soon by death. Ronal had watched over you ever since, a silent guardian weaving you into the family's tapestry.
"I will, Mother." He replied, voice low and fervent, his hand covering hers briefly. "She's everything now. I swear it on the ancestors."
Tonowari grunted in approval clapping his son's shoulder with a firm thud that echoed his pride, the clan's future olo'eyktan finally stepping into the role they'd long urged.
The exchange lingered in Ao'nung's mind as he sought you out later that afternoon, the sun hanging high over the reef, casting dappled patterns on the sand. You were at the water's edge, knees drawn up as you watched young na'vi children splash in the shallows, their laughter mingling with the crash of waves.
He approached without preamble, dropping to sit beside you, his thigh brushing yours in a casual intimacy that sent a quiet thrill through your veins. His skin was warm from the hunt earlier, a faint sheen of sweat tracing the ridges of his abdomen where his loincloth rode low.
"Yawntu." He murmured, voice a soft rumble that drew your eyes to his face, to the strong line of his nose and the way his full lips quirked in that shameless grin. He reached for your hand, interlacing fingers with a gentleness that belied his being, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist where your pulse fluttered. "Walk with me? The cove beyond the mangroves, it's quiet there. Just us."
His gaze dipped briefly to the curve of your neck, where the necklace he'd placed there days ago rested against your skin, the pendant rising with each breath.
You hesitated only a moment, the warmth of his touch coaxing a nod from you, your body already leaning into the pull.
As you rose, he kept hold of your hand leading you along the shore, his stride measured to match yours, the sand shifting underfoot. The cove was a hidden gem, enclosed by twisting roots and lapped by gentle currents, the water a crystalline blue that invited submersion. He didn't release you until you both waded in up to your waists, the coolness shocking against the heat of the day.
There with the water buoying your forms, he turned to you, hands sliding to your waist, fingers splaying over the dip of your hips.
"I've been thinking of you all morning." He confessed, his breath warm against your temple as he drew you closer, chests nearly touching.
The water made everything feel weightless, his touch exploratory as palms glide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin barrier of your top. It was soft, this affection laced with a darker undercurrent that made your breath hitch as heat pooled low in your belly.
"Ao'nung." You whispered, a shy smile tugging at your lips despite the flush creeping up your neck.
His name felt natural on your tongue again but the old endearment hovered, waiting. You liked this, the way he looked at you like you were the only tide worth chasing, his body responding to yours with an openness that chipped away at your reservations.
He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through the water as he leaned in, lips grazing your earlobe. "Say it properly, yawntu. That one nickname I miss hearing from you."
His hands dipped lower, cupping the swell of your ass beneath the surface and squeezing just enough to elicit a soft gasp from you, the pressure firm yet tender, igniting sparks along your nerves.
Softening under his gaze, you let the words slip out, tentative at first.
"Nungie..." It was a murmur laced with affection, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.
His eyes lit with triumph, a groan escaping him as he pulled you flush against him, the hard line of his arousal pressing into your thigh through the water's veil.
"There it is." He breathed, voice husky with desire, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the column of your throat.
He nuzzled there, lips trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on your skin mixed with the sea's brine. It was lewd in its intimacy, his free hand roaming to tease the tie of your top, loosening it just enough for the fabric to slip baring one turquoise breast to the cool air above the waves.
You arched into him, a quiet moan bubbling up as his mouth descended capturing the peaked nipple between his lips, sucking with a slow deliberate rhythm that sent jolts straight to your core. The water lapped around you, heightening every sensation of the swirl of his tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth, his hips rolling subtly to grind against you.
"Nungie, please." You whimpered, hands clutching his shoulders, nails leaving faint crescents on his teal skin.
He pulled back slightly, eyes dark with lust but tempered by reverence, his thumb circling your wet nipple.
"I could do this forever." He said, voice rough, forehead pressing to yours. "Taste every inch, make you feel how deep this runs."
But he reined it in, retieing your top with careful fingers, the promise lingering in his touch as he kissed you deeply, tongues tangling in a dance that left you breathless.
Word of his devotion spread like ripples from a dropped stone. The clan noticed the change, the way Ao'nung no longer lingered at gatherings with wandering eyes, his attention fixed solely on you. During a communal hunt preparation the next eve as warriors sharpened spears under the torchlight, he wove through the group to bring you a woven basket of fresh fruits, his hand brushing your lower back possessively as he leaned in.
"For you." He said, popping a ripe berry between your lips, his thumb lingering to wipe the juice from your chin, eyes locked on the way your mouth worked around it.
The gesture was affectionate and public drawing smirks from the others but he ignored them, focused on the spark in your eyes.
Tsireya watched from afar, her nod subtle, approval clear in her relaxed stance as she sees her brother finally making everything right for you.
That night back in the marui, the air hummed with the soft glow of lanterns, furs spread invitingly on the platform. He drew you down with him, bodies aligning in a tangle of limbs, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that started sweet and turned heated.
"You're softening to me." He observed between breaths, his hand slipping under your loincloth to cup your cunt gently, fingers tracing lazy circles over your folds without parting them, just enough pressure to make you squirm.
"Maybe I am." You admitted, voice breathy, calling him "nungie" again as you nipped at his lip, your leg hooking over his hip.
The lewd press of his erection against your thigh was insistent but he kept it teasing and with a drawn line, grinding slowly while his mouth explored your neck, sucking marks that bloomed like bruises of possession.
He proved it daily, to you in stolen touches that left you aching, to the clan in his unwavering focus, to his parents in quiet reports of your growing bond. Ronal's smile grew wider each time she saw you together, her hand often squeezing yours in passing, a silent affirmation.
And as the days stretched, your walls crumbled further which led to the very night he had been praying Eywa for.
The marui enveloped you in its hushed intimacy, the woven walls filtering the distant hum of the reef into a soothing lull. The lights casting a soft ethereal glow across the furs strewn over the sleeping platform, their light dancing on Ao'nung's teal skin as he knelt before you, his broad shoulders tense with a mix of reverence and barely leashed hunger.
Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild rhythm that echoed the waves outside, your wide hips shifting slightly as you sat cross-legged, the thin straps of your top straining against the swell of your breasts with each shallow breath.
His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours, the faint scar along his jaw catching the light, making his handsome features sharper and more commanding.
"Yawntu." He murmured, voice a low vibration that sent shivers racing down your spine, his large hand reaching for yours with a gentleness that contrasted the raw power in his frame. His fingers intertwined with yours, thumb tracing the delicate bones of your wrist. "Before anything... we bond. As Eywa wills it. I respect that. Your heart, your ways, your convictions."
There was a earnest plea in his tone, his gaze unwavering, the muscles in his neck flexing as he swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing on him like the ocean's depth.
You nodded, a flush warming your cheeks, your full lips parting on a soft exhale. The innocence that had shielded you for so long felt fragile now, cracking under the heat of his stare but trust bloomed in its place nurtured by his relentless courtship, the way he'd shadowed your days with touches that lingered just shy of demanding.
"Nungie." You whispered, the endearment slipping out like a secret, your free hand rising to brush your kuru, the neural tendrils within it quivering in anticipation. "Show me."
He leaned forward, his breath mingling with yours, the scent of salt and earth clinging to him like a second skin.
With deliberate care, he guided your kurus together, the pink tendrils uncoiling from their protective braids, seeking each other in the dim light. They met with a soft electric hum, connecting in a rush that stole your gasp, your body arching involuntarily as the bond snapped into place. Sensations flooded you, not just your own but his.
The fierce protectiveness that had taken root during those quiet mornings by the shore, the frustration of holding back when your laughter had first chipped at his guarded heart, the slow burn of desire that ignited fully in the marui nights, watching your hips sway as you moved. How he found you beautiful even way before the incident and how curiosity and fondness festered when he actually got to know you.
Memories cascaded through the link, vivid and unfiltered.
You saw Saraye's approach that fateful morning, her form pressing close muttering propositions and claims he rebuffed firmly, his mind already tangled in thoughts of you that day. The truth unfolded raw and undeniable, his encounters with her a fleeting accident as he was too determined to gather pretty shells and stones for you to apologize when she interrupted.
No lies, no hidden depths, just the stark honesty of a man remaking himself for one woman.
And then, the love.
It washed over you like a tidal surge, blooming from stolen glances during hunts, to the ache in his chest when you'd called him “nungie” again, to the all-consuming fire that now raged possessive and tender vowing to claim every part of you. You felt it in your bones, the depth of it mirroring the pull in your own soul, tears pricking your eyes as you clutched his hand tighter.
"It's real." You breathed voice trembling with awe, your supple curves pressing forward as you leaned into him, the bond amplifying the warmth pooling between your thighs.
Ao'nung's eyes darkened, a groan rumbling from his chest as the connection deepened, his free hand cupping your jaw, thumb sweeping over your lower lip. "All of it, yawntu. Every beat of my heart, yours now."
The bond thrummed with his arousal, a throbbing heat that matched the slick ache building in you but he held back, lips crashing against yours in a kiss that started fierce and melted into something soul-deep, tongues sliding in a rhythm that echoed the bond's pulse. When he finally pulled away, his breathing ragged, the air between you crackled with intent.
The tsaheylu held you linked, every sensation shared, heightening the anticipation as he eased you back onto the furs, his body following caging yours without crushing.
His hands roamed with purpose now, no longer teasing as his palms slid up your sides to tug at the ties of your top, freeing your breasts to the cool air. They spilled out full and heavy, nipples pebbling under his gaze and he wasted no time, mouth descending to latch onto one peak, sucking with a wet insistent pull that drew a keening moan from your throat.
"Nungie—oh." You gasped, fingers threading into his hair, the bond flooding you with his pleasure at the taste of you that’s salty-sweet on his tongue.
He lavished attention on your skin, teeth grazing just enough to sting then soothing with broad licks, his hips settling between your thighs, the hard ridge of his erection grinding against your core through the thin barrier of your loincloth. The friction was maddening, your hips bucking up instinctively chasing the pressure as wetness soaked the fabric.
He chuckled against your breast, the vibration sending sparks through you before trailing kisses lower, nipping at the soft curve of your belly, hands working to peel away your loincloth. It slid free, exposing the flesh of your folds, already glistening with need. Ao'nung's breath hitched, eyes devouring the sight, his cock twitching visibly against his own cloth, straining the ties.
"So beautiful." He rasped, voice thick with lust, fingers parting your thighs wider as his thumbs brushed the sensitive inner skin. "My innocent yawntu, all mine to ruin."
Through the bond, you felt his thrill. The primal satisfaction of being first, the only one to witness you like this bare and trembling. He dipped his head, nose nudging your clit before his tongue flicked out, lapping at your entrance with a slow deliberate stroke that made your back bow. The taste of you exploded on his senses and shared with you in a dizzying loop, his groans muffled as he delved deeper, tongue thrusting inside your tight heat curling to coax more of your essence.
You writhed legs quaking, the bond amplifying every swirl and every suck on your swollen nub until stars burst behind your eyelids.
"Please, ma muntxa. More." You begged voice breaking, your innocence fracturing under the onslaught of pleasure as your mind fogged with the sheer intensity.
He obliged, one finger joining his tongue, pressing past your virgin barrier with care, the stretch burning sweetly as he pumped slowly, scissoring to prepare you. The bond let you feel his restraint fraying, the way your walls clenched around him driving him wild and his pre-cum beading at his tip.
He rose then shedding his loincloth in a swift motion, his cock springing free as the flushed head leaked, curving slightly toward his taut abdomen. It was imposing, larger than you'd imagined in your shy fantasies and your eyes widened, a mix of awe and trepidation fluttering through the bond.
"This is for you, yawntu. Your first and last cock." Ao'nung's lips curved in a predatory smile, hand wrapping around the base, stroking once to ease the ache. "Gonna fill you so deep, make you take every inch."
Positioning himself at your entrance, he notched the tip against your folds, rubbing through the slickness to coat himself, the drag teasing your clit until you whimpered.
"Breathe for me." He instructed voice husky, leaning down to capture your mouth as he pushed forward.
The breach was slow, your tightness resisting then yielding with a pop that had you crying out into the kiss, nails digging into his biceps. Inch by inch, he sank in, the bond sharing the exquisite burn of your walls stretching around him, molding to his girth like they were made for it.
"Fuck so tight." He growled against your lips, hips stuttering as he bottomed out.
The bulge of his cock visible against your lower belly, a faint outline pressing upward. You felt full, impossibly so, every ridge and vein pulsing inside you, the bond echoing his ecstasy of the way your heat gripped him like a vice, milking him already. He stilled, forehead to yours, breaths mingling as he let you adjust, his hand splaying over the swell, his thumb pressing the bulge.
"Feel that? That's me, claiming you. My cock buried in your sweet little cunt."
Tears of overwhelmed sensation slipped down your temples but you nodded, hips shifting experimentally drawing a hiss from him.
"Move, Nungie. Please." You pleaded, voice dazed, the pleasure coiling tight in your core chasing the high he'd built with his mouth.
He did, pulling back almost to the tip before thrusting in deep, setting a rhythm that started measured, each slide dragging against your sensitive walls, the wet sounds of your joining filling the marui. The bond intensified it all, his building need, the slap of skin, the way your breasts bounced with each plunge.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass urging him deeper, your moans turning incoherent as he angled to hit that spot inside, sparks igniting with every grind.
"That's it, yawntu. Take me." He panted, pace quickening, one hand pinning your hip while the other teased your clit with circles matching his thrusts.
Sweat slicked your bodies, his tattoos gleaming as his muscles flexed, the scent of arousal heavy in the air. You felt yourself teetering, the bond pushing you over as your walls fluttered clenching in release, a gush of wetness coating him. He groaned riding it out, thrusts erratic as your orgasm milked him but he didn't stop, flipping you onto your stomach with a possessive growl.
"Not done." He murmured, voice rough with obsession, lifting your hips to enter from behind.
The new angle letting him go deeper, the bulge more pronounced as he rutted into you. His hand snaked around to rub your oversensitive nub, the other tangling in your hair to arch your back, exposing the kuru still linked. Through it, you felt his intent crystal clear, the drive to breed, to flood you with his seed and make it take root.
"Gonna fill this pussy, make you swell with my child. Make you a mama carrying our future."
The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body responding despite the ache, pushing back to meet his hips, the lewd squelch of your combined fluids spurring him on. He pounded harder, balls slapping against your clit, the bond a torrent of his love twisted with feral need. It was nasty and unyielding, pouring into every snap of his hips. You came again vision blurring, mind going blissfully blank, cockdumb and lost in the stretch and the fullness as you mewled his name like a prayer.
Ao'nung followed with a growl, burying deep as he spilled hot pulses painting your walls, the bond letting you feel the rush of his release, the satisfaction of marking you inside out. He collapsed over you still joined, cock twitching with aftershocks, but even as he softened slightly, he rocked gently, ensuring every drop stayed buried.
"Mine." He breathed into your neck, kissing the bite he'd left earlier as his hand cradled your belly. "We'll do this again. Tonight, tomorrow, every day. Until it takes."
You hummed, sated and boneless, turning your head for a lazy kiss, the bond humming with shared contentment. He pulled out slowly after a time, only to flip you back, sliding in once more, already hardening at the sight of your flushed form and the cum leaking from your abused entrance.
The second round built slower, his thrusts languid, drawing out gasps as he worshipped your body anew with kisses to your throat, fingers pinching nipples, whispering filthy promises of the family you'd build.
By the third, you were a wreck of whimpers, riding him atop, hips grinding as he bucked up, the bulge reforming with each deep seat, his hands guiding your wide hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh.
Hours blurred, the marui filled with your shared cries, the bond sealing not just your souls but your fates as his seed took hold in the fertile ground of your innocence, corrupted and cherished in equal measure.
Soon, sunlight filtered through the woven panels of the marui, casting golden flecks across the furs where you lay tangled with Ao'nung, your bodies still humming from the night's fervor.
Your skin tingled with a newfound warmth, a subtle ache between your thighs a reminder of his thorough claiming and as you stirred, a soft glow seemed to radiate from within, your cheeks flushed with contentment.
He was already awake, propped on one elbow, his tattooed arm draped possessively over your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns along the curve of your hip. His eyes, usually sharp with command, softened as they roamed your face, drinking in the way your lashes fluttered open and your full lips curving into a sleepy smile.
"Yawntu." He whispered, voice rough from sleep but laced with unbridled joy, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead then your nose, then the corner of your mouth.
He was insatiable in his affection, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent mingled with his own. A heady mix that made his chest rumble with satisfaction.
"My mate. Officially, irrevocably mine."
The words carried a triumphant edge, his broad frame shifting to pull you flush against him, the hard planes of his chest pressing into your softer form, his leg hooking over yours to keep you close.
You giggled, the sound light and bubbling up as his hands wandered with tender care, one cupping your breast gently, thumb brushing the sensitive peak until it hardened under his touch.
"Nungie." You murmured squirming playfully, your wide hips shifting against him, feeling the familiar stir of his arousal but basking in the simple intimacy.
He chuckled low and warm, moving to fetch a damp cloth from the basin nearby insisting on tending to you himself as he wiped away the remnants of your shared passion with slow reverent strokes that made your breath hitch.
"Let me." He insisted softly, his gaze locking onto yours with that intense devotion, the tattoos along his shoulders flexing as he worked.
He was happy, truly. Lines of tension smoothed from his forehead, a genuine smile tugging at his lips as he watched your reactions, your giggles filling the space like music. When he finished, he gathered you into his lap, feeding you bites of fresh fruit from the woven basket, his free hand stroking your kuru.
But as the morning deepened, reality tugged at you.
"I have to help Tsireya with something." You said reluctantly, trying to extricate yourself from his hold, your voice tinged with apology.
His arms tightened immediately, a dramatic whine escaping his throat. This towering inked warrior all muscle and scars pouting like a child denied a treat.
"No." He groaned burying his face in your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. "Stay. We just... bonded. I don't want to let you go, not even for a moment."
His voice cracked with mock despair but the clinginess was real, his hands roaming your back in pleading circles, pulling you closer until your breasts pressed against his chest.
You laughed, the sound turning into more giggles as you cupped his face, thumbs tracing the strong line of his jaw. "Nungie, come on. It's just a few hours. You'll survive."
But he shook his head stubbornly, nipping at your earlobe, his teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver down your spine.
"Cruel, yawntu. Leaving your mate so soon after making him the happiest man in the clan." His eyes sparkled with mischief but there was a vulnerable undercurrent, the reluctance of distance after so much closeness.
You pouted up at him, lips pursing in that way you knew melted him, your eyes wide and pleading. "Please? For me?"
He held out for a heartbeat longer, jaw clenching then sighed dramatically, relenting with a grumbled curse under his breath.
"Fine. But I'm walking you there."
He stood pulling you up with him, his hands lingering on your waist as he helped you dress. Tying your loincloth with deliberate slowness, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs drawing a fresh flush to your cheeks.
The path to the family marui wound through the village, the air alive with the calls of ilu and the chatter of early risers.
Ao'nung kept you tucked against his side, arm around your shoulders, his thumb stroking your arm in absent affection. But as you approached, his expression soured into a frown, forehead knitting when Tsireya spotted you from the entrance, her face lighting up with a knowing grin.
"Tsireya!" You called waving but Ao'nung's grip tightened fractionally, his steps slowing.
She laughed outright, the sound bright and teasing, leaning against the woven frame.
"Look at you two. And you—" She pointed at her brother, eyes dancing. "Frowning like a sulking pup. What's wrong, brother? Can't bear to share her?"
He scowled deeper, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the tattoos shifting with the flex of his muscles. "Shut up, Reya."
But there was no real heat in it, just the playful bickering of siblings.
Tsireya turned to you then, her gaze softening as she took in your appearance. The subtle shine to your skin, the relaxed curve of your smile, the way you carried yourself with a newfound ease.
"You look glowing, (Y/N). Truly radiant." Her voice held genuine warmth, a hint of relief threading through.
Ao'nung's frown lifted into a smug smirk, his chest puffing slightly as he shot her a triumphant glance.
Yes, my cock did that.
He thought, the satisfaction blooming in his chest though he kept it to himself, instead pulling you closer with a possessive hand on your hip.
You swatted at his arm lightly, cheeks warming under the attention. "Go on, Nungie. Shoo. I need girl time with Tsireya."
But he planted his feet shaking his head, his expression turning mulish.
"No. I'm staying." His tone brooked no argument, eyes fixed on you with that unyielding intensity, the broad span of his shoulders blocking the path as if daring anyone to challenge him.
Tsireya snorted, rolling her eyes skyward. "Stubborn as ever. Come on, then. Help or not but don't be a headache Ao’nung."
Inside the marui, the air smelled of herbs and sea salt, mats spread with half-mended nets and beads scattered for weaving.
You settled cross-legged on the floor, Tsireya beside you, passing over a bundle of fibers to start on.
Ao'nung followed dropping down behind you with a huff, his legs bracketing yours, arms encircling your waist to draw you back against his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder, breath fanning your neck as you began chatting, your fingers deftly twisting the materials.
Tsireya watched the pair of you for a moment then shook her head with an exasperated laugh. "You're so clingy, Ao'nung. You do not have to be here, you know? We can handle mending without your brooding presence."
He smirked against your skin, lips brushing your ear in a way that made you shiver, his hold tightening just enough to emphasize his point.
"That's what mates do, right? Stay close. Protect what's mine." His voice was low and teasing but the words carried a deeper truth, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, making it hard to focus on the task.
You could only giggle leaning into him despite yourself, the vibration of his chuckle rumbling through you as Tsireya launched into another retort.
"Protect? From what, loose threads? You're ridiculous." She flicked a bead at him but her eyes sparkled with amusement, the sibling squabble light-hearted, pulling more laughter from you as you mediated with playful nudges.
From the doorway, a distance away, Ronal leaned against the frame, her arms crossed loosely, a soft smile curving her lips as she observed the scene. The three of you, her children and the woman who'd become like a daughter, bickering and laughing, the marui filled with a harmony she'd long hoped for.
Riki'ea.
She thought, her gaze lingering on you with quiet affection.
I hope you're seeing this. Your daughter is truly happy now.
The words were a silent prayer to her best friend and her husband, her heart swelling at the sight of your joy, that selective amnesia started the bond that had finally woven you and Ao’nung together.
Summary: Everybody forgot who Peter Parker was. All his world tunerd grey until he met you and you started dating. It could have been perfect if it wasn't for the fact that MJ comes back and, surprise! She remembers EVERYTHING.
Warnings: Pure Angst!, fluff!, swearing, some little descriptions of sex. +18
Author's note: This happens after 'No way home' so it can be considered as spoiler if you haven't watched the movie.
CHAPTERS:
One - It Has Always Been Her
Two - Tick Tock
Three - Take Me Back To The Day We Met
Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tags ♡
pairing aged-up neteyam x omatikaya!huntress reader
notes reader is the sister of neteyam’s best friend, hot-tempered reader (only when it comes to neteyam), cocky neteyam, mutual pining, smut (p in v), oral (f receiving), mentions of blood and violence (not serious)
synopsis being the sister of one of the clan’s most promising warriors is one thing, but having neteyam constantly be there to act as brother #2 is another.
word count 19.4k
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You blinked against the fractured, liquid beams of gold filtering through the woven ceiling of your sleeping alcove. Your arms were still slightly stiff from yesterday’s grueling training, a drill your father had watched with narrowed, critical eyes. You had performed flawlessly, of course. You had to.
You sat up and rubbed your eyes. Usually, your mornings would be filled by the noise of your mother tending to the hearth, your father lecturing your brother on the strategic importance of patrolling the northern border at dawn, or your brother aggressively sharpening his daggers.
But you knew your parents would be out for the first communion of the two babies born this moon and your brother will be on morning patrol, so you weren’t really expecting to see anyone home so when you padded out into the main living area and saw someone casually lounging on one of the woven ball seats.
You took a sharp breath through your nose.
“You’re finally awake,” he said, his voice deeper than it had been a year ago, carrying that smooth cadence that always irritated you.
He was turning a sleek hunting knife in his hands. At seventeen, he already carried himself with the heavy, unshakeable confidence of a man who knew he was born to lead. You froze for a short moment before your mask snapped back into place, your expression hardening into the cold, untouchable gaze the rest of the clan knew all too well.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice clipped.
He flipped the knife once more, catching it expertly by the hilt before sliding it into his chest sheath, his golden eyes never leaving yours while a slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“I came to tell your brother about the change in patrol rotation. I stayed behind when he left because you were still sleeping. It wouldn't be good to leave you here unguarded.”
You crossed your arms, looking down at him from the slight elevation of the alcove steps. “I don’t need a guard, or protection. Besides, no one in this clan would dare cross into this hut.”
“I am not talking about who, I am talking about what,” he countered easily, pushing himself up to his feet and the sudden height difference made you want to take a step back, though you forced your feet to stay glued to the floor. “This part of Hometree is accessible to stray viperwolves. You know that.”
He was right, much to your annoyance. Because your father was Jake’s second-in-command, your mother a fierce huntress, and your brother a rising star among the warriors, your family’s pod was situated on the lower, more vulnerable branches. It was a position of pride, a statement to the clan that your family stood as a shield between danger and the gentler artisans of the upper branches.
Still, you weren't about to give him the satisfaction. You rolled your eyes, a deliberate show of disrespect that you would never dare attempt to do to him in front of your father.
“I am awake now,” you said coldly, walking past him toward the water basin. “You can leave.”
Neteyam let out a low huff of laughter, his cocky nature bleeding into his posture as he tilted his head. “What, no ‘thank you’?” he asked, a smirk playing on his face.
“I did not ask for you to guard me,” you replied smoothly, bringing your waterskin up and taking a slow, deliberate drink to avoid looking at him.
He chuckled, shaking his head. He turned his back to leave, his long tail flicking lazily behind him, but just as he reached the threshold of the pod, he paused and turned around, pointing a long finger toward the hearth.
“I brought you food from earlier since you weren’t at the communal breakfast,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something a little more private. “I didn't know you were such a sleepyhead.”
Before you could snap back a retort, he slipped through the woven entrance and was gone.
The moment his presence left the room, the invisible weight on your chest lifted. You let out a long, ragged breath as you rolled your eyes. Moving to the edge of the pod, you looked out into the bustling morning of the village, your eyes automatically tracking his retreat.
He walked down the massive branch with an easy grace. It was no secret that his father had once been a dreamwalker, an avatar, and Neteyam seemed to have inherited the broader, more muscular physique of his father, setting him apart from the other boys his age, including your older brother's lanky build, making him look like he belonged with the more seasoned warriors.
You watched him until he vanished into the crowd, a familiar, frustrating knot tightening in your stomach. You noticed everything about him and that never sat right with you. He’s your older brother’s best friend and your brother is his shadow, meaning he was a permanent fixture in your periphery.
It didn’t suffice that girls in the clan would want to befriend you to get closer to your brother, Neteyam had to add to the equation, too. So now, you’re burdened by the constant presence of girls pretending to be chummy with you only to ask you about your brother or Neteyam days later.
It made your life less about you and more about them, making you struggle to find age peers who are actually interested in being friends with you.
Except for Lekya and Reti.
They weren't entirely different from the other girls, they still giggled whenever the young hunters walked past and gush over Neteyam and your older brother. But they always seem to be less intimidated by the coldness, and sometimes, meanness, that you use to fend everyone off. You had long given up on trying to shake their presence off. No matter how coldly you ignored them, they always found a way to tail you around, stubbornly dragging you into their plans until your sharp edges softened just a fraction.
Like some days when they would drag you down to the river for a ‘picnic,’ a concept they had apparently learned from the older girls like Kiri and her friends. Now, they had even brought along a boy named Kar’ek, gentle and sharp-witted. You quickly realized he wasn't a threat to your peace in the slightest; he had absolutely no interest in girls, preferring to watch the young hunters from afar with an appreciative eye.
Surprisingly, you found yourself actually enjoying it. Safely hidden under the shade of the trees where the conversation quickly turned from the weather to the young warriors of the clan. They were talking about them like they were heroes, but you had other ideas, like nitpicking every single imperfection you had witnessed on the training grounds.
In that, you became uncharacteristically talkative. It was obvious to the three that you found none of them attractive. They were all trying too hard.
“Like Nurte yesterday,” you said, leaning back on one hand with a scoff. “He took three entire minutes just to aim at a target that wasn't even moving, all because he knew the girlswere watching. It’s pathetic.“
“Oh, well,” Lekya giggled. “He’s just trying to look brave. What about Tayrel? He practically broke a baby tree trunk with his spear during the strength drills.”
“He missed the dummy entirely and hit the tree because his footing was completely off,” you countered smoothly, rolling your eyes. “He has the balance of a newborn ikran. If a viperwolf actually attacked him, he’d trip over his own tail.”
Kar’ek let out a dramatic, breathless laugh, fanning himself with a broad leaf. “Oh, she is vicious today! But she’s not wrong. Tayrel spends more time oiling his braids than practicing his strikes.”
Not even Neteyam was spared to your nitpicking. You were incredibly detailed when you tore into him, mimicking his cocky posture by puffing out your chest and tilting your head back, mocking his signature smirk.
“And don't even get me started on the golden boy,” you scoffed, lowering your voice to copy his deep, confident cadence. “Look at me, I am Neteyam, I can shoot a bow with my eyes closed because I am so perfect. Please. He drops his left elbow every time he releases an arrow on a hard turn. He’s sloppy when he thinks no one is looking, and that arrogant little half-smile he does when he lands a hit? It looks like he swallowed a sour piece of fruit.”
You laughed, expecting the others to join in on the mockery, but you suddenly realized the riverbank had gone entirely quiet.
You blinked, popping a sweet berry into your mouth. “What? You all have gone silent. Nothing to say about that arrogant boy?”
Kar’ek looked at you like you had lost your mind. “What are you talking about, girl? He is valiant and a gentleman!”
“He is also not arrogant, Y/N,” Reti chimed in, pouting. “He is kind and humble. Just last moon, he helped me carry my heavy fiber bundles all the way to the weaving looms. And your brother helped Lekya!”
You grimaced, the berry suddenly tasting sour. “Show-offs. Both of them. You shouldn't have accepted their help. They only do it so everyone can look at them.”
Before Reti could snap a retort back, the crunch of leaves announced the arrival of a new group. You turned around and saw five young hunters strolling out from the thick foliage, laughing and shoving each other. At the front were your brother, Sak’nur and Neteyam. They had clearly just finished a grueling training session; their skin was glistening with sweat, and they carried themselves with the eager energy of boys ready to plunge into the cool river.
But the moment they stepped into the clearing, Neteyam’s golden eyes locked onto yours.
He raised a single, amused brow. You hadn't even realized you were doing it, but you were glaring at him with enough heat to burn through Hometree. You swiftly slid your gaze to your brother.
“What are you doing here, Sak’nur?” you demanded, your voice cutting through the peaceful atmosphere like a knife.
Your brother blinked, holding his hands out in confusion. “Uh... swimming?”
The other hunters laughed, instantly chiming in. They began boisterously greeting Lekya, Reti, and Kar’ek, completely unbothered by your hostile aura. Kar'ek offered them a witty greeting back, while your “friends” instantly smoothed their hair, their previous defense of Neteyam turning into shy, bright smiles as they began chatting with the boys.
Your sharp eyes found Neteyam again when he chuckled and saw that his eyes were on you, his tail flicking with pure amusement. He tilted his head, looking down at your stormy expression.
“And here I thought the river was supposed to be relaxing,” he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, teasing register meant just for you. “What’s with the scowl, sleepyhead?”
Truthfully, his heart swelled at the sight of you; he loved the fire in your eyes, and his teasing was born from a desperate desire to see you react to him, and only him. But to your ears, it was just another arrogant provocation from him, just like the many other times in the past.
The other hunters caught his words and burst into a loud, obnoxious laughter, with your brother shaking his head at your expense.
The hot flush of embarrassment crawled up your neck, painting your cheeks a deep, furious violet. Without thinking, your hand snapped down, grabbed a heavy, overripe fruit from the leaf platter, and hurled it directly at his chest.
The fruit exploded against his sternum, leaving a sticky, bright purple smear across his smooth skin.
The laughter died instantly. Sak’nur’s jaw dropped, and the rest of the boys froze in sheer shock. No one, absolutely no one, threw things at the future Olo'eyktan.
Neteyam blinked, looking down at the sludge dripping down his chest, and then looked back up at you. You lifted your chin to wait for his anger, already burning in anger, but as his eyes met yours, you saw no fury. Instead, his golden eyes danced with a dangerous, thrilled light. A slow, breathless smile parted his lips. He wasn't insulted at all. He looked utterly captivated.
You let out a sharp, furious hiss, unable to bear the heat of his gaze for another second. Scrambling to your feet, you turned on your heel and sprinted away into the safety of the forest, leaving the river, your friends, and his maddening smile far behind.
Later that night, you sat at your family’s table, just a few paces away from the Olo’eyktan’s family, as the clan hierarchy dictated. The orange glow of the central fire bathed the communal clearing with warmth and you know you would have loved it if you the Sully family’s table weren’t exactly on your line of the sight. Looking at the fire meant accidentally meeting Neteyam’s eyes, which is exactly what happened four times in a row already in the past few minutes.
Beside you, sat Sak’nur, eating heartily, though he occasionally cast a wary glance your way. The memory of the riverbank still plagued you. You didn’t feel sorry at all, but you do feel like you could have handled it better. There were too many witnesses to your volatile nature, what’s worse, it included your brother.
Just as your lips were pulling in a grimace, a movement drew your eye. A fighre stood up in the Sully table and began walking toward your family's area. Neteyam. You let out a deep breath off your nose, pretending to be busy with your food but when Sak’nur elbowed you, you were forced to look up.
As he approached, you noticed he was carrying a leaf square bowl. Inside was a freshly baked sweet-root pie, a delicacy usually reserved for special celebrations.
Your stomach dropped. No. Do not do this here.
“Greetings, sir,” Neteyam said smoothly, dipping his head in a respectful nod to your father before his eyes shifted down to you. The cocky, teasing hunter from the riverbank was gone, replaced by the perfect, dutiful Olo’eyktan to be.
Your father let out a booming laugh. “Neteyam! What is this for?” he asked, looking at the pie.
“I came to bring a peace offering,“ Neteyam answered seriously, his eyes on you.
Your father’s eyes darted between Neteyam and you, his forehead creasing. “A peace offering? For what?”
You took a sharp breath through your nose, your fingers clenching into the fabric of your loincloth. You absolutely hated having your father peek into your business, and you hated, absolutely detested, that Neteyam was staging this elaborate stunt right in front of your parents. You knew that he wasn't actually sorry, that this was a calculated humiliation, a way to trap you into accepting his apology because you wouldn't dare cause a scene in front of your father.
“It is between Y/N and I, sir, if you’ll excuse my refusal to divulge the matter,” Neteyam told him, his voice dripping with humility that you knew was entirely fabricated. He extended the bowl toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with deeply apologetic eyes. He was such a good actor.
Your father’s lips pushed forward, nodding at Neteyam as he shared a quiet laughter with your mother. “Alright, then. I guess this is one of your petty arguments again,“ he said, looking at you. “Daughter. You must remember: Not only is Neteyam much older than you for he is your older brother’s age, but you are also no longer a child.”
Your face burned with further humiliation. You cannot believe this. He has brought this upon you! Huffing a breath of pure fury through your nose, you forced your face into a tight, strained mask of a polite compliance.
You reached out and snatched the bowl from his hands. “Thank you, Neteyam. Your apology is accepted,” you said through gritted teeth.
“I am glad,” Neteyam murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips telling you exactly how much he was enjoying your frustration. He bowed to your parents once more and walked away.
Stupid boy. Stupid, arrogant, obnoxious boy.
“What happened at the river?” Your father asked the moment Neteyam was out of earshot.
“Nothing, Father,” you lied smoothly, keeping your voice level. “Just a small... disagreement. It is resolved.”
But you made sure to make your true statement when the dinner ended. As your family stood up to leave, you deliberately left the leaf basket sitting squarely in the middle of the empty table, completely untouched.
From across the pavilion, Neteyam watched your retreating back, his eyes falling on the abandoned pie. A heavy sigh escaped him. He should have known a simple pastry wouldn't melt your ice.
Beside him, Lo’ak snickered. “What did you do this time?” he asked.
Neteyam’s jaw locked as his lips formed a thin line. “Said something about her scowl.”
Lo’ak stared at him for a moment before the boy doubled over in a fit of laughter. “Skxawng,“ he said. “Girls do not like hearing about their facial expressions! The same way they don’t like hearing comments about their hair, like your crime the last time!”
Neteyam’s forehead creased. “I told her the side part suited her best!”
“Which is implying that the previous look looked bad on her. It was also in the delivery, you know? I noticed you seem cocky when you talk to her.” Lo’ak’s eyes narrowed.
“What?” Neteyam asked, bewildered.
Lo’ak rolled his eyes. “Figure it out on your own, bro. You’re smart, it shouldn't be hard.”
His brother walked past, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Neteyam sighed heavily again. He felt as though the weight of Hometree was on his shoulder. He genuinely didn't know what to do with you anymore; you had always been aloof to him, so he tried talking to you and doing things for you, but you met that with coldness, and he lay awake at night wondering what he had done to deserve such an impenetrable wall.
The wall only grew taller during the training cycles. Neteyam tried to be helpful, but that only made your life miserable.
Whenever you practiced your marksmanship at the archery lines, he would happen to pass by and offer a quiet word of encouragement or adjust your stance. But you didn't want his help, especially because the other young huntresses were always watching.
“Look at her,” one of the older girls muttered from the drying racks, loud enough for the words to carry. “Must be nice being Sak’nur’s sister. Neteyam practically hands her the targets.”
“Exactly,” another chimed in, glaring at your back. “She only hits the bullseye because the future Olo'eyktan spends half his day fixing her form. If she didn't have them, she'd be nothing special.”
Hearing them credit all your hard work, your sweat, and your blistered fingers to the men in your life made your blood boil. You turned around to look at them, seeing their mocking expressions as they waited for what you’ll say or do.
“Does that make sense to your pea-sized brains?” you asked, smiling. “That I’m hitting all of those targets simply because someone is adjusting my form, or because I am someone’s sister?”
You nocked an arrow in your bow so fast you had already released it before they could even blink, hitting the feather hair ornament of the girl farthest from you. Your arrow pinned it squarely to the weapon rack behind her.
You tilted your head. “Did my brother fixed your ornament for you, Kur’na?”
A series of furious hisses echoed in the training grounds. “How dare you!” One of the older girls snarled.
They lunged at you, grabbing your braids and clawing at your skin. You fought back as ferociously as you could, grabbing braids, clawing, and punching. You heard heavy footsteps coming and suddenly, your feet are kicking in the air, even landing a hard kick on one of the girls.
You saw your brother and Lo’ak holding the girls back and bellowing for them to stop while you struggled against the strong arms wrapped around you. Your chest heaved as you breathe heavily, trying to calm yourself down.
“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sak’nur asked, his large steps eating up the space between you two.
Realizing who was holding you, you jerked back from the hold to stand on your feet properly. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?! You shot Kur’na!” One of the girls said.
“Where?” you asked.
“There!“ she pointed at the fiber pinned on the rack with an arrow.
“See, I couldn’t have done that. I don’t possess such a marksmanship without my brother or Neteyam fixing my targets for me...” you lied, pushing your lips forward. “So the truth is... You all attacked me senselessly.”
“I’ll have your father hear of this, Sak’nur,” Lo’ak told your brother, moving to walk away just as the girls gasped, fearing that your father, the Olo’eyktan’s second-in-command, would punish them for this.
“No need, Lo’ak,” you said, looking at the girls. “This was just a small training grounds disagreement. Nothing that we can work out among ourselves. Right?“
The girls exchanged tense glances, their expressions twisting into a mix of fear and fury, before they nodded, muttering their silent agreement.
You smiled, “Why don’t you take your break? You’ve been here since the first light.”
They looked absolutely furious, their ears flattened against their heads but they walked away anyway, the sheer humiliation radiating off them in waves. You watched them retreat, your expression completely blank until they were out of earshot. The adrenaline was finally leaving your system, leaving your skin stinging where they had clawed at you.
“What really happend?”
You turned to see Neteyam stepping up beside Sak’nur and Lo'ak. He was the one who had been holding you back, his hands still hovering near his sides as if he wanted to reach out again to check your injuries. His golden eyes swept over the scratches on your arms and neck, his brow furrowed in deep frustration.
“It’s seven against one, bro,” Lo'ak answered for you, crossing his arms. “Did you actually shoot Kur’na, though? If so, that’s insane. Right through the hair piece.”
“It doesn't matter,” Sak’nur growled, looking down at you with a heavy, protective frown. “You shouldn't have provoked them, Y/N. If we didn’t come—”
“I had it under control,” you interrupted, your voice dropping to a cold tone making all three of them pause.
You looked at Sak’nur before letting your gaze lock onto Neteyam. The anger that had been simmering under your skin since the drying racks finally boiled over.
“Listen to me,” you said, stepping back so you could look at them clearly. “Never meddle in my business again.”
Neteyam blinked, looking taken aback. “Y/N, we were just trying to—”
“I don't care what you were trying to do,” you snapped, gesturing sharply toward the targets behind you. “Every piece of gossip on these grounds is about how I am only here because of you and Sak’nur. Every bullseye I hit, every hour I spend sweating under the sun, they credit to my brother or the future Olo’eyktan. And your constant help just proves them right.”
You picked up your bow from the ground, dusting off the dirt with a fierce, rough motion.
“If I am going to fight my battles, I am going to fight them alone. If I get clawed, that's my problem. If I put an arrow through someone's hair, that's my problem too,” you said, your eyes flashing as you looked directly at Neteyam, then back to Sak’nur. “Stay out of it. I don't need you protecting me, and I certainly don't need you fixing my form anymore. Let me handle my own life.”
Without waiting for a reply, you slung your quiver over your shoulder and marched away, leaving the three young hunters standing in silence on the training grounds.
“That doesn’t include me, right?” Lo’ak asked, raising both his hands in the air.
Just like that, three years bled into the passage of time, and the world changed.
It was the night of the Great Feast, celebrating the debut of several young women into adulthood, the age where they were officially recognized as ready to choose a mate.
You were one of them.
The ceremonial paint was fresh on your skin, and the warrior class had taken notice. You were widely regarded as one of the most prized debutantes of the season; your coldness had transformed into an aura of regal elegance, and your legendary skill with a bow only made you more desirable.
Near the roasting pits, a group of older, seasoned hunters were drinking fermented fruit spirits, their voices rising over the music.
“The daughter of the second-in-command has grown into a fine huntress,” one of them remarked, a proud, older warrior. He took a heavy swig from his cup, a dark, possessive grin spreading across his face. “If it were me, she’d be popping out babies every season. A woman like that would breed nothing but strong warriors.”
The men laughed, taking that remark as nothing but a jest, but Neteyam had been standing a few paces away, speaking with your brother and their friends. Every muscle in his massive frame locked tight. The easy-going warrior vanished, replaced instantly by a primal, terrifying rage.
He turned slowly, his golden eyes blown wide, locked entirely on the man. “What did you just say?” Neteyam’s voice was dangerously low but it carried to the group of warriors neaby.
The hunter, older and arrogant, scoffed. He didn't care that Neteyam was the Olo’eyktan’s son. “I said what I said, boy. It is the way of things.”
“Watch your foul mouth before I clip your tongue,” Neteyam snapped back darkly, a lethal rumble vibrating in his chest.
The man sneered, stepping up to match the younger warrior’s height, to no avail. “Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face, boy?”
Neteyam’s fangs bared. “You think I won't?!”
Neteyam handed his bowl of fermented wine to a friend before his large steps ate the space between him and the man.
Every warrior in the Omatikaya was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but Neteyam had been forged by Jake Sully himself. He was broader, taller, and infinitely faster. He had allowed the hunter a single punch before he slammed him into the dirt, his fists flying in a brutal, blinding blur, coming down smash after smash against the warrior’s face
Warriors rushed forward, their deep voices taking the attention of everyone that the drums stopped its rhythm. It took five grown men to finally throw their arms around Neteyam and pull him off. His chest was heaving, his skin slick with sweat and the blood of the man beneath him. But the moment the man tried to stumble to his feet to walk away, Neteyam violently threw the warriors off him, snarling as he lunged forward a second time, entirely unhinged by a rage no one had ever seen in him before.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Mo’at shouted, rushing into the clearing as the chaos finally settled. “Why are you fighting at a sacred feast?!”
Neteyam violently shrugged the remaining hands off his shoulders, his breathing ragged as he pointed a trembling, bloody finger toward the hunter. “He disrespected Y/N!” he roared, his voice echoing across the entire clearing.
A few paces away, completely clueless to the context, you stopped mid-sip, holding your cup to your lips as you blinked. Me...?
Your father, who had watched the entire sequence from where he’s talking with Jake, narrowed his eyes to slits. He had always suspected Neteyam held a certain fondness for you, but this? This was a declaration to evey young man in the clan, as if the years of protecting your name and being protective of you weren’t enough.
Neteyam aggressively wiped a streak of blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, completely uncaring of the stunned stares of the entire clan. You set your cup down and marched straight up to him when you saw him turn around to leave, your face a storm of confusion and irritation.
“What did you do?” you demanded, but your voice didn’t carry the edge it usually would.
Neteyam blinked, surprised by your sudden proximity. Slowly, the fury in his face began to melt, his shoulders dropping slightly as he looked down at you. “He... he was speaking inappropriately about you.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Like how?”
“I refuse to repeat it,” he muttered, suddenly looking like a guilty child being chastised for using foul language.
“Like how, Neteyam?” you repeated, your voice soft, a tone he’d never heard from you before.
He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I do not want to repeat it, and I won’t. I am still seeing red, Y/N. If you make me repeat the words that came out of his mouth, I will go back over there, and I might actually tear him apart.”
You pursed your lips, studying the tight, rigid lines of his jaw. He looked genuinely sickened by whatever had been said. “It was that bad?”
He didn't answer, but his hard, pained expression spoke volumes. You looked at his split, bleeding lip, and then down at his knuckles, which were scraped raw and marred with crimson.
You let out a soft, defeated sigh. “I will go get herbs and a poultice for that,” you muttered, turning to leave.
“No need,” he said quickly, his voice rough. “I didn't do that so you would feel indebted to me.”
You rolled your eyes, turning back and grabbing him by the wrist. The sudden touch made him gasp softly. “I didn't even think that,” you said, pulling him out of the bright clearing and leading him onto a massive, quiet branch away from the pavilion lights. “Get some fresh air and reflect on what you just did.” You widened your eyes at him in a stern warning before walking away for the healing pavilion.
Neteyam stood on the darkened branch, watching your retreating form. He bit the inner flesh of his lower lip, desperately trying, and failing, to suppress the massive, foolish smile threatening to break across his face.
Minutes later, the soft patter of footsteps signaled your return. You carried two small clay jars filled with soothing green paste and woven cloths.
“Did you reflect?” you asked, stepping up to him.
He grimaced, his features twisting in a way that instantly reminded you of the young boy who hated sour fruit he would grimace every time he sees it. “I reflected,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And I think I would do it again if I could. With increasing pleasure every time.”
You shook your head, a faint huff of humor escaping you as you patted the bark of the branch. “You are stupid.”
“I suppose so...” he whispered. He lowered himself to sit on the branch, his eyes locking onto your face. Under the faint warm glow of the large fire inside, you looked so breathtakingly beautiful it made his chest ache.
You knelt before him, dipping your fingers into the cool healing paste. You gently brought your hand to his mouth, dabbing the medicine onto his split lip. “First time you have ever admitted it,” you murmured, raising a brow as your eyes snapped up to meet his. “Finally humble. I like that.”
“Yeah?” he asked, a dangerous, thrilling spark suddenly igniting in the depths of his eyes.
Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his gaze. You quickly recovered, “Only if you are truly humble. But you are not. You are arrogant and obnoxious.”
“Things can be changed,” he smirked, only to instantly hiss as the movement stretched the cut.
“See? Even your wound disagrees with you,” you teased, a genuine smirk playing on your own lips.
“I am saying—”
“Shh,” you interrupted, placing a gentle finger over his good lip.
Neteyam immediately clamped his mouth shut. He didn't say another word, completely content to just sit there, breathing in your scent, paralyzed by the gentle touch of your hands as you began wrapping his raw knuckles with the soft woven cloth. He held his hand perfectly still, refusing to move a single finger, treating your handiwork as if it were the most precious gift from Eywa herself.
A long, comfortable silence settled over the branch, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the music from the festival.
“You are a debutante now...” Neteyam said softly, breaking the quiet.
Your forehead creased in amusement, and a small, rare chuckle escaped your lips. “Uh, yeah? That was what the entire ceremony was about.”
Neteyam blinked in utter surprise, his heart skipping a beat. He stared at you, momentarily speechless. You laughed. You actually chuckled in his presence. It was a historic first.
Clearing his throat to find his voice, he leaned in just a fraction closer. “Have you... thought of suitors? Of mates?”
The lightheartedness instantly vanished from your face, replaced by a deep scowl. “Among the men of this clan?” you asked, shaking your head as you tied off the bandage. “No, thank you. Which is the better choice anyway? All of you get on my nerves.”
You stood up, picking up the empty clay jars and looking down at him one last time.
“I am bringing these back to the pavilion. Try counting to a hundred before you do something stupid again.”
You turned and walked back to the direction of the healing pavillion, your heart hammering against your ribs in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the physical fight you had just witnessed. Neteyam was left sitting alone on the branch, his bandaged hand pressed gently against his chest as he watched you go, his eyes filled with an undeniable, burning yearning.
You like no one in the clan. A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. That was perfect. He could definitely work with that.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The council’s midday gathering at the longhouse carried the scent of leaf tea and crushed sweet grass. Inside, the sunlight dripping through the woven room flickering shadows over the faces of the elders, Jake Sully, Neytiri, and your father, who sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze steady.
Neteyam stood at the center of the room. At twenty one, he had completely grown into the man everyone knew he would be. Taller than most, broad-shouldered, and carries the undeniable, commanding presence of a future leader. But today, his jaw was clamped shut in a tight, defensive line.
The topic on the floor was one he had been dodging for years: his future mating with the daughter of the Anurai clan’s Olo'eyktan. An alliance meant to solidify the bonds between their people.
“Delay this until when, Neteyam?” Elder Katu asked, his weathered voice echoing off the woven walls. “You are twenty-two. You are of age, and the clan looks to its future.”
“Elder Katu, if you should be reminded, my grandfather mated late, too,” Neteyam reasoned smoothly, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “He was forty-three then. He and my grandmother were way past the age of when they first came to adulthood.”
“Are you saying that you want to make Ateya of the Anurai wait that long?” Another elder countered.
“No, I am not saying she should wait at all,” Neteyam replied, his tone firm, yet unyielding. “I am saying I do not want to mate this young. I want to further my training and my diplomatic skills before I settle down. I will be the one mating, this would be for life, and I believe this part of my life should be my call.”
Jake Sully watched his son with a mixture of pride and suspicion, but it was your father whose sharp eyes never left Neteyam’s face. He noticed the slight, restless flick of Neteyam’s tail. He knew the young warrior was a master of discipline, so why was he fighting this alliance so fiercely?
The answer arrived with a soft rustle of the entrance flap.
You stepped into the longhouse with your chin held high, your expression a perfectly crafted mask of a huntress known for her sharp tongue. You had been tasked with delivering the recent patrol briefing to Sa’rin, an elder female warrior sitting near the back.
“I cannot be a good mate if I—”
Neteyam’s head snapping toward the movement at the threshold was entirely instinctual, but when he saw the distinct, bright feathers of your long braids, he did a complete double-take, his golden eyes locking onto your form, his breath hitching just enough that his posture faltered.
“...am not ready...” He trailed as his eyes tracked the fluid, elegant movement of your stride.
You didn’t even look at him, your eyes were trained forward until you reached Sa’rin, whispering to her animatedly. None of the older elders noticed the sudden lapse in Neteyam’s always perfect composure, not even Jake and Neytiri who were too focused on what he was saying.
But your father saw it.
His eyes narrowed into assessing slits, watching Neteyam’s chest rise and fall heavily as the young man desperately tried to refocus on the conversation. It was all the confirmation he needed. Neteyam sees you more than he ought to.
“It is a perfect match, Neteyam, if only you would open your eyes to see. It is known that Ateya is a competent huntress at her age, and a great weaver as well,” one of the elder said, shaking his head.
For the first time, your eyes snapped to the gathered council, your ears twitching at what you heard. Unfortunately, Neteyam has already tore his eyes off of you, or he would have seen the way your face crumpled in what your father perceived as a distaste.
When the elders finally dismissed Neteyam with a warning to think deeply on his duties, the young warrior let out a long, ragged breath as he walked out into the sunlight. He knew everything he had just said to the council was utter bullshit. He was ready for leadership, ready for a mate, ready for the future... but only if that future was you. He would delay every alliance, fight every elder, and play the patient hunter until he finally got you.
But he doesn’t know how to get you.
In the past three years, the air between you two had been significantly better than it used to be, but that was because he heeded what you said about not meddling in your business. He still tried to sneak in help every now and then, but not so much so as to piss you off.
He would hate to wake up the palulukan in you, so to speak.
Your father quietly watched him walk away before transferring his gaze to you once Neteyam was out of sight. Sa’rin was speaking, but you kept glancing at the entryway, your tail moving in agitated flicks behind you. He knew you. He knew that for all the ice and bitter fire you hurled at Neteyam, you were masking something deeper, far more profound. And Neteyam has never really tried to hide what he has for you. People are just really imperceptive.
You two needed a push.
The push came in the form of being assigned to the same hunting pack as each other. You didn’t think much of it, after all, Neteyam is one of the high-ranking hunters of the clan and you knew your rotation would have put you under him one way or another. As usual, you were out before sunrise, while the jungle was still choked with heavy, clinging mist.
This was simply a mid-sized hunting pack, with Neteyam leading the routine sweep of the southern borders. Your brother was currently leading the border patrol, which left you entirely under Neteyam’s command. You kept your distance during the initial trek, silent but cautious of your surroundings.
But Neteyam wouldn’t really be Neteyam if he didn’t know exactly where you were at any moment in time.
When the pack finally halted on a higher valley, Neteyam gathered the hunters. He moved with an easy, terrifyingly efficient confidence, mapping out the flanking routes with quick gestures of his large hands. As the other hunters dispersed to take their positions, you turned to slip toward the western ridge.
“Not so fast,” Neteyam’s voice cut through the air, smooth and low. He stepped into your path, his towering frame blocking the narrow trail. A slow, familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he tilted his head. “The western ridge is steep, and the morning dew has made the forest floor slick. We’ll take the east.”
You stopped and turned to him. “Whatt’s going on? Afraid of a little slip?” you asked. “I am taking the western flank. I have a cleaner angle, and I do not need a guide.”
Neteyam let out a low huff of laughter, stepping just an inch closer. The heat radiating off his chest was palpable in the cool morning air. He raised a single, amused eyebrow. “Prickly in the morning? I am not offering to guide you. I am telling you where the pack needs you. But if you really think I’m so afraid of a little slippery moss, you should hold my hand.”
Two years ago, your blood would have boiled. You would have hissed, thrown a cutting insult about his ego, and marched off in a fury.
But today? As your eyes locked onto his, tracking the dangerous, playful spark in his golden gaze and the infuriatingly curve of his smirk, your heart gave a sudden, treacherous thud against your ribs. The annoyance you usually relied on as a shield felt flimsy, dissolving into a strange, dizzying warmth.
You didn’t know where it began, but you no longer hate his arrogance. In fact, you realized with a sudden jolt of panic that you were entirely captivated by it.
“I think you can handle the moss perfectly fine, Neteyam," you countered, your voice clipped, though you couldn't quite stop the subtle twitch of your own lips. “Try not to get distracted out there. I would hate for my arrows to do all the work for your pack.”
“I'll try my best to keep up...” he murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, private register that always seemed reserved exclusively for you.
He gave you one last, lingering look before turning to leap into the upper ground with effortless grace. You stood frozen for a second, catching your breath, before fiercely shaking your head. Get it together, you scolded yourself, though the flush on your neck had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the hunt.
He turned to you again, offering a hand. You scoffed, ignoring his hand and leaping on the higher ground yourself. The hunt went flawlessly with three clean kills, but the tension between the two of you only tightened during the trek back.
The pack stopped by a shallow stream to wash the sweat and dirt from their skin. You sat slightly apart from the group on a fallen log, running a whetstone down the edge of your hunting knife when a few paces away, you saw Ley’a, a huntress your age, approached Neteyam. Neteyam, being the dutiful and polite warrior that he was, leaned down slightly to listen, speaking to her with that effortless, smooth charm that came naturally to him.
You saw him smiled, gesturing toward the canopy as if he was explaining something.
You didn't even realize you were staring until the stone slipped against your blade with a sharp, harsh screech. You swallowed and aggressively rolled your eyes, your lips in a thin line as something hot and ugly twisted sharply in your gut. You didn't understand why it was there, but it blinded you.
When the trek resumed again, you walked ahead of everyone, your pace faster than usual and your chin tilted high. Your sharp eyes snapped to your side when you heard footsteps coming, and your brows furrowed immediately when you saw Neteyam’s smirk.
“Are you upset about something?” he asked, matching your pace effortlessly, his strides sure and confident.
You didn’t answer. You wanted to be left alone with your thoughts, but here he is again, taunting words out of you.
“You walk fast when you’re upset.” he added.
You finally turned to him, your eyes narrowed and before your mind could stop your tongue, you spoke, “You speak quite smoothly to girls for a man who is practically spoken for, Neteyam,” you said, your tone dripping with a cold, sarcastic bite.
He looked surprise for a moment, but the smirk returned to his face, though his eyes narrowed with a sudden, intense curiosity. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“I am merely wondering what Ateya of the Anurai would say about it,” you scoffed. “Her future mate being a certified womanizer, smooth-talking and flashing his smiles at every huntress. Personally, I would hate to have such a weak-willed mate.”
Neteyam’s lips parted, lagging behind for a fraction of a minute, watching your large steps put a distance between you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he walked after you, his stride purposeful. You looked at him, somehow you’re bothered that he might be angry about what you said, but he didn't look angry; he looked absolutely thrilled by your bite, his cocky persona flaring to life.
“A womanizer?” Neteyam whispered, walking right beside you and leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. “What are you talking about, smooth-talking and flasing smiles at every huntress?” he asked, his hand itching to touch your forearm but he balled it into a fist.
You didn’t respond, you just continued walking and he kept matching your pace.
“Was it about Ley’a earlier?” he mumbled, his voice so quiet and intimate that it brought heat to your face. “I was just answering a question about a tracking trail,” he explained, his steps growing larger. He walked backward so he could look at you better, his head tilting at the silent ire on your face. “Do you care who I smile at, Y/N?”
Your face crumpled and he chuckled, “I do not care at all,” you snapped back quickly, your chest heaving as you glared up at him. “I am simply making an observation on your character. Or lack thereof.”
“Right. An observation,” he repeated as he raised a brow, his face so light and vibrant you could see the way his pupils were dilating. “Because for someone who claims to find me so arrogant and obnoxious, you seem to spend a remarkable amount of time keeping track of my betrothal status. Should I tell my father to cancel the council meetings, then? Since my future seems to weigh so heavily on your mind?”
Your face burned a deep, furious violet. You stopped abruptly, nearly knocking your shoulder into his chest as you pushed past him.
“Do whatever you want, Neteyam,” you hissed under your breath before marching ahead. “You are entirely insufferable.”
Neteyam didn't follow you right away, he stood by the stream and watched your rigid, angry retreat with a heavy, breathless exhale. His hand traced his jawline, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across his face as his tail flicked lazily behind him.
You looked jealous, absolutely furious, and you seemed very bothered by his betrothal status. He didn’t want to rejoice in the knowledge that you were upset about it, but he couldn’t help it. The heavy weight of the council’s impending arrangements suddenly felt a little lighter. He had a foothold now. And he wasn't going to let it go.
The days following the hunt felt entirely different. The invisible wall you had spent years building was actively crumbling, and the worst part was that you were no longer trying to patch it up.
Neteyam had taken what happened and run with it, his pursuit turning into a relentless, everyday occurrence. He seemed to possess an infuriating ability to materialize out of thin air whenever you were alone.
One afternoon, you were high up in the middle branches of Hometree, sitting on a secluded edge to practice your weaving skills on soft strips of fabric. Your fingers felt thick and clumsy as you tried to lace the soft strips together. You are useless in this for you had never really taken an interest in the domestic arts.
But now... You thought weaving would be a great skill to add to your repertoire.
It’s proving to be a great challenge, though, and staring at the frayed, knotted mess in your lap, you wanted to yank your own braids out for your sudden stupidity. Why had you never thought of ever learning this before? How are you supposed to even weave a loincloth for your future children if you cannot even cross two threads? A scowl deepened on your face.
The thought that you were thinking of children tore through your trance as a sudden, unauthorized image of a child with very familiar features came into your mind. You gasped sharply, your face burning a violent purple.
With a frustrated groan, you balled up the tangled mess of fabrics and threw it violently across the ledge. “Useless,” you hissed to the empty air.
“What is it that you’re upset about now?”
You nearly jumped out of your skin.
Neteyam dropped gracefully from the thick branch above, landing silently on the ledge just a few feet away. He was leaning against the bark, his arms crossed over his chest, a wildly amused smirk playing on his lips. He had a way of appearing out of nowhere lately. At the river, near your training lanes, and now in your private sanctuary.
Your mask snapped back into place, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Do you make a habit of stalking me, Neteyam, or do you simply have nothing better to do with your time?”
His lips twisted. “I was actually on my way to the training grounds,” he lied smoothly, taking a slow, confident step closer. His eyes dropped to the tangled ball of fabric on the ledge, and then drifted back up to your flushed face. “But then I saw the fiercest huntress I know fighting a losing battle against some fabrics. I couldn't just walk away.”
“I am not fighting it,” you retorted.
“Right. You're just glaring at it until it weaves itself,” he teased, his voice dropping into that low, rumbling register. He walked over, picking up the discarded bundle. With agonizing slowness, his hands began to effortlessly untangle the knots you had spent an hour making. “You have too much tension in your hands, holding it like a throat you want to crush.”
You watched his fingers move. They were calloused from weapons, larger than yours, yet they handled the delicate threads with a startling, gentle precision. A strange warmth settled deep in your stomach. You were too hyper-aware of how close he was, of the scent of mint and rain on his skin, and the effortless way he commanded your space.
“There...” he mumbled, showing you a perfect line of two woven strips.
You glanced at him through the fringe of your lashes, seeing the small smile on his face. A faint shadow of fear bloomed in your chest and you looked down, “Where did you learn?”
“My mother,” he answered, glancing up at you with a bright smile before he looked back down on his work. “Well, sort of. She’d always tell us to be responsible of our own clothes if it gets a hole or a tear.”
“I didn’t know that...” you mumbled.
He smirked, but somehow it looked less cocky and more... wistful. “The same way I know you can’t weave.”
Your forehead creased. “How’d you know?” you asked, glaring at him but you both know it held nothing bad.
“I pay attention,” he shrugged. “Why are you suddenly taking an interest in this?”
You took the strips from him, your eyes playfully narrowed. “I thought you know things from observing?”
“I guess I'll need to observe more when you weave... So, I can form a guess,” he said.
You pushed your lips forward, wrapping the strips he made on your wrist. “I suck at this. There's no next time.”
“You don’t really need to learn weaving if you don’t want to, you know...” he said, sitting on the branch comfortably.
You thought of the Anurai... About how they are meticulous artisans and how some of the clan’s best tapestries used for certain ceremonies are their handiwork. You didn’t even know you were scowling at your own thoughts, and once again, before you could think properly, you spoke.
“Easy for you to say as someone who would be mating an Anurai,” you said in a clipped tone, gathering your stuff and standing up to leave him there.
His jaw dropped, watching your form retreat and jump a branch down. “What...?” he whispered in the air.
You kept climbing down, the soft soles of your feet gripping the bark as you practically fled from the raw confusion on his face. The weight of your irrational feelings and thoughts were a heavy, suffocating thing and it followed you for days.
You were down by the rivers, tucked away in the humid shade of the trees for another one of your group’s picnics. Over the past years, you had actually grown genuinely close to Lekya, Reti, and Kar’ek. They had ceased to be just annoying people tailing you around, they were now your good friends.
While the three of them babbled animatedly about the latest gossips, you were hunched over, your forehead creased in absolute, soul-crushing concentration. You were trying to recreate the exact interlocking loop Neteyam had shown you on the branch. Your tongue peeked out between your teeth as you fought a thick strand of reed.
“I am just saying,” Reti sighed, leaning back on a woven mat and fanning herself, “if Mar’tu looks at me like that during the next illumination feast, I might just have to let him carry my baskets. He has those shoulders, you know?”
“Oh, please,” Lekya scoffed, tossing a seed at her. “Mar’tu trips over his own feet. If you want shoulders, you look at the patrol leaders.”
Reti sighed, “And what do the patrol leaders even like? They won’t like someone like me. I’m a weaver, Lekya, for freak’s sake. If a mere hunter likes me, I can’t be choosey.”
You pushed your lips forward and glanced up at her, your forehead creased, “Rita. Don’t speak of yourself that way,” you reprimanded. “You’re an excellent weaver. Look at me, I can’t even weave to save my life.” You showed her your botched work. “Who cares about whether warriors and hunters like any of us? They are idiots.”
They bursted out laughing. “Well, I supposed we’ll take it from you. You’re the huntress,” Reti grinned.
“You never grew out of your annoyance for them,” Lekya said. “Where will you find romance if you don’t like any of them?”
You scowled and they laughed harder.
“Well, some of us don't have to look far for romance,” Kar’ek chimed in, leaning forward with a wicked grin. He was lounging on a pile of soft moss, his fingers idly twirling a blade of grass. “Some of us are having secret midnight swims by the eastern pools with a certain hunter whose name rhymes with Zdin’rey.”
Lekya and Reti gasped in unison, leaning in. “Kar’ek! You didn't!”
“But I did,” Kar’ek purred, tossing his braids over his shoulder. “And honey, it was mmaculate!”
Lekya pouted, “Weren’t you with Nakvu last moon?”
Kar’ek snorted, “Well, I realized, I can just take, and take, and take. There are plenty of choices and we must always test the auditonees.”
You chuckled and Kar’ek’s attention pinned on you. He shifted on the grass, grabbing a piece of pie and popping it into his mouth.
“Enough about my scandalous exploits. What about our resident huntress?”
Another two pairs of eyes suddenly locked onto you. You kept your gaze glued to your terrible weaving, though.
“What about me?” you asked coldly, trying to sound aloof.
“You are of age, Y/N. A fully decorated debutante,” Kar’ek pointed out.
Lekya nodded at you, “The warriors practically fall over their own feet trying to offer you meat at the communal fires, and you look at them like they are pile of viperwolf dung.”
“Maybe because they are annoying,” you muttered, shoving a fiber under another.
“Okay, true for some,” Lekya agreed. “But what about Tayrel? He’s still single. Or maybe someone from the older batches? What about Janu?”
Before you could voice your disgust, Kar’ek let out a loud, dramatic groan, slapping his forehead with a broad leaf. “Oh, by Eywa's grace, stop it! Please! You two are giving me a headache with these horrific suggestions.” He sat up, glaring at Lekya and Reti like they had lost their minds. “Why are you two suggesting so many names when there is a very obvious one right in front of her face?”
Your glanced up at him with furrowed brows, accidentally bending a fiber completely out of shape. “My face?”
Kar’ek rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “Girl, you’re blind,” he said before leaning in. “Neteyam!” he whisper-shouted.
“Oh...” Lekya’s face brightened. “But he’s... I mean, the council—”
“The council can eat dirt,” Kar’ek interrupted shamelessly, waving his hand dismissively. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes glittering with pure gossip-fueled joy. “Y/N, darling, look at me. Put that plant down.”
You slowly raised your head, keeping your face as blank as possible, though your ears were burning hot against your hair. “Neteyam is my brother's best friend. He is an extension of my family.”
“Honey, if my brother’s friend looked at me the way Neteyam looks at you, I would be pregnant by the next eclipse,” Kar’ek said flatly.
“Kar'ek!” you hissed, your face flushing a violent violet.
“I am serious!” Kar’ek leaned in, his voice dropping into an intense, dramatic whisper. “I am an observer of men, Y/N. It is my spiritual calling. And I am telling you, he is crazy about you. Utterly ruined by you.”
You shook your head, “You are crazy. That’s not possible,” you said. “He teases everyone."
“Oh, please. Remember when you accidentally dropped your dagger into the communal fire? Who burned his hand pulling it out before the blade gets ruined? Neteyam. And what about the time during the rainy season when your kelku’s roof had that massive tear? Your father was away on clan business and your brother on patrol, and suddenly Neteyam shows up with three layers of fresh thatch, claiming they ‘had extra’ and he just happened to be passing by. He spent four hours in a downpour fixing it, looking like a drowned, miserable banshee, just so you wouldn't get cold!”
“Shut up, Kar'ek,” you mumbled, your voice entirely stripped of its usual icy armor. You stared down at the messy, tangled weaving in your lap, knowing that the flutter in your chest wasn't from anger or defense.
“Oh, I am not shutting up, because you need to hear the rest of this,” Kar’ek insisted, practically vibrating with excitement as he leaned even closer, gesturing wildly with his hands. xLekya, Reti, back me up on this. We are making a list because this girl is living in a complete state of delusion.”
“Alright,” Reti agreed instantly, abandoning her fern leaf. “I remember that time when your mount got that nasty deep scratch from a nightwraith attack during patrol and he stayed up for two full nights helping you by gathering the herbs in the high cliffs, grinding the soothing paste and applying it on your ikran? At least, the healers got their sleep, but Neteyam definitely didn’t.”
Your lips twisted when you remembered. You were so scared for your ikran then, panicking and crying, but he took care of everything. He didn’t even like herbs, you thought. Nobody likes herbs but the healers... But he still took care of it.
“And he beat Kutri into a pulp at the Great Feast because of you,” Lekya said with a dreamy look on her face.
“Exactly!” Kar’ek clapped his hands together triumphantly. “The man is the future leader of our people, completely disciplined and perfect, until someone breathes too loud in your direction.”
You huffed a breath through your nose. Your chest was heaving, your skin tingling with a sudden, overwhelming rush of warmth. Kar’ek’s words were too overwhelming, painting a picture you had spent years denying. Neteyam... likes you. No, according to Kar’ek, he was entirely consumed by you.
“You have him on a leash, Y/N. You just refuse to pull it,” Kar’ek added, leaning back with a smug grin.
At the same time, Neteyam was standing in the heavy atmosphere of the council as the elders discussed how to maintain the strategic alliance with the Aranahe clan, casually receiving strays from elders who couldn’t undetermined his decision.
“The Aranahe look to solidify our treaties,” one of the senior elders spoke up, leaning forward. “Their Olo'eyktan has always expressed a desire for a match. Ateya isn’t his only child. His eldest son, a fierce hunter, is also open to find a mate from our finest bloodlines.”
Jake Sully sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “My daughter, Kiri, has no mind for things like this, Elder.”
“It needed not be Kiri, Jake,” the elder replied smoothly. He turned his gaze slowly across the circle, letting it rest squarely on your father. “Levakan... your daughter, Y/N. She has just come of age. She is fit to be paired with an Olo'eyktan’s heir. Proud, brave, beautiful, and strong.”
Across the room, Neteyam froze.
Every ounce of air left his lungs. His ears instantly pinned back flat against his head, his tail lashing behind him with a sudden, violent twitch. His golden eyes locked onto the elder with a glare so fiercely lethal it could have pierced through armor. How dare he suggest handing you over to an outsider?
Neteyam’s eyes flew to your father, his heart hammering in a frantic, terrifying panic. He waited for Levakan to refuse. He waited for him to protect his daughter from being shipped off to another clan.
Instead, your father remained perfectly calm. He tilted his head, pretending to weigh the option with a thoughtful expression.
“My daughter is dutiful, Elder,” your father said, his voice loud and clear. “She understands the weight of our family’s standing. I will talk to her and see what I can do, if she is open to it.”
Neteyam’s face completely crumpled, a suffocating pain twisting in his chest. His fist clenched so hard his wrapped knuckles turned white.
If she is open to it.
Neteyam remembered the night on the branch, your soft laughter, and the way you had scowled and said you liked none of the men in this clan because they all got on your nerves. A sickening wave of dread washed over him. If you hated all the boys here... that would mean you were open to choosing a man from the outside?
From across the fire, Levakan caught the look of utter, desperate panic written across Neteyam’s face. Your father hid a satisfied smirk behind his cup, knowing the game had officially begun, and Neteyam finally knew he couldn't afford to wait in the shadows any longer.
It’s not like both of you ever asked for a sign from Eywa, but the Great Mother still found it in herself to deliver an entire diplomatic circus to make both of your lives miserable. The Aranahe clan will be making a clan visit for the upcoming feast and the looming threat of the council’s political matchmaking bothered you both endlessly.
For you, the distress manifested as a tight, biting irritation. Every time someone mentioned Ateya’s name, your stomach twisted with something sharp and ugly. For Neteyam, it was a quiet, frantic desperation. He spent days trying to sense if your father had already presented the elder's suggestion about Tuvek, the Aranahe Olo’eyktan's firstborn son, to you, and more terrifyingly, if you actually thought it was a good idea.
When he caught you alone near the ikran ledges one afternoon, he looked entirely too relaxed for someone whose life was being rearranged by a council of old men. You were violently untangling a leather riding strap, your ears pinned back, when a shadow fell over you.
“Careful,” Neteyam’s voice purred. He was leaning casually against a pillar, one ankle crossed over the other, a lazy, infuriatingly handsome smirk playing on his lips. “You keep yanking it like that and you'll snap the hide. Though, I suppose it's impressive how much anger you can pack into such small hands.”
You snapped a sharp gaze on him. He looked like he is sleeping well, even more, like he was having the best days of his life anticipating the Aranahe. Your fingers aggressively knotted the leather, “Go away.”
He didn't take the hint, stepping right into your space until the heat of his chest was brushing your shoulder. He tilted his head, his golden eyes dancing with that familiar, cocky light. “I notice the second-in-command looking like he is in a very good mood these days, almost as if he is as waiting for a huge celebration. Care to share what it is about, sleepyhead?”
The strap snapped in your hands with a sharp crack.
Your head whipped around, your chest heaving with all the suffocating anxiety you’d been drowning in for days. “Perhaps it’s about your mating with Ateya of the Aranahe. Who knows? We could be celebrating that in time with the feast.”
Neteyam’s smirk faltered for a fraction, his eyes narrowing in surprise at the sheer venom in your voice, but he recovered quickly, raising an amused brow. This again. If you didn’t look so mad, he’d think you want to cry.
“Let me worry about that,“ he said, waiting for another reaction.
Which he got when you glared up at him with yours eyes blazing. “Right. So stop asking me about my father when you could ask my brother about whatever. Worry about your own looming bond. Go flash your perfect smiles at Ateya once she arrives, and figure out how to be a dutiful mate to the Aranahe, since you're so excellent at playing the perfect future chief!“
You didn't wait for his response. You turned on your heel and stormed off down the path, your tail lashing violently behind you.
Behind you, Neteyam stood frozen, the broken strap clutched in his hand. The cocky smirk completely vanished from his face. He wanted a reaction, yes, but Great Mother, he only made you angrier than you already were.
Then, the night of the feast arrived.
The central clearing was ablaze with a roaring fire, but to you, the atmosphere felt cold. The Aranahe Olo’eyktan, his mate, and his two children were seated at the high dais alongside Jake and his family. Ateya was intentionally placed right next to Neteyam. From your seat at your family’s own dais, you couldn't even swallow your food. Every time Ateya leaned in to whisper something to him, every time Neteyam offered her a smile, the food in your mouth tasted like ash.
You hated what you were feeling. You wished with everything in you that you could go back to how things used to be, back when you could pretend you were just annoyed by him. But as you watched them, you were confronted with a bitter truth. There was never a time you didn't care. You had always noticed him. For years, you had stubbornly pretended you didn't understand why he did things for you.
Why he would risk to burn his hand to get you your favorite dagger, why he would get out of his way to help you even when you never been kind to him. You had been selfish, rude, and mean, using your sharp tongue as a shield. Looking at Ateya, someone sweet, gentle, and flawlessly poise, you felt a sinking, hollow ache in your chest. She is exactly the kind of woman he deserves.
When the dinner concluded, one of the senior elders brought you over to introduce you to Tuvek. Although you were in no mood for pleasantries, your own courtesy forced you to stay. When Tuvek politely asked about the fermented fruit wine, you forced your voice into a steady rhythm, spending nearly half an hour conversing with him about the local beverages, the traditional food, and the story of the tribe dances.
Yet, your eyes were constantly drifting back across the clearing, tracking Neteyam. You felt two feet small, as if you had been completely skinned and left exposed to the cold wind.
“The steps to the third dance are actually quite complex,” Tuvek was saying, leaning a fraction closer, his eyes fixed intently on your face. “I would be honored if you showed me the footwork, once it comes again, Y/N. A huntress of your skill must move beautifully on the mats.”
“She moves beautifully, alright,” A low, smooth purr chimed in and you nearly jumped out of your skin.
You turned to hjm with a sharp glare, your eyes tracking Ateya a few paces away, standing alone in the crowd; but when she saw you glance at her, she started moving. You snapped your gaze back to Neteyam and saw him flashing a sharp, dazzling smile at Tuvek, though his golden eyes remained completely cold, tracking the man like a target.
“Assuming you don't mind getting your toes flattened. Our fiercest huntress tends to dance exactly how she hunts. Zero mercy and absolutely no regard for those trying to keep up with her.”
Your jaw nearly dropped. You snapped your gaze to him, your ears pinning back instantly. You were just about to hiss a lethal retort when a soft, melodic voice cut through the tension.
“There you are, Neteyam,” Ateya said, smoothly gliding into the circle. She offered a polite nod to you and Tuvek. “You disappeared so suddenly. I was worried you had grown bored of my company, but I am glad you’ve already introduced yourself to my brother.”
Neteyam smiled at her, “Of course, Ateya.”
You felt a sharp, ugly coil in your chest, but you quickly masked it when Ateya glances at you.
She looked at Neteyam again. “Though, I wonder if it would be rude if I steal you away for a more private conversation,” she said.
A sweet smile cut across your face as you turned your full attention to Ateya, completely ignoring Neteyam as if he were nothing more than an inconveniently placed rock.
“Oh, do not worry, Ateya,” you said. “Neteyam is simply doing what he does best: inserting himself where he isn't invited. He is very eager to come with you.”
You pushed him subtly. Tuvek blinked, looking between you two, while Ateya’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. Neteyam, however, didn't look offended at all. Instead, his smirk widened, his golden eyes dancing with absolute delight as he leaned closer to you.
“Is that what I'm doing?” Neteyam asked, his tone laced with a lazy, teasing challenge. “I thought I was just protecting our esteemed guest from a dangerous dance partner.”
“Oh, please. The only danger here is your terrible habit of sleepwalking,” you said, turning to Ateya. “You must be patient with him, that habit could triggered by too much wine. Just last moon, his family had to drag him back because he tried to climb down the Hometree in his sleep, said he was chasing a viperwolf.”
Tuvek chuckled, thoroughly baffled by the image of the stoic Neteyam sleep-hunting. Ateya looked at Neteyam with a confused smile, while the man stared at you, entirely captivated by how fiercely you were trying to embarrass him.
“Is that right?” Neteyam asked. “I don't remember chasing a viperwolf, sleepyhead.”
“Of course you don't, you were asleep,” you shot back smoothly, turning back to Ateya with a pitying shake of your head. "It's tragic, really. He also snores like a dying banshee when it rains. It's a miracle his family gets any rest at all. I only tell you this so you know what you are getting into, should he ever be left without a mouth guard during a monsoon.”
Ateya looked genuinely startled by your bluntness, her eyes darting to Neteyam to see if his pride would flare. “Oh... I see,” she offered softly, trying to find her footing in the conversation. “I suppose everyone has their... quirks.”
“Oh, he is full of them,” you replied instantly, your smile tightening.
“Hm,” Neteyam huffed a laugh, stepping even closer into your space, completely unfazed by your trashing. If anything, your desperate attempt to ruin his reputation seemed to intoxicate him. He tilted his head, his voice dropping into a low, private purr meant only for you. “You seem to know an awful lot about my nighttime habits. One might think you spend your evenings watching over me.”
“Oh, no, it’s the talk of the village,” you waved a dismissive hand and rolled your eyes.
Just in time, the rhythm for the dance Tuvek was talking about sounded and Tuvek glances at you. “There’s the dance.”
You smiled. "I’ll honor you." You gave Tuvek your hand, and he accepted it with a polite, sweeping bow, guiding you onto the crowded dance floor.
As you moved with Tuvek, matching the rhythmic thrum of the drums, the adrenaline from your bickering with Neteyam began to bleed away, leaving behind a hollow ache of the previous days. Tuvek was a perfectly fine partner, his movements were precise, his manner exceptionally polite, but you felt entirely disconnected from your own body. You felt two feet small again, a fraud hiding behind a confident huntress.
During a synchronized turn, your eyes drifted toward the council’s dais. You caught the line of vision of several senior elders and how they were all watching Neteyam and Ateya in approval. You followed their gaze and saw Ateya who had a dreamy, captivated look on her face, her eyes fixed entirely on him as she spoke about something.
Your eyes slid to the figure beside her, your heart jumping to your throat when you saw him watching you with an intense focus. You swiftly looked away, pretending to enjoy the rhythm.
The moment the music swelled to a finish, you offered Tuvek a nod. “It was a great pleasure to be in your company, Tuvek, but you must forgive me. I want to excuse myself.”
Before he could offer to accompany you, you practically fled, slipping past the dancing bodies. You jumped a few branches down until you are out in the comfort of the surrounding forest. The heavy beat of the drums faded, replaced by the sharp cracks of leaves under your soles. But you barely had time to draw a ragged breath before the distinct, deliberate sound of footsteps echoed behind you.
You spun around, your arms instantly crossing tightly over your chest in defense. Through the glowing blue and magenta bioluminescence, you saw Neteyam tracking you, his long strides steady and unrelenting.
“Leave me alone,” you hissed, your voice clipping with vulnerability.
“No,” Neteyam said. As he stepped fully into the pale light of a glowing fern, your breath caught. He looked angry. It was a hard, clenching tight line of his jaw. A dangerous, fierce expression you had never once seen him direct at you.
Your eyes narrowed as you focused on him, your own temper flaring to mask the sudden sting of tears. “Are you angry?”
“I suppose I am,” he said, his voice a low, rough vibration.
“At me?” you asked, a bitter, defensive laugh bubbling up in your throat. Your chin lifted defiantly. “Mad at me for what? Because I disparaged your pristine image to your precious Ateya? Oh, don't worry, Neteyam, I don't think she cares at all! She was still looking at you with heart-shaped eyes the entire night!”
“You think I care about her?” Neteyam stepped sharply into your space, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his golden eyes blazing. “I couldn't care less what she thinks of me! But I certainly cared about watching you hand your palm over to her brother! I cared about watching him lean into your face, talking about how 'beautifully' you move!”
“He was just being polite!” you yelled, your voice cracking as the sheer pressure of the past week finally broke through your defenses. “And you should, too, I saw the council. They approved of you two—”
“I don't want Ateya!” Neteyam roared, grabbing your upper arms, his grip firm, unyielding, but entirely careful not to hurt you. “And I don't want you anywhere near him! It was driving me insane, Y/N. Watching him touch you, watching you smile at him, and knowing you’re somehow mad at me again for only Eywa knows what. Because unlike him, I can’t seem to do anything right by you!”
Your chest heaved. Your inner lip was caught between your teeth as a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion hit you. His words felt like a direct proof of the thoughts you had just harbored at the feast. He had shown you nothing but absolute, relentless kindness his entire life, and you had paid him back in nothing coldness and meanness.
You swallowed hard, quickly turning your head to hide the hot tears that were suddenly pooling in your eyes. But you weren't fast enough. Neteyam took a sharp, panicked breath the moment he saw the glint of moisture on your cheek.
“Fuck. Are you crying?” he rushed out, his long strides instantly eating away the remaining space between you. The anger was completely gone, replaced by pure panic. “I didn't mean for it to come across that way. Shit. I'm so sorry I said that. Please don't cry.”
You shook your head, the hot tears finally spilling over and tracking down your face. Before you could pull away, his large hands came up, firmly but gently grasping your upper arms to steady you.
“No? Then what is it? Was it Tuvek?” his body went instantly rigid, his ears flattening as a dangerous, protective growl vibrated in his throat. “Did he say something to you?”
“No,” you sniffled, your own hands automatically coming up to grip his forearms, feeling the hard, steady muscle beneath his skin. “You were right, Neteyam. You can't do anything right by me, but you are not to blame for that. I am. I am so mean to you. So needlessly cruel and defensive at times, when all you've ever wanted to do was help me, and protect me, and I—”
“Hey. Shh,” he hushed you softly, pulling you forward and wrapping his massive, warm arms around your trembling frame and tucking your head securely against his chest. “What are you even saying? You could never do anything to me that I do not let you do. Don’t think of me as some victim.”
“That’s the exact problem,” you mumbled against his bare chest, your voice muffled but fierce. “You are such an idiot. You would literally allow me to impale you with a hunter's spear if I told you I wanted to.”
A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated against your cheek. Neteyam squeezed you a little tighter, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I definitely would,” he whispered quietly.
A profound, heavy silence fell over you both. Neteyam slowly pulled back just enough to look down at your face, his golden eyes filled with a softness that made your knees weak as he traced the glowing pattern of your bioluminescent freckles—the stars he saw every single time he closed his eyes.
“You like me...” you mumbled, the words feeling like a sacred, forbidden secret leaving your lips.
“Like?” Neteyam echoed, a small, breathless smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe... when I was a boy.” His gaze darkened, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. “But I am a man grown now. And my feelings grew out of the 'like' territory a very long time ago.”
You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to process the intensity in his eyes. Remembering the scandalous, late-night gossip sessions with Kar'ek and the girls, you blinked up at him innocently. “You... you lust for me?”
Neteyam snorted, a sharp burst of genuine laughter barking from his chest. His large frame shook against yours, his white teeth flashing in the dark. Your lips twisted into a pout, your face thoroughly confused, but a spark of warmth bloomed in your gut just watching his unbridled joy.
“I do,” he admitted freely, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze dropped to your mouth for a heavy, lingering second. “I definitely do. But what I mean is... I love you. I am completely, entirely in love with you. I have been for years, Y/N. There is no one else. There never has been. And never will be.”
You looked up at him, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain he could hear it. You tried as hard as you could to hide the massive smile tugging at your lips, burying your face slightly back into his chest. “You are an idiot...” you mumbled.
Neteyam let out a sharp, breathless laugh, his ears pinning back in absolute, staggering relief. He didn’t back down. Instead, his hand slid up to the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling gently into your hair as he tilted your face up, demanding your full attention.
“For being crazy over and falling in love with the clan’s fiercest, most stubborn huntress?” he asked, his voice dropping to a rough, intense whisper. “Perhaps I am. I am a massive idiot.”
You playfully glared at him, your hand tracing the curve of his arm. But the vulnerability rushed back, and your gaze lowered to his chest, your forehead creasing as your lower lip gave a small, telling tremble. “I got... so jealous of Ateya tonight. I was so jealous, Neteyam, I wanted to cry during dinner.” You looked up, your eyes wide and searching. “ think she would do well. She seems like a good woman, a good huntress... and an even better weaver, from what everyone says.”
A deeply humored, incredibly smug look washed over his features, a familiar, cocky smirk returning to his lips. “Do well with what?”
“With you,” you said, poking his chest sharply.
His head tilted, his thumb caressing your jawline. “I rejected the match with her for years because I wanted someone else,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And now this someone else is crying because she thinks I’ll ever look at another woman and forget the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
Your lips twisted. “I am not good to you,” you repeated softly.
Neteyam squeezed your hand, bringing his face so close your noses brushed. “I don’t care. I love you. And I don’t care if you don’t feel the same right now,” he said with an absolute, unyielding intensity. “I only wish for your happiness. So whatever it takes, I will do it. I will take whatever fire or ice you throw my way.”
“Me, too,” you whispered.
Neteyam froze, his eyes widening a fraction. “You do?”
Your eyes went wide as you realized what you had just admitted, your heart leaping into your throat. “I—I mean, I want you to be happy, too!” you stammered, biting your lip as your gaze helplessly dropped to his mouth.
Unable to resist the pull any longer, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a quick, desperate kiss to his lips. You tried to step back in a hurry, your old defensive instincts flaring, but Neteyam’s arm tightened like steel around your waist. He pulled you flush against his body, his other hand gathering your braids to hold your head steady as he tilted your face up and kissed you properly.
He kissed you deep, hard, and possessive, molding his lips to yours with all the pent-up hunger of a man who had waited a lifetime. A soft, breathless moan escaped your throat against his mouth, your fingers gripping tightly into the muscles of his shoulders. It felt good. Shockingly, terrifyingly good.
He finally pulled away just enough to let you breathe, his lips trailing hot, damp paths down your jawline while his large hand cupped your cheek. You angled your head, desperate to kiss him again, but the sudden, distinct rustle of heavy footsteps nearby cut through the haze.
You moved away from him faster than lightning, your heart leaping into your throat. You started walking back toward the clearing like a startled yerik caught in a hunter's sights, only to freeze when you spotted Sak'nur walking down the path not a few paces away.
“There you are,” Sak'nur said, stopping. “Father told me to find you. What are you doing out—” He broke off, his forehead creasing deeply as his eyes slid behind you. “Neteyam?”
Your entire frame jolted. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest. “We ran past each other near the clearing,“ you lied smoothly, your voice barely trembling. “... I was only out for some cold air and alone time.”
“And Neteyam?” your brother asked, his sharp eyes darting suspiciously between the two of you.
You turned to look at Neteyam, seeing that he still looked completely stupefied, his ears twitching as he pointed a thumb vaguely behind himself, his lips opening and closing as if his verbals skills had entirely failed him.
“He was out to make sure there are no dangers in the vicinity,” you covered for him, stepping closer to your brother. “What does father want?”
Sak'nur stared at you, clearly unsatisfied with the answers but unable to pinpoint why. “He wants to speak with you about an important matter, apparently.”
“Alright, I'm going,” you said, offering a tight smile before turning back toward Hometree.
The two warriors followed you back to the communal clearing. You walked up to your father, who immediately drew you aside to a quieter corner of the clearing, away from the roaring heat of the central fire.
“Daughter,” your father began, his voice dropping into the low tone he used when speaking of clan matters. “The elders have spoken with me. They believe a pairing between you and Tuvek would secure a vital line of trust between our hunters. He is a formidable warrior, and his father is a powerful ally.”
You stood before him, but you could hardly think straight. Your skin was still flushed and your lips were practically burning, still tingling from the possessive pressure of Neteyam's mouth. The contrast between your father's political gravity and the wild, illicit heat flooding your veins was dizzying. You had absolutely no intention of entertaining a single word of what the council wanted.
“He seems like a good man, Father,” you said, forcing your voice to sound entirely detached, though your heart was still hammering against your ribs. “But I have no interest in him. Or his clan's alliances.”
Your father nodded, taking a slow sip from his cup. “He is an Olo'eyktan's firstborn son, daughter. It is a match of great honor. Are you telling me your heart is already occupied elsewhere?”
Your breath hitched, but you quickly locked your jaw, “Father, I am not interested in being a wife at this age, to be honest. I want to... sharpen my skills, so to say. But if the elders want an alliance, we have other huntresses from good lineage they can trade.”
Your father hid another slow satisfied smirk behind his cup. He had seen the way Neteyam had practically bolted out of the clearing after you, and he could see the telltale flush on your cheeks now. If the fact that you’re both singing the same tune isn’t enough proof.
“Very well,” he murmured evenly, tapping your shoulder. “I will tell the elders you wish to weigh the gravity of the decision first, but we won’t speak of this again.”
Across the room, Neteyam was standing with Sak'nur, feigning interest in whatever your brother is saying, but his golden eyes were locked onto you. He watched your expression, knowing how dutiful you were to your family, silently praying that just this once, you would listen to nothing but your own heart.
The moment he saw you walk away from your father, Neteyam set his bowl of brew down and patted Sak'nur on the back. His eyes met yours from across the crowded, firelit room, and he gave a subtle jerk of his head toward the outer branches. You gave a barely perceptible nod, slipping out of the feast once more.
As you walked along the high pathway of the outer branches, a large, warm hand wrapped firmly around your elbow, gently pulling you back into the darkness of a massive trunk.
“Your father...?” Neteyam began, his voice tight with anxiety.
Your lips twisted as you tried to stifle a massive smile. “He told me about an arrangement with Tuvek,” you murmured, watching his grip tighten on your arm. “I told him I am not interested.”
Neteyam let out a long, shuddering huff of relief. You smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tiptoeing to press your lips to his. He kissed you back instantly, a soft, purring rumble in his chest. “Good,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Good.”
You smiled against his lips, pulling back slightly. “Listen,” you whispered, your expression turning serious. “I don't want to hide this... but I don't know how to tell my brother. Or my father. Or anyone, for that matter. Do you understand?”
Neteyam looked deep into your eyes, his gaze overflowing with tenderness. “I'm not complaining,” he smiled, leaning down to press another soft kiss to your lips. “We’ll do whatever you want. At your pace, baby.”
“Y/N?”
You jumped away from Neteyam instantly, spinning toward the entryway of the clearing to see Kar’ek standing there. His sharp eyes immediately narrowed into suspicious slits as he watched Neteyam stepping back into the shadows.
“Kar'ek,” you greeted, trying to sound breathless from walking, not kissing.
“We were just looking for you. It is time for the dancing!” Kar’ek said, dynamically swaying his hips to the distant rhythm of the drums.
“Right! I'll be there with you guys soon,” you grinned.
“Oh-kay...” Kar’ek dragged out, his eyes narrowing further as a massive, knowing smirk spread across his face. He shot a heavily loaded look toward Neteyam's shadow before turning on his heel and sauntering away.
That night was only the beginning. What followed was a succession of secret, thrilling rendezvous that left your heart permanently racing. You two were practically compiling your own list of offenses: like hiding beneath the massive roots of Hometree, your muffled giggles pressed against his chest while a hunting patrol walked mere paces away; the midnight flights on your ikrans to the highest, mist-shrouded cliffs just to share a single, stolen blanket from Tuk to take a nap; the hidden moments behind the weapon racks where he would boldly press you against the wood as he kisses you, his hand anchoring your hip while your brother is looking for him in the training grounds; and the quiet dawn swims in the river, washing the dirt from your skin while his hands mapped the curves of your body beneath the water.
You felt like you were living out one of Kar’ek’s scandalous escapades, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud whenever you recounted your friend's wild gossip to Neteyam during your hidden hours.
“Who exactly are these anonymous hunters?” Neteyam asked one afternoon, sounding thoroughly scandalized but chuckling warmly as he adjusted you comfortably on his lap. You were hidden deep within the hollow of an ancient tree.
“I won’t give any names,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. “But let’s just say he is definitely not running out of boys to play with.”
“May Eywa give those poor boys strength,” Neteyam laughed, his chest rumbled against your back. “The same way she giveas me strength...”
You smirked, shifting your weight and swinging your legs over his thighs to straddle his lap completely. “I think there is a very low supply...” you whispered, cupping his strong jaw and leaning down to press a deep, teasing kiss to his lips.
Neteyam let out a low groan, his hands immediately finding your hips. You pulled away just an inch, chuckling softly against his skin.
“See? Low supply.”
“You are entirely unfair,” he growled playfully. His large hand came up, clamping firmly around the nape of your neck to pull you down into a deeper, far more breathless kiss. His other hand caressed your waist up to your breast, fondling gently. You smiled against his lips, grinding your hips against him as the heat between you flared.
In the succeeding weeks, the atmosphere in the communal gathering was heavy with an entirely different kind of tension. Gossips from the younger bunch spread after the elders discussed the latest news from the upper branches: a young, unmated woman had been discovered to be carrying a child, and her lover was a hunter from an outside clan.
Apparently, the two had been sneaking out for moons without anyone knowing.
Instantly, a wave of territorial protectiveness rippled through the Omatikaya men. They thought it an offense that the hunter should do it that way when he could have courted the woman. Your brother, on the other hand, knowing how many of the young hunters harbored quiet infatuations with you, issued a cryptic, booming warning to the circle.
“If any man thinks he can disrespect my sister in the dark, sneaking around behind my back,” Sak’nur growled, his eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk, “he will lose a hand before he ever sees the dawn.”
A sudden, nervous silence fell over the younger hunters. Several of them shifted uncomfortably, their faces tightening with guilt that they looked as if they were the ones actively sneaking out with you. You couldn't help but look across the fire, your eyes instantly landing on Neteyam and finding that wasn't sweating at all.
In fact, he had a deeply humored, incredibly cocky smirk playing on his lips as he raised a single, challenging eyebrow at you. Your lips twisted, and you aggressively rolled your eyes at him, though your heart gave a violent, uncontrollable flutter against your ribs.
Later that afternoon, the heat of the day had finally begun to break. You had just finished instructing a group of younger hunters in advanced archery, watching them disperse before turning back to the targets to hone your own marksmanship. You drew an arrow back, the tension of the bowstring resting against your cheek, when the distinct, soft crunch of footsteps sounded behind you.
You let the arrow fly, hitting the exact center of the target with a sharp sound, and smiled before you even turned around.
Neteyam stepped into your space, his large hand instantly snaking around your waist from behind, pulling your back flush against his chest. He lowered his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.
“Not done yet?” he murmured, his fingers giving your waist a firm, possessive squeeze.
“Done,“ you said, unstringing the bow. "I was just practicing my aim."
"So modest, my baby..." he scoffed softly, a lopsided smirk gracing his lips as he took the bow from your hands and set it aside against the weapon rack. "As if she weren't already one of the finest marksmen this clan has ever seen. Come on. I’ll meet you up at the roost."
Your lips twisted into a small smile. You gathered your things and climbed the rocky, winding paths up to the high ikran ledges, arriving just a few minutes before him. By the time Neteyam walked up, his own saddle in hand, the sky had already begun to bleed into a bruised violet, the forest below waking up with its first faint glimmers of bioluminescence.
You both mounted and took to the sky, diving off the cliff into the open, cool air. Up in the darkening heavens, the weight of the clan entirely disappeared. You raced each other, your ikrans dipping and diving, their wings nearly brushing as you performed dizzying aerial maneuvers, laughing like children as you pushed each other higher into the clouds.
Eventually, the sky turned darker, and you guided your ikran down onto a secluded, floating mountain, a mossy grotto you both had claimed as your own secret sanctuary.
The moment your ikrans found their footing on the stone, you slid off your mount and threw yourself into Neteyam's arms. He caught you seamlessly, his large hands immediately locking around your waist to pull you flush against him. Your head was thrown back as he captured your lips, kissing you with a fierce, burning intensity that left you utterly breathless.
Your arms found purchase around his broad, powerful shoulders, matching the desperate hunger of his mouth as he slowly guided you down onto the soft, glowing moss of the grotto floor.
You let out a soft chuckle against his lips as his mouth migrated down, trailing hot, damp paths down your jawline and into the sensitive crook of your neck. You caressed his shoulders, your fingers tracing the hard muscle of his back.
"Have you not given what my brother said a single thought?" you asked breathlessly, cradling his head against your neck.
Neteyam reared his head back, looking down at you with a lazy, lopsided smile that made your stomach flip. "I am not afraid of your brother," he murmured, his golden eyes turning dark, yet carrying a sudden, wistful depth. "The only thing I am afraid of... is you waking up one day and deciding you’re completely done with me."
Your forehead creased, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You reached up, cupping his sharp, tattooed jawline with both hands. "That would never happen," you said with absolute emphasis, locking your eyes with his. "I love you, Neteyam. I love you very much."
Neteyam froze. His golden eyes widened a fraction, and then, a brilliant, blinding smile lit up his face, an expression of pure, unadulterated joy you rarely see on his stoic face.
"I love you more, baby," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down to devour your lips in a soft, deeply tender kiss. "I love you so much more."
You looked up at him, smiling at the faint, unshed tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "Isn’t it quite funny?" you chuckled softly, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb. "You’ve kissed me everywhere, we've broken every rule... but I haven’t actually told you that I love you until tonight."
Neteyam let out a deep, booming laugh, burying his face back into your neck, hugging you so tightly your ribs ached, peppering your skin with hot kisses. "I should have told you moons ago," you murmured, angling your head to give him better access.
"It doesn't matter," he breathed against your skin, his hands sliding down your body. "You love me now, and that is more than enough for me."
You smiled, pulling him down by his neck for another deep kiss. With a practiced, heavy motion, Neteyam’s long fingers brushed the soft, woven petals of your top away from your chest. His lips trailed a path of fire down your throat, moving lower until you arched your back with a soft gasp, completely offering yourself to him.
He suckled deeply on one breast while his large hand fondled and squeezed the other, his thumb rubbing the sensitive peak until a ragged moan tore from your throat. You let your head fall back against the cool, damp earth, your fingers tangling in the moss as he kissed his way down the flat plane of your stomach.
Neteyam slid down, his hands firmly pressing your thighs apart. You instinctively lifted your hips, allowing him to untie the leather cords of your loincloth, pulling it free from your tail. Once you were fully bare beneath him, he lowered his head between your legs.
His tongue was relentless at licking, sucking, and swirling against your slick center, guided entirely by the needy, desperate sounds leaving your lips. He held your thighs pinned against his shoulders, driving you closer and closer to the edge until your body violently shuddered, a loud cry echoing through the quiet grotto as you came against his mouth.
As the tremors slowly faded, Neteyam rose, kneeling between your parted legs. The pale bioluminescence of the floating mountain washed over him, treating you to a breathtaking view of his heavily muscled frame, his broad chest heaving, his shoulders squared as he untied his own loincloth. His eyes were fixed on you with a dark, predatory intensity. He lowered his upper body down, pinning you beneath his weight as he kissed you again, and you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.
Wanting a change, you prepared to flip your positions, aiming to slide on top of him. With a sudden shift of your hips, you successfully rolled over, though Neteyam definitely helped guide your waist, letting out a low grunt as his back hit the mossy ground.
Your lips twisted into a dark, confident smirk as you straddle him. Reaching down, your fingers wrapped around his large, thick length, looking down at him with heavy, hooded eyes. Neteyam smiled lopsidedly, his hands resting loosely on your hips as he watched you gather your own wetness, deliberately lathering it along the shaft of his cock.
His hips gave an involuntary, desperate buck as a low whimper escaped his throat. You immediately pressed a firm hand against his tense abdomen. "Relax, baby..." you whispered.
In retaliation, his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers bruising your skin. You lined his head up against your velvety lips, slowly brushing the wide, sensitive tip against your wetness, intentionally pleasuring yourself first. Neteyam watched you, completely incapable of closing his eyes even as the sheer pleasure made his jaw clench.
Finally, you guided him to your opening, adjusting the angle of your thighs to accommodate his familiar, staggering girth. You bit your lower lip as the wide head began to slip inside, knowing it would take a conscious effort to take all of him in.
You began to lower yourself down with agonizing slowness. Neteyam’s hands were firm on your waist, keeping you steady, but your own impatience suddenly got the better of you. With a sharp exhale, you sank down in one sudden, heavy motion, completely impaling yourself on him as a loud, ragged cry tore from your throat.
"Shit," Neteyam groaned, his eyes snapping shut as his arms instantly flew up to gather your upper body, holding you tight as you weakly collapsed against his chest like a broken branch hanging to a tree for dear life. "Baby..."
He wrapped his massive arms around you, his hand tilting your chin up so he could kiss you, soothing the sudden, overwhelming fullness. You kissed him back deeply, your walls tightly squeezing and suffocating his girth. You stayed entirely still, kissing and breathing together until your body finally adjusted to him.
Once the ache turned into a thrumming heat, you pushed yourself up, beginning to move rhythmically on top of him. You pushed and pulled, your hips, grinding against his as you anchored one hand firmly against his chest. Neteyam’s hands returned to your waist, guiding your pace as the speed picked up.
Your breathless moans and his deep, guttural groans echoed off the stone walls of the little grotto. In the middle of a heavy upward stroke, Neteyam's thumb found your sensitive nub, rubbing it in perfect sync with your movements. The sudden, intense friction made your entire frame tremble.
“Shit...” you quivered and he applied pressure on your nub.
“Aww...” he mumbled mockingly, his other hand fondling your breast. “You feel so good, baby...”
He was incredibly talkative even in the heat of sex, whispering praise, groaning your name, telling you how good you felt, and you absolutely loved it.
Your internal muscles clamped down hard as a violent wave of completion took over, your body shaking as you came for the second time, hugging his neck tightly while he switched your positions and lay you back on the moss to continued pounding into you. He kissed the sweat-slicked skin of your shoulder as he thrusted, finally let out a low, roaring groan, spilling himself deep inside you.
The sheer exhaustion of the night finally caught up to you, and you passed out cold in his arms and when you finally blinked your eyes open, the cool violet of the night had been replaced by the bright, piercing light. You were still tucked securely against his side, your cheek resting comfortably against his broad chest.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Neteyam whispered, a soft chuckle vibrating against your ear. “I thought we were only staying for a few hours, but then... you slept straight through the night and half the morning.”
You huffed a quiet chuckle, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his chest. “Morning to you, too, handsome,” you mumbled, propping yourself up on one elbow.
Your long braids cascaded beautifully over your shoulders, framing your face in the bright daylight. You watched as Neteyam’s golden eyes instantly dilated at the sight. "I suppose I do love sleeping in," you teased.
"I love you sleeping in, too..." he whispered, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You look so innocent when you're asleep."
You grinned, a wicked light entering your eyes. "And when I’m awake?"
"When awake... you’re my naughty little huntress," he whispered hoarsely, leaning in to playfully nip at your earlobe. "But right now, the naughty is going to have to be reined in. We need to go home. Your family is definitely looking for you by now."
You pouted, shifting your weight. "I’m a big girl, Neteyam. My father won’t care about that anymore. Or... are you suddenly scared of Sak'nur?"
Neteyam scoffed, though a confident smile quickly broke across his face. "I can handle your brother."
You smirked, your hand slowly traveling down the flat plane of his stomach until your fingers wrapped around his length, which was already hardening at your touch. "So then we can definitely stay for one more."
He groaned, allowing you to take control. He sat up, kneeling on the moss and rounding you. On normal days, you would lie on your back, but this morning, you turned your back to him, dropping down onto your hands and knees, arching your spine invitingly.
Neteyam let out a low, guttural growl, his large hands clamping onto your hips. You looked back over your shoulder, catching sight of his chest heaving, his golden eyes blown wide and wild, looking exactly like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. The romance of the previous night was entirely gone, replaced by a wild, frantic, and primal morning coupling that left you both shivering.
By the time you both got ready and mounted your ikrans, it was already midday. You flew back toward Hometree, racing each other through the canopy and laughing like idiots, but the moment you neared the high roost, the laughter died in your throat.
Standing right at the edge of the ledge, arms crossed tightly over his chest, was Sak'nur.
You weren't necessarily scared of being found out, but the timing couldn't have been worse. The moment your ikran’s feet touched the branches, you slid off, quickly stepping in front of your brother and pressing a firm hand against his chest to force him back.
Sak'nur looked absolutely murderous, his eyes locked entirely on Neteyam, who landed smoothly a second later and descended from his saddle with a calm, steady grace.
“Were you with my sister the entire night? She didn’t come home,” Sak’nur demanded, his voice a low, lethal growl.
“Sak’nur, stop,” you pleaded, shoving against his chest.
"I was," Neteyam answered simply, his golden eyes unblinking as he stepped forward.
"Motherfucker," Sak’nur hissed, pouncing forward. You threw your entire weight into your brother to hold him back, but he was far too strong. He overpowered you, shoving you aside to get to his target.
Neteyam’s eyes widened at the sight of you being pushed. "Fucker!" he hissed, all restraint vanishing as he launched himself at your brother.
The two of them collided heavily, grappling and tearing into each other, throwing raw, heavy punches that echoed through the trees. They were fighting like you had never seen them fight before. Two elite warriors tearing the ground apart out of sheer, blinding rage.
"Fuck you, asshole!" Sak’nur roared, catching Neteyam by the throat and slamming him against a mossy root. "Out of all the men here who would go behind my back and disrespect my sister, I didn’t think it would be you! You sneak around in the dark like a coward! Are you toying with her?!"
Neteyam threw a vicious elbow, breaking Sak’nur’s grip and forcing him back a step. His chest was heaving, his face smeared with dirt and sweat, but his eyes were blazing with absolute, unyielding conviction.
"I am not toying with her!" Neteyam shouted back, his voice tearing raw. "I have loved Y/N my entire life! I’ve never been with anyone else, not a single soul, because of her! I love her more than my own breath, Sak’nur! And I knew that if she ever showed me even just a single drop of love, not even our friendship would be enough to keep me away from her!"
Neteyam wiped a smear of blood from his lip, stepping right back into Sak’nur’s face.
"And she does. She loves me. So I can't stay away, and I won't. I intend to mate with her before Eywa. I intend to make her my wife!"
Sak’nur stared at him, his ears pinning back in a mix of fury and sheer, stunned disbelief. "Make her your wife?! You say you honor her, yet you disrespect her by sneaking her out into the jungle for only Eywa knows what?!"
"I am a grown woman, Sak’nur!" you screamed, your chest heaving as you glared fiercely at your brother. "It is not your business where I go, or who I choose to lay with!"
Sak’nur looked at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, the protective fury in his eyes still burning but slightly wavering under your fierce defense.
Neteyam stepped up right behind you, his large hand coming down to rest firmly on your shoulder, anchoring you to his side. He looked at your brother, the raw anger in his face softening into something deeply earnest, yet entirely uncompromising.
"Sak'nur, look at me," Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a steady, intense rhythm. "What Y/N and I have... it is entirely separate from the brotherhood between us. You are my best friend. You are my brother in arms. But your sister and I... We love each other. I love her with everything I am, and nothing is going to change that. Not even you."
Your brother grappled with him again, they punched and tore into each other like wild animals. It was a brutal, bloody spectacle, but to your absolute, utter confusion, the raw violence slowly devolved into heavy panting, and then... a sharp burst of laughter.
You stood there, your jaw practically dropping as you watched them lie on the ground, bloody-faced and bruising, laughing like two boys who had just finished a friendly sparring match.
"Brother," Neteyam began, wiping a smear of blood from his lip as he sat up. "I do not mean to go behind your back... but like I said, what I have with Y/N is ours alone. No one knew about it until now. We were keeping it low... but I won’t apologize for loving her."
Sak'nur shook his head, a lingering, humored smirk on his face as he accepted Neteyam’s hand to pull himself up. "I don’t expect you to apologize," your brother said, wiping his own nose. "But I still expect you to be a better man. You will court my sister properly now... and the mating will be in a year."
"A year?!" you and Neteyam echoed in unison, your voices cracking.
Sak'nur scoffed, a teasing glint in his eye. "What, not man enough?"
"Fuck you," Neteyam replied smoothly, standing to his full height and casting a wicked, incredibly cocky wink in your direction. "All right. I will do all of that. I wanted to court her openly anyway. I want everybody in this jungle to know exactly who I belong to."
Your brother scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Please. I’m still her brother, and I’m still your best friend. If you don’t want me to kick you in the gut, you'll stop the sweet talk."
Neteyam rolled his eyes, offering him a playful shove. "Whatever."
The three of you walked back down the winding pathways toward your family’s kelku. Every single person you passed stared in utter bewilderment at the two elite, bloody warriors limping and holding their bruised sides. They had beaten each other to an absolute pulp, and it was honestly hilarious to witness.
Your father was standing just outside the entryway of the kelku when he spotted the procession.
"Y/N, where were you?!" he called out before his eyes landed on the two battered men. "Great Mother... what happened to you two?"
Sak'nur merely jerked his head toward Neteyam, a smug grin splitting his bruised face. "This asshole is going to court my sister."
Your father stopped. He looked at you, then at Neteyam's heavily bruised but triumphant face, and let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, well. Finally."
"Finally?" Sak'nur echoed, thoroughly confused.
"Son, you are completely blind," your father muttered, throwing a heavy hand over Sak'nur's shoulder and leading him inside the kelku to get treated.
Left alone on the path, you walked up to Neteyam, entirely uncaring of the remaining eyes watching from the clearing. "Oh, baby..." you murmured softly, your fingers gently rising to touch the massive, purpling bruise forming on his sharp cheekbone. He winced slightly at the contact. "Let’s deal with that inside."
"Hmm," Neteyam hummed, a lazy, victorious rumble vibrating in his chest. His large hand snaked around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side before he lowered his head, pressing his lips to yours in a hard, deeply public kiss.
If there had been any remaining questions in the village as to why the future chief and your brother had just beaten each other to a pulp... they definitely had their answer now.
5 TIMES ZUKO BURNED THE PALACE + 1 TIME THE MAID FINALLY UNDERSTOOD WHY
art cr @ oouyox on X
18+ MDNI, smut, adult!zuko, fire lord!zuko, established relationship, newlywed, dom!zuko, jealous!zuko, fire lady!reader, water/icebender!reader, cockwarming, oral sex, edging, creampie, semi-public sex, dry hump, etc ...
DEAR DIARY, it’s my sixth day as a palace maid & apparently fire lord zuko burns things down whenever he’s alone with his wife. i asked the head maid about it, but she said i’m still too innocent to understand ...? is it because the fire lord is abusive ?! i just hope the kind fire lady is okay :<
O1 | HOPELESSLY DEVOTED TO YOU
The palace staff had quickly learned to read the architectural warning signs. At first, the occasional flicker of the wall sconces was easy to dismiss as a normal side effect of living inside the Fire Nation royal estate, where ceremonial flames burned at nearly every corner and the Caldera heat had a personality of its own. A candle trembling during a tense council meeting was not unusual. A brazier roaring too brightly after the Fire Lord received bad news was simply part of palace life. Firebenders were emotional people, after all, and the palace had housed generations of them.
But then the Fire Lord got married, and suddenly the entire palace became one prolonged fire hazard.
Whenever Zuko was struck by a particularly intense wave of desire for his wife, his inner fire reacted with embarrassing honesty. The decorative flames burning in the iron wall sconces would surge upward, roaring to life in blinding, unnatural pillars of gold. Lanterns trembled on their hooks, curtains smoked at the edges, and the very air in certain corridors grew so thick and hot that walking through them felt like stepping into the throat of a dragon. It became common knowledge among the staff that if a hallway suddenly felt like a furnace and the torches were licking the ceiling, you simply turned around and walked the other way.
No one said anything directly, of course. This was the Fire Lord and Fire Lady, newlyweds and apparently determined to test the structural endurance of every room, corridor, garden, balcony, kitchen, archive, and unfortunately, the royal study. The guards developed a silent rotation around the affected areas. The maids began carrying water basins with the same exhausted professionalism soldiers carried spears. The council, with great suffering and even greater self-preservation, pretended not to notice whenever their notoriously strict, punctual ruler arrived at official meetings with his collar pulled suspiciously high and his hair slightly more ruined than court protocol allowed.
You, naturally, found the entire situation hilarious. Zuko didn’t.
“You’re ruining my reputation,” he muttered one morning over breakfast, glaring into his tea as if the jasmine leaves had personally betrayed him. His hair was still half-loose from sleep, his robe lazily tied at the waist, and the faint reddish mark just beneath his jaw was doing an absolutely terrible job of staying hidden under his collar.
You lifted your teacup with both hands, blinking at him over the rim with exaggerated innocence. “My love, your reputation survived banishment, piracy, treason, and that one unfortunate ponytail era. I think it can survive people knowing you like your wife.”
His golden eyes narrowed. “I do not merely like my wife.”
“Oh?”
His gaze flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes with the grim seriousness of a man discussing military strategy. “I am devoted to my wife.”
Your heart did something terribly inconvenient inside your chest. Then Zuko, apparently deciding that ruining you emotionally before breakfast was perfectly acceptable royal behavior, added in a lower voice, “Obsessed, even.”
The candle between you burst into a sudden, dramatic flame.
Both of you looked at it.
From the doorway, the head maid closed her eyes and took a very slow breath. “Not again,” she whispered.
O2 | SEVEN MINUTES OF HEAVEN
The first major casualty of your absolute lack of restraint was the royal study. It had started as a minor disagreement over a passing comment made by a visiting Earth Kingdom dignitary, which really should not have escalated as quickly as it did. The dignitary had been harmless enough, charming in that polished diplomatic way, with smooth compliments and practiced laughter that clearly meant nothing beyond courtly manners. You had barely paid him any mind. Zuko, unfortunately, had paid him too much mind.
By the time the heavy doors of the royal study closed behind you both, the Fire Lord’s fiercely protective instincts were already simmering dangerously beneath his skin. The room smelled of cedar, parchment, ink, and the sharp metallic bite of ozone, a scent you had come to associate with your husband trying very hard not to set something on fire. He stood near the shelves with a scroll clenched in one hand, his jaw tight enough to cut glass, while you leaned against the edge of his massive oak map table and crossed your arms.
“You are being ridiculous, Zuko,” you said. The table behind you was covered in carefully arranged naval documents, trade routes, council reports, and one very important scroll that had taken three ministers nearly a week to prepare. “He complimented my diplomacy. That is literally his job.”
Zuko’s eyes flashed. “He complimented more than your diplomacy.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it was honestly impressive you didn’t see the back of your own skull. “You know I only have eyes for you. Besides, you are one to talk. Honestly, with your history, I’m surprised you didn’t accidentally marry half the Earth Kingdom before I got here. Total womanizer.”
Zuko went completely still.
The scroll in his hand lowered slowly, and you realized a fraction too late that you had touched something far more tender than simple jealousy. Over the past decade, Zuko had mellowed into a composed ruler, a man capable of silencing entire council chambers with nothing but a look. But there were still old wounds beneath all that control, places where rejection and loneliness had carved themselves too deeply into him. Your teasing had landed somewhere dangerously close to one of them.
“A womanizer?” Zuko repeated quietly.
His voice was calm, and that was what made it worse. It had dropped into that dark, gravelly register meant only for you, the one that made the back of your neck prickle and your spine instinctively straighten. He placed the scroll down on the desk with careful precision, then moved around the table with slow, heavy steps until he was standing directly in front of you, crowding you back against the polished wood.
“My wife,” he said, his golden eyes burning with raw, defensive intensity, “I haven’t looked at, let alone wanted, another woman in years. I was abstinent before you invaded my palace, pointed a blade at my throat, and drove me completely insane.”
Your breath caught. The firelights in the study flickered at the edges of your vision, but you could barely focus on them with the way he was looking at you, as if the entire world had narrowed down to the space between your bodies.
“That was…” You swallowed, suddenly finding it very difficult to hold onto your smug little smile. “That was a very dramatic answer.”
Zuko only huffed, low and humorless, his mouth twitching like he could not decide whether he wanted to argue with you or ruin you against the nearest available surface.
“Anyway, you have a council meeting in exactly—”
“They can wait.”
“They really cannot.”
“They can,” he said, and there was something almost dangerous in how certain he sounded. His hands found your waist, scorching through the layers of crimson silk as he pushed closer, forcing the edge of the map table to press harder against the back of your thighs. The carefully organized naval reports crinkled beneath your palms when you braced yourself, and Zuko’s eyes dropped to the movement before lifting back to your face, dark and possessive and entirely too pleased with the way your composure had started to slip.
You opened your mouth to respond, but whatever clever retort you had prepared vanished the moment his lips brushed the side of your neck. Zuko had always loved you with a terrifying kind of intensity, and when his emotions caught fire, he had a habit of kissing like he was trying to prove something to both of you at once. Still, there was nothing uncertain in the way your fingers curled into his collar, nothing hesitant in the way you pulled him closer, dragging him down until his mouth finally crashed against yours.
The kiss wasn’t elegant. It was teeth and heat and months of carefully leashed obsession finally snapping under the weight of one careless accusation.
Zuko kissed you like he was still trying to prove a point, like every word you had thrown at him had struck somewhere too close to an old wound and he had decided the only acceptable response was to make you forget you had ever doubted him. One large, calloused hand slid up your spine, fingers spreading firmly between your shoulder blades while the other gripped your hip hard enough to make the silk wrinkle beneath his palm. You answered by biting his lower lip, and the low, broken sound that tore from his throat went straight through you.
“My lord,” you gasped against his mouth, freezing fingers twisting into the front of his robes. “You’re gonna be late—”
“Don’t care,” he panted, voice wrecked and rough. He shoved your skirts up with impatient hands and lifted you onto the map table in one motion. Scrolls scattered. An inkwell tipped over, spilling black across weeks of careful work, but neither of you noticed.
You barely had time to brace yourself before he pushed your legs apart. He freed himself with jerky movements, and the thick, scorching heat of his cock dragged against your inner thigh. You shivered at the contrast.
“Zuko—s-slow down—” The word broke into a sharp moan as he pushed inside you in one deep thrust, stretching you open around burning heat. The clash of temperatures dragged ragged groans from both of you.
He moved with none of his usual restraint after that, the table creaking beneath you as ruined scrolls slipped uselessly to the floor. Your freezing hands clutched at his shoulders, frost blooming beneath your fingertips before melting almost instantly against the fevered heat of his skin.
“You’re unbearable when you’re—ah!—jealous,” you managed between breaths, the words shaky and broken.
Zuko let out a breathless, almost pained laugh against your neck, hips never slowing. “And yet you keep giving me reasons.”
He shifted just enough to find the angle that made the whole room blur at the edges.
“Zuko—right t-there,” you gasped, head falling back as your legs tightened around his waist. The firelights in the study answered before he could, flickering wildly as his control slipped. Flames stretched higher in the sconces, throwing restless gold across the walls, while a nearby candle flared too bright and caught the corner of a discarded scroll.
Neither of you stopped.
Zuko moved with terrifying concentration, one hand planted against the table, the other gripping your thigh as if he needed something solid to hold onto. The room filled with heat, paper crumpled beneath you, and somewhere behind him, another small flame caught at the edge of an old tapestry.
“Zuko—ah, I’m g-gonna—” Your words dissolved into a broken moan as you came first, sudden and shattering. Your walls clenched tight around his burning length.
The cold rush dragged him over the edge right after. He buried himself deep with a choked groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you. His inner fire roared so fiercely that two of the wall sconces burst into tall, uncontrolled flames for several seconds before slowly settling.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the soft crackle of the small fires still licking at the edges of the room.
Zuko stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. His breath was hot and uneven against your neck. You carded freezing fingers through his messy hair and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred cheek.
“…You’re definitely late now,” you whispered, voice hoarse.
When Fire Lord Zuko finally strode into the grand hall—hair slightly mussed, ceremonial robes hastily straightened, and a very obvious trail of fresh dark marks blooming along the side of his neck—the temperature in the palace had spiked noticeably. The decorative fire sconces outside the royal study were still flaring brighter than usual.
Avatar Aang took one look at him, then at the faint sheen of lingering frost melting on Zuko’s collar, and choked violently on his tea.
The rest of the council suddenly found the table extremely interesting.
Zuko, however, simply took his seat with that terrifyingly composed Fire Lord mask firmly back in place. Though the faint, smug curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away completely.
He was exactly seven minutes late.
And he didn’t look sorry at all.
O3 | “SIR, I’M NOT PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS.”
The outdoor training courtyard was not safe from your antics either. The afternoon sun was blistering, turning the stone tiles warm beneath your bare feet, but the heat rolling off Zuko’s skin was even hotter. He moved across the courtyard with lethal precision, dual dao swords flashing in sharp silver arcs as he pressed forward. You met him strike for strike, your waterbending weaving through his aggression like a river cutting through stone. He had trained under masters, survived wars, fought prodigies and assassins and spirits, but you had learned his body in motion with a familiarity that made every sparring match feel less like combat and more like a private language.
He swung low. You stepped over the blade. He pivoted, and you caught the shift in his weight before he completed the motion, twisting your wrist and drawing moisture from the air until it hardened into a wicked, glittering blade of ice. With a sharp sweep of your ankle and a perfectly timed pull of water beneath his heel, you sent him off balance. Zuko hit the ground with a rough grunt, and before he could recover, you vaulted forward, straddling his waist and pressing the freezing tip of your ice dagger directly against the erratic pulse beating at his neck.
“Dead,” you panted, victorious and breathless, a smirk curling at your lips.
Zuko didn’t look at the blade. He looked at you.
His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest rising and falling beneath the open collar of his training robe. His golden eyes dragged slowly from your triumphant expression to the way your thighs pinned him in place, and the sudden clash of your freezing temperature against his scorching skin visibly wrecked whatever remained of his concentration. A soft cloud of steam curled where your bare legs pressed against him. His hands flexed once at his sides, then slid up to grip your thighs with desperate, reverent heat.
He had simply stopped trying.
“You’re distracted,” you accused, breathless and smug.
Zuko’s gaze flicked back to yours, dark and unashamed. “Well, you’re sitting on top of me.”
“That is a terrible excuse.”
“It’s a very convincing one.”
You laughed, delighted, but the sound barely had time to leave your mouth before his hand moved to the back of your neck and pulled you down into a kiss. The ice dagger dissolved instantly, melting into a harmless stream of water that ran over his collarbone and disappeared into the fabric of his robe. You meant to tease him for surrendering so easily, but then his hips shifted beneath you, and the thought scattered completely. Through the thin layers of training clothes, you felt the unmistakable hard line of him pressed against you, hot and insistent, betraying exactly why his focus had slipped in the first place.
Your breath caught against his mouth.
His grip on your thighs tightened, and when you moved by accident—just a slight shift of your weight over his lap—his reaction was immediate. A rough, strained sound broke low in his throat, his head tipping back against the ground for half a second before his golden eyes snapped back to yours, darker than before. The victory in your expression slowly turned into something far more dangerous.
“Oh,” you breathed, unable to stop the smile spreading across your lips. “So that’s why you lost.”
You shifted again, deliberately this time, just enough to make the heat between you drag in a way that stole the air from both of your lungs. Zuko’s hand slid up to your waist, holding you in place, but he did not push you away. If anything, he pulled you closer, guiding the slow, heated movement until the line between sparring and something far less appropriate blurred completely.
Around you, the courtyard seemed to inhale. The lanterns along the wall flared, the training posts began to smoke, and a nearby guard, who had unfortunately chosen that exact moment to enter through the side gate, stopped mid-step, stared at the scene, and very slowly turned around.
He did not get paid enough for this.
Two more guards followed him without a word.
By the time the flames around the courtyard settled, three practice posts had been scorched, one stone pillar had cracked from thermal shock, and Zuko had somehow managed to look both smug and completely ruined at the same time. You brushed ash off his shoulder later, trying very hard not to laugh, while he stood there with his hair destroyed, his robe uneven, and the kind of expression that made it very clear he had absolutely no regrets.
“This is why the staff avoids us,” you told him.
Zuko leaned down until his mouth brushed your ear. “Good.”
O4 | STEP ONE: CALL HIM ZUZU!
But the most chaotic incident happened in the supposed privacy of your royal bedchamber, fueled by three generous glasses of imported plum wine and your unfortunate discovery of Zuko’s old travel chest.
You were delightfully, shamelessly drunk, rummaging through the old belongings he had kept tucked away at the back of the chamber while he watched you from the bed with the wary patience of a man who knew his wife well enough to expect disaster. There were old cloaks, worn maps, a few dull blades wrapped in cloth, and several items from the years he clearly did not enjoy discussing unless he was already half-asleep and emotionally ambushed by your cold hands on his chest.
Then you found the mask.
The infamous wooden Blue Spirit mask stared up at you from beneath a folded travel cloak, its painted grin just as dramatic as the stories had promised. Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open. Zuko, immediately sensing danger, sat up.
“No,” he said.
You slowly lifted the mask.
“No.”
“Zuko.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Zuzu.”
His expression tightened. “Don’t Zuzu me.”
You turned toward him with the biggest, most delighted smile he had ever seen, clutching the mask like a sacred treasure. “Katara told me about this.”
Zuko closed his eyes.
Of course Katara had told you. Katara had a gift, and it was not just waterbending, healing, or her terrifying ability to mother people into becoming better versions of themselves. No, Katara had the supernatural ability to make traumatized boys confess their entire life stories to her. Jet, Aang, Sokka, Zuko; somehow all of them had, at one point or another, looked into her kind blue eyes and decided, yes, this girl absolutely needed to hear the worst thing that had ever happened to them.
And now, thanks to her, you knew about the Blue Spirit, which meant Zuko was doomed.
It started as a joke, as most of your terrible ideas did. You had dragged the mask out of his travel chest with far too much excitement, demanded he put it on, and somehow managed to bully the Fire Lord of the Fire Nation into indulging you with nothing but sparkling eyes and a smile he had never learned how to refuse. The bargain had been simple, if deeply unfair: he would wear the mask, and in return you would sit sweetly in his lap—taking him fully inside you and staying there without moving.
Which, technically, you were doing.
The plum wine had left you warm and loose above him, your arms looped lazily around his neck while Zuko sat against the pillows with the last of his dignity barely hanging on by a thread. He was buried deep inside you, thick and throbbing while your walls wrapped snugly around his cock. He tried very hard to act like this was not the most unreasonable form of torture you had ever invented.
The mask stared back at you with its sharp painted grin, pale tusks, hollow eyes, and all the dramatic menace of a nightmare that had learned theater. It should not have been funny. It definitely should not have been romantic. But you, warmed by plum wine and your own terrible sense of humor, looked at him like this was the most delightful thing you had ever seen.
Zuko, unfortunately, had no idea what to do with that.
He had been perfectly willing to toss the mask aside the second you dragged it out of his travel chest, but you had whined so dramatically when he reached for it that he froze mid-motion, one hand hovering beside the painted blue grin.
“Nooo,” you complained, clutching at his wrist with both hands. “Keep the mask on.”
Zuko went still beneath you.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m extremely serious.”
“The mask is crooked.”
“That makes it better.”
“It does not.”
“It does,” you insisted, squinting at him with the solemn concentration of someone trying very hard to appear artistic while very drunk. The Blue Spirit’s painted grin stared back at you, all sharp teeth and dramatic menace, while the actual Fire Lord behind it sat painfully still beneath your attention. “You look very mysterious.”
“I look ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously hot,” you said, then reached up with both hands to adjust the strap.
Unfortunately, your coordination had been murdered by plum wine. Instead of fixing it, you somehow made the mask tilt even farther to one side, turning the fearsome Blue Spirit into something lopsided, sulky, and deeply offended. You stared at him for one long, silent second.
Then you giggled.
It was such a small thing. A drunken little request, harmless and silly, made with your eyes bright from wine and your smile too soft to be cruel. Still, insecurity struck him faster than reason could. For one brief, awful second, his mind went somewhere old and ugly, back to every stare that had lingered too long on his scar, every flinch hidden behind polite manners, every person who had looked at the burned side of his face before they looked at him.
His voice came out quieter than he intended. “What, is the mask better?”
You blinked.
Then your expression changed so quickly it almost hurt to watch. The teasing vanished, replaced by something fiercely offended, as if the thought itself had personally insulted you. “No, silly,” you said, already reaching for the edge of the mask. “I just wanna tease you.”
Before he could answer, you pulled it off his face and yeeted it over your shoulder with absolutely no grace. Weee. The mask sailed through the air in a tragic little arc before landing harmlessly somewhere among the cushions.
Zuko stared after it, then he stared back at you.
Without the mask, his face was fully visible in the dim amber light of the bedchamber: the strong line of his jaw, the softness of his mouth, the old scar that had shaped him without ever making him any less beautiful, and the golden eyes that had once burned with anger but now looked at you with something so painfully devoted it made your chest ache. You cupped his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks with tenderness.
“Nothing beats your pretty face, Zuzu.”
Zuko went completely still.
There it was again, that impossible thing you did to him. You could tease him until his ears went red, bully him into wearing an old vigilante mask, laugh at his suffering like it was your favorite hobby, and then suddenly say something so gentle that it cut through every defense he had ever built. You were smiling at him like his face, scar and all, was not something to tolerate or look past, but something precious. Something beloved.
And because the spirits were apparently cruel, you said it while sitting so close, while your body was wrapped around his, while he was already buried deep inside you and trying very hard to pretend he was not losing every last scrap of composure he had left.
It made him want to come right there and then.
“Stop,” he rasped.
You tilted your head, still smiling. “Huh? Why?”
His hands tightened at your hips, not enough to hurt, only enough to keep you still. His jaw worked once, the muscle in his cheek jumping as he tried to gather whatever dignity had not already been ruined by you. “Just…” His voice came out strained, almost embarrassed. “Don’t move, unless you want to get pregnant.”
For one second, your wine-softened mind processed the warning.
Then your smile turned wicked.
“You do know I can just bend your—” You paused, waving one hand vaguely between you with far too much confidence for someone explaining absolutely nothing. “Your fluids, right?”
The gesture made no scientific sense whatsoever, but you delivered it with the calm certainty of a woman who had never once allowed anatomy, physics, or basic decency to stop her.
You leaned closer, lips hovering near his, mischief bright in your wine-soft eyes. “Besides, it’s not like that hasn’t happened before.”
Zuko’s eyes shut for half a second.
“That is not the problem.”
“Then what is the problem, my lord?” you asked sweetly, pressing slow, teasing kisses along the side of his neck, up the sharp line of his jaw, and finally near the corner of his mouth.
His breath left him unevenly, almost a laugh and almost a groan. He looked humiliated by his own body, but too far gone to pretend he was not completely ruined by you. “The problem,” he said, voice tight with restraint, “is that we have barely done anything.”
Your expression brightened with realization.
“Oh,” you whispered, delighted. “So this is about your pride.”
“Don’t sound so pleased.”
“I’m very pleased.”
“Y/N.”
You shifted just enough to make his grip tighten again, just enough to pull a rough, broken sound from low in his throat. His teeth caught against his lower lip, his head tipping back against the pillows as if sheer stubbornness alone could hold him together. It was adorable, actually. Devastating, but adorable.
The more he thought about it, the worse it became. The warmth of you around him, your legs wrapped lazily around his waist, your hands still cradling his face like he was something worth loving carefully. Every soft movement, every breathless little laugh, every fond look you gave him pushed him closer to the edge he was desperately pretending he had not already reached.
So naturally, you moved again.
Ever so slowly. Teasingly. Just enough to shred whatever pride he had left.
The lantern beside the bed flared so brightly the room flashed gold.
Zuko’s composure broke all at once. His hands clamped around your hips, his whole body going tense beneath you as a low, wrecked groan tore from his throat and disappeared into the curve of your neck.
“Fuck, Y/N— I’m—” His voice broke into a wrecked groan. His hips jerked up once, twice, then he came hard.
You felt the first thick spurt of his cum shoot deep inside you, hot and sudden. His member pulsed strongly, again and again, flooding your walls with rope after rope of warm release. It was so much that it quickly spilled out around where you two were joined, slick and messy, dripping down his shaft and over your thighs every time he twitched.
Zuko shuddered beneath you, mouth open in a silent moan as another powerful spurt filled you. His whole body tensed, muscles straining, while the sconces around the room surged with bright blue-white flames that lit up the entire bedchamber for several long seconds. One of the hanging lanterns flared so intensely the flame nearly touched the canopy before settling.
When it finally slowed, Zuko was breathing hard, chest heaving, looking thoroughly ruined and a little mortified. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, and his golden eyes were glassy with pleasure and embarrassment.
Then you looked down at him, unbearably pleased with yourself.
Zuko dragged one heavy hand down his face as if asking the spirits why they had made him fall in love with the most infuriating woman alive.
“Haa…” he breathed, glaring at you with absolutely no real anger. “You just love to test my patience, don’t you, my queen?”
A sweet, bright giggle escaped you, echoing through the quiet chamber. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred collarbone, feeling his pulse jump beneath your lips.
“Oh, absolutely.”
His laugh was low and wrecked, his hands sliding carefully back to your waist.
And the night, of course, was only beginning.
O5 | THE FIRE LORD IS A SUCKER FOR HIS WIFE
Tucked deep behind the private wing of the palace, the moon garden was quieter than the formal courtyards and far more intimate than the public terraces. Zuko had commissioned it shortly after your wedding, though he had tried to be painfully casual about the entire thing, as if personally designing a secluded garden filled with your favorite flowers, a koi pond cold enough for your waterbending, and shaded stone paths made specifically for evening walks with you was not the most obvious confession of devotion in the world. It had a narrow pond lined with black volcanic stones, clusters of red fire lilies blooming beside pale moonflowers, and a curved stone bench beneath a low maple tree whose leaves looked almost black under the night sky. The servants rarely entered unless summoned, the guards only passed the outer gate during patrol, and the entire place was usually reserved for those rare moments when the Fire Lord wanted silence with the only person he could never bear to be away from for long.
Naturally, that peace didn’t last.
You found Zuko on the stone bench long after midnight. Stripped down to only his outer robe hanging loosely from one shoulder, he stubbornly braved the biting cold as if the freezing night temperature meant nothing. His long hair had slipped free from its tie, dark strands falling over his face and sticking to the damp line of his neck. The moonlight caught the hard planes of his bare chest and abdomen, tracing silver along old scars, tense muscle, and the familiar golden warmth of his skin. One arm was draped lazily over the back of the bench, but the pose was too deliberate, too careless in the way only Zuko could be when he was trying to pretend something didn’t hurt.
Then you saw the blood.
A dark smear stained the exposed skin of his upper thigh, where a shallow but ugly cut had torn. It was not fatal, not even close, but it was bleeding enough to make your stomach twist and your irritation rise immediately behind it. Zuko, of course, looked more annoyed at being discovered than concerned about the wound itself, because apparently becoming Fire Lord, surviving assassination attempts, getting married, and promising to stop carrying the entire world on his shoulders had done absolutely nothing to cure him of his lifelong allergy to asking for help.
“You’re bleeding,” you said.
Zuko glanced down at his thigh as if the wound had personally inconvenienced him. “It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s leaking.”
“That is usually what blood does.”
You stared at him.
He stared back.
The lantern beside the koi pond flickered once, as if even the flame knew he had said the wrong thing.
With a long, suffering breath, you crossed the garden, gathered your skirts in one hand, and crouched down between his parted knees before he could argue again. Zuko’s expression shifted immediately, the sharp edge of his stubbornness catching on surprise. You ignored it, drawing water from the koi pond with a smooth curl of your wrist until it rose in a clear ribbon and wrapped itself around your fingers. The moment your glowing palms settled near his thigh, the moon garden filled with soft blue light.
“You should have called me,” you murmured, keeping your eyes on the wound as the healing water spread gently over torn skin.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You woke three guards, two ministers, and probably half the turtle-ducks by bleeding through the royal hallway, but yes, thank you for sparing me.”
His mouth twitched. “The turtle-ducks are strong. They will recover.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You married me.”
“Still questioning that.”
His quiet laugh was low and tired, but it warmed the space between you more intimately than any flame. You pressed your thumb near the edge of the wound to guide the healing water deeper, and Zuko’s breath caught despite his best effort to hide it. The muscle beneath your hand jumped. His fingers curled against the stone bench, long and tense, while the lantern above his shoulder flared a little too brightly.
You looked up.
He looked away with the stiff, guilty dignity of a man who knew exactly what his own fire had just confessed.
“Zuko.” you warned him.
“I know.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“I said I know.”
“You’re injured.”
His jaw flexed. “It is not related.”
“You’re sitting here half-dressed, bleeding on a garden bench, and somehow still finding a way to be embarrassed because your wife is touching your thigh.”
The faint color climbing his neck betrayed him completely, but he still had the nerve to look offended. “You’re kneeling between my legs and scolding me. I’m reacting with impressive restraint.”
The words landed between you with enough heat to make the glowing water tremble around your fingers.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The wound was nearly closed now, the angry red line fading beneath the blue light of your bending until only smooth, warm skin remained beneath your palm. You should have stood, smacked his shoulder for being reckless, and dragged him back inside before the night patrol circled past the outer gate again. The moon garden was private, yes, but not unguarded; there were still soldiers beyond the walls, servants in the nearby corridors, and a very official expectation that a secluded garden built for quiet walks would not be used for anything else.
Or so everyone kept insisting.
Instead, your hand lingered against his thigh for one second too long, and Zuko’s golden eyes darkened beneath the loose fall of his hair.
The look he gave you made the koi pond steam.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said.
You blinked up at him with exaggerated innocence, though your hand was still resting a little too comfortably against his newly healed thigh. “I’m healing you.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m just naturally joyful person.”
“Joyful person, huh? No wonder you threatened to freeze a councilman’s tongue this morning.”
Your expression didn’t change. “He interrupted my breakfast.”
“That doesn’t support your argument.”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it, soft and bright in the quiet garden, and just like that, whatever remained of Zuko’s restraint seemed to fold in on itself. His expression changed, irritation melting into something far more dangerous and far more tender. He looked at you the way he always did right before the palace lost another curtain, like your laughter was the only sound in the world that mattered and his fire had no idea what to do with the feeling.
His hand lifted from the bench and touched your chin, tilting your face up with a gentleness that made your chest ache.
“The wound is healed,” he murmured.
You glanced down. It was. Completely.
“So it is,” you whispered.
“You’re still kneeling.”
“Well, duh, you’re holding my face.”
His thumb brushed once along your chin, then higher, grazing your lower lip with the kind of careful heat that made the entire garden feel suddenly too quiet.
The moon garden went very still around you. The koi pond steamed faintly at the edges. The fire lilies glowed red beneath the lantern light, and the night air warmed until the scent of maple leaves, water, and Zuko’s familiar cedar heat wrapped around you like a warning.
You forgot whatever clever thing you were about to say.
Instead, your gaze dropped, which Zuko noticed almost immediately.
His thumb stilled against your mouth. “Y/N.”
There was warning in his voice, but not nearly enough conviction behind it. Not when he was still half-dressed on the stone bench, hair loose around his flushed face, newly healed thigh still warm beneath your hand, and looking at you like he had already lost the argument before it began.
You tilted your head with exaggerated innocence. “What?”
“You know what.”
You pressed a slow kiss to the inside of his newly healed thigh, right where blood had stained his skin only moments ago, and Zuko’s breath fractured so sharply it nearly ruined his attempt at dignity. His fingers curled against the stone bench before slipping into your hair. His touch was impossibly gentle, as though holding on to you was the only way to keep himself from falling apart.
“I’m very thorough.”
His eyes narrowed. “That is not what thorough means.”
“It is when I’m the healer.”
You looked up at him.
Moonlight painted silver across his bare chest, the hard lines of his abdomen, the old scars scattered across his skin, and the faint sheen of sweat gathering at his throat. His long hair hung loose and messy, a few strands clinging to the sharp line of his jaw. He looked like a man who had survived wars, assassination attempts, exile, palace politics, and half the world trying to break him.
And somehow, this was what undid him.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he breathed, voice rough and helpless.
Your smile softened for half a second. “Wrong,” you murmured playfully, kissing him again, slower this time. “I’m going to make you feel better.”
Zuko’s laugh came out low and wrecked, barely more than a breath.
Whatever answer he meant to give disappeared when you tugged the rest of his robe aside and freed him. He was already achingly hard, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. You dragged your tongue slowly from base to head, savoring the way his thigh muscle jumped under your free hand.
Zuko let out a shaky exhale, head tipping back against the bench. “Hah—Y/N,”
You answered by taking him into your mouth, slow and wet, sinking down until he bumped the back of your throat. A low, broken sound escaped him—something between a groan and a sigh, like the tension he’d been carrying all night was finally cracking.
You worked him with lazy, deliberate strokes of your mouth, one hand stroking what you couldn’t take while the other rested possessively on his uninjured thigh. Every time you hollowed your cheeks or swirled your tongue, his hips twitched, fighting the urge to thrust.
The muscles in his abdomen flexed visibly with every stroke of your tongue as his breathing grew more uneven. You could feel him throbbing, getting impossibly harder against your tongue.
When you looked up, his golden eyes were fixed on you—dark, overwhelmed, and completely unguarded. The sight made something warm bloom in your chest.
It only made you greedier. So you slowed down, cruelly deliberate now, learning the exact rhythm that made his breath catch and then denying him the moment he got too close. Every time you felt his thighs tense and his member start to throb harder against your tongue, you eased off, licking lazily along the underside or sucking softly on just the head until his hips twitched with frustration.
His fingers tightened in your hair, not forcing you, but clearly fighting the urge to. “Y/N…” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading. “Don’t—ah—don’t tease me like this.”
You pulled off with a wet pop, lips glistening, and looked up at him with a wicked little smile. “But you look so pretty when you’re desperate.”
Zuko’s eyes shut, his jaw clenching as if the words had struck somewhere embarrassingly deep.
You sank back down immediately, taking him to the back of your throat in one smooth motion. Zuko groaned, head falling back against the bench as his hips jerked. You could feel him getting dangerously close again—thick and pulsing on your tongue—so you pulled back once more, stroking him slowly with your hand.
He let out a wrecked sound, half curse, half whimper. “You’re cruel… but—fuck, hah—you’re so beautiful.”
You hummed around him in response, the vibration pulling another quiet curse from his lips. You took him deeper, faster, letting the wet sounds mix with his ragged breathing and the gentle ripple of water. One of your freezing fingers traced the sensitive skin just beneath his cock, the sharp temperature contrast making his whole body jerk.
The second time you pulled him back from the edge, he lost whatever pride had been keeping him silent.
“Please,” he rasped.
For once, he looked less like a ruler and more like a man entirely at his wife’s mercy.
You looked up at him with a wicked, affectionate smile, still stroking him fast and tight. “Cum for me, Zuzu.”
For a heartbeat, he tried not to.
You saw it in the sharp clench of his jaw, the way his fingers tightened in your hair without pulling, the way his breath caught and broke like he could still argue his way out of surrendering. Then his restraint snapped quietly, then all at once.
The Fire Lord came with a choked, broken groan, his hips jerking up uncontrollably as the first thick, hot spurt flooded your mouth. You moaned around his pulsing cock, swallowing greedily, but there was too much—thick ropes of cum kept shooting across your tongue, so much that it overflowed almost immediately. It spilled from the corners of your stretched lips, dripping messily down his throbbing shaft and over your fingers as you kept stroking him through it. The sheer amount of it made your thighs press together, heat pooling low in your belly at how desperately his body was giving in to you.
He shuddered hard beneath you, muscles taut and trembling, his long hair sticking to his sweat-damp neck and chest. His golden eyes were half-lidded, glazed with raw pleasure as he watched you take every drop like you were starving for him.
The koi pond steamed violently. A nearby fire lily bush glowed red-hot before slowly dimming.
When it finally subsided, Zuko was slumped against the bench with his chest heaving, your husband looked beautifully ruined. You pulled off slowly, licking your lips clean with a small, satisfied smile. A thin string of cum still connected your bottom lip to him before it broke.
“Good boy,” you teased softly.
Zuko stared down at you for a long moment, something raw and helpless in his expression.
“…You’re impossible,” he finally whispered, voice hoarse and wondering, as if he still couldn’t believe you were real.
You pressed one last soft kiss to his thigh and smiled.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted, my lord?”
His smirk deepened at your question.
Clearly, you had not realized how much danger that pretty little mouth of yours had put you in.
Zuko was still flushed, still catching his breath, still looking far too ruined for a man who had any right to recover so quickly. But his hands were steady when they reached for you, sliding beneath your arms and pulling you up into his lap before you could even think to escape.
You landed against him with a soft gasp, your skirts spilling messily over his thighs. The warmth of him pressed through the fabric, unmistakable and already returning, and suddenly your teasing smile did not feel quite as victorious as it had a moment ago.
“My wife always knows best, doesn’t she?” he murmured, his voice low against your mouth.
O6 | UPDATE: THE FIRE LADY IS FINE
By the end of the first month, the palace had adapted with the grim efficiency of a nation recovering from war. The maids carried water buckets as part of their standard duties, the guards learned which corridors to avoid based on heat patterns alone, and the council stopped scheduling meetings too close to breakfast, lunch, dinner, sparring sessions, diplomatic arguments, late-night kitchen raids, library research, moon garden strolls, or any moment where the Fire Lady happened to smile at her husband for longer than three seconds. The palace seamstresses quietly reinforced your gowns, the head chef hid the good towels, and the royal archivist posted a handwritten warning outside the study that simply read: NO OPEN FLAMES NEAR NAVAL DOCUMENTS, which everyone understood was not actually about candles.
Zuko pretended to be offended by all of this, but you knew better. For all his muttering about dignity and decorum, the Fire Lord was utterly hopeless. He had spent years learning how to contain himself, how to swallow rage, how to make his fire precise enough to serve a nation instead of destroy it. Yet somehow, all it took was your hand on his sleeve, your mouth near his ear, your laughter pressed against his throat, or apparently the simple act of healing a wound on his thigh, and the most powerful firebender in the world became a walking architectural threat.
The newest maid finally understood after one night, when she heard your bright, breathless laughter from behind the royal chamber doors, followed by Zuko’s low voice murmuring something far too soft to be anger. The sconces outside the hallway flared blue-white, the temperature spiked, and suddenly every vague warning from the senior maids made horrifying, embarrassing sense.
By dinner, her diary had only one update:
DEAR DIARY,
thankfully, the fire lady is fine.
the furniture, however, is not.
After that, she stopped asking questions and started carrying a water bucket like everyone else.
These days, the palace staff had been working very hard. If they were lucky, you had already set the fire down with your bending before anyone arrived. If they were not, they had to manually put out the flames before replacing another curtain, cushion, napkin, table runner, practice post, garden lantern, or emotionally unfortunate bread basket. Still, no matter how violently the sconces flared or how many unfortunate pieces of furniture fell victim to the Fire Lord’s complete lack of restraint around his wife, the flames never once touched you.
Even when his control slipped because of you, even when desire made the air shimmer and the palace lights burn brighter than they had any right to, Zuko’s fire always curved away from your skin. It burned around you, sparked above you, and curled through the air like devotion given shape, but it never hurt you. It would never hurt you. His fire had been raised in anger, sharpened by war, and forced for years to survive on pain, but with you, it had learned something gentler, something warmer, something sacred.
With you, his fire had learned love.
And love, no matter how brightly it burned, would always know how to keep you safe.
this is part of the sublimation ( my zuko fic ) universe! read more chapters
this oneshot took me like ~8 hours btw. i need everyone to clap because what the hell </3
anw i alr finished the atla la s2 n it was so good !! altho they skipped n reordered some parts, but it’s prolly bc of the budget... welp, i can’t wait for the movie to come out.
notes fake dating (this trope was requested <33), he falls first AND harder, yearning neteyam, reader is the sweetest girl in the world, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis neteyam offered a proposition to the most quiet girl in the clan: pretend to be his intended to make another girl jealous... but a short time into it and the lines had blurred for him. not for you, though! you’re serious about the mission, much to his frustration.
word count 14.4k
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“The moons are ripening,” Elder Peyka remarked. “The courting season will be upon us before the next great hunt. The young warriors are already preening like forest ikrans... Oh, how nice to see.”
“And the girls are no better,” another elder chuckled, tightening a string of seed beads. She turned her clouded but sharp eyes toward you. You were sitting a few paces away, your fingers flying across a loom. “Child. Look at me.”
You paused, your heart giving a small, nervous flutter as you looked up. “Yes, elder?”
“You are of age now, are you not?”
“I am,” you replied softly, your voice barely rising above the rustle of the loom.
Peyka sighed, shaking her head. “If only you would go out there and be seen, child! You have the grace of the willow, but you hide like a yerik. You are too shy for your own good. If you do not lift your head, the season will pass you by and you might actually become a spinster, weaving alone while the rest of the clan sings of mates!”
A chorus of gentle, teasing laughter erupted from the circle. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly ducked your head back down, focusing intensely on a loose thread. You let out a small, embarrassed chuckle of your own, a soft sound that barely escaped your lips.
You are painfully aware of that but you don’t know where to start. You have friends, yes, but they are not friends you hang out with outside of the weaving looms. You are almost always alone, and while other girls had found their places among the hunters, practicing their war cries or vying for the attention of the said men, you found yourself hidden in the looms to enjoy the repetitive routine of weaving.
It’s not like you were the best weaver, too. You are not the best, not the worst either, just a girl whose hands were often stained with berry dyes and whose eyes were usually cast downward. It was safer that way. When you didn't look up, you didn't have to see the way the world seemed to orbit around people who weren't you.
A few feet away, leaning against a sturdy root, Neteyam sat silently. An elder weaver was currently binding a new leather guard to his forearm, and while he appeared to be focused on it, his ears were swiveled toward the elders' conversation.
He watched you.
Neteyam knew everyone in the clan. It was his duty as the future Olo'eyktan, but as he looked at you now, he realized he has never even heard you speak. He knew your name, he knew your family, but he couldn't recall the sound of your voice until that very moment. Your shy, quiet laughter brought a warm feeling to his chest for some reason, making him take a deep breath.
His mind drifted to Ka’ani. She was the finest huntress among their peers, just like him. And he’s always thought of a partnership much like the one his parents have. His father is a great warrior and so is his mother. To be a great leader is to stand beside a fearsome woman as well... And he thinks it’s Ka’ani.
But right now, she was becoming a challenge. She’s making him look like a fool, flitting from warrior to warrior to test his patience. She wanted him to chase her until he was exhausted, and Neteyam, the proud, capable, and unaccustomed to losing firstborn of the clan’s pillars, was reaching his breaking point. He was never fond of playing, but some games need strategy, too.
Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you. You were still working, your movements steady and humble, completely unaware of the weight of his stare. A slow, calculated thought began to take root in his mind.
“Finished, Neteyam,” the weaver said, patting his arm.
“Thank you,” Neteyam murmured. He stood up, taller and broader than most men.
Instead of heading back to where the warriors were gathering, he turned his steps toward the shadows. He walked with deliberate strides stopping right in front of your loom until his shadow blocked your light. “You’re doing that wrong.”
The voice startled you so badly that the bone needle slipped. “I—what?” you stammered, finally looking up.
Neteyam was standing over you. In the flickering firelight, his bioluminescent freckles were glowing like stars. “The weave,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the basket in your lap. “It’s too tight. It will snap when it dries.”
“The ones I did last moon were fine,” you murmured. You tried to look back down, to disappear into your work as you always did. “Is there something you need?”
Instead of answering, he sat. The movement was fluid, but there was a heaviness to it, sitting so close to you that his knee brushed against yours.
“I have a proposition for you, Y/N,” he said. His voice was low, dropping into a register that felt dangerously intimate. He knows your name?
You blinked, your insecurity rising up like a shield. “A proposition? Do you need help with the weaving?”
“No, no, I don’t,” he answered. “The elders speak the truth, you know,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone. “It would be a shame for you to be hidden in the dark.”
You finally looked up, your eyes wide. Neteyam wasn't looking at the fire, he was looking directly at you, and for the first time in your life, the Golden Son was smiling as if you were the only person in the clearing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathed, your voice trembling.
He leaned in just an inch closer, his amber eyes sparking with a hidden intent. “Hear my proposition... It might just solve both our problems with the coming season.”
You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You were a weaver of threads, but sitting before you was practically the weaver of destinies in this clan. You know he could alter your life and he was looking at you with a terrifying amount of focus.
“Our... problems?“ you whispered, your fingers curling tightly around the bone needle. “I don’t have problems. And I don’t think someone like you have problems, Neteyam.”
He let out a short, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if his eyes weren't so sharp. “Everyone has a role to play. Sometimes, that role becomes... suffocating. My mother is already looking at the daughters of the council. She expects a match that strengthens the line. I’m thinking of Ka’ani. She’s the finest huntress my age.”
At the mention of her name, his jaw tightened. You remembered the last time you saw the girl. She was draped over the arm of a young warrior, her laughter loud and pointed, as if it was a performance, designed to reach the ears of a certain warrior. You remembered Neteyam standing in the training grounds then and everything clicked in your head.
“She wants a chase,” Neteyam continued, silencing your thoughts. “But I do not have the time for nonsensical games. And you... The elders say you are a shadow. That you will be left behind.”
“I am fine being a shadow,” you countered, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s not complicated. I will have what comes and accept what doesn’t.”
“Shadows are lonely,” he said softly. “Be my partner. Not just for the ceremonies, but the communal meals as well. I will be with you. Let the clan see us, let them see you.”
Your heart gave a violent thud. You weren't a fool. You knew what this was. You were the girl no one would suspect he will actually notice, which made you the perfect weapon to make Ka’ani lose her mind with jealousy.
“You want me to be a decoy,” you said. “You want her to see you with me so she’ll get jealous. You want her to stop playing around.”
Neteyam didn't flinch at your bluntness. Instead, he reached out, his large hand covering yours where it rested on the loom. His skin was warm, his touch steady. “Correct. And in return, you will no longer be the girl the elders pity. You will be the woman everyone sees. When the season ends and the act is over, every hunter in this clan will finally know your name. You won't be a spinster, Y/N. I’ll make sure of that. You’ll have your pick of any man here.”
It was a cold, calculated trade. He will get the girl and you get a reputation and a way out of the shadows. He looked so sincere. You knew you should say no, you wouldn’t know how to act around him. But the thought of being someone for once, of walking through the village and not having people look through you, was a siren song you couldn't resist.
“What if I'm not a good actress?” you asked, your voice a mere breath.
Neteyam’s smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of a strategist who had just moved his final piece into place.
“Just sit by my side. I’ll do the rest.” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles.
You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. I'll do it.”
Neteyam squeezed your hand once, a seal of the contract, before standing up. He offered his hand to help you up, and when you took it, the world felt like it shifted on its axis. You were stepping out of the dark, and into a fire that you knew, eventually, would burn you to ash.
Neteyam is a meticulous director and it was very hard for you as an easily embarrassed person. Being seen isn’t even enough for him, the act had to be over the top! He wanted it to be undeniable.
“Chin up,” he whispered one afternoon. You were walking to the central clearing for the communal meal, his hand hovering over your waist. “You look like you’re walking to a funeral. Look at me. Smile.”
“It’s hard to smile when I feel like a piece of bait,” you murmured, keeping your eyes down, feeling at least a hundred eyes on you.
Neteyam let out a sharp breath. He stopped walking, maneuvering you to turn and face him. To anyone watching from a distance, it looked like a tender, private moment between lovers. Up close, his eyes were scanning the crowd, pinpointing exactly where Ka’ani was sitting with her friends.
“You agreed to this,” he reminded you, his voice low and firm. He reached out, his fingers tilting your chin upward. His touch was warm, but it lacked the softness you’d imagined his touch would have. It was the grip of a hunter holding a prized bow. “If you don't look happy, she’ll know it’s a ruse. Do you want the elders to go back to pitying you by tomorrow sun-up?”
The reminder of your own invisibility stung. You forced your lips to curve, a small, shaky smile that felt brittle. “Is this better?”
He studied your face for a beat too long, his thumb grazing your jawline. For a split second, his focus shifted from the crowd to the way your eyes searched his, but he shook it off quickly. “Better. Keep it there, hm?“
He led you toward the long tables. This was the stage. He made a show of picking out the best cuts of roasted meat for you, leaning in so close that his braids brushed against your shoulder. He was performative, ensuring the warriors nearby heard him.
“And since you’re starting a new tapestry,” he said, loud enough for Ka'ani to hear from across your table. He draped an arm over the back of your seating mat, effectively fencing you in. “I’d fly to the borders to get you fibers for it.”
You pursed your lips, lowering your head down to chuckle. “Your voice is too loud, Neteyam...“ you mumbled. “I’ll end up with busted ear drums by the time this is over.“
His own head lowered and angled toward you to catch what you’re saying, but it threw back as he let out a bark of genuine and deep laughter. You startled, your hand flying to his chest unconsciously, your head swiveling to the crowd of people who are now looking at you. You caught a glimpse of Ka’ani’s sharp eyes narrowing to slits.
The mission is working. You know it is working, you’ve seen Ka’ani’s candid reactions in the past days and it was almost comical. You don’t understand how she can let other men touch her when it was Neteyam she truly wants. It’s confusing, especially because you can see how she jealous she looks.
“You can relax, Neteyam,” you whispered, leaning toward him. “She’s gone. She stomped away five minutes ago.”
Neteyam’s posture didn't soften. He didn't pull his arm back. He took a slow sip of water, his expression unreadable. “The act doesn't stop just because the primary audience leaves, Y/N. There are other eyes. Word must travel. That is how a reputation is built.” He looked at you then, and for a moment, the strategic coldness was all there was. “Eat your food. We have a walk through the groves. People need to see us.”
The following days, and weeks, was a blur of choreographed intimacy. Neteyam was serious with his acts, he was everywhere you were. If you were gathering fibers, he was there, scouting the perimeter but always staying within your line of sight. During communal meals, he always ate with you, listening to you ramble and chuckling at everything you say.
Now that he has brought you out to light, more and more men were trying to talk to you, asking you random stuff they wouldn't even bother asking before. For them, you were almost unreachable in the past. You are too shy, too aloof, to be in the selection of girls they dare to play with.
But as the days pressed on, the meticulous director started losing his grip on the script.
The script had been clear: Neteyam would bring you into the light, and the hunters of the clan would finally notice you. It was exactly what he had promised. But as he stood on a ridge overlooking the path back to Hometree, watching you walk beside a hunter who was carrying your bundle of fibers under his arm, the air in his lungs seemed to turn to ice.
The hunter was Ki’ong, a young man known for his easy smiles and a way of speaking that reminded him of the way you speak. If he saw this moons ago, the match would have made so much sense. The gentle hunter matches your gentleness. But today, he felt only bitterness. You were laughing, the sound he wanted to bottle and bring with him on patrol to help him calm down.
Now, Ki’ong is easily basking in it, his tail twitching with a rhythmic interest that Neteyam recognized all too well for he was a man, too. His hand tightened around the grip of the bow until the wood groaned. His jaw locked. This was the trade, wasn't it? He had told you that by the time the season ended, you would have your pick of any man in the clan. So why did he feel like he wanted to shoot an arrow through the dirt at Ki’ong’s feet as a warning?
His feet moved, and by the time you reached the shadow of the massive fern near the entrance, Neteyam was already there, blocking the path, calling your name in a sharp and dangerous tone that made Ki’ong stop in his tracks.
“Neteyam!“ you said, surprised. “I thought you weren’t back from the scout yet.”
Neteyam ignored you, his amber eyes fixed entirely on the other hunter. He stepped forward, entering your personal space with a possessiveness that felt far too real to be an act. You looked around. There was no crowd and no Ka’ani at all, and this confuses you. What more, Neteyam wasn’t even looking around for the audience. He was looking only at Ki’ong’s hand, which was hovering just a bit too close to your elbow.
Ki'ong blinked, his easy smile faltering under the sheer weight of Neteyam's stare. “I saw her in the forest, Neteyam, uh... What she was carrying was heavy—”
“Thank you for that, but I’ll take it from here,” Neteyam cut him off, his voice dropping into a warning growl. He reached out, not gently, and pulled your fiber basket from the hunter.
“I'll... see you later then... Y/N,” Ki’ong said before walking away.
Neteyam’s head snapped back to Ki’ong’s retreating form, his entire body coiled like a viperwolf ready to strike at the mere mention of a later. You watched him, your confusion slowly melting into a mischievous realization. You looked around one more time, and there’s still nothing but a stray woodsprite. No Ka’ani. No prying hunters. Just a very, very grumpy warrior holding a basket of fibers as if it were a thermal detonator.
A bubble of laughter escaped you, and you poked his rigid bicep.
“Wow,” you giggled, leaning in close to peer up at his stormy face. “Neteyam, that was... incredible. The growl? The death stare? You’re getting really good at this. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were actually trying to pick a fight over my honor.”
Neteyam didn't relax. His jaw remained a hard line. “He was overstepping. He was touching you.”
“He was just helping me,” you countered, your eyes dancing with amusement. You started walking, motioning for him to follow with your basket. “But honestly, I’m impressed. You’re such a perfectionist. Even with no audience, you’re still acting the territorial suitor.”
He fell into step behind you, his tail still lashing even though he’s not speaking.
“Oh, come on,” you teased, walking backward for a few steps so you could admire his scowl. “Let’s just hope Ki’ong tells everyone about your reaction. If word gets back to Ka’ani that the great Neteyam almost bared his teeth at a hunter just for carrying my basket... well, our mission is as good as won. It’s going to make it sound so real!” You turned back around, a satisfied hum leaving your throat. “But I don’t think Ki’ong is the type to talk about stuff like that. He seemed too nice to gossip.”
“How would you know? You don’t know him,” Neteyam cut you off, his voice sharp.
You laughed again, the sound light and airy. “Maybe I just know. I can sense if people have good hearts,” you said, reaching back to give his chest a playful, comforting pat. “Come on,” you smiled, oblivious to the way his hand tightened on the basket handle until his knuckles turned pale. “Let’s bring that to the looms. You can put all that 'warrior energy' into helping me sort the threads.”
You turned on your heels and skipped ahead, feeling lighter than you had in days. Behind you, Neteyam stood for a beat longer, his eyes locked on the sway of your braids.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
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.”
notes arranged marriage, fated mates, hidden identity, mentions of toxic gender roles, mentions of revenge, doting husband neteyam, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis you had spent your whole life longing for a path that was yours to lead, yet even the choice of who to mate with was stolen from you, when you were told about a betrothal your father had engineered with the son of toruk makto.
word count 18.7k
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The morning mist of the rainforest on this part of Eywa’eveng smelled just the same to Neteyam, like damp moss and the faint aroma of blooming orchids. But he knew that this was no ordinary forest. He’s heard many tales about this one, and how on certain seasons, the sun chooses not to grace it with light.
It makes no wonder to him how tales about the most fearsome creatures are tied to the name of the clan that inhabits these lands.
Neteyam shifted his weight, keeping his breathing steady as he surveyed the unfamiliar terrain. The Omatikaya delegation, led by his parents, had paused further back to let the scouts clear the path, but Neteyam had wandered slightly ahead toward the sound of rushing water.
But he didn't expect the forest to turn hostile so quickly.
He had barely just registered the clicking sound through the budge, but before he could even unsheath his knife, he was already seeing multiple strange creatures lunging for him. They were fast, with segmented limbs and jaws meant for crushing bone. They were the creatures who could swallow an adult Na’vi whole that his father’s scouts had warned them about.
Neteyam cursed under his breath. Unarmed save for his hunting knife, he ducked beneath a snapping jaw, grabbed a fallen, heavy branch and swung with all the force he could muster. The wood hit the creature with a crack, sending it flying yards away into the underbrush. But three more took its place, circling him, eyes gleaming with hunger.
Then, a familiar sound sliced through the chaos. An arrow pierced the eye of the creature, making it collapse instantly.
Neteyam blinked, snapping his head toward the ridge. Emerging from the mist was a rider on a direhorse, shrouded in a dark, heavy cloak. The figure moved with a fluid grace, guiding the mount while drawing another arrow. Two more of the beasts dropped.
When the remaining creatures swarmed, the rider drove the direhorse straight into the fray. As the animal leapt on a fallen log, the rider leaned off the side, pulling a blade and in one seamless motion, they sliced the throat of a leaping beast before landing perfectly back on the mount.
Neteyam stood frozen, a rare awe washing over him. The archery was flawless, the knife-work lethal, and the horsemanship... he had never seen anyone, not even the finest Omatikaya hunters, shoot a moving target from a galloping direhorse with that kind of precision.
The last of the beasts scattered into the jungle and he heard an anguished sound escape the rider. He immediately stepped forward, raising a hand in peace, his eyes locked on the rider’s back. “Warrior,” he began, his voice deep and breathless. “Thank you. I have never seen—”
“Do not thank me,” a voice hissed from beneath the hood. It was sharp, fierce, and distinctly female. “Do not wander around these lands again.”
Before Neteyam could even speak again, she wheeled her direhorse around and with a sharp kick, the beast galloped into the thick fog, leaving Neteyam standing by the waterfall, completely captivated by the ghost who had just saved his life.
As he watched the silhouette of the direhorse fade, the urge to give chase came both suddenly and too late. He wished he had brought his direhorse with him when he wandered... He tilted his head. Why? What will you do? he asked himself. He knew the answer. He would have followed her.
You took a sharp turn, pulling your direhorse’s reins to a full stop before you quickly dismounted. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs from what you thought would be an uneventful patrol. You had wounded and killed many creatures, though deadly and ferocious, they were still creations of the Great Mother.
You couldn’t help but look at the path leading back to where it happened, remembering how the man had called you warrior. It felt like a title stolen from a forbidden dream. No woman in your clan had ever been called one, for no woman was allowed to be. Your people placed a great belief in their men, taking pride in the fact that your clan had only ever produced male warriors and hunters, and how they protected the people from the horrors of the forest.
The wet leaves brushed against your shins as you led your direhorse to a hidden clearing, the silence of the forest doing little to calm your racing thoughts. If your father or mother ever discovered what you had done today, that you had picked up a bow or spilled blood, you didn't know what would happen to you.
In your clan, women were only ever allowed to be healers, cooks, weavers, wives, and mothers. These were sacred duties, and the elders firmly believed that such roles should never be tainted by blood and violence. You sighed heavily, quickly shoving your longbow and quiver into a hollowed-out tree trunk, covering it with ferns. You were pulling at the hood of your cloak when you heard leaves cracking behind you.
“You're late,” a voice sounded urgently.
You spun around to see Tarkul stepping out from the shadows. Your best friend, the clan’s youngest marksman and the only man who looked at you and saw a peer instead of a prize, looked pale. His eyes were wide with anxiety.
“Tarkul? What is it? I just did a patrol—”
“You need to leave. Right now,” Tarkul interrupted, grabbing your shoulders. “Your father... I overheard them. The Omatikaya are coming today—”
“I know that. Father told us to prepare,” you said.
“Yes, yes, they will come, but it wasn’t just for a regular treaty between alliances. Y/N, he has pledged you.”
Your head tilted back in surprise. “Pledged how?”
“He offered you to the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. That Neteyam,” Tarkul spat the name, his grip tightening. “An alliance sealed on your sacrifice. Your father is giving you away like property to ensure the Omatikaya’s loyalty. Your father’s warriors are already looking for you to prepare you for the arrival.”
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your chest. Your father had spent your entire life treating you and your sisters like a curse. A disappointment because you weren't sons to carry on his warrior lineage. And now, he was using you as a political pawn, reducing you to a broodmare for a strong alliance.
“No,” you whispered, fury igniting in your veins. “No! I will not let him do this. I am not a prize to be traded!”
“Then we run,” Tarkul said, stepping back and whistling for his direhorse. “We’ll go east. They won't find us.”
You scrambled onto your direhorse, your mind a blur of rebellion and fear. You tore through the underbrush with Tarkul right beside you, heading for the boundary line. Freedom was just past the tree line when a familiar sound sliced through the thick morning air.
A whistle of an arrow and Tarkul cried out as a blunt-tipped slammed into his shoulder, knocking him clean off his mount.
“Tarkul!” you screamed, pulling back hard on the reins.
Before you could dismount, four of your father’s elite warriors emerged from the canopy, their spears leveled at you. Their faces were grim, devoid of sympathy.
“The Olo'eyktan demands your presence,” the lead warrior said coldly. “Do not make this more dishonorable than you already have.”
You were dragged back to the village in tears, screaming at them to leave Tarkul alone. In the communal longhouse, your father stood like a statue of stone. He had never looked at you with wamrth, but the stern disappointment on his face as he lectured you about duty, the survival of the clan, and honor still felt like whips on your skin. To him, your tears were just a childish tantrum.
The transition between his scolding to your mother and her ladies moving around you in a flurry of hushed, anxious whispers felt like a nightmare blurring into reality. They bathed you in heavy, floral-scented water that smelled of sweet orchids. They brushed out your long hair, braiding the sides intricately but leaving the rest to fall in a sleek, beautiful half-up ponytail.
They dressed you in the finest loincloth and a matching top made of delicate beads. You felt exposed. Naked. Stripped of the cloak and weapons that made you feel safe.
“He is a great warrior, daughter,” your mother murmured, trying to soothe you as she adjusted the choker around your throat. “They say this Neteyam helped his parents take down the sky people when he was just a boy. He is disciplined. Respectful.”
You kept your gaze locked on the floor, your jaw clenched. You didn't care about his prowess. You hated him on principle.
“And his mother,” one of elder women whispered in awe. “Neytiri. She is a warror who rode into battle alongside her mate, Toruk Makto.”
That detail struck a chord deep inside you. A female warrior. A woman allowed to bleed and fight for her people, recognized by Toruk Makto himself as an equal. A bitter spark of hope flared in your chest, only to be crushed by the reality of your own situation.
“What an accomplished family, then,” your eyes snapped up to your mother. “You’re expecting a man raised by Toruk Makto and his warrior wife to look at our clan, a clan that doesn’t even allow its women to hold a knife; to look at me... and see a mate? Father said he has rejected every other chieftain's daughter before this.”
Your mother’s eyes hardened at the same time the older women around her froze at your boldness. “You are a proficient healer and weaver, daughter. Do not underestimate our clan,” she said in a hiss.
So, not his equal, your brow raised in a protest you chose not to voice out.
A horn blew at the entrance of the village, signalling that the guests had arrived.
Your mother took your trembling hands, her eyes pleading. “Smile, my daughter. Walk with dignity.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding slowly. You stepped out of the tent, walking a few paces behind your father as he went to greet the legendary Jake Sully.
As the Omatikaya delegation walked into the central clearing, your eyes scanned the crowd. There was Toruk Makto, and beside him, his fierce mate, Neytiri. And right behind them walked their eldest son.
Your breath hitched.
The initial shock threatened to paralyze you. Your fingers dug into your palm, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. It was him. The reckless, broad-shouldered warrior who had nearly been swallowed whole by the forest's demons. His long braids and cummerbund were now flawless, as though he had not faced a grave morning.
As the Omatikaya delegation drew closer, you forced your features into a mask of perfect, passive composure. You lowered your chin, casting your gaze downward just as the women of your clan were taught to do. You were sure he didn’t see your face, because if he recognized you, everything would be forfeit. You are not certain what they would have done to Tarkul, the person who taught you everything you know.
Neteyam’s eyes swept over the welcoming committee, lingering on you. Jake had told him beforehand that the Olo’eyktan of this clan had also pledged his daughter to him, and although he’d had enough of all these unnecessary offerings of maiden daughters simply for alliances, he found himself thinking that he might actually entertain this outdated idea if this was the lady.
He waited for you to lift your eyes up, but your head remained bowed, the image of a delicate, heavily beaded prize meant to seal a treaty. A faint feeling of disappointment flickered across his regal face, and he fell into step behind his parents, his posture rigid and distant as they walked past to finally greet your father and mother.
Finally, you lifted your head a little, only to train your sharp eyes on his broad back. Good, you thought triumphantly. Be disappointed.
The welcoming feast in the communal longhouse was a suffocating affair. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, sweet root brews, and the underlying tension of two vastly different cultures trying to find common ground.
You sat precisely where your father had commanded: a step below him, off to the side, acting as the perfect daughter. You kept your shoulders hunched, your hands folded neatly in your lap, and your eyes trained strictly on the woven mat beneath you. You played the part of the timid, submissive maiden to perfection. You wanted to ick him. You wanted this celebrated warrior to find you so utterly dull, so hopelessly meek, that he would do what he had done to every other chieftain's daughter before you: refuse the match.
Across the fire, Neteyam sat beside his mother, Neytiri. He was polite, offering respectful nods to your father’s boasts, but his energy was entirely checked out. During a lull in the drumming, you allowed yourself a single, brief moment of weakness. You peered through the thick fringe of your lashes, tracking the movement of his hands.
Neteyam was lifting a carved cup of brew to his lips. But he wasn't looking at his drink. His intense gaze was locked entirely on you. A heavy, consuming stare of a hunter tracking each and every move the prey does. It was a man’s look, raw and focused, and to your utter fury, you didn't feel degraded by it. Instead, a sudden, treacherous spark of excitement flared deep in your belly, the thrilling realization that despite your best efforts to be as dull as you could, you had his undivided attention.
Annoyed at yourself, your perfect act slipped.
Your jaw clenched and you leveled a sharp glare straight at him, smoothly rolling your eyes before snapping your gaze back down to your untouched food. Across the fire, Neteyam choked slightly on his brew. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, a sudden smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the realization that timid little ikran still had talons after all. He put his cup of brew down as he watched you slip back into your perfectly meek facade.
The traditional flutes began to play, signaling a time for the young people to mingle. You moved to stand up, and your eyes snapped up in front of when you saw the large figure moving to stand up, too. Your eyes locked with his, and for some reason, you couldn't take your eyes off as he rounded the fire to get to you.
You blinked when he was standing just a few feet away, coming to a sudden awareness of how large and tall he actually was. His hand reached out, his expression a maddening mix of formal politeness and hidden amusement. You clenched your teeth, feining a tremor before you looked fearfully at your father, who was already watching breathlessly. He gave you a firm, approving nod, and you placed your hand in Neteyam's.
As he led you to the edge of the clearing where the other youth were swaying, you purposely stumbled, letting your steps be clumsy and uncoordinated. “I apologize, formal dances are... not my strength,” you whispered, pitching your voice to sound soft and fragile.
“It is quite alright,” Neteyam said, his grip on your waist firm and steady, easily correcting your forced clumsiness. “The feast is grand. Your people make a strong brew. Though, I find the forest outside your walls far more interesting.”
You stiffened slightly. “Oh?”
“Yes. It is full of... strange, ferocious creatures,” Neteyam continued, his voice dropping to a low, conversational tone as he maneuvered you through the crowd. “I ran into a pack of them near the waterfalls this morning. Miserable things. Many legs. Very fast.”
You couldn't help yourself. The hunter in you took the bait before your mind could stop it. “Those were Agtik,” you said, your voice losing its timid edge as your wide eyes looked up at his. “They don't hunt in packs unless their head is wounded. And they are apex predators. If you hit them in the hide, your arrow will just bounce off. You have to strike the eyes, or beneath the throat where the thick plates separate.”
Neteyam stopped dancing. He stared down at you, his golden eyes burning with an intense focus, and you froze, realizing you had spoken far too much.
“Is that so?” he murmured, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as his fingers caressed the calluses on your fingers. “You seem to know a great deal about killing them...”
You quickly tore your hand from his, dropping your head back down. “I... I only know what the hunters say,” you lied breathlessly, stepping back into the crowd before he could press further.
The next morning, your mother burst into your sleeping alcove, her face flushed with excitement before the morning light even showed it. “Daughter... A betrothal has been struck. Neteyam has accepted the union. He wishes for you to return to the Omatikaya with them.”
You sat up in your woven sleeping mat, stunned. “What?!” you snapped carelessly, surprising your mother. You calmed down immediately. “That’s great...” you forced yourself to smile.
“I think he liked you last night, daughter. You were so prim and proper, a true woman of our lineage. You make me and your father proud, sweetheart,” she caressed your cheek.
You swallowed the dryness of your throat. You don't know what the man’s plan was... But he definitely didn’t like you because you were prim and proper. You looked down at your hands, hiding the calluses born from years of archery practice. Your initial shock had now faded, and a cold, calculating wave of relief washed over you. The Omatikaya. You’ve heard of their ways. In their clan, women were warriors. Neytiri rode into battle. If you went with them, you wouldn't have to hide in the shadows at dawn anymore. You could wield your bow. You could finally exist as more than what you were raised to be.
With newfound urgency, you helped your mother and sisters pack your things. When your mother turned her back, you swiftly retrieved your hidden longbow and quiver from where you had smuggled them into the yurt. You bound them tightly within your dark, heavy cloak, burying them at the absolute bottom of your deep leather travel box beneath layers of woven garments.
“I need to see Tarkul before we leave,” you muttered, heading for the exit.
“You are not permitted near the holding area,” your younger sister sneered, stepping into the yurt with her arms crossed, her eyes flashing with venom. “You should stop trying to see your lover. You are betrothed to the son of Toruk Makto now.”
“Tarkul is not my lover!” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.
“Please. You were going to run away with him yesterday,” she mocked, stepping closer. “If you hate this arrangement so much, why don't you just tell Father and back out? I can always replace you. I would gladly take your place beside Neteyam.”
“Armem, hold your tongue!” your mother’s voice barked from the entrance, sharp and commanding. “Neteyam agreed to this alliance because of Y/N. He would not accept a replacement if she backed out, and your father’s treaty would fall to ash.”
Armem huffed disdainfully, crossing her arms tighter. “Fine. But she was still ready to flee with another man. Who is to say she is even pure anymore? The Omatikaya might find they are receiving spoiled goods—”
“Armem!” your mother snapped, glaring at your sister.
“Do not speak of such nonsense,” you said coldly, staring your sister down. “Tarkul is a good friend of mine and I would not have you taint our friendship with your dirty mind.”
At dawn the next day, the Omatikaya delegation prepared to depart. You were allowed to ride your direhorse, your leather box secured to the pack beast behind you. Your parents stood at the gates of the village, offering stiff, formal nods of farewell, promising they would come for final mating ceremonies.
You didn't look back. You are leaving this clan, and those who believe in its sick ways can have the scraps that are left behind. You nudged your direhorse forward, and as the procession moved into the deep forest, a shadow fell alongside your mount. You looked up to see Neteyam riding his own direhorse beside yours. He looked at you, then down at the bulky, heavily wrapped leather box trailing behind you, a faint, amused glint in his golden eyes.
“Nice mount,“ he said jn a voice low enough so the others couldn't hear. “A lot of luggage, too, for a healer.”
You kept your eyes locked on the trail ahead, a small, defiant smirk playing on your lips. “A good healer always brings her most valuable tools, warrior.”
The journey to the Omatikaya territory took two days at most, a winding trek through ancient, massive trees that grew taller and wider than any you had ever seen in your home forest. When the delegation finally stopped in front of the largest tree you had laid your eyes on, you could barely breathe. Your lips parted as you looked up to its vast canopy.
“This is beautiful...” you murmured, craning your head to see all the huts perched on its thick branches.
“Do you have a fear of heights?” you heard a deep baritone speak and your head snapped to look at Neteyam.
He had already dismounted his direhorse and was now looking at you, his hand lazily holding his chest knife sheath. His head tilted as his eyes scanned your form on your mount before they settled on the beast. In the eyes of an outsider, like Jake and Neytiri who were now watching their son look at you as if you were the most interesting person in the bunch, this was just Neteyam staring.
But to you, it felt like he was trying to figure out where he had seen this beast. You quickly dismounted your direhorse, caressing its back as you cooed at it. “Are you excited to rest, boy? It was a long trek, I know, and you’ve gotten to rest some, but you’ve never travelled as far, haven’t you?”
Neteyam's head tilted slightly lower, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he watched your interaction with the beast. “He looks sturdy enough,” he noted, his deep voice laced with amusement. “You didn't answer my question. Are you afraid of heights? Hometree is a long way up.”
“I think I can manage,” you replied softly, peering up at him through your lashes with a quick glance.
Before Neteyam could press further, Jake and Neytiri approached. Jake’s sharp eyes darted between you and the direhorse, before he gave you a welcoming nod.
“Welcome to the Omatikaya,” Jake said, his voice grounded. “It has been a long journey. Your mount will be tended to and Neteyam will show you where you can rest.”
Neytiri stayed silent, but her piercing gaze lingered on you, evaluating the way you carried yourself. She was not one to doubt her children’s decisions, especially those of her eldest son’s, but she believed that Neteyam was deciding too prematurely on this union. There were previous matches made that suited her son better... The daughters whose parents had fought alongside them during the Great War, and daughters of clans with excellent reputations.
She didn’t want to judge you based on your parents or your clan, but she thought it a bold proposition when your father pledged a daughter to her son. In all honesty, your father was at the losing end of this alliance. Your clan was the one that needed allies against aggressive clans who might challenge your strength, and your people had very little military power, given that your clan only trains men to be warriors and hunters.
She had never expected her son to agree to this, and though she saw great beauty in you, she did not think that was reason enough for him to make such a choice.
Neytiri’s scrutiny did not escape you. You have felt it even on the night of the feast, have seen it in her eyes whenever she watches you... And the weight of it felt heavy enough to compress the air in your lungs. Now that she was looking again, you offered a respectful dip of your head, but Neytiri merely nod her head slightly before turning her shoulder, her long woven cloak swaying behind her as she stepped up onto the massive roots of Hometree.
“Do not let my mother's stare unnerve you,” Neteyam murmured, stepping into your personal space so seamlessly that his tail brushed lightly against your hip.
“What stare, warrior?” you mumbled, looking at him with a schooled face.
You do not wish to acknowledge Neytiri’s apparent dislike of you. You are going to earn your place even if she looks at you as if I have already failed a test. You know you haven’t really failed yet, because if she truly disapproved, you wouldn't even be standing here right now.
Neteyam shook his head, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “Come, then. Let’s see what you can manage.”
You pushed your lips forward, matching his pace as everyone began the long, winding ascent into the heart of the great tree. Up ahead, Jake paused on a wide branch platform, looking back down at the two of you with a knowing understanding. He, better than anyone, knew what it was like to be an outsider standing under the heavy judgment of the people.
As you rounded the final bend of the spiral pathway, the quiet atmosphere of the lower trunks gave way to sudden burst of light and noise. Your lips parted as your eyes wandered around the surrounding kelku structures and the sheer scale of the place took your breath away again. It was vast, so open and vibrant that it was a staggering contrast to the dim, claustrophobic atmosphere of your birth clan.
Dozens of people paused in their daily routines, their eyes instantly locking onto you. A heavy murmur rippled through the crowd and it was obvious that they know what you came here for.
“Neteyam!” a high-pitched voice squealed.
Before you could fully process everything you are seeing, a blur of energy came hurtling down a nearby woven walkway. A little girl crashed straight into Neteyam’s side, wrapping her small arms around his waist. “You're back!” the girl cheered, her bright eyes quickly darting up to look at you with unabashed curiosity. “Is this her? Did you finally choose a wife?!”
Neteyam’s ears twitched with slight embarrassment as he gently pried his little sister off his hip, placing a grounding hand on her shoulder. “Tuk, mind your manners. She is our guest.”
He introduced you to the little girl who had a bright smile for you, and suddenly, you felt the welcoming warmth you didn’t know you were looking for. Tuk walked with you two when Neteyam led you to the small kelku you were assigned, it was tucked into a quiet, upper tier of the village.
As you settled in over the next few days, you quickly realized that your new betrothed was an incredibly important figure here. Neteyam, as the Olo'eyktan's firstborn, was also his father's second-in-command, deeply involved in the daily strategy, security, and leadership of the clan.
Honestly, you secretly celebrated this fact. You figured his high status meant he would be far too busy to pay much attention to you, leaving you plenty of free time to slip away, unpack your hidden longbow, and explore the surrounding wilderness on your own.
You were wrong.
Before the sun had even fully risen on your third morning, you pulled back the woven flap to find Neteyam standing there, the early dawn light catching the beads in his long braids.
Your brows furrowed. “What are you... doing here?” you started your question hard, but catching yourself, you quickly softened your voice.
“I came to show you around,” he told you, his voice low and his eyes holding that same perceptive, curious glint from the feast, causing your cheeks to burn unbidden.
The crease on your forehead deepened, once again annoyed at your reaction to him. You couldn't find a reason to say no, and frankly, you were eager to see the layout of the village. As he led you through the pathways, he dutifully showed you the areas where the weavers worked their intricate looms, the communal hearths where the cooks prepared the daily catch, and the shaded pavillions of the healers. You played your part, nodding submissively and murmuring soft, polite words of appreciation.
But your true nature betrayed you when he led you past the training grounds.
You froze, your eyes widening in absolute awe. In the center of the clearing, young girls were standing in neat rows, laughing and competing as they drew bows and aimed at distant targets. Further back, older women warriors, some scarred from battle, were casually conversing with male hunters, checking their gear as equals before setting out on a scout.
You stared, your breath catching in your throat. It was a sight stolen directly from your wildest, forbidden dreams.
Neteyam paused, watching your face carefully. He didn't miss the way your jaw slackened, or how your fingers twitched at your side, instinctively mimicking the grip of a bowstring. His head tilted, a quiet, knowing smile tugged at his lips, but he said nothing, and when you turned to him, your talons subtly showed with your furrowed brows and sharp gaze, pretending you were not that amazed to the reality of a world where women were allowed to fight.
The days bled into one another until the day of the mating ceremony arrived. True to their word, your parents and a small entourage from your clan arrived, their faces proud and grim, and somehow, you felt ashamed at this. You know, that for the Omatikaya, this match felt less like a joining of two proud people and more like a political rescue mission. Neteyam was a prize, the future Olo'eyktan of a legendary clan who fought and defeated the demons who tried to seize Eywa’eveng for themselves.
And your father merely offered you up to secure a shield of Omatikaya warriors for his vulnerable borders. It was a cause of wonder why Neteyam agreed at all. Even you don’t understand.
The ceremony took place deep within the glow of the Tree of Souls. Even their sacred tree was breathtaking, its luminous, cascading tendrils rivaling the ancient, holy tree of your own homeland. The Omatikaya people gathered in a massive circle, their voices rising in a powerful, harmonic chant alongside the drums and flutes.
You were dressed in the finest Omatikaya fibers, your torso adorned with a stunning, intricately beaded top made of iridescent beads. Your long hair had been styled into a complex array of braids that cascaded down your back. As the chanting reached its peak, you and Neteyam knelt together beneath the glowing tendrils of the tree.
Neteyam turned to you. His large, warm hand reached out to gently cup your jawline. He leaned in, his forehead pressing firmly against yours in a quiet act of intimacy that seemed to shut out the noise around you two. His other hand reached for his kuru, bringing it forward and you did the same. He didn't waste another second to intertwine your kuru with his, as though he had no hesitation at all. Your entire body jolted. A sudden, overwhelming surge of raw energy and emotion flooded your consciousness as your body, mind, and soul locked into a deep, profound bond.
It was a sensory overload. There were visions, feelings, and memories rushing between you like a bursting dam.
Through the bond, you caught a sudden glimpse of his past. You felt the crushing weight of his responsibilities, the fierce love he had for his family, and the desperate, bloody battles against the sky demons. But then, a sharp, cold spike of terror and pain ripped through the connection.
You saw a flash of yellow light, heard the deafening screams of Neytiri, and felt the agonizing sensation of a bullet tearing through his chest.
He had nearly died.
Your eyes snapped open, your breath escaping you in a sharp, panicked huff. Blinded by a sudden, fierce protectiveness you didn't fully understand, your hand flew to his bare chest, your palm pressing flat against the scar on the left part of his chest.
Neteyam's eyes opened, burning darkly as he gazed down at your hand on his chest. He felt the sudden spike of your fear through the bond and somehow, he had forgotten what he felt during that moment. The only feeling that mattered was your fear for him and the surge of strength you sent him. Without a word, he tilted your head up, his lips catching yours in a deep kiss.
Your heart hammered as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding up the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone up to his broad shoulder, letting him deepen the kiss and consume you. When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his golden eyes were dark with an intense, possessive heat that made your breath hitch. The intimacy of the moment was so heavy, so entirely real, that you simply pressed your forehead back against his, trying to steady your racing pulse.
Neteyam leaned in and kissed you again, harder this time, causing your head to tilt back.
Slightly breathless, you pressed your palm firmly against his chest, gently pushing him back. “My parents are watching...” you reminded him in a hushed whisper, your cheeks flushing as you glanced toward the audience.
The Omatikaya had broken out into loud cheering and rhythmic clapping, celebrating the union. At the edge of the clearing, you caught sight of your father, his face tightly masked, while your mother looked on with a rigid smile.
The celebration back at Hometree was a raucous affair. Mo’at blessed the two of you with sacred oils, the healers chanting long prayers for fertility and strength before the feast and dancing truly began. You and Neteyam danced the mandatory mating dance, circled by couples who had been married for a very long time.
During a quiet moment in the festivities, your mother walked up to you and Neteyam to greet, but the purpose for it showed when she tried to excuse and pull you aside. Neteyam’s hold on your hand tightened, though, pulling you back to him. His eyes searched yours, and you didn't know where the sudden complete understanding of his subtle looks came from.
It was as if you have known him for so long now, you could practically read his mind. You squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile to let him know it’s okay, allowing your mother to pull you aside near the edge of the structure. “You must remember everything I taught you, daughter,” she murmured, her hands smoothing over your beaded top. “Serve him. Everything he wants to do, you will do. Tonight... You will submit to him. Do not anger a warrior of his status.”
You bit your lip, and before you could think of anything to reply, your father stepped up behind her, his posture imposing and cold. “You belong to a powerful line now. You must do with him as best as you can. Do not bring shame to my name by failing in your duties as a wife.”
You swallowed the bitter retort rising in your throat, lowering your eyes to play the part one last time. “I understand, Father.”
When you finally excused yourself to rejoin Neteyam, you found him standing near a pillar, carefully watching the interaction from afar. Your eyes snapped to Armem who was currently standing beside him, talking about something. As you approached, Armem looked at you, flashing a sly smile before she slipped away. You got distracted when you felt Neteyam’s hand reach out, his large fingers catching yours. You let him pull you to him, looking up into his face as his arms locked around you.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes alert on your face.
You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
His eyes were snagged behind you one last time, and you had to force yourself to not look back, knowing you’ll see your parents. Your head snapped to the dais when you heard a beautiful rhythm of the laid gongs being played. The youth who had been dancing stopped, parting into two rows to clear a path directly toward you and Neteyam, their faces splitting into knowing, mischievous grins.
“What is that?” you asked, turning back to your husband, completely bewildered by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
Neteyam glanced at you, and for the first time since you had met him, he looked entirely caught off guard. His hand came up to his face, his fingers scratching his temple awkwardly as a dark flush crept across his cheeks.
“Uh, it’s... it’s for the blessing of our kelku,” he mumbled, clearing his throat and refusing to meet your eyes for a split second.
You blinked, but before you could question his sudden bashfulness, some elder women bumped at your side and on his side were elder men. Your eyes tried to scan the crowd, but you only saw Jake Sully and Neytiri still sitting on the dais, laughing at the sight, and it was so rare it took some of your inhibitions away.
They chanted prayers for fertility and the realization hit you like a splash of cold water.
In your clan, this part was usually a cold, transactional event where the newly mated woman was practically marched to her husband's tent like a prize. But here, the Omatikaya made it a celebration of life and passion. The drumming and the crowd’s chants faded as you walked up a series of woven pathways leading to a cozy, elevated hut. Mo’at and a few elder women led the blessing of the small space.
When you two were finally left alone, your eyes snapped up to Neteyam who immediately moved to light the central hanging firepot. The kelku was modest, slightly larger than the one that had been your sanctuary in the past weeks. This was beautifully structured, just large enough for a newly married couple.
“If you have any preferences for how it should look, or if you need specific tapestries and mats,” Neteyam said, looking around, “we will go to the weavers tomorrow to get whatever you like.”
A huge smile cut through your lips, nodding. “Thank you. I would like that.”
Neteyam went quiet for a moment, his gaze turning intense as he stepped closer to you. The playful, amused glint from the feast was gone, replaced by something much deeper.
“I don’t know if you wanted me to know this... but when we did the bond...” His eyes locked onto yours, completely unblinking. “I felt it, Y/N. I felt your strong emotions against your parents... Your people. Your home. The anger you held.”
You blinked. He felt it. The same way you had seen his memories and felt all his emotions. Through the bond, both of your shields had dropped entirely. You wondered exactly how much he had seen.
“I understand why you might not have liked it there,” Neteyam continued quietly, taking a thoughtful step back. “But I thought... well, perhaps I was wrong—”
“What is it that you thought?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you stepped toward him, desperate to know what he had deduced.
Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hands before raising his head with a resolute expression. “It does not matter now. This is your home. My people are your people. My family is your family. Do you understand that? You do not have to think about everything you left behind.”
You tilted your head, studying the sincerity in his face, and gave a silent, genuine nod.
“And besides,” Neteyam mumbled, a sudden, boyish smirk breaking through his serious demeanor. “I have something for you.”
He turned and walked toward the shadowed back corner of the kelku, reaching behind a stack of woven mats. When he stepped back into the light, your lips parted in utter shock. In his hands, he held a beautifully crafted longbow, complete with a leather quiver full of freshly fletched arrows.
“I got it... just in case you wanted to learn how,” Neteyam said, his smile widening as he raised the bow, his eyes twinkling with a brilliant, knowing light. “And... I saw a flash of it in your memory during the bond. You were practicing this when you were young. You were doing it in secret.”
His conclusion depended solely on the emotions he felt through the bond, but he was right about that and a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion overcame you. The sheer weight of your past, all the hiding and the fear of your father's wrath, shattered completely against the simple kindness of the man standing before you. He didn't want a submissive, silent maid. He saw your fire, and he was handing you the fuel.
Tears pooled in your eyes, blurring the sight of him. Giving up on every single act of restraint you had practiced since meeting him, you ate up the small distance between you and threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.
Neteyam let out a soft, surprised breath before his large arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His hand moved up, his fingers gently caressing your long hair as he held you close.
“Thank you,” you sobbed softly into his shoulder, a genuine, radiant happiness blooming in your chest for the first time in your life. “Thank you, Neteyam...”
He held you tighter as he stroke your hair, his deep voice vibrating against your collarbone as he whispered, “I’ll be the one to teach you. We can start tomorrow.”
You bit your lip and nodded. You didn’t know how to tell him that you already know how to use this so you resolved to just tell him some other time. “Tomorrow?“ you chirped as you pulled back, your hands sliding down his arms until your fingers brushed against the smooth wood of the longbow still resting in his grip.
Gently, you took it from him and set it carefully beside your travel box, placing the weapon that symbolized your future next to the secrets of your past.
When you turned back to him, a soft, determined smile was on your face. The initial rush of your relief had quieted, leaving a heavy awareness of the space between you. The fire was casting a long, amber shadow across Neteyam’s broad shoulders and the sharp angles of his face, and your cheeks burned at how handsome he really was.
No man in your clan could have rivaled against him even if they tried. You stepped closer and his eyes dropped to the delicate river beads covering your chest, a sudden flicker of hesitation crossed his features. He remembered what he’d seen and felt through the bond. Your strong emotions against your parents and your people, the harsh words and suffocating rules. The rigid command that you must submit.
Neteyam reached out, his large hands gently catching yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. His eyes searched your face with an intense, fierce earnestness.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his deep baritone dropping to a rough whisper. “Listen to me. We do not need to do this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or any night soon if you are not ready.”
You blinked up at him, momentarily stunned by his restraint.
“Your parents no longer have a say on what you must do,” Neteyam continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “So, whatever yout mother told you or your father expects of you, none of that matters now. I want you to be comfortable here.”
A profound warmth bloomed in your heart, making your limbs all the way to your fingertips feel like it's made of jelly. The last lingering remnants of your defenses crumbled. This warrior, who had every right by your clan's rules to demand your compliance, was stepping back to give you a choice.
“Neteyam,” you spoke softly, your voice steady and entirely devoid of the timid persona you had faked for weeks.
You stepped into his space, breaking the distance he had purposefully created to give you room. You raised your hands, your palms pressing flat against his cheeks, your fingers sliding into the soft skin just beneath his ears. You tilted your head up, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, before moving to press another, softer kiss directly to his lips.
“I am not pressured,” you whispered against his mouth. You looked straight into his eyes, letting him see the fierce, unyielding certainty burning in your gaze. “And I am comfortable. I want to do this, Neteyam. I want you.”
A low, rumbling hum vibrated deep in his chest at your words. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. The carefully maintained restraint of a disciplined warrior giving way to the raw, possessive hunger of a man who had been captivated by you since the moment he saw you.
His hands moved to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulled you flush against his heat, his lips crashing down on yours in a deep, consuming kiss. You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his long braids, the beads clicking softly. Slowly, he reached for the ties of your intricately beaded top and with a gentle pull, the garment loosened, and he caressed it off you, letting the beads click softly against the floor.
Neteyam’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened as his gaze swept over your naked upper body, tracking the elegant curve of your waist and the steady rise and fall of your chest. The raw worship in his stare made you feel powerful, completely untamed, and so excited.
His large hands slid up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the sides of your chest as he leaned down to press hot, branding kisses along your collarbone, making you gasp softly. Your hands scrambled for his own gear, your fingers working through the fastens of his intricate cummerbund. You pushed the heavy gear away, your palms immediately finding the broad, smooth expanse of his chest, tracing the jagged ridge of his scar once more before bringing your lips to his.
He gathered you into his arms, his mouth never leaving yours as his hands worked on the ties of your loincloth around your tail. He pushed the fabric off your hips, caressing your soft skin before fluidly guiding you down onto the thick, soft layers of the woven sleeping mat. The cool fiber of the mat met your back, but you barely felt it beneath the crushing, intoxicating weight of his body settling over yours.
You bit your your lip as he hovered over you, his thighs bracketing your hips. You pressed your palm against his muscled abdomen and when he took in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth, you smiled at him, moving your hand down to tug at the rim lf his loincloth.
His head tilted, “You want it off?” he asked, tugging at your hand when you nodded unabashed. “Take it off, then.”
You bit your lip before pulling yourself up, coming face to face with his chest as you did. You kissed the soft skin at the center of it before your hand circled to untie his loincloth. He lowered his head down, both of his hands cupping your face as he pressed a hard kiss on your lips.
His loincloth came off with a hiss and he gently pushed you back down on the soft mat, deepening the kiss. His hand moved from your jaw to the back of your head, gently wrapping around the thick braid of your kuru. He pulled away from the kiss to meet your eyes, bringing it between you before he grabbed his own, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.
You moved his hands to bring the tendrils together, and the moment the tsaheylu sparked to life, a gasp caught in your throat. The overwhelming flood of energy from the Tree of Souls was replaced by something soft, intimate, and profoundly deep, like a warm wave lulling both of your consciousness into a singular, shared heartbeat.
Through the bond, you felt his absolute adoration for you. The radiant warm was so tangible you could almost touch it, and to see it reflected in his golden eyes made your eyes sting with hot tears. Neteyam let out a low growl of satisfaction through the bond, his lips catching yours again. The kiss was deeper now, amplified by the bond, every brush of his tongue and every stroke of his hands on your body echoing straight through your mind.
You kissed him back with equal fervor. His hand firmly pushed your thighs apart, fitting himself between them as his kisses trailed down your jaw and neck. You chuckled to hide a moan when his tongue traced a long stroke over the soft skin of your neck. He hummed against your skin and repeated the motion, making you arch your neck with a giggle.
He pulled back a little, his humored eyes staring into yours. “You're ticklish here...” he murmured, dipping his head to softly suck on that skin.
“Neteyam...” you pushed his head back and he chuckled, moving further down, kissing the side flesh of your breast.
You took in a sharp breath, arching your back and he enveloped its peak with the warmth of his mouth, earning him a loud moan from you. He squeezed your waist as he hummed, sucking at your flesh as he fondled the other one.
“You’re so soft, fuck...” he grunted as his lips nipped at your pebbled tip, licking his way to the other peak to give it the same attention.
You felt a warm liquid gush out of you, making you squirm under him. His hand moved from your waist to your center and the tickle caught you off guard that you bucked against his fingers. He groaned against your breast, his fingers caressing your velvety folds languidly.
“So wet...” he said in a low, gravelly voice, propping himself on one arm to hover over you again.
His knee pushed one of your thighs to the side to spread you wider as his fingers parted your folds exposing your slick heat to his gaze. He looked down at you, his gold of his eyes swallowed almost entirely by desire that made your pulse race. His face heated up when he stared down at your flush face and found your wide, trusting eyes looking back up at him. You could literally feel the heavy pulsing in the bond, telling you that he was feeling so much it was physically overwhelming him.
He bent his head, kissing you softly at fit, but it soon turned deep and hard. His mouth consumed yours, and under the cover of that distracting heat, he slid a single, long finger into your tight entrance. You gasped against his mouth, your body tightening, startled by the sudden penetration. Neteyam instantly stalled his hand. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face with fierce intensity, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort.
Instead of shrinking away, you leaned up and kissed him, your tongue boldly sliding against his to show him you were alright. A low growl vibrated in his throat, slipping a second finger into you. The sudden stretch made you bite his lower lip in a tight grip and he grunted, kissing you hard in retaliation as his fingers began to move in a slow, deep rhythm inside your slick heat.
You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and his other arm pulled your body completely flush against his muscled frame. The world narrowed down to the heavy friction in you and the overwhelming rush of his emotions pouring through the bond. Your kisses got sloppy and breathless as his fingers worked faster, making your hips tilt upward instinctively, your thighs quivering as the tension built.
Suddenly, Neteyam pulled his fingers away.
You let out a soft, frustrated whine, your hands immediately dropping to his wrist to pull his arm back down. “Neteyam...”
“I’ll give you something better,” he mumbled against your jaw, his breath hitching as he kissed his way down to your neck. You could feel his thick, rigid shaft resting heavily against your inner thigh, twitching with his own restrained need. He pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. “Are you sure about this, paskalin?”
You nodded quickly, reaching up to pull his head back down for a kiss, but Neteyam refused to budge. He held his ground, his face shifting into a deeply serious expression.
“I need your words,” he mumbled, his golden eyes locking onto yours.
You let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, your gaze turning just as serious, completely stripped of any games. “I am sure. I want to do this with you, Neteyam.”
The tension in his jaw broke, replaced by a dark satisfaction. He pressed a hard, bruising kiss on your lips, before his hands hooked firmly under your knees. He slowly pulled away, shifting his weight until he was kneeling directly between your spread legs.
Left exposed in the glow of the fire, you bit your lip, your eyes shamelessly tracing the powerful lines of his body. You reached a hand out, your palm sliding over his muscled abdomen again, feeling it contract beneath your fingertips. But you grew serious as soon as you felt the broad, blunt head of his shaft nudge against your warmth. You took a deep breath as he began to ease himself into you.
His thumb found the sensitive, swollen nub beneath your folds, softly and rhythmically caressing it to help him distact you. When your eyes rolled back and you helplessly bucked your hips upward to chase his thumb, Neteyam took the perfect opportunity to sink himself fully into you in one deep thrust.
A loud moan tore from your throat at the immense stretch of it, and at the exact same time, Neteyam let out a harsh, strained grunt through gritted teeth as your walls fiercely clamped and squeezed around him, resisting against his girth. He lowered his body down, desperate to soothe you with a kiss, but you were breathing in ragged, panicked breaths, your fingers digging tightly into the flesh of his back.
“Shh... baby, look at me. Breathe,” he hushed. Feeling how tightly you were gripping him, he made a slight movement to pull himself back out to give you relief, but you instantly wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place. You hugged him closer, burying your face in his neck.
“You’re so big...” you mumbled.
Neteyam groaned, the sound vibrating against your chest as he wrapped his massive arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “Sorry...” he whispered roughly, entirely sincere.
A wet chuckle escaped your lips despite the ache. “Are you really saying sorry because you have a big di—”
“Only because it’s making you uncomfortable,” he cut you off, his voice thick with embarrassment as he pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand tenderly wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead.
“Nonsense,” you huffed, a small, defiant smirk returning to your face. “I remembered I will be pushing out babies anyway, you know? I can handle the father.”
Neteyam’s dark eyes instantly lit up, coupled with a soft smile cutting through his lips, and at the exact same moment, a massive, explosive jolt of pure, euphoric warmth shot straight through the bond, nearly making your head spin. The sheer joy of hearing you speak of a future with him, of carrying his children, completely broke the last of his restraint.
You smiled, welcoming the deep, possessive kiss he crashed down onto your lips. He began to move as he kissed you, pulling back almost entirely, before driving back into you with a firm intensity. You moaned against his lips, meeting him at his pace and welcoming every single hard, bruising thrust.
The pace grew frantic and the glow of the fire casted your joined shadows against the woven walls of your new home. His large shadow has completely enclosed you, your legs in the hair as he gripped the back of your knees tightly, pushing them up to angle you perfectly, driving deeper and deeper until he was bottoming out against your core.
The kelku was filled with slaps of your skin meeting, your ragged moans, and his deep, animalistic grunts. Through the bond, a sudden, blinding wave of heat erupted from him. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his muscles locking up hard as he let out a loud, guttural roar against your neck. He buried himself to the absolute hilt as he came deep inside you, the thick, hot rush of his seed filling your core.
Your head fell back, crying out as your own release crashed over you in violent waves, your walls squeezing him tightly. Neteyam collapsed softly over you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck. Your own exhaustion lulled you to sleep just as Neteyam lifted his head to kiss you, making him huff in adoration as his eyes caressed your soft features.
“Out like a light,” he mumbled as he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “You’re so damn cute.”
The next day, the heavy, content silence of the morning was the first thing you registered, followed by the feeling of Neteyam’s large, muscular arm slung securely around your waist, pulling your body into a solid wall of heat that was his chest.
You shifted slightly and the gentle drag of your hair against his chin caused him to stir. Because the tsaheylu had remained connected through the night, the moment your consciousness cleared, a sudden, bright flare of pure excitement pulsed from his mind into yours. His eyes opened instantly.
“Good morning,” Neteyam murmured, his voice deep and rough from sleep. He pressed a warm kiss into your temple, his arm tightening around you. “How does your body feel?”
You took a long, dramatic breath and stretched your limbs, letting out a soft yawn that made his chest rumble with an adored chuckle. “A little sore,” you admitted, turning in his embrace to face him, a small, defiant spark in your eyes. “But I am still ready for the day. You promised me archery training.”
Neteyam smiled, his eyes sweeping over your face as he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck. “Archery can wait. The forest isn't going anywhere. Let's just stay here today.”
“We can't,” you laughed softly. Right on cue, the ring of the communal bells echoed through the upper branches of Hometree. “See? We have to go.”
“They will understand if we are late,” Neteyam mumbled against your skin, his hands lazily tracing the curve of your waist. “We are newly married. Everyone knows we were... occupied.”
Your cheeks instantly burned hot. “Neteyam!” You reached down and pinched his arm, hard enough to make him grunt. “That is all the more reason we must show up on time! I have a reputation to build here, and I will not have everyone looking at me knowing why we slept in.”
“Baby, I hate to break it to you,” he chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow, his long finger caressing the base of your throat, “but they are going to know anyway.”
Your fingers touched your neck, your eyes snapping up to him in question. “What?”
His finger trailed down to your bare chest and you gazed down, finding a distinctly tender purpling spot right above the swell on your left breast. You glared up at him, your hand raising to pinch him again, but Neteyam quickly raised his hands in retreat, a boyish, unrepentant smirk on his lips. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It’s just that... you’re so soft—”
“Well, it looks like a bug bite,” you pushed your lips forward, touching the marks and examining it, before peering up at him. “By a big bug.”
He chuckled, pulling you back to him. “Do we have an issue with big stuff?” he mumbled, his lips brushing your neck.
You shrink away from the ticklishness of his lips, moving to get your top instead. Despite his teasing, Neteyam helped you prepare by grabbing your loincloth and helping you with it. At your stubborn behest, the two of you walked down to the communal clearing for breakfast. Neteyam carried his heavy warrior's bow, but slung over his other shoulder was the beautifully crafted longbow he had gifted you, along with both of your quivers
You thought walking into the clearing would make you feel embarrassed, especially with how the youth started nudging each other and how the older hunters gave Neteyam teasing looks, but you felt nothing but pride as he held your hand as he led you to the high dais where his family sits. Tuk grinned and waved at you, while Kiri offered a teasing a smile.
You pursed your lips and kept your gaze low in front of your parents who are now conversing quietly with Jake and Neytiri, looking entirely out of place in the vibrant, loud atmosphere. Once breakfast concluded, you paid respects to both sets of parents, and you startled a little when Neytiri gently squeezed your hand, making you snap your eyes up to her.
She smiled, “You looked radiant, daughter.”
You blinked, throwing a quick sharp glance at Neteyam who chuckled before seriously nodding at Neytiri. “Thank you...” you mumbled.
As you stand there, your father’s sharp eyes instantly dropped to the two bows slung over Neteyam’s shoulder, then to the quiver of arrows resting against your hip. His expression hardened into a mask of pure, rigid distaste.
“Neteyam,” your father spoke, his voice carrying a heavy weight as he pointed at the weapons. “I hope you are not teaching my daughter that. Weapons do not belong in the hands of a chief's daughter.”
The air around the dais seemed to drop in temperature. Your mother looked at you with the same piercing gaze your sister was giving you, as though you were doing something so embarrassing, while Neytiri’s side eye dropped a temperature as it locked onto your father. Meanwhile, Jake sat back comfortably in his seat, waiting to see how his son would handle this.
You felt a familiar, cold instinct to shrink back, but before the fear could even take root, Neteyam stepped slightly in front of you, offering your father a calm, polite smile.
“That is exactly what I intend to do, Olo'eyktan,” Neteyam replied, his tone grounded yet carrying the absolute firmness of a future leader. “My wife is now the woman of an Omatikaya warrior. She is Omatikaya as much as I am. And in this clan, our women are trained in archery much like the next guy.“
Your father’s face went entirely pale, but his jaw eventually tightened, utterly paralyzed by the younger warrior's sheer insolence. In your birth clan, no young man would ever dare speak to the Olo’eyktan this way, but here, Neteyam answered only to Toruk Makto. You pursed your lips as you felt warmth spread in your chest, making you squeeze Neteyam’s hand.
Seeing her husband silenced, your mother stepped in, “And you, daughter? Do you agree to this? Is this what you want?”
You looked at your mother, then at your father, and for the first time in your life, you didn't feel the need to lie. You took a step forward, aligning your shoulder perfectly with Neteyam’s.
“I am a wife of the Omatikaya now, Mother,” you said as softly as you could, it sounded like a mock in your own ears, but your parents won’t know that. “I will listen to the will of my husband, and I will do my absolute best to learn under him.”
You chose your words wisely, ensuring that the very obedience they had drilled into you since childhood was what’s staring back at them now. Your parents were left speechless, knowing they would sound like hypocrites to command you otherwise. You are a mated woman now, and in their eyes, your husband’s words hold more sway than their own.
Neteyam didn't give them a chance to recover. He gave a respectful, brief nod to his own parents, ignoring the faint, amused smirk playing on Jake Sully's lips. “If there is nothing else, we will take our leave.”
As he turned and led you away from the dais, his large hand snaked around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side as you walked down the winding ramp.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered sensually, “You did well, baby. And there is indeed a lot of training under me.”
You blinked, your cheeks burning when you remembered last night. Once you were down the Hometree, Neteyam led you deep into a secluded clearing a mile away from Hometree, a training ground he had clearly set up just for you. At the far end of the clearing, several woven targets hung on trees.
“Alright,” Neteyam said, handing you your new bow. “Let me see your basics, baby.” He stepped behind you, his chest pressing against your back as his large hands guided your arms up.
You swallowed hard. This was the dangerous part. You had to play the part of a beginner. You had to act like you didn't know how to balance your weight, or how to gauge the wind. You pulled an arrow from your quiver, deliberately letting your fingers fumble slightly with the notch. You pulled the string back, purposely letting your left elbow sag, trying to remember what it was like when you were just learning.
“Like this?” you asked.
Neteyam didn't answer right away, his hands moving from your arms down to your waist, his thumbs tracing the alignment of your hips before he corrected your left elbow. “Yes. Try shooting,”
You gritted your teeth and pulled from your chest, keeping your elbow low again before shooting. Your arrow found its mark on the third tree, exactly as you intended. Neteyam’s hands tightened on your waist, lazily caressing.
“You know how to do this,” he whispered, low and entirely certain.
Your heart violently jumped into your throat, your hand gripping the bow tighter. He has a keen eye and it was your fault that you underestimated that. “I trained,” you mumbled.
“You’re not a beginner,” he replied, his head dipping low so his breath fanned across your neck, right over a dark mark he had left there.
Your lips twisted. “No, I’m not,” you said in a low voice, your head turning to him.
His eyes darkened as it looks through yours. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him. “Look at the target... and show me who you really are.”
You held his dark, intense gaze for a second before turning back to the targets. With a fluid, practiced motion, you reached into your quiver and nocked a fresh arrow, planting you feet firmly into the ground. You aligned your shoulders and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one smooth motion.
The arrow flew like a bolt of lightning across the clearing, passing the first two targets and striking the farthest one dead in the center. The woven target shuddered under the sheer force of the impact. Behind you, Neteyam watched with fascinated, wide eyes, a sudden rush of heat flooding his chest. You looked incredibly hot standing there, your posture unyielding and graceful.
He had always known you had fire in you. He had found you beautiful from the moment he first laid eyes on you, but seeing you like this, unapologetically in your element, made a massive swell of pride erupt through him. He had witnessed first hand what your parents were like, what your clan was like, and though he had initially thought that you were their perfect, submissive daughter, even then, he’d felt this spark in you.
It was only when you’d become one through the bond that he’d known the staggering depth of your resentment and anger toward your parents and your people. He had been determined to free you from their shackles and teach you whatever you wanted to know, but with this marksmanship you’re showing, you were already better than him and half the hunters in his clan, because you had achieved this excellence while being completely barred from it.
“Where did you learn?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer, suddenly realizing that a skill this sharp meant someone had to have taught you.
You turned to him, a genuine, fond smile breaking across your face. “My friend. Tarluk.”
The moment the name left your lips, Neteyam’s swelling heart staggered. A sharp, blinding spike of jealousy flared in his chest. Your sister had mentioned that name when she tried to corner him last night, but he was so worried about you, he’d paid little attention to it. Neteyam was never a jealous man, mostly because he had never been a lover before, and he had certainly never cared for anyone as fiercely as he cared for you. So, this sudden, possessive green monster rearing its head in his mind felt completely bizarre and unsettling.
“Tarluk...” he echoed, his jaw tightening slightly.
“Yes. He is a warrior back in my clan,” you said, your voice softening, turning mellow and tinged with a heavy layer of guilt. “He taught me everything he knows. And he is... imprisoned right now. That is how I repaid every bit of help he gave me.”
Some of his jealousy instantly evaporated, replaced by immediate concern. He smoothed his features, calming his racing heart. “Imprisoned why?”
“He tried to help me escape... on the very day the Omatikaya arrived,” you mumbled, looking down at your bow. “I didn't know my father was going to pledge me to you. In my clan, we have no say in who we mate with. My friends are alright with that life... but I was terrified. I tried to run away.” You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat before looking up at him with soulful, vulnerable eyes.
Neteyam stared down at you, his heart beating incredibly fast against his ribs as he traced the absolute trust written across your features. “And... are you still scared?”
You smiled softly, the warmth in your eyes answering him before you even shook your head. “No... I am not scared.”
A heavy, breathless huff of relief left his lungs. The tension completely drained from his body as he melted into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. He leaned down, pressing a deep, fiercely reassuring kiss to your lips. “You have nothing to be scared of, baby. Not here, and not as long as I am drawing breath. I will protect you from them. From everything.”
You smiled against his mouth, nodding against his chest. “There is something I want to show you once we are back home.”
You spent the next couple of hours in the clearing, completely shedding your facade. You showed him the extent of what you know, so he could gauge exactly what else he can teach you. By the time you walked back to Hometree, you were holding his hand, literally skipping cutely along the forest path, your old worries entirely forgotten. Neteyam watched you, a soft, lovesick smile on his face. Just as the two of you were about to break through the thick brush leading into the main clearing of Hometree, he caught your waist, pulling you back into the shadows for one more loving, deep kiss.
High above, standing on an empty platform, Neytiri stood beside Jake. She watched the two of you, a rare, incredibly soft smile touching her lips as she leaned into her husband's side, happy to see her eldest son so completely besotted.
Once you and Neteyam slipped back into the privacy of your kelku, you walked over to your leather travel box. You reached inside and pulled out the old longbow and the weathered quivers you had brought from your home clan, the ones you had kept hidden away.
Neteyam walked over, but the moment his golden eyes landed on the unique, intricate fletching of the arrows inside the quiver, he froze. His mind flashed back to the waterfalls near your clan’s lands, to the cloaked woman who had saved his life from an Agtik pack before disappearing into the mist just as he was gathering his wit.
He thought he was simply being irrational. He thought of the cloaked lady several times over the past moon, but his mind kept giving the lady your face. Even when he first saw you, he had a strong feeling that he knew whom he was looking at... It had surprised him, just as it had surprised his parents, when he decided to agree on your father’s plea for a betrothal before he had even heard the terms.
He was never one to decide on anything without thinking it through, but on this one, he had felt so certain it startled him.
“I knew it,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper of absolute awe. “It was you.” He looked from the arrows to your face, his eyes wide. “The cloaked lady from the waterfalls... it was you.”
You offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You knew how?”
Neteyam let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I was being imaginative, perhaps. But whenever I remember the lady at the waterfalls, I see your face. I thought it was just my mind reminding me that I am betrothed, but I almost felt certain it was you.”
You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to tell you... But I don’t want to hide anything from you,” you pushed your lips forward.
He felt like he was being allowed to walk through a secret passage leading into a room full of wonders. He had met you, had been saved by you, before he even officially knew your name. “Thank you for telling me,” he mumbled, pulling you to press a kiss on your temple.
Lo’ak had long found a mate among the Metkayina of Awa’atlu, and Neteyam had always wondered how easy it had been for him, that it had taken only one look. But now he understands. He understands what Jake and Lo’ak were talking about. You will see her and you will know. Thanking Eywa for the sheer providence and the incredible luck of hand she had given him would never be enough.
You were everything he had waited for.
A few days later, you watched your parents, your sister, and their rigid entourage finally prepare to leave the Omatikaya and was surprised to feel absolutely no sadness. Standing beside Neteyam as their direhorses turned back toward the woods, the only thing filling your chest was a profound, liberating sense of relief. You could hardly wait for the dust of their departure to settle.
As the days and weeks melted into moons, you and Neteyam fell into a beautiful, seamless routine.
Every morning, he would wake up before the dawn, his stolen kisses on your skin occasionally waking up up, but most times, he could successfully slip out for early border patrols without waking you up. And then, he would return hours later, waking you up with soft kisses before you both headed down for the communal breakfast.
Afterward, the two of you would escape to your private training ground. Because your archery and horsemanship were already flawless, Neteyam decided to teach you hand-to-hand combat skills instead. This was unknown to you. The Na’vis rarely fight using their bodies in close combats, but he explained that they were necessary skills taught by his father.
You took to it with a fierce, untamed focus, loving the feel of your body dodging his heavy frames, laughing whenever he used his weight to pin you to the soft grass, only to kiss you breathless as a penalty for losing.
By midday, when Neteyam had to report for scouting duties with his father, you spend your afternoons with Kiri and Mo'at, sitting in the quiet healing pavilion, learning the properties of healing roots, orchid poultices, and the spiritual songs of the Omatikaya. You found learning here much easier than learning under the rigid, highly paternalistic guidance of your mother.
Best of all, Mo’at listens to the healing knowledge and spiritual routines unique to your clan. These peaceful afternoons of study would bleed into quiet evenings that makes you feel that you were finally doing things to belong and not to conform.
When the next dawn broke, the rhythmic chirping outside filtered into the kelku, but you were already stirred by the familiar sensation of warm, soft lips pressing against your shoulder. A slow, lazy smile spread across your face, keeping your eyes closed.
When he sensed the shift in your consciousness, he lifted his head, his golden eyes dark and hooded with adoration. You felt his lips against yours and you kissed him back eagerly, your fingers tangling in the braids at the nape of his neck, pulling him flush against you. His large arm wrapped around you, almost lifting you to him as he deepened the kiss.
You broke away from the kiss to breathe, so his lips found the the sensitive column of your neck, trailing down over the slope of your breasts, lingering on your stomach, and finally, dipping lower. The past few moons had revealed this side of him, an obsession with your pleasure that bordered on reverent. In the beginning, you had been shy, overwhelmed by the fact that he would dare put his mouth there and the raw, uninhibited way he does so, but you had learned to love it.
Thus, you spread your legs, arching your back off the sleeping mat as he lapped at you like a man starved. His tongue and lips found your sensitive nub, sucking and licking until you couldn't help your moans, a sound that started low in your throat and grew sharper as the rhythm took you. You were biting your lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible, especially when he presses his tongue flat on you.
When you finally came, the release was a shuddering wave that made you gasp, and he licked every lingering essence as if this were the desert and you were a well of water. You lay there, sweaty and weak, your breath coming in ragged hitches as he moved back up your body, his mouth settling on the pebbled tips of your breasts, suckling with a possessive intensity. He finally pulled away to press a loving kiss to your forehead, his eyes searching yours.
Your hand instinctively dropped, grabbing at the heavy ridge of his crotch, feeling the sheer hardness of him. You let out a soft, mewling sound, squeezing him, and he let out a harsh, guttural grunt, closing his eyes for a moment to fight for control.
“I'll save this reward for later, baby,” he growled, his voice gravelly. “If I start now, I'll never make it to patrol.”
True to his word, he left for patrol, and you managed to drift back into a light, contented sleep. You only woke again when the sun dappled through the kelku, with the rustle of his footsteps coming in not long after. You looked up and smiled at him, pulling the covers off you and he groaned at the sight of you still naked.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said as he lowered himself down, leaning over you.
You pressed a hand against his chest, caressing his skin damp with the morning's efforts. You craned your neck to kiss him, and his hand slid over your waist. “I’ve been sleeping in too much lately. I need to train myself to wake up early again,” you mumbled against his lips.
“I’ll ask Mo’at for spice tea,” he responded, his head rearing back a little, his eyes fixed on yours seriously. “But you could always just sleep in. You’ve been working so hard with the healers...”
You chuckled, “You’re so serious,” you nuzzled your nose against his. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just adjusting.” You pulled him down for a kiss.
He let you kiss him, but he pulled back again, “But do tell me if it persists—”
“Yes, yes, I will. Now, kiss...” you cut him off, pulling him close again and he kissed you with more intent now.
Just as the heat grew heavier, the bells for the communal meal echoed through Hometree. Neteyam groaned, dropping his forehead against your collarbone, his frustration vibrating through his chest. You laughed, a bright sound that made his heart flutter. You pushed against his shoulders, and he knew better than to argue when it came to your reputation, he knew how much you valued being seen as a proper member of the clan and appearances during meals were your top priority.
You pouted at him, “It’s because you talk too much,” you said, grabbing your top.
His head dramatically fell back on the soft mat and you chuckled, your eyes dropping to his hard-on tenting at his crotch, clearly ready to burst but he knows it would have to wait. Almost immediately after the meal, you both headed to your the training grounds.
Moons of practice had transformed your hand-to-hand combat skills, proving to him just how fast you learn. But today, the training was secondary. You sat between his legs by a large root, finding a comfortable patch of moss to sit on. He broke open some sweet, nectar-filled fruits, sharing them as you talked about your childhoods: the lonely, quiet years of your past versus the vibrant, chaotic, and loud upbringing he had experienced with his siblings.
“Lo'ak was a menace,” Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head as he bit into a yovo. “When he was no bigger than Tuk is now, he decided he wanted to ride a syaksyuk. He climbed all the way to the highest branch of a tall tree, got stuck, and started crying because a mama syaksyuk started throwing sour berries at his head. I had to climb up and drag him down by his loincloth while Dad watched from below, just laughing.”
You laughed loudly, remembering the photo you saw of them as children. It allowed you to imagine a tiny, stubborn Lo'ak and an annoyed little Neteyam playing vividly in your mind. “You must have been such a serious little boy.”
“I had to be,” he smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “With Lo'ak trying to drown himself in puddles and Kiri talking to the plants, someone had to keep them alive. Kiri used to bury my daggers in the dirt because she said it ‘wanted to sleep.’ I spent half my childhood digging up the forest floor looking for my weapons.”
Your smile turned a bit wistful, a faint pang of envy twisting in your chest. “It sounds beautiful.” Your eyes dropped to the fruit in your hands, thinking of his youngest sister. “I feel a little bad for little Tuk, though. She didn't get to experience all of that chaos with you guys being so small together.”
“She makes up for it by being twice as loud,” Neteyam reasoned, his hand caressing a stray hair off your face.
You sighed softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the woven basket. “My sister... She was so much like my mother. I can’t remember a time we were ever... close,” you shrugged.
Armem is just one of the many women in your clan who think that everything about what is taught is right. The rules, the silence, the way women are expected to bend. She excelled at obeying everything and she knew you were just pretending, she just didn't know how to catch you in the act.
Neteyam’s arm pulled you tightly against him, his chest on your back rumbling with a deep, protective hum, his fingers sprawling over your hip.
“The night of our mating feast, moons ago,” he began softly, his voice dropping into a serious register, “I heard of Tarluk before you ever told me his name. Your sister told me about him when you were off talking to your parents.”
You froze, tilting your head up to look at him. “She did?”
“Yes,” Neteyam murmured, his jaw tightening at the memory. “She told me that you had run away with a warrior before the Omatikaya arrived. She told me Tarluk was your lover, and that you were coming to my bed dishonored.”
A heavy, mellow sadness settled over you. You rose slightly, propping your palm against his muscled chest to look directly into his eyes. “I can't believe she would tell you about it that way... Neteyam, Tarluk is not my lover.”
His large hand cupped your jaw with immense gentleness. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, his gaze steady and unyielding.
“I know, baby,” he whispered fiercely. “I believe you. I did not believe her one bit. I told her she should have been more loyal to you.”
You let out a long sigh, the final ghost of your past clan fading into the forest air. You pressed your palm flat against the heavy beat of his heart. “I never want to go back to my clan again... I never want to see that forest again.”
A slow, devastatingly handsome smirk grew on his face. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you a fraction closer. “You can't go nowhere without me now, baby,” he whispered. “You'll never go back there. This is your home. You belong to the Omatikaya. You belong to me.”
Your heart swelled so painfully with love that you had to look away to catch your breath. You smiled, deliberately breaking the heavy romantic tension by lifting a piece of the sweet fruit to your mouth, just as he was leaning in to kiss you.
Neteyam groaned, his eyes narrowing in playful frustration with that block you did. You chuckled at his reaction, turning the piece of fruit and pressing it against his lips instead. He paused, watching you with an intense, heated gaze, before he bit into it, chewing slowly without ever breaking eye contact.
You raised a brow, completely untamed and bold under his stare. Leaning forward, you darted your tongue out, catching a single drop of sweet juice that was rolling down his chin. His breath hitched, his hands instantly gripping your waist as a dark, possessive hunger flared in his eyes.
“You are testing me today,” he growled softly, his hands moving to your hips to maneuver you on his lap.
You caught his hand. “I have a question,” you asked as you pressed your back against his chest.
“Hm?” He buried his face on your neck.
“Why do you like doing...” you trailed, gesturing vaguely between your legs, your voice teasing.
“Doing?” he asked, his hand going where you gestured.
Your hips bucked, grabbing his hand. “I mean, your mouth. On there.”
Neteyam paused, angling his head to look at you with a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Is that really a question?” he asked as if it sounded like a joke.
“It’s an observation,” you barked but softly, cutely showing him your fangs. “It seems a bit... obsessive.”
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that made your skin tingle. “It’s like asking me if I love eating my favorite fruit,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips. “It’s what I crave. It’s what sustains me.”
“That’s dramatic. It’s not food,” you frowned.
His hug around you tightened as if he were suddenly getting cuteness aggression. “I love it, anyway. And think of my cock. You said you wanted to do things with it, right?“
You nodded, your pulse quickening a sudden, visceral thrill run through you at the thought of finally exploring that part of him.
“Suppose I want you to kiss it,” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, challenging hum. “Would you?”
“Yes,” you whispered, licking your lips.
He raised a brow, reaching into the basket and pulling out an utumauti. He peeled it, the sweet, earthy scent filling the air, and held it out to you. You stared at it, and instinctively, you moved your head to bite into it, but he gently moved it away, laughing at your eagerness.
“No,” he said softly, his voice thick. “Put it in your mouth.”
You blinked, your breath hitching. You looked from the fruit to his eyes, then nodded, opening your mouth wide. You took the fruit between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the sweet nectar before you wrapped your mouth around it, mimicking the depth he’d asked for.
He groaned, the sound raw and pained, as he watched you.
“Would you do that to me?” he asked again, his eyes searching yours for hesitation.
You pulled back, your heart hammering against your ribs. You looked at his loincloth, imagining the warmth and the power of him, and a desperate, hungry desire to give him that same level of pleasure he gave you bloomed in you
“I want to,” you breathed. Your tail, usually calm, began to wag behind you, a soft thump against the moss.
Neteyam let out a shaky breath, his expression softening into one of tender love. He leaned forward and kissed you, his hands trembling slightly as they went to the ties of his loincloth, stripping it away completely. Your breath caught in your throat. You had felt the sheer, heavy mold of him a hundred times over in the past moons, the thick, rigid heat that had driven you mad against your thighs and deep within your core, but seeing him completely bare in the daylight was breathtaking.
You pulled yourself up onto your knees between his legs, your hand reaching out, your fingers trembling slightly as you wrapped them around the base of his thick length. Neteyam drew in a harsh, ragged gasp as your thumb stroked up the underside of his shaft.
“Baby...” he choked out, his fists clenching into the dirt at his sides.
You looked up at him through your lashes, completely captivated by the power you held over such a powerful warrior. Slowly, you leaned forward, your lips parting as you pressed a soft, wet kiss to the very tip of him, catching the sweet, clear bead of his arousal on your tongue.
Neteyam let out a low, guttural roar that echoed into the canopy, his hips instinctively jerking forward at the agonizingly perfect warmth. You smiled against his hot skin, opening your mouth wider, and began to show him exactly how much you wanted to pleasure him.
You lost yourself in the rhythm of his pleasure, sliding your lips along the thick length of his shaft. Every dip of your head earned you a ragged, breathless praise from Neteyam, his fingers lightly tangling in your hair as he guided your pace. By the time your mouth filled with the hot, heavy rush of his release, his chest was heaving as a broken groan ripped from his throat. He pulled you up into a tight, crushing hug immediately after, holding you against his racing heart.
“Fuck...” he mumbled as he let out a broken chuckle. “You can’t do that again... I came so fast it’s embarrassing.”
You glared at him, but a naughty smile still cut through your lips. “But what if it’s my favorite now, too?”
The peaceful moons that followed seemed to blur into a soft, golden dream. You have now settled comfortably in the Omatikaya, especially among the children, that you spend some afternoons in the shade of the lower branches, watching Tuk and a few other children.
Tuk was in the middle of chasing a friend when she suddenly spun around, her tail swishing with sudden curiosity. “Y/N, are you pregnant?” she asked out of nowhere, her big eyes wide with innocent hope.
You blinked, a fierce blush instantly crawling up your neck. “No, Tuk, I am not.”
“Aww,” she pouted, kicking a soft patch of moss. “I thought you were. Leera’s mom is pregnant. She’ll have a playmate very soon!”
You watched her sprint away, but her words lingered in your mind like a persistent echo. You weren't exactly worried, but as the days passed, you couldn't help but wonder. It wasn't for a lack of trying; you and Neteyam were at it every single day, his possessive hunger never waning, yet your body remained unchanged.
To soothe your restless thoughts, you took up weaving again, a craft you deeply missed and hadn't practiced much since leaving your clan. Sitting alone in the kelku, your fingers worked mechanically, interlacing thick, soft fibers into a structured, sturdy pattern.
You were just finishing a section when the woven flap rustled. Neteyam stepped inside, his shoulders tight with a lingering trace of stress from a long council meeting. The moment his golden eyes landed on you, however, the tension visibly melted from his face.
Seeing the lingering exhaustion in his posture, you immediately dropped the what you were doing and stood up, reaching out to guide him down to the sleeping mat. Your fingers firmly moved on the tight knots in his shoulders, applying a soothing pressure to calm him down.
Neteyam let out a long, shuddering sigh, tilting his head back against your stomach. “What were you weaving, baby?”
“I am trying to weave a baby wrap,” you murmured softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But do not get too excited yet. I am not with child. I am just... preparing.”
A soft, boyish smile cut through his tired features, and his lips pushed forward, pressing a tender kiss into your temple.
“What is wrong?” you asked, your fingers slowing their movement on his shoulders. “You look heavy.”
“Nothing you need to worry about, baby,” he responded smoothly, reaching up to squeeze your hand. “Just a tense council meeting. Some border disputes. It is fine.”
In the weeks that followed, however, you realized it wasn't entirely fine. The reality of clan infighting across Eywa’eveng was beginning to seep into the edges of the Omatikaya. Yet, the Omatikaya were almost too chill about it, confident in their strength. You only noticed the subtle shifts: the increased frequency of hunters and warriors moving in and out of the boundaries, and the way Neteyam constantly seemed on edge.
The breaking point arrived on a stormy afternoon.
Shouts echoed from the lower canopy, frantic and laced with a terror you had never heard from the Omatikaya before. You rushed down to the lower platforms, your breath catching in your throat as a party of warriors moved through the crowd. They were carrying several severely wounded hunters.
And in the center of the frantic group, carried on a human-made stretcher, was Neteyam.
He was barely conscious, his skin a pale, sickly blue, his chest heavily stained with a thick, dark smear of blood. Your breath was knocked out of your chest as a suffocating, icy fear instantly seized your heart, dragging your mind back to the terrifying vision you had seen in his memory. Jake and Neytiri pushed through the crowd, their faces pale with panic. But as the healers began to move Neteyam toward the human biolab for emergency treatment, Neytiri suddenly stopped. Her fierce, golden eyes snapped to you standing in the crowd.
Before you could move, she lunged forward, her hand clamping onto your forearm in a brutal, iron grip.
“Did you know about this?” she demanded, her voice shaking, cold with an explosive anger.
“What?” your voice shook, your eyes wide with shock and confusion.
“Your people betrayed us!” Neytiri hissed, her fangs fully bared, her face inches from yours. “Your father shot Neteyam! He ambushed our patrol at the border! I knew this alliance would bring nothing good. My son dove into this headfirst, not even thinking, for whatever petty reason—!”
“Mama! Don't get mad at Y/N, please!“ Tuk screamed, sprinting through the crowd and throwing her small arms around Neytiri’s hips, crying.
Jake came rushing back out of the biolab doors, his eyes wide as he realized Neytiri hadn't followed the stretcher inside.
“Neytiri,” Jake called, his voice booming as he grabbed her elbow, pulling her away from you. He looked at your pale, trembling form, his expression turning into one of profound alarm. “Jesus, baby, what did you tell her?”
Neytiri let out a sharp, ragged breath, her chest heaving as she finally ripped her gaze from yours, staggering on her steps before walking away and going into the biolab.
Jake turned to you, his voice urgent but grounded. “Go inside, Y/N. Go see him. He’s alright, but you need to be in there.” He looked down at his youngest daughter. “Tuk, stay with her.”
You couldn't move. Your legs felt like lead, your ears ringing with the horrific revelation. Your father had shot him. The treaty of alliance, the marriage, the peace, it had all been a calculated deception to lower the Omatikaya's guard against other clans who wished to bring it down.
Tuk buried her face into your stomach, her little shoulders shaking with violent sobs. The sight of her grief broke the paralysis holding you. You slowly knelt on the damp wooden platform, pulling the little girl into a tight embrace, murmuring soft, comforting words against her hair until her crying began to slow into quiet whimpers.
Once she quieted down, you pulled back slightly, cupping her small face in your hands. You forced your voice to sound steady, invoking the very strength Neteyam always saw in you.
“Tuk, listen to me,” you said, your eyes locking onto hers with absolute seriousness. “Your braveness is needed right now. The Omatikaya is in chaos, and your brother needs a warrior to guard him. I need you to stay right here, by the laboratory doors, and make sure no one enters who shouldn't. Can you do that for me?”
Tuk sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, her small jaw tightening with a sudden, fierce determination. She nodded firmly. “I will guard him, Y/N.”
“Good girl,” you whispered, kissing her forehead.
You stood up, turning away from the laboratory. You didn't walk inside. Instead, you turned on your heel and moved swiftly, back up the winding ramps toward your kelku. The moment you stepped past the woven flap, the dam broke. Tears of unadulterated fear, pain, and burning rage spilled over your cheeks, hot and furious. You couldn’t even sob or wail. You wanted to be there for Neteyam.
Hold his hand and give him strength. But what you were about to do cannot wait. You moved with a cold, terrifying precision born of a lifetime of faking compliance.
You walked straight to the weapon rack. You gripped the smooth, dark wood of your old longbow and slung the weathered quiver over your shoulder, checking the heavy, sharp fletching of your arrows. Your father thought he had traded away a submissive pawn to buy himself time. He thought you were a weak, compliant girl who would weep in a corner while his treachery tore a clan apart.
He was going to find out exactly who you were.
You rushed down the hidden, less-traveled pathways of Hometree, bypassing the frantic crowds entirely. Breaking into the dark, rain-slicked undergrowth of the forest, you raised your hand to your lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle.
Within moments, the heavy thud of hooves echoed through the brush, and your direhorse broke through the foliage. You vaulted onto its back, your fingers grabbing your kuru and connecting it to his in one swift motion. With a fierce tap to its flanks, you turned the direhorse toward the borders, tearing into the black, stormy night.
You were going back to your clan. And you were going to kill your father.
The wind screamed in your ears, tearing through your hair as the direhorse threw its powerful weight forward, kicking up wet earth and leaves. For hours, you rode through the stormy night without a single pause. The rain-drenched trees of the Omatikaya territory gradually gave way to the dark, clouded woods of the suffocating borders of your birth clan.
Your body ached, your muscles tightly coiled with exhaustion and a cold, lethal focus. By the time the distant glow of your old clan's cooking fires pierced the dark, the storm had settled into a heavy mist. You didn’t slow down to hide or sneak through the brush like a frightened girl. You rode straight into the heart of the main clearing, the heavy thud of your direhorse's hooves drawing the immediate, sharp attention of the night guards.
Several warriors stepped forward, bows raised, but they froze when the light allowed for a better view of you, drenched in rain and covered in mud. From the largest tent, a tall, imposing figure stepped out, a heavy mantle around his shoulders.
Your father’s sharp eyes locked onto you, but you could see in his eyes that he was not threatened. You gave that to him. But that will change. He stepped closer, stopping a few paces away, completely unbothered by the heavy bow in your hand. To him, you were still the girl who always had her head down, the girl who bent to her mother's rigid will.
“Is he dead? Is that what this visit is for?” your father taunted, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face as he looked up at you. “If so, then that is good news for our council. Job well done, and you can finally come home, daughter.”
You remained mounted on your direhorse, your posture regal, unyielding, and completely still. Your eyes, normally soft and trusting, were now as cold and sharp as blade.
“I feel sorry that I had to sacrifice you...” he continued, his voice dripping with a sickening condescension. “Let you be defiled and used over and over again by that disgusting half-blood. I am glad to see that you're not pregnant... that is great. We can wipe away that stain, remarry you to a real warrior, and—”
“What a loud noise,” you interrupted quietly.
Your father paused, his brows snapping together in sudden fury at your insolence. “What did you just say to me?” He looked at the old longbow in your hand again, a mocking chuckle vibrating in his chest. “You dare bring a weapon into my presence? You think you can make an aim on me after your pitiful training sessions with that demon? The one I personally shot?”
“For the record, dear father,” you said, your voice entirely devoid of fear, a slow smile tilting the corners of your lips. “Neteyam didn’t teach me archery... I learned this from under your nose.”
In the blink of an eye, faster than any warrior in the clearing could even register, your hand blurred. You drew an arrow from your quiver, nocked it, and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one fluid, terrifyingly practiced motion.
Your father's eyes widened a fraction, his breath catching in his throat as he realized, too late, the absolute precision of your stance.
“Look,” you whispered.
You let go of the string and the heavy arrow flew with blinding speed, striking your father dead in the left side of his chest. The exact, precise spot where he had shot Neteyam.
He let out a sharp, agonized gasp, staggering backward as his hand flew to the shaft buried deep in his flesh. His eyes bulged, filled with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of anger and shock. He opened his mouth to scream for his warriors, his foot stepping forward to lunge at you.
Before his foot could even plant into the dirt, another arrow tore through the air, piercing straight through his foot and pinning it deeply into the muddy ground. He shrieked, a raw, pained sound, his balance entirely stolen from him as he began to fall. Desperate, his hand flew down to the knife strapped to his thigh, trying to draw it.
A third arrow struck his wrist, completely shattering the bone and before he could even touch the hilt.
You looked down at him from the height of your direhorse, your expression completely detached as he writhed in the mud beneath you.
“My husband is not dead, but you will be.”
Without a single hint of hesitation, you nocked one final arrow and released the string. The final arrow struck cleanly between his eyes, causing his body to slump back into the dirt, his blank gaze staring up at the stormy sky.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
When the heavy sedation finally wore off, Neteyam opened his eyes to the harsh, sterile white light of the human biolab. His vision blurred, then sharpened, focusing on the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. The sun of midday was already dawning through the windows.
His first thought was entirely instinctual. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the one face that always brought him peace.
“Y/N...” he grogged, his voice barely a gravelly whisper.
The lab doors hissed open, and Jake stepped inside, his expression deeply lined with fatigue. Behind him, Neytiri stood, her usual fierce posture replaced by a rare, heavy layer of visible guilt. Little Tuk was curled up on a chair in the corner, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
“Dad,” Neteyam breathed, trying to push himself up on his elbows. His hand flew to his chest, feeling the thick, white bandages binding his skin. “My wife?”
A heavy silence blanketed the room. Everyone had spent the last several hours frantically combing through every tier of Hometree after Jake had ordered a full-scale search, desperate to find you before his eldest son woke up, but no one had seen a trace of you. Even Neytiri, now that her blinding panic had subsided and her mind was clear, realized the catastrophic mistake she had made by cornering you and implicating you in the ambush.
For the past several weeks, the Omatikaya council had had intelligence about a brewing conflict. Your birth clan apparently part of a larger, aggressive faction of clans seeking to destabilize Toruk Makto’s influence, viewing his family as “half-bloods” who didn't belong with the true people of Eywa. Throughout those tense council meetings, Neteyam had staunchly, fiercely defended you.
When the elders and even his own mother suggested that your betrothal was a calculated set-up to make him vulnerable, Neteyam had never wavered. He knew your heart. He knew that you knew absolutely nothing about your clan’s movements, and he had begged his family to let him handle it, to protect you from the clan's suspicion.
But Neytiri's explosive grief at seeing her firstborn bleeding had shattered that protection.
“Neteyam,” Neytiri stepped forward, her voice trembling in a way he had never heard before. “The night you were brought in... I lost my mind,” Neytiri confessed. “I confronted her. I told her that her father shot you, and I... I accused her. Tuk said she left not long after. We think... maybe she went to find them. Maybe she'll come back...”
“Left?” Neteyam echoed, the word ripping out of his throat like a physical wound. The monitor beside his bed began to beep in a frantic, erratic rhythm. He tore the IV lines straight out of his arm, ignoring the sharp sting of blood.
“Neteyam, lay back down!” Jake barked, rushing forward to plant his heavy hands on his son's shoulders.
“No! She doesn't want to go back there! She told me she never wanted to see that place again!” Neteyam roared, fighting his father's grip with a desperate, wild strength, despite the pull on his stitched flesh. “I have to find her—”
“I’ve already sent out scouting teams to track her trail,” Jake argued, his voice laced with helplessness. “But the storm washed away the tracks. Some came back empty-handed. We don't know where to look, son.”
Neteyam’s chest tightened, a suffocating mixture of physical pain and raw, blinding panic making his head spin. He was hoping against hope that you hadn't gone back to your birth clan. He knew how much you hated it.
Just as he was stepping off the bed, the lab doors hissed open again. One of the clan's seasoned tracking warriors stepped into the room, drenched in mud and breathing heavily.
“Olo'eyktan,” Navem reported, bowing his head to Jake but looking directly at Neteyam. “Word has just come from the western border. Korto... is dead. He was assassinated in the dead of night inside his own camp. They said it was his eldest daughter.”
The warrior glanced at Neteyam. He felt the air completely knocked out of his lungs. He staggered, his knees buckling slightly as he stared at the warrior in absolute, stunned disbelief. His mind reeled, completely torn between two overwhelming realities: the terrifying fact that you had ridden alone into enemy territory in the middle of a storm, and the realization that you had executed a flawless assassination entirely on your own.
Neytiri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
It was Jake who broke the stunned silence, his tactical mind instantly kicking into gear. “Looks like we have a lead,” he said, his voice grim but focused. “Tell the aerial teams to scour every border between here and the plains. We need to get ahold of her before her father's loyalists do.”
Neteyam didn't wait for his father to finish. Ignoring the burning agony in his chest, he bolted out of the biolab. Jake and Neytiri chased after him as he sprinted up the winding pathways toward the ikran roost.
“Neteyam,” Jake called, throwing the comms through the air. Neteyam caught it with his good hand. “Wait for the scouts to give you an update!”
“Thanks, dad,” Neteyam yelled back, his voice raw.
“Come home safely. Both of you...” Neytiri begged from the platform below, her voice cracking.
Neteyam leaped onto his Ikran, his bond snapping into place with frantic urgency.
The flight was a blur of agonizing waiting. Neteyam cursed himself for choosing his Ikran over a direhorse, realizing too late that the thick canopy made it nearly impossible to spot a single figure from the air. For thirty agonizing minutes, he flew in erratic patterns, his heart hammering against his ribs, until the comms clicked to life.
“Neteyam, we have a visual. She’s at the rocky creek near the old boundary. We are moving to secure her—”
“No!” Neteyam barked into the mic, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Do not approach her. Give me the coordinates. I will deal with my wife on my own.”
Receiving the location, he drove his ikran into a steep dive, landing the beast in a clearing a short distance from the water. He threw himself off the saddle, his long strides breaking through the damp ferns as he sprinted toward the sound of rushing water.
And there you were.
You were sitting on a wet stone by the edge of the creek, looking incredibly small, pale, and exhausted. Your eyes were heavily swollen and puffy from a night of what seemed like endless crying. Your old longbow lay on the moss beside you. You were crouched low, scooping cold water into your palms to wash your mouth, when the rustle of leaves caught your attention.
Your eyes snapped up, locking onto his towering figure across the shallow water. You gasped, instinctively flinching and rearing back.
New, hot tears instantly swelled in your eyes as your gaze landed on the thick white bandages wrapping his torso, and the dark red spot of blood seeping through his chest. A wave of profound, crushing shame washed over you. Your father had done that. Your bloodline had brought that violence to his family. It didn't matter that you had killed the monster; the stain of the betrayal felt permanent.
“Don't come near me,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you held up a trembling hand when he stepped straight into the freezing, ankle-deep water, his gaze brazen and unyielding.
“Why?” he asked stubbornly.
“It's just... you shouldn't be with me,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around your own torso as if trying to hold yourself together.
He tilted his head, his expression softening into something intensely possessive. “Too bad. I want to be with you.”
“Neteyam, please,” you cried, shaking your head violently as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. “It is a disgrace! My people are traitors. My father wounded you, he almost took your life! My blood is that of a traitor’s... and I am so scared... I am so terrified that this life inside of me will take after my blood—”
“What?” Neteyam stopped dead in the middle of the creek.
The word hit him like a physical blow. You were rambling, your words pouring out so fast that his head began to spin, a sudden, loud ringing filling his ears. His golden eyes slowly dropped from your face, tracking down the length of your body until they rested on your flat abdomen. He closed his eyes for a single, heavy second, drawing in a long, deep breath through his nose to steady his racing mind.
The gravity of what you had just done crashed over him. You had traveled a distance that should have taken days in a matter of hours. You had risked your life, riding alone into a hostile camp, carrying out a flawless execution under the noses of an entire warrior council. You could have been captured. You could have been killed.
And through all of that terrifying danger, you were carrying his child.
“You are pregnant?” he asked, his voice dropping into a small, breathless whisper as his eyes snapped open again.
“I... I didn't know,” you whimpered, your fingers wrangling together in a fit of nervousness. “I just learned it now. I threw up so much... I don't know, I can feel it...”
“You are pregnant,” he repeated, a massive, overwhelming whoosh of air rushing out of his lips.
That's it. He lunged across the remaining stretch of the shallow creek, his powerful legs churning through the water until he reached your side. Before you could even take another step back, his large, good arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward until your body slammed directly into the solid wall that was his body.
He pulled back just enough to cup your jaw with his fingers, tilting your face up, and kissed you hard. It was a deep, fiercely possessive, and desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his relief and love into your lips.
“Baby,” he breathed against your mouth, his forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved. “You are amazing. And you are lethal. You have always been. But I need you to never, ever do something like this again.” He let out a breathless, emotional laugh. “A bullet and an arrow haven't killed me yet, but you doing this might actually finish me off.”
You buried your face into his neck, sobbing uncontrollably as the immense weight of the last hours finally collapsed. “I wanted to be there last night,” you wept, your hands carefully gripping his shoulders, mindful of his injury. “I wanted to hold your hand so much... but I needed to catch my father at the very height of what he thought was his victory. I had to end it.”
Neteyam wrapped his arm tighter around you, burying his face into your hair, his own tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I love you,” he mumbled fiercely into your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”
You pulled your head back, looking up into his golden eyes, your own twinkling with a mixture of exhaustion and profound love. You pushed up on your tiptoes, capturing his lips again, deepening the kiss as you mumbled, “I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much.”
When the kiss finally broke, Neteyam gently wiped the stray tears from your cheeks. “Do you want to go back home now?”
You nodded instantly, the word home finally feeling absolute.
“Are you... are you mad at my mother?” he asked softly, watching your expression carefully.
You shook your head, a soft, understanding smile touching your lips. “Mad? Why? I understood her anger, and I understood her reaction. She was simply a mother who was terrified of losing her firstborn child. I would have done the same.”
Neteyam’s chest swelled with an intense, overwhelming pride. The sheer capacity of your heart, after everything you had endured, left him entirely awed. He held you tightly against his good side as he guided you back toward his ikran. Your direhorse was left to be brought back by the Omatikaya warriors who had been tracking you from a distance.
When the ikran finally landed on the high platforms of Hometree, Jake, Neytiri, and Tuk were already waiting at the roost.
The moment the beast settled, Neytiri stepped forward, her face tense, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she prepared to offer a formal, deeply humbled apology to you, but Neteyam didn't give her the chance. The moment he dismounted, his large frame moved directly in front of you, shielding your body from his family's view.
“I need to take her straight to Mo'at,” he announced, his voice firm, carrying the absolute authority of a mate protecting his own. “She needs to be checked immediately. Especially given her... sensitive case right now.”
Tuk tilted her head, her big eyes darting around Neteyam’s torso to look at you. “Y/N? Are you okay?”
You smiled warmly, stepping out from behind your husband's protective shoulder to look down at the little girl. “I am okay, Tuk. And I have some very great news for a brave warrior who guarded her brother so well.”
The family followed in a quiet, tense procession as Neteyam led you straight to the quiet upper tiers where Mo'at sat by the hearth. She didn't even need to touch you. The moment her wise eyes landed on your posture, and the subtle, protective way Neteyam’s hand was resting against the small of your back, a knowing, radiant smile broke across her weathered face.
“You are here to confirm a pregnancy? I had been waiting to be asked for moons.”
Tuk instantly let out a joyous shriek, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “A playmate! I knew it!” she cheered, her laughter echoing through the quiet pavilion.
But while Tuk celebrated, the confirmation only made Neytiri’s chest tighten with a deeper, agonizing wave of guilt. She realized that your ride into danger had been undertaken at such a vulnerable state. Later that evening, as the stars began to blanket the skies, Neytiri found you sitting alone on the edge of the healing platform. She approached silently, her ears pressed back in true humility.
“Y/N,” Neytiri began, her powerful voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. “I have no words to excuse my behavior. I allowed my fear for my son to blind me and I am... deeply sorry for the pain I caused you.”
Your expression was entirely peaceful as you reached out, placing your hand over hers. “There is nothing to apologize for, Neytiri. We both had the exact same interest at heart. His safety amd protection. You reacted out of love for your son, and I reacted out of love for my husband. If I were in your position, I would have done far worse.”
Neytiri stared at you for a long moment, a profound respect cementing between the two of you as she squeezed your hand in return. “I have no doubt, daughter. I have no doubt.”
The rest of your pregnancy was a beautiful journey. Your bond with Neytiri had grown deeper as moons passed by, replacing the cold, rigid relationship you had with your mother. Although, there were times you missed her, there was no one in that clan you still wanted to see except for Tarluk.
The last of Neteyam’s intelligence reports regarding Tarluk said that he had escaped after your father’s assassination and the short period of anarchy that followed it. Neteyam assured you that he had sent word to allied clans to give him notice should a lone man wander near their borders.
You had refused to stress yourself further as your pregnancy progressed though. Not when Neteyam has became utterly insufferable in his doting. He refused to let you carry anything heavier than a piece of fruit and followed you to every single healing lesson with Mo'at.
“You are leaning too far forward,” Neteyam murmured, his deep baritone vibrating right against your ear. His large hand reached around your waist, gently but firmly pulling your torso back against his solid chest. “Mo'at said you need to keep your spine straight so the weight doesn't strain your lower back.”
You let out a soft huff, a small smile tugging at your lips even as you tried to maintain your serious expression. “Neteyam, I am grinding roots, not fighting an ikran. My spine is perfectly fine.”
“I am just making sure,” he replied smoothly, completely unbothered by your teasing. He took the heavy stone pestle right out of your fingers. “Here. Let me do the heavy grinding. You shouldn't be straining your wrists.”
And he did not miss an evening without pressing his face against your growing belly, whispering long stories to the life moving inside you.
“Pea is quiet tonight,“ he whispered, his voice incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he used with the hunters. He flattened his large palm over your skin, his eyes closing as he felt the steady, rhythmic pulse of the life inside you.
“This little seed was kicking all afternoon while you were at the border,” you murmured, your fingers gently tangling into the dark braids at the nape of his neck. “I think Pea misses the sound of your voice.”
Neteyam’s lips tilted into a proud, boyish smile against your skin. He nuzzled his nose against your stomach, clearing his throat quietly.
“Listen closely, little one,” he began, speaking directly to your belly. “Today, Papa flew high into the floating mountains. The wind was fierce, the kind that tries to steal your breath. I brought with me Mama’s longbow, and when you are big enough, I am going to show you the clearing where your mother showed me how fiercely she can shoot. She struck the farthest target dead in the center, the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.”
You felt a sudden, familiar flutter beneath his palm. A distinct, sharp little thump from the inside.
Neteyam’s eyes snapped open, his golden gaze lighting up with absolute, pure wonder. “Did you feel that? Pea heard me."
“As always,“ you whispered, your heart aching with a love so profound it felt heavy.
He leaned up, shifting his weight so he was hovering over you, his eyes dark with an intense, unyielding adoration. He pressed his lips to yours, a slow, deeply reassuring kiss that tasted of the sweet fruit you had shared earlier.
“You are everything,” he murmured against your mouth, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. “Both of you.”
When your labor finally arrived several moons later, he had completely lost his cool. He was so frantic, so entirely out of his element, pacing the pavilion and checking your vitals every two seconds, that Mo'at and Kiri eventually had to physically shove him out of the tent because his chaotic energy was stressing you out more than the contractions.
But when the final moments came, he was right there beside you. He held your hand with a trembling grip, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of terror and absolute reverence as you gave one final, powerful push.
A sharp, clear cry echoed through the kelku, cutting through the warm night air.
Mo'at smiled, carefully lifting the tiny, squirming bundle and wiping her down before placing her directly onto your chest. Neteyam leaned over you, his hot tears spilling onto your shoulder as he looked down at his newborn daughter. She was perfectly made, a beautiful little girl with your delicate features, but he can see how she got his defined stripes.
Neteyam pressed his lips to your sweaty forehead, his hand resting over both you and the baby. “She is perfect and strong, baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking with an endless devotion. “Just like her mother.”
SYNOPSIS! when a split mission leaves you waiting in an empty penthouse past midnight, the silence begins to taste like jealousy
PAIRINGS: sylus x non!mc reader
WARNINGS! MINORS DNI!
Part 2 of BOUND, but can be read as a stand alone, jealousy, rough kissing, kissing involving blood, porn with plot, unprotected piv, thigh riding, fingering, wap and I mean it, oral!m recieving where she spits out his cum back on his dick and licks it, a lot of spit honestly, overstimulation, they switch, edging, teasing, I imagine reader as a femme fatale with abandonment issues, it's messy, fluids, lots of em, big dick sylus, mean sylus, multiple orgasms, he licks your panties spits on them and stuffs them in your mouth, bondage, manhandling, reader is mentioned to have long hair, kinda hate sex??? she pretends she doesn't want it, mentions of mc, he puts his regeneration at use, i'm also a zayne girl who doesn't know all sylus' lore, and probably more I forgot to mention
W.C: 7.7k
a/n: Hellooo! Well, it sure has been a while since I first posted Bound. I completely ran out of inspiration for the second part, and this isn't even close to what I originally had in mind, but I think it works! That being said, I am still thinking of turning this into a multi-part series if there’s a demand for it (which is honestly my sole motivation for writing, lmao). The only reason I'm considering it is because I have a lot of just pure filth left over for these two... Anyway, N821 here is heavily inspired by Prague, and I really wanted to incorporate a version of Sylus who isn't softened by MC. Also, the dialogue about the mission was completely written by my dear friend (hi Anika) because I have no idea how mafia missions work...!
It was late. Beyond late, the kind of hour where the dark ceases to be a shield and begins to feel like a countdown
Two hours had bled away since midnight, the precise deadline Sylus had given you to return with the shipment routes. Two hours since his last text had flashed across your screen: "I'm on my way." A terse response to your notification that you had successfully wrung the coordinates from the broker. The deal had come with a condition, of course, but a win was a win.
Now, you stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the most expensive penthouse in N821. Your skin was still radiating the residual heat of a hot shower, the heavy ivory silk of your robe trailing against your ankles as you knotted the belt around your waist.
N821 was a different kind of monster than N109
Where N109 was a chaotic, bleeding theater of crime, N821 was the same beast refined sleeker, heavily organized, masked in exorbitant wealth, and brutally cold
You closed your eyes, exhaling a slow, sharp breath through your nose. The frustration didn't leave you, it merely settled deeper into your chest. He was with her. That little hunter. The one he taunted. The one you had once discovered practically in his lap
Granted, during that particular encounter, she had a loaded barrel pressed flush against his sternum. And God, how Sylus had thrived on the bite of it. He didn't just tolerate her defiance; he fed on it.
Irrelevant, you reminded yourself, your jaw tightening. Your arrangement with the leader of Onychinus was built on concrete and blood, not sentiment
If there was closeness between you, it was found exclusively in the dark sharp, high friction intimacy utilized purely as stress relief. When two apex predators unite, you do not expect a love story. You expect an alliance
He desired you; that much was undeniable. You were a crown jewel in the underworld silently deadly, poised, and impossibly elegant. A trophy for a man who claimed to own the world
Not an ornament for him though. Never that. Sylus had little interest in fragile things
Yet, your eyes rarely deceived you. Every time he looked at the hunter, there was a faint, intolerable fondness in his gaze. It was childish to even note it, but the great, wanted criminal's eyes actually softened whenever he called her kitten
You despised the word. If he ever dared utter that nickname to you, you would ensure his next glass of wine was laced with cyanide.
Why did she get a title born of affection while you received a title born of strategy? With a quiet sigh, you stepped away from the glass to gather the paperwork scattered across the desk. Time was a luxury you didn't possess
The documents required your signature and a thorough review before they could be handed over to your dear husband by morning
Your dear, dear husband.
The man you swore you didn't crave. The man you swore you didn't miss. You swore it because it was the absolute truth. You were detached. It was the only state of being you had ever known
As the perfect daughter of a sprawling empire, love had never been factored into your record.
Neither had vulnerability
For someone who could afford everything the world had to offer, you couldn't afford a heart
You had never been in love. Intimacy itself was a foreign language until Sylus Qin. To this day, the irony of it brought a cold, humorless smile to your lips. Embarrassing, really, that a man so ruthless had been your introduction to the flesh.
Then again, he had set a incredibly high standard.
While other girls your age were experiencing the trivialities of teenage romance, you were busy learning how to strip a firearm in under ten seconds. You had spent your youth enduring grueling training sessions, followed by hours studying the art of high stakes negotiation under the suffocating, stern glare of your father
In your world, knowing how to distinguish which protocore dealer lied and which one merely inflated prices for survival was the key
But you knew how to hate. Sylus knew it, too, and he drew an infuriating amount of satisfaction from drawing that hatred to the surface
You sat in the plush, albeit uncomfortable, armchair, closing your eyes briefly to soothe the pulsing pressure building behind them. You forced yourself to reopen them, scanning the lines of text to highlight the clauses Sylus would inevitably want to contest.
Think of the devil
The heavy click of the penthouse door echoing through the foyer broke the silence. You didn't bother to lift your head. You were furious, and you had no intention of granting him the courtesy of an immediate greeting.
He called your name once. Then, as if tracking the scent of your irritation, his heavy footsteps moved towards the stufy where you were.
When he stepped into the light, he was a vision of controlled violence. His silver hair was damp, plastered slightly against his forehead from the storm outside. His clothes were dark with melted snow. His knuckles were split freshly cleaned, but faint traces of copper still stained the creases of his skin. A shallow, clean cut marred the high ridge of his cheekbone.
Yet, by the slow, deliberate grace of his stride, you could tell he was entirely unbothered. He looked utterly smug
You permitted yourself exactly one second to take in the sight of him. Then, with a fluid, dismissive motion, you tossed the files onto the marble coffee table. You swung your legs over the armrest of the chair, leaning back into the cushions with calculated laziness
Svlus stoned. He knew that nosture. He knew he was walking on razor thin ice
An amused brow arched upward, a familiar, infuriating smirk threatening to touch his lips before he smoothly schooled his expression. He slipped his damp coat from his shoulders, tossing it aside. Now, it was his turn to take you in
The silk robe had slipped, exposing the curve of one shoulder. Your long legs were draped carelessly over the velvet arm of the chair, and the ends of your hair were still dark with moisture. A vision. Perfect, dangerous, and entirely unimpressed.
"Read," you commanded
Your voice was a low, smooth blade. You didn't look at him as you spoke, your slender fingers wrapping instead around the stem of your champagne glass. You brought it to your lips, taking a slow, elegant sip
Sylus picked up the documents. His crimson eyes scanned between the lines, his expression entirely unmoved by the staggering demands written into the contract. It was the face of a man who found exactly what he expected.
You had done your job flawlessly. As always
"I assume it went well on your end as well" you murmured, boredom perfectly lacing your voice, though the underlying edge remained razor-cold. "Though if I were to critique, you are quite late. And we do have a time limit."
Sylus didn't look up from the pages immediately, flipping one over with a crisp, deliberate sound that echoed in the quiet room.
"Worry not, The twins handled it." he replied, his deep voice scraping pleasantly against the stillness
"it was supposed to be your job–"
"–The broker tried to alter the delivery terms at the eleventh hour," he murmured, tilting his head. The shallow cut on his cheek caught the amber light of the fire. "He brought a few extra bodies to enforce the new price. It took a moment to remind him of his place."
"Remind him of his place."
You set your champagne glass down on the marble table with a hollow, deliberate clink. Your eyes didn't track the movement; they remained locked on the neat, bloodless line across his cheekbone
"A clean cut for a back alley broker," you remarked, your tone smooth, devoid of the irritation simmering beneath your skin. "He must have exceptional aim. Or a very specific model of an Association-issued blade."
Sylus didn't blink. The corner of his mouth twitched. He tossed the folder onto the desk, the heavy paper settling with a dull thud
"The Association tried to intervene. They failed."
"And you let them walk away," you countered, sliding your legs off the armrest. You stood, the ivory silk parting slightly at your thigh as you crossed the room toward him. "You left the financing channel exposed. I noticed the omission before you walked in. It's a vulnerability, Sylus. My board will reject that transit exposure immediately."
You stopped a mere foot away from him. The scent of him, and the distinct, metallic tang of fresh blood rolled off him in waves, overpowering the scent of the in the room
"I don't tolerate sloppiness," you murmured, tilting your chin up to look him in the eyes. "Especially not when my family's name is masking your assets. If your little shadow play in N109 is bleeding into our territory, fix it."
Sylus stood his ground, a towering monolith of damp wool and dark intent. He didn't offer an excuse. He didn't even look at the paperwork you were weaponizing against him
Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, then traveled slowly down the exposed column of your throat to where the silk of your robe loosely met at your chest
"Sloppiness" he repeated, the word rolling out of his chest like low thunder. He took a single step forward, crowding your space until the heat radiating from his body began to melt the chill in your own. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"I call it what it is. A liability."
Sylus reached out. His split knuckles were rough against your skin as his thumb caught the underside of your jaw, forcing your head back a fraction of an inch. His touch was cold, a harsh contrast to the feverish warmth of your skin, but his grip was unyielding.
"You don't give a fuck about the southern transit line" he murmured softly.
"I care about our metrics"
"You care that she was there."
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
The amusement left his face, replaced by something entirely different. The smug, detached mask he usually wore around you cracked, revealing the dark, predatory focus underneath. His crimson eyes searched yours, not with the cold calculation of a business partner, but with the raw, heavy intensity of a man who had just found a crack in an unbreachable wall.
"Look at you," Sylus whispered, his deep voice dropping an octave, becoming rougher, more intimate. His thumb stroked the line of your jaw, the friction sending a sharp jolt straight down your spine. "Jealous." He leaned down, his breath ghosting over your lips
Your breath hitched a small fracture in your armor, but to a man like Sylus, it was a siren song.
"Don't flatter yourself," you hissed, your voice dropping to a dangerous, venomous whisper. You wrapped your hand around his wrist, trying to push him back. "I don't care who you entertain in your spare time. Just keep your goddamn pets out of my ledger."
Sylus didn't move an inch. If anything, your resistance only made his grip tighten, his fingers sliding from your jaw to wrap fully around the back of your neck, tilting your head up to fully meet his gaze. The coldness in his eyes was entirely gone. In its place was a dark, feral satisfaction that burned hot enough to scald
"will you say that again?" He asked, his lips brushing yours with every syllable, a torturous, high-friction promise.
You didn’t answer. You didn’t get the chance to
You tried to twist your face out of his grip, a sharp, dismissive jerk intended to re establish the boundary, but Sylus didn't let you breathe.
The moment your fingers tightened on his wrist to shove him back, he used his massive momentum to drive you backward
The small of your back hit the solid wall with a heavy thud. Nearby, the champagne glass you had set down wobbled, tipped, and shattered against the marble floor, the sharp crack of crystal completely swallowed by the sudden, suffocating proximity of his body
His hand shifted from your jaw, split-knuckled fingers tangling ruthlessly into the strands of your hair, tugging back until your neck arched, He used the leverage to feast on you completely without restraint. It was a violent, undisciplined wreck of a collision messy, desperate, and entirely devoid of the elegance you both prided yourselves on
He didn't give you a clean, strategic kiss. He didn't offer the practiced precision you both used to mask your intentions in public.
He bit you.
It was a bruising, desperate clash of teeth and lips that tasted immediately of the starved, mutual want you had both spent days denying. You let out a muffled, furious sound against his mouth a protest born purely of your refusal to break first and tried to wedge your forearm tightly between his chest and yours to force some distance.
Sylus didn't care. He pinned your arm flat against the wall, his thigh crowding ruthlessly between yours, the rough of his trousers parting the heavy silk of your robe.
The past four days of silence, of separate territories and calculated distance, boiled over in a single second.
It was unpolished. It was feral. The slick, wet sound of his tongue sliding against yours filled the quiet room, deep and demanding, dragging the air straight out of your lungs until your chest heaved uselessly against his.
You tried to bite him back, to hurt him, to remind him of the danger of crowding an apex predator, and your teeth caught his lower lip, drawing a fresh bead of dark blood.
Sylus groaned into your mouth, He thrived on the high friction of your resistance.
He pulled back for a fraction of a second, just enough for a thin, silver string of spit to break between your swollen lips. His eyes were entirely blown out, the right crimson of his iris practically glowing in the shadows of the room, dark with a terrifyingly possession. He looked like a beast that had finally been given permission to tear its cage apart.
"My, my, is my sweet wife finally showing her teeth?" he murmured against your lips, his voice a ruined, breathless rasp as his mouth left yours for a single second to track a wet, heavy path down your jawline.
"Move." you gasped, your fingers clawing deep into the fabric of his shoulders, though your nails dug in so hard you were actively pulling him closer, betraying the very lie you were telling. "Sylus–"
He didn't let you finish.
Our blood. Our slick, hot saliva,
It mingled into a chaotic, violent smear between your mouths as he devoured your protest.
The grip on your hair tightened, tugging hard enough to make you gasp before he buried his tongue back into your mouth, deeper this time, swallowing your breath whole. It was a suffocating, borderline foul display spit slicking your chin, the metallic taste of his torn skin smearing between you, while his large, calloused hand slid inside the parted silk of your robe to grip the bare skin of your hip with a bruising force that would absolutely leave a mark by morning.
You hated how easily he broke your composure. You hated that you had spent days pretending his absence didn't claw at the inside of your ribs, only for him to wreck your perfect armor in a matter of sentences.
Sylus broke the kiss, His forehead rested heavily against yours, his chest rising and falling in violent, uneven synchronization with your own
"Say it again," he rumbled, his thumb dragging across your wet lower lip, smearing the crimson stain. "Tell me you don't care who I keep in my spare time while you're choking on me."
"You're a bastard," you whispered, your voice shaking with a dangerous mixture of fury and unadulterated arousal, your hips twitching helplessly against the heavy, solid weight of his thigh pressed between yours
"Yours," he growled against your skin, a dark, stolen vow before his lips curled into that insufferable smirk
His mouth descended on your throat with feral hunger, biting and sucking the sensitive skin until a deep bruise began to bloom while his thigh anchored firmly between your legs, the sudden, blunt friction wrung a sharp, fractured sob from your lips
It was humiliating the immediate, pathetic rush of your own juices instantly soaking through the lace panel of your underwear. Your logical mind screamed to fight, but your body, instinctively chased the bruising pressure. You rolled your hips against his leg, a desperate, rolling twitch to catch the edge of relief.
But Sylus had no patience left tonight. His large, rough palms slid beneath the hem of your slip, scraping up, up, up, the bare skin of your thighs, your hips, trailing a path of fire. His hands found your chest, fingers roughly squeezing the tight, aching weight of your breasts, his thumbs snapping against your nipples without a shred of shame
"Need I remind you sweetie," he rasped, pausing only to sink his teeth into the junction of your shoulder, biting hard enough to draw the metallic taste of blood. "She is not the one who wears my name."
Not the woman he loves, but the woman in his bed. or at least that's how it sounded to you.
The bitter thought tasted like ash, but the fire between your thighs was blinding. Lured into his trap, your hips moved once again against his leg practically begging for the friction
Sylus let out a low, rumbling growl of pure triumph. Before you could reclaim your breath, his hands locked around your waist. With terrifying, fluid ease, he hoisted you onto his broad shoulder.
"What are you–"
The words were knocked out of you as he manhandled you across the penthouse, his brute strength on effortless display. You hung like a prized, captive trophy, until he threw you face down onto the mattress.
Your face pressed into the plush bedding, your breath hitching. Before you could scramble to your elbows, heavy, crackling energy flooded the space. Black-and-crimson mist bled from his fingertips, weaving through the air like liquid iron before snapping tight around your wrists.
The heavy pressure of his evol pinned your hands behind your back, completely unyielding.
"This won't solve anything, Qin," you hissed, turning your head to glare at him with venomous, hatred
But the threat died on your lips. In the dim amber light of the room, you were utterly exposed. Your silk slip had ridden up to your waist, baring the flush, plush curve of your ass and the perfect, arch of your spine. You looked like a feline caught in a trap, beautifully undone.
And fuck did Sylus adore the sight.
"It will," he murmured.
He stepped closer, his long fingers trailing down the small of your back before he leaned down to press a hot, mocking kiss against your lower spine.
His hand hooked into the lace of your underwear, pulling the material taut.
Even without looking, you could picture the sick, smug satisfaction written across his features. The panties were heavily damp, soaked through with the visible, glistening evidence of how badly you wanted him
Frustration and arousal coiled tight in your gut. You tugged uselessly against the heavy weight of bound hands "Uncuff me. This is fucking stupid! You can't just–"
"Can't?"
The word cut through your protest, smooth, amused, and dripping with absolute authority. He didn't care about your rules. With a swift, deft motion, his fingers hooked the damp lace, stripping it from your hips and leaving your dripping, swollen slit completely bare to the room
Before you could even process the movement, he brought the ruined lace to his mouth, licking and savouring the slick on it before letting saliva gather and spat on the same place he sucked, his large, calloused fingers ruthlessly stuffed the wet, panties into your open mouth after, forcing it past your teeth and cutting off your scream
Your eyes widened in absolute shock. The sheer audacity of it, the profound humiliation of being gagged by your own soaked underwear, sent a paralyzing jolt straight down your spine. You had never felt this helpless.
This desperate.
"Ah. Still trying to fight?" Sylus whispered, his lips curving into a dark, wicked smile as he looked down at your exposed, dripping heat. "Cute."
He reached down between your thighs. A heavy, viscous pearl of your own wetness was clinging desperately to your pussy, hanging from your swollen outer lips. With agonizing slowness, he used his thumb to catch the drop, breaking it and smearing the slick heat upward, coating your sensitive clit with your own fluids until you were covered in your essence
A muffled, strangled sob caught in the back of your throat, completely swallowed by the silk in your mouth as your inner thighs trembled
And Sylus thrived on the sound. With a deliberate, forceful shove, he buried two thick, rough fingers straight into your tight hole. The contrast was intoxicating, the feverish pulsating warmth of your walls instantly clamped down, desperately squeezing the cold, length of his fingers.
"Look at how wet you are," he rumbled, his voice a ruined, gravelly rasp as he began to pump his fingers inside you, driving them deep, stretching you open with a crude, slow pace. "...don't get the wrong idea, I'm not trying to mock you."" and you swore he almost sounded amused, but you couldn't focus
How could you, when the wet, squelching sound of his fingers sliding in and out of your pussy filled the quiet room. You were completely dripping, your juices running down his hand and pooling onto the dark sheets beneath you as he used his thumb to viciously hook and rub against your swollen clit with every deep thrust, driving you toward a blind, desperate peak while you lay pinned and gagged
Breathless and whining is what you were, one of the most important board pieces in N019 reduced to this, and you knew this was not even close to it all.
You could feel it. just beneath the shadow of your straining hips, you could feel the thick, rigid length of his cock pressing hard against your thigh
Impending fucking doom it was.
He gave your ass a taunting squeeze, his large hand bruising the plush flesh before he finally pulled away.
The agonizing loss of his touch was immediately replaced by a different kind of torture. The slick, wet sound of his fingers inside you was gone, replaced by the harsh, metallic rasp of a zipper parting, followed by the slide of his boxers.
Pinned face down, your view was restricted, but you didn't need to see it to know what was happening. Peering over your shoulder, you caught a dizzying glimpse of his toned, sculpted stomach, and the thick, unyielding length of his cock standing proud against it. A viscous bead of precum already glistened at the blunt tip.
You watched his large, scarred hand wrap around his own girth, pumping twice in a slow, deliberate stroke before he aligned himself behind you
He slid upward, but he didn't push inside.
Instead, he wedged the broad, mushroomed head of his cock perfectly against your swollen clit. His fingers gripped the base of his shaft, holding himself firmly in place while he ground against your clit. Your own slick juices immediately coated him, the wetness running down his heavy length with every agonizingly shallow slide
He was teasing you. He was actively refusing to give you the ruinous relief of his cock stretching you wide, denying you the fullness you could feel aching in your gut. No matter how many times you fucked, taking Sylus Qin was a chore, because the universe was cruel enough to give the man a dick as impossibly big as his ego.
You whined, a fractured, pathetic sound, rolling your hips back in a desperate attempt to sink onto him, to soothe the need boiling in your blood
"Relax, wife," he drawled, his voice a low, teasing vibration as he delivered another shallow, grinding thrust that sent a shower of sparks straight to your stomach. "You'll get what you want."
The heavy palm of his hand flattened against your lower back, pressing you down as his cock remained glued to your dripping slit. "Today. Tomorrow." He leaned down, pressing a hot, open mouthed kiss to your trembling shoulder. "Over and over again, until you tire of me."
He pressed one final, bruising kiss to your skin, and then, the heavy, crackling weight of his evol vanished.
The sudden release of pressure made your arms give out, your chest hitting the mattress, but Sylus didn't let you rest. His massive hands gripped your waist, and in one fluid, effortless motion, he flipped you onto your back.
And fuck, was it a sight.
You were beyond divine. Your usually immaculate hair was a wild, tangled mess. Your cheeks were flushed a feverish, beautiful crimson, and tears of absolute frustration pooled in your waterlines. Your lips were swollen and thoroughly wrecked, while between your parted thighs, your dripping, perfectly ruined pussy was fully on display.
Sylus literally choked on a breath.
There was a reason you were hailed as the most beautiful, dangerous woman in the underworld. Everyone else only ever saw you armored in million dollar gowns and a blood chilling smile. No one on earth would ever get to see you like this. Reduced to a beautiful, panting wreck.
His. Entirely his.
But while he was busy staring at you with open, starving reverence, you were absolutely furious. You reached up, ripping the soaked lace panties from your mouth and hurling them directly at his sculpted chest.
It only angered you further when his lips curled into a wicked, devastating grin.
Your chest heaved. Despite your fury, your body betrayed you, throbbing violently at the sight of him caging you in, looking like a greek god, taking in his physique
But the ache wasn't enough to dull your pride.
You needed revenge.
You surged upward, your hands shooting out to fist violently in the short, silver locks at the nape of his neck. You yanked him down, crashing your lips against his in a brutal, bruising kiss.
Sylus groaned into your mouth, a deep, guttural sound of approval. His body automatically chased the closeness, climbing over you to press his heavy weight down.
The second he did, your long legs instantly wrapped around his waist, locking tightly at the small of his back.
You squeezed your thighs, pressing right against the base of his rigid cock, wringing a sharp grunt from his throat. Using the leverage, you rolled your hips
The world tilted, and the next thing Sylus knew, his back hit the mattress, and you were straddling his hips.
You sat up, looking down at him with the cold, authoritative superiority.
"You've played enough," you murmured, your voice a smooth, dangerous blade. "So now, keep your hands flat on the mattress, Qin. If you even think about touching me before I give you permission, I swear to god I’ll leave you exactly like this."
His crimson eyes glistened with dark, feral amusement. It was a bluff. You knew it, he knew it. Sex between the two of you was like breathing; neither of you would ever actually stop. But Sylus loved this game just as much as you did
Slowly, he raised both hands in mock surrender, letting them fall flat against the dark sheets.
He watched, thoroughly trapped, as you reached down and slowly pulled the ruined silk slip over your head, tossing it aside. His eyes darkened, locking hungrily onto your perfect breasts, his jaw ticking with the desperate urge to bite, to taste, to ruin
But you kept yourself deliberately out of reach. You leaned down, taking his lower lip between your teeth for a sharp, stinging bite before dragging your open mouth down the strong column of his throat. You painted his skin with hot, wet stripes of your tongue, trailing down his collarbones, over the hard planes of his chest, and tracing the sharp, dangerous V-line that disappeared beneath his waist.
His breath hitched, his abdominal muscles jumping under your mouth.
Then, your slender fingers wrapped around his impossibly thick cock. You felt him flinch, a full body shudder ripping through him as you leaned down and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss directly to his weeping tip.
You were going to make him beg.
You flicked your tongue out, catching the thick bead of his precum, tasting the hot, salty tang of his arousal. You were aching, sticky, and dripping wet because of him, and it was time he felt that exact same desperation.
Sylus let out a sharp, ragged exhale as you parted your lips. Maintaining absolute, unblinking eye contact with him, you slowly sank down onto his crown with your mouth.
Fuck.
You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. Taking his entire length was physically impossible, but you took as much as your throat would allow, your hands ruthlessly wrapping around the thick, heavy base to pump the rest.
His hands twitched violently against the sheets. His fingers curled into fists, fighting the agonizing urge to grab fistfuls of your hair not to force you down, but to drag you up and kiss you. He needed to be inside you. He needed to feel you whole. Watching you worship him like this made you look like a filthy deity.
The visceral, wet sounds of your mouth sucking and slopping against his heavy flesh echoed in the quiet room. You gagged softly, choking once as he unconsciously bucked his hips upward, driving himself deeper into your throat.
You could taste the shift in his pulse. You knew he was close.
So, right as his hips snapped up, chasing the final, blinding high of his climax you pulled off completely.
The sudden rush of cold air hitting his slick, painfully hard cock made him freeze. He stared up at you blankly for a fraction of a second, chest heaving, before a rich, breathless laugh tore from his throat. He was left entirely high and dry, his eyes burning with a dangerous fire.
"Give me one good reason," Sylus rasped, his voice rough as gravel, "why I shouldn't flip you over right now and show you exactly what you just did."
You hummed, entirely unimpressed. "You could," you whispered, leaning down to drag your tongue up the underside of his shaft. "But you won't."
Before he could argue, you wrapped your lips tightly around him again, taking him agonizingly deep. A single tear escaped your lash line from the sheer, suffocating size of him, a thick string of spit and precum dripping down your chin to smear over his skin.
Sylus couldn't hold back anymore. Breaking your rule, his large hand shot up, tangling ruthlessly into your hair to guide your head, his hips bucking up in short, desperate thrusts to chase the edge.
With a deep, guttural groan, he shattered.
Hot, thick, salty liquid erupted into the back of your throat. You whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment at the overwhelming taste and volume of it.
But you didn't swallow.
You pulled back slowly, parting your swollen lips. Sylus watched you, his pupils blown wide, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Your hand remained wrapped firmly around the base of his twitching cock
Maintaining eye contact, you let his thick, pearlescent cum spill from your mouth.
It was absolute, exquisite filth. The heavy white fluid fell in thick droplets, landing directly onto his still erect cock, sliding down the slick, inflamed veins.
It was disgusting. It was perfect.
Sylus was utterly mesmerized, trapped in a state of primal shock as he watched his own seed run down his length. But it was infinitely worse when you leaned back down.
With slow, deliberate strokes, you stuck your tongue out and began to lick him clean.
You chased the hot rivulets of sperm up and down his shaft, swallowing every last drop of the filthy mess you had made.
You sat back on your heels, wiping a stray drop of sperm from your lower lip with the back of your hand, a triumphant, wicked gleam in your eyes.
He was broken. You had taken the king of N019 and reduced him ruined mess beneath you
Or so you thought.
The heavy, suffocating shift in the room's atmosphere was your only warning.
Sylus’s chest was still heaving, the silver strands of his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, but the hazy, blown out look in his crimson eyes was already sharpening.
The dark, look in his eyes returned, instantly wiping away any illusion that you were the one in control.
A low, vibrating sound started deep in his chest.
"Beautiful," he rasped, his voice a dark, gravelly purr that was breathless and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. "You played your hand well."
Before you could even register the sudden flex of his muscles, his hands lashed out
His massive palms clamped around your waist like iron vises. With a violent, he flipped you. Slammed into the mattress, the heavy, unyielding weight of his body instantly crashing down to cage you in
He didn't give you a second to recover. His hands caught your wrists, pinning them squarely above your head with just one of his massive hands.
"But the house," he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending a violent shiver down your spine, "always wins."
He shifted his weight, his knee driving ruthlessly between your thighs to force your legs impossibly wide. Even after his climax, he hadn't softened. If anything, he was harder, the thick, rigid length of his cock pressing hot and demanding against your soaking wet entrance.
His regeneration worked in more ways than one.
Your breath stuttered. The adrenaline of your revenge was instantly swallowed by the immediate, reality of what was about to happen.
"Sylus–"
"Shh," he commanded softly, silencing you not with cruelty, but with an agonizing, possessive intensity.
His free hand slid down your torso, his calloused fingers tracing your stomach before slipping between your thighs.
He didn't bother waiting anymore. You were already dripping, completely melted down for him, your slick fluids pooling against his fingers as he guided his thick, blunt head squarely against your opening.
He locked his crimson eyes onto yours, demanding you watch him. Demanding you feel every single agonizing second of your surrender.
And then, he pushed.
A sharp, fractured cry tore from your throat. Despite how wet you were, taking him was a visceral, shock to your system. He was too thick, too unyielding, stretching you wide open with a blunt, heavy pressure that sent a blinding flash of white hot pleasure straight to your brain
Your nails dug violently into the back of his hand where he held your wrists. "Fuck–wait, wait–"
"I’m done waiting," he growled, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he forced himself deeper, inch by excruciating inch. "You wanted to play the tyrant? Take it."
He didn't slam into you. He knew exactly what he was doing, driving himself inside with a slow, relentless, torturous pace that forced your body to accommodate every single millimeter of his girth. The friction was maddening
You could feel the distinct, heavy throb of his pulse buried deep inside your walls, stretching you until you felt completely, utterly full.
When he finally bottomed out, his hips snapping flush against yours with a heavy, wet slap, your back bowed off the mattress
You were completely lost to him. The meticulous, flawless daughter of a syndicate empire, reduced to a trembling, mewling mess, completely ruined by her husband.
Sylus let out a long, ragged exhale, burying his face in the crook of your neck. For a few seconds, he just held you there, letting your body adjust to the staggering invasion, reveling in the feverish, desperate way your inner walls clamped down around him, milking him
"Mine," he breathed against your skin
the word tasting like a vow and a curse.
Then, he began to move
He pulled back almost completely, the slow drag of his length nearly drawing a sob from your lips before he drove his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt with a heavy, concussive thud.
The rhythm he set was ruthless. It wasn't the frantic, desperate fucking of amateurs; it was the measured, devastatingly powerful pace of a man who intended to wring every drop of sanity from your mind.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding echoed off the marble walls of the penthouse. With every deep, grinding thrust, he deliberately angled his hips, ensuring the thick ridge of his cock dragged ruthlessly against your swollen clit.
Your mind shattered.
"Sylus" you sobbed, the name tearing from you in a broken, high pitched plea that you would have killed anyone else for hearing. Your legs instinctively wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper, desperately chasing the blinding high.
"Hush now," he mocked, though his voice was thick with his own desperation, his breathing turning ragged as he pounded into you. He finally released your wrists, only to slide his hands under your shoulders, lifting you up so your chest was crushed against his. "Where is all that anger now, sweetie? Where is the woman who was going to walk out on me?"
"Shut up" you gasped, biting down hard on his shoulder to ground yourself against the overwhelming onslaught of pleasure.
He hooked his arms under your knees, folding your legs back toward your chest, exposing you completely. The new angle drove him impossibly deeper, the nerves of your clit so exquisitely sensitive that your vision literally whited out.
And as the suffocating, brilliant wave of your climax began to crest, snapping your muscles tight around his cock in violent, pulsating waves, Sylus let out a guttural moan, driving deep inside you one final, devastating time to meet you in the dark
...
The silence that crashed back into the penthouse was deafening, filled only by the ragged, synchronized cadence of your mixed breathing.
His palms, rough and heavily calloused, framed your jaw with a sudden, grounding warmth. Sylus looked down at you, his crimson eyes were completely blown, dark with an unreadable, heavy emotion as he leaned down to share the very air between your lips, sealing your surrender with one final, bruising kiss
Your fingers tangled into the short, silver locks at the nape of his neck. You pulled him down tightly against you, anchoring yourself to his massive chest. Heartbeat against heartbeat, you closed your eyes and focused on the heavy rise and fall of his torso, desperately trying to piece your fractured composure back together.
"If you ever use your evol to bind me like that again, Qin," you whispered against his mouth, your voice a breathy, thin threat, "I will have your head"
A low, rumbling vibration started deep in his chest, breaking into a breathless, genuine laugh that brushed hot against your collarbone. "Is that a promise, my dear? I'd say you are not in the position to threaten me right now"
He nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck before his large hands slid beneath your thighs. With a fluid, effortless roll, he shifted your limp body directly on top of him. He stayed buried deep inside you, a heavy, unyielding anchor as the sticky, cooling residuals of your shared cum smeared between your skin.
You completely melted, turning to absolute putty against the hard planes of his chest. His broad palms traced slow, soothing patterns up and down your bare spine, but the gesture did little to cure the boneless, trembling exhaustion holding you hostage. You were entirely unable to function
Sylus stared up at the ceiling, his jaw tightening. He wanted to say something. He wanted to offer a rare, uncharacteristic reassurance, to tell you that while he thrived on the fire of your jealousy, there was absolutely no one else
But the words remained trapped in his throat. Did you even want to hear that?
Absolute, non negotiable loyalty had been the bedrock of this arrangement for a full year now. It was a cruel twist of fate, the invisible threads of his life were bound to a different woman yet the only woman who truly mastered him was currently draped across his chest.
His wife.
He looked down at your tangled hair, unable to fully articulate the staggering weight of what you actually meant to him. It was a terrifying admission, but you had completely rewritten his parameters. Every cold smile, every sharp word, every calculation you made left him utterly mesmerized. Without ever demanding it, you had him wrapped entirely around your fingers
"I should get you cleaned up," he finally rasped, his deep voice scraping pleasantly against the quiet room.
A faint, stubborn hum of disapproval escaped your lips. Beneath the sheets, your exhausted inner walls involuntarily clamped tight around his half hard length, wringing a low, strained groan from his throat. A dark, amused smile touched his lips at your defiance. He leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your heated forehead.
You were already slipping, the heavy pull of exhaustion dragging you over the brink of sleep, but the syndicate princess refused to let the business fade. Without opening your eyes, you murmured your final, drowsy command into the crook of his neck:
Context: Reader returns back in time before Neteyam hurt her to the point of oblivion. In the past, the reader pines over Neteyam and does everything for him, only to find out he likes someone else and gets hurt. Now, knowing what will happen, she tries to move away from Neteyam — but fate is cruel and keeps pairing them together. Will this love hit or will it be another miss?
Author: I've been thinking of creating this type of story but forgot at someone point. So basically here neteyam hurts reader so much, reader dies while fighting because in their perspective fate is cruel. And then when they opened their eyes, the turned back in time, back before she liked him. So around age 12.
Past:
There is an old saying among the Omatikaya — that Eywa does not give more love than the heart can hold. The tsaheylu, the bond, the sacred thread between all living things. I used to believe that. You used to think it was the most beautiful truth on all of Pandora.
Now I think it is the cruelest lie ever spoken into the roots of Kelutral.Because what Eywa never warned me about was this: you could give and give and give until there was nothing left — until the hollow of your chest became an echo chamber — and still, still, the one you had given everything to would look right through you.
They called us the Wonder Twins.
Neteyam and you. You and Neteyam. Two names that had been tangled together since childhood, since the day he had pulled you out of the river current when you were both too small and too reckless, since the day you had thrown yourself between him and a palulukan with nothing but a sharpened stick and the most foolish courage the forest had ever seen. You had saved each other. You had been each other's uturu — shelter, shadow, safe place. That was what you told yourself. That was the story you wore like a second skin.
The others had a different name for it. They called you master and dog. And you, idiot that you were, let that name sit in the air like smoke, never sharp enough to cut through it, because Neteyam — beautiful, beloved Neteyam — never said a word against it. Never once.
You saw the red flag. You saw it clearly, the way you see a ikran circling before a storm. You saw it and you smiled and you looked the other way, because that is what people do when love has made a fool of them. You put on your rose-tinted glasses and you called it loyalty and you called it friendship and you refused — absolutely refused — to call it what it was.
"You loved him. Quietly. Completely. The way the forest loves rain — desperately, even when the rain does not notice the forest at all."
Everyone knew. Every Omatikaya who glanced your way, every child who saw you trail after Neteyam with his forgotten water skin or his mended bow, every elder who watched you laugh too loudly at his jokes and go quiet when another girl spoke his name. Everyone knew.
Everyone except him. Or perhaps that, too, was a lie you told yourself.
It was your friendversary — the word was ridiculous, you had invented it at twelve years old and now at seventeen it still stuck, the way all embarrassing traditions stick. Every year on this day, without fail: a picnic at the ridge overlooking the bioluminescent valley, the one that glowed violet and gold at dusk. Every year you brought the food. Every year he brought the stories. Every year the two of you stayed until Pandora's sky turned the color of Eywa's light and you almost, almost said what was sitting like a stone behind your teeth.
You had spent three days preparing this one.
Three days gathering hamgukxo fruit, smoking the meat the way he liked it, weaving a small mat from pxorna' leaves the way your mother had taught you. You had even braided small blue atokirina' seeds into the wrapping — seeds of Eywa, for luck, for meaning, for all the things you could not say out loud.
You waited at the ridge. You waited as the sky shifted from gold to violet. You waited as the valley below erupted into its nightly glow, a thousand lights beneath you like stars had fallen and decided to stay.
You waited until it was night. He was not coming. The walk back through the forest was the loneliest thing you had ever done. You held the basket against your chest like it was something broken. The atokirina' seeds had already begun to lose their glow, the way all hopeful things do when the moment passes.
And then you heard it. Laughter. His laughter — that easy, open sound, the one you had memorized without meaning to, the one that had lived rent-free in the center of your chest for years. You turned, and there he was at the edge of the village path, standing beneath a low-hanging branch strung with communal lights, and he was glowing with it, with whatever was being said, with whoever was saying it.
She was beautiful. Of course she was. Tall, with the kind of stillness that made her look carved from the Kelutral itself. Her name was Säre, and she was everything delicate and lovely, and she was looking at Neteyam like he was something worth looking at.
And he — he was looking back. Something in you went very quiet. Then something else took over, something hot and blinding and entirely outside of your control, because before you had finished the thought you were already moving, already crossing the distance between you in long strides, and then your hand had connected with his shoulder in a sharp slap — not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to mean something.
You ghosted me.
My voice came out strange. Too flat. Too careful. I could feel the tears threatening at the back of my throat, which only made me angrier, because i refused — i refused — to cry in front of Säre, in front of anyone, in front of him.
Neteyam blinked. The easy smile faltered. He looked at me, then at the basket still clutched to my chest, and you watched the moment of recognition cross his face — slow, sluggish, arriving the way all inconvenient things arrive, far too late.
_____. I — irayo, I'm sorry, I forgot, I was busy show—
Busy.
The word fell out of my mouth like something dead.
You were busy. On our friendversary. You forgot. After three days — Neteyam, I spent three days on this — I was up there for hours. I sat on that ridge until the whole valley lit up and there was nobody there. There was nobody there and I sat there like a skxawng waiting for you —
My voice cracked on the last word. I hated it. I hated myself f for it. I pressed on.
I said I was sorry — it wasn't intentional, things just came up, time got away from me, Säre needed someone to show her the east trails and I was the closest —
She needed someone. And I needed my friend. And you chose —
It's not a competition, _____, you're being dramatic —
Dramatic. I'm being dramatic. Right. Because sitting alone on a cliff for four hours waiting for someone who didn't care enough to send even a word — not a word, Neteyam, not a runner, nothing — that's dramatic.
You could have left! No one forced you to wait!
You did. You and five years of this thing we built, this stupid, wonderful thing, this —
I stopped. I pressed my mouth shut. Because i was about to say it. I were about to say the words that had been living at the back of my teeth for years and the timing was wrong, everything was wrong, Säre was right there watching with wide careful eyes and i was shaking and i hated all of it.
This what? What are you even saying? You act like missing one afternoon is the end of the world —
It's not just one afternoon and you know that. It's been — it's every time, Neteyam. Every time something shinier comes along, I'm the one left standing in the rain. I'm always the one left standing.
A beat. He looked at me. Something shifted in his expression — something that might have been guilt, might have been pity, might have been something else entirely — and whatever it was, it made it worse.
_____ — you're my friend. But you can't — you can't act like you have some claim on all of my time. That's not what this is. That's not what we are.
I know exactly what we are. I've always known what we are.
Then act like it! Because right now you're acting like — like you think this is something else. Like you think I owe you something, i don't owe you anything because we are just friends, we aren't lovers, i am not yours, and I don't, _____, I don't owe you —
Don't.
What do you want from me? What is it that you actually want? Because you're standing here crying over a picnic and it's more than a picnic, I can see that, so what is it? What are you not saying? Do you not trust me? is that it?!
The silence between was enormous. It had weight. It had texture. It was the kind of silence that precedes something irreversible — the held breath before the wave breaks, before the arrow leaves the bow, before the world splits cleanly into before and after. I looked at him. Really looked. At the face i had memorized so thoroughly it lived behind my eyes, at the boy i had woven into every daydream for years, at the person who had somehow never once, not once, turned that same careful attention back toward you.
And then i told him. Not in words. i didn't have to. It was in my face, in the way my composure finally cracked, in the way i couldn't hold his gaze without everything showing. And Neteyam — Neteyam who was perceptive, Neteyam who read people like maps — Neteyam understood. And the thing that broke me was not cruelty. It was not anger. It was the way his face went careful and distant, the way i had watched him put a wall up brick by brick right in front of me.
_____. I don't — I don't feel that way about you. I never have. You're my tsmuke. My sister in everything but blood. That's what you are to me. That's what you've always been. You are my closest friend and i would do everything for you. But that's about it.
Sister. Sister.
And if you've been carrying this, then — then I'm sorry. I truly am. But I think you know, somewhere, that this was never going to be — I mean — look at you and look at me, _____. It's not like you're my — it's not like you could ever be my —
Stop.
I'm trying to be honest with you —
You're trying to make yourself feel better about saying something horrible. You know what? Don't. I understand. Loud and clear. I've understood for a long time.
_____ —
You know what they call me? When you're not around? When you're off showing Säre the east trails and forgetting about your tsmuke? They call me your dog. And the worst part — the worst part — is that they weren't wrong. I was just too stupid to see....
That's not fair —
None of this is fair! None of it! I have been there for you, Neteyam. Every single time. I carried you when you were sick, I covered for you when you were in trouble, I sat on that ridge tonight with Eywa-blessed food and seeds in the wrapping because I care about you, I have always cared about you, and you stood me up for someone you met three weeks ago —
That is not what happened —
Then what happened? Because from where I'm standing, it looks very simple. I matter less. I have always mattered less. And I just —
My voice gave out. I pressed the heel of my hand against my mouth. I would not cry. I would not.
_____, listen to me, you're upset, you're not thinking —
I am the clearest I have been in years.
You're being irrational. I said I was sorry. What more do you want me to say? It's not like you're my girlfriend, _____. It's not like that would ever happen. I would never like you that way. I need you to understand that.
There it was. Clean and simple and final, the way only the truest wounds are. I would never like you that way.
I stood there for a moment, and the night sounds of Pandora continued around me — the soft bioluminescent hum of the ground, the distant call of something in the canopy, the world in its indifferent, beautiful fullness — and i felt it, the thing i had been holding together for years, crumble. Not with sound. Not with drama. Just quietly, like a structure finally admitting the damage that had always been there.
Kehe. I understand.
And then i walked away. And i kept walking.
The raid came before dawn. The sky-people and their machines, cutting through Pandora's atmosphere like blades through cloth, the sounds of ikran screaming and the crack of weapons fire and the voices of the clan rising in the old war-cry. I had been awake already — I had not slept — and when the alarm went through the village like a pulse through a root, I were already moving toward the weapons without thinking.
I had always been a good fighter. That, at least, had never been in question. The warrior who handed me myrbow did not look at my face. Just as well. I wasn't sure what was on it.
There is a kind of liberation in caring nothing for your own life. I moved through the battle like water — easy, inevitable, completely without fear.
I fought. I fought with everything I had, which was considerable, and I fought with nothing to lose, which made me dangerous. Around me, the Omatikaya were holding their own. I heard Neteyam's voice somewhere to my left calling orders, that same voice that had hours ago dismantled me piece by piece, and something in my chest went cold and clean.
I had stopped caring whether i came back from this. It was not a decision. It was an absence — the absence of the self-preservation that has to be fed by something worth preserving for. I stepped forward when others stepped back. I drew fire to myself when cover was needed. The machine — the hydraulic gun, ugly and enormous — swung toward me, and i watched it come, and thought, with perfect clarity: So this is how Eywa ends it.
I heard someone shout my name. Maybe Neteyam. Maybe no one. The sound was already very far away. The shot took in the chest.
The world went white. Then dark. Then the sensation of falling, not forward but inward, down through some impossible distance, through the whole weight of my body — through the love and the grief and the waiting and the wasted seeds in the picnic basket — and Eywa's network received me in its roots the way the earth receives everything in the end: without judgment, without hesitation, completely.
I thought, last of all: at least it's quiet now.
Then i opened your eyes. The light was wrong. Too soft. Too gold. Morning on Pandora, the particular color of it when the canopy is still thick and young and the whole world smells of wet earth and growing things. My hands — i looked at my hands — they were smaller.
The scar on my left forearm from the palulukan incident was gone. I sat up slowly, in a sleeping space you recognized. Your sleeping space, at twelve, before the family moved to the main side of the village. The sounds around me were the sounds of morning, of the clan waking, of children and adults and the distant rhythm of life.
I pressed my hand flat over my heart. It was beating. Steady and persistent and cruel in its continuity. Eywa.
I closed my eyes.
I knew exactly where i was. I knew exactly when. I knew what was ahead — the years of it, the long slow accumulation of a love that would eat me from the inside and leave me standing on a ridge alone in the dark — and i thought, with the bone-deep exhaustion of someone who has already lived through the ending: Not again.
But the morning was already moving. Pandora was already turning. Somewhere out there, twelve-year-old Neteyam was waking up with no idea what he had done, because he hadn't done it yet, and Eywa — Eywa who is supposed to be the mother of all things, who is supposed to balance and hold and sustain — had sent you back anyway. Perhaps as punishment. Perhaps as mercy. Perhaps, most unbearably, as a second chance.
I opened your eyes. I swung your legs over the side of the sleeping place .I pressed your feet against the warm living floor of the Kelutral and breathed. This time, will be different.
The village was waking up around me. Somewhere nearby, a familiar laugh rang out — easy and bright and completely unknowing, the laugh of a boy who had not yet learned what he would do to you, because in this timeline, he had not done it yet. I stood up. I did not look toward the sound. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime — and was, in all the ways that mattered — I looked the other way.
Hi this is not the end, Part 2 will be out,and for those who asked for me to add the in my taglist i'm sorry i don't know how to do that. anayw
satoru being the lightweight he is, can’t help drunkenly confessing to you ( ,,>︿ \ )
the night starts easy, your little friend group decided to crash at your place for a few drinks, so now it’s just the four of you sprawled around your floor, drinks in hand.
shoko is already half-lidded, watching everything like it’s mildly entertaining at best, while suguru seems to be holding his liquor the best.
you barely touched your drink, and satoru— yeah, he’s gone.
not completely, but enough that his words are starting to blur together.
“y’know what,” suguru starts, voice smooth. “it’s kinda weird, satoru. you’re so popular, and still no girlfriend.”
shoko snorts.
satoru frowns immediately, blinking a little too slow.
“i— i could have one,” he insists, words already slipping. “i jus’ don’t wanna.”
you tilt your head, teasing, “oh? so it’s a choice now?”
“yeah,” he says, nodding too hard. “my choice. mine. totally.”
“convincing,” you mumble into your drink.
“i’m busy,” satoru adds quickly, like he needs to prove something. “m’too busy for that… that stuff. relationships and— and whatever.”
“riight,” you say lightly, though your eyes linger on him a second longer.
he should’ve stopped there, but being as drunk as he currently is, he doesn’t.
because his head tips back, and he laughs under his breath, all loose and unguarded, and then—
“there is someone,” he mutters.
suguru’s interest sharpens instantly. “oh?”
“wait— seriously?” you glance at satoru.
“but it’s— it’s not like that,” he says, waving his drink a little carelessly. “can’t be. i can’t— i can’t give her… all that. the… the things she needs. ‘s too much.”
your teasing fades just a little. “that’s… kind of a lot to assume for her, don’t you think?”
he shakes his head, slower now.
“no, no— you don’ get it,” he mumbles. “she’s jus’… she’s real pretty. like— annoyin’ pretty. makes it hard t’think. keeps— keeps showin’ up in my head all the time, ‘s so stupid…”
you look down at your glass, hiding a small smile. “wow. she sounds special.”
“she is,” he agrees immediately, too serious for it to be a joke. “won’t leave me ‘lone. jus’— there, all the time…”
he lets out a quiet, breathy laugh.
“i’ll be doin’ stuff, and then— boom— her. jus’ there. smilin’ or talkin’ or— or lookin’ at me like that…” he trails off, shaking his head a little. “can’t get rid of it. don’ wanna, either.”
shoko glances at you, and you can’t help but shift slightly under it.
“so what’s stopping you?” you ask, softer now. “if you like her that much.”
satoru groans, dragging a hand over his face.
“i said— i’m busy,” he mutters, slurring worse now. “this job, this life, it’s… it’s not fair. can’t jus’ pull someone into that. not her. she deserves… more. better. someone who’s actually there.”
you frown a little. “you don’t get to decide what she wants.”
and then suguru leans forward slightly, resting his chin in his hand, watching him carefully.
“so who is she?” he asks. “do we know her?”
you glance at suguru. “you’re really not letting that go, huh?”
“not a chance.”
satoru blinks, slow, confused. “…who?”
“the girl,” suguru repeats, smiling faintly. “the one you can’t stop thinking about.”
you feel your chest tighten for no good reason.
“yeah,” you add, trying to sound light. “who is she?”
satoru looks down at his drink like the answer’s floating in it.
“‘s obvious,” he mumbles.
“doesn’t seem like it,” you say, a little breathless.
and then, he lifts his head, his gaze drifts and lands on you.
“‘s you,” he says, voice soft and slurred, but clear enough to hit. “been you the whole time.”
your breath catches. “satoru—”
“i love you,” he adds, like it slips out without permission. “like— really love you. ‘s bad. ‘s really bad.”
you stare at him, heart pounding. “…you’re drunk.”
“yeah,” he nods. “but not about that.”
“if that’s the truth.. then you don’t get to decide what i deserve.”
“i know… that’s the problem.”
you shake your head faintly. “no. the problem is you think you have to be everything all at once.”
“…i’m still always busy,” he mumbles weakly. “can’t be there for you like you deserve.”
“i know that,” you huff a quiet laugh. “but you’re still here right now, aren’t you?”
he exhales slowly. “…yeah.”
“wow,” suguru cuts in, leaning back with a grin, “this is disgustingly sweet.”
you blink, suddenly aware again.
shoko groans, dragging a hand down her face. “i knew this was coming and i still hate it.”
“what?” you mumble, a little flustered now.
“you,” suguru gestures lazily between you and satoru, “and him. this whole… thing. painful to watch.”
“shuddup,” satoru slurs, frowning slightly.
shoko sits up just enough to wave her hand dismissively.
“no, seriously. if you’re going to confess your undying love, at least have the decency to not do it in front of us.”
you cover your face for a second, laughing under your breath. “oh my god—”
suguru snorts. “i give it five minutes before he tries to hold your hand and passes out.”
“i can— i can hold hands,” satoru mutters, already reaching vaguely in your direction.
shoko makes a face.
“gross, guys. get a room.”
shh we’re ignoring that he doesn’t drink for this, ok?
Pairing: Fire Lord Zuko x Earth Nation Envoy Reader
Summary: You're a delegate from the Earth Nation, sent to negotiate treaties and arrange a suitable bride from your homeland for the fire lord. Unbeknownst to you, he already has a bride in mind, and he refuses to make your job easy for you.
Warnings: None, just silly shenanigans, banter, Zuko being the final boss of yearning. He falls first AND harder. no use of y/n
Izumi’s fingers tightened around her brush. “Daddy.”
Still nothing.
You watched from your place nearby, already sensing the incoming disaster—and, very deliberately, not interfering.
“I’m serious about Uncle Iroh!” Izumi snapped, slamming her hands onto the table. Ink trembled in its dish. “You’re just sitting there with your book, and I’m trying to write to him and you know I don’t know how to spell!”
Zuko blinked, finally lowering the book just enough to look at her. “…You seemed busy.”
“I am busy!” she shot back immediately. “That’s why I need help!”
You pressed your lips together, shoulders shaking slightly.
Across the table, several scrolls were spread out in what Izumi clearly believed was a highly official system. Ink smudged her fingers.
One brush had been abandoned entirely—clearly defeated.
Zuko sighed quietly and closed his book, setting it aside. “…Alright,” he said. “What are you trying to write?”
Izumi huffed, dragging the scroll toward him with unnecessary force. “It says,” she began, pointing at the uneven ink, “Dear Uncle Iroh, Dad is not taking things seriously—”
“I am taking things seriously.”
“—and I think you should come back and fix it.”
You let out a quiet, traitorous laugh. Both of them looked at you. Zuko, mildly offended.
Izumi, deeply betrayed. “This is not funny,” she said.
“It’s a little funny,” you admitted.
“It is not,” she insisted, crossing her arms—an expression so identical to Zuko’s that it was almost unsettling.
Zuko noticed too. His mouth twitched despite himself. “…I’m taking things seriously,” he repeated, a little more defensively.
“Then help me spell,” Izumi said flatly.
A pause.
Zuko leaned forward slightly. “Alright. What word?”
Izumi straightened, all business again. “‘Important.’”
“…You almost had that one.”
“I did not,” she snapped. “That’s why I’m asking.”
You shifted closer, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “We can help you together,” you said gently.
Izumi hesitated—just for a second—before nodding once. “Fine,” she said. “But we have to do it properly.”
“Of course,” Zuko murmured.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Properly.”
“…Properly,” he echoed.
A beat passed as the three of you leaned over the scroll. Ink. Paper. Quiet concentration.
Izumi carefully rewrote the first line, tongue peeking out slightly in focus. "Dear Uncle Iroh" She paused, then glanced up.
“…How do you spell ‘miss’?”
“…M–I–S–S,” he said quietly.
Izumi nodded, writing it down with great care.
I miss you.
Izumi leaned over the scroll again, carefully adjusting her posture like she was drafting a royal decree. “I got my hair done,” she announced proudly.
You blinked. “Since when?”
Zuko also looked up slightly. “You did?”
Izumi froze. Then slowly turned her head toward him. “See?” she said flatly, pointing at him with the brush. “Daddy, that’s why you’re not in the moment.”
Zuko frowned. “I am in the moment.”
“No,” she said, completely certain. “I showed you my hair but you were too busy looking at mommy’s hair instead.”
Silence. You choked. Zuko slowly turned his head toward you. “…I was?”
“I noticed,” Izumi added helpfully, already writing again like the conversation was closed.
You raised both hands defensively. “In my defense, I didn’t do anything.”
Zuko looked unconvinced. Izumi, meanwhile, continued writing with intense focus, tongue poking out slightly. “Anyway,” she muttered, “Uncle Iroh needs to know important updates.”
Zuko leaned back slightly. “Such as… your hair appointments?”
“Yes,” she said immediately. “It is very important information.”
Zuko rubbed his temple lightly. “I’m sure it is.”
“It is,” she repeated, pressing harder onto the brush like emphasis alone would make it more official. “Because presentation matters.”
You glanced at Zuko. “She’s not wrong.”
He gave you a look.
Izumi lifted her hand suddenly, fingers spread wide. “And I got my nails done.” You smiled.
Zuko leaned forward, squinting slightly. “Since when did you—”
“I showed you,” she cut in immediately, offended.
Zuko paused. “…When?”
Izumi slowly lowered her hand. Then turned to him again with that same deeply unimpressed expression. “When you were not in the moment,” she said. You made a small, strangled sound, quickly turning your face away.
Zuko stared at her, clearly trying to recall something that absolutely did not happen.
“…I don’t remember that.”
“That’s the problem,” Izumi replied flatly. She went back to the scroll, muttering as she wrote.
I got my hair done and my nails done.
She paused. Looked at her own writing. Then added, very deliberately:
Daddy did not notice.
Zuko leaned in. “…You don’t have to include that.”
“Yes I do,” she said without hesitation. “Because it is part of the report.”
“The report..” you echoed weakly.
“Yes,” Izumi said, completely serious. “Uncle Iroh needs to know what is going on here.”
Zuko exhaled slowly, like he was trying very hard to remain composed. “I am aware of what is going on here.”
Izumi looked up at him. “Then why didn’t you notice my nails?”
Silence.
You turned away again, shoulders shaking.
Zuko opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, carefully, he reached out and took her hand, turning it slightly to look. “…They look nice,” he said.
Izumi narrowed her eyes. “You’re just saying that now.”
“…No, I mean it.”
She studied him for a moment—really studied him—before giving a small, accepting nod. “Okay,” she decided.
Then, immediately back to business: “I will still write it down.” Of course she would. Zuko let out the faintest huff of a laugh, shaking his head as she continued her very official, very serious correspondence.
Izumi dipped her brush back into the ink with renewed focus, posture straightening like she’d just resolved a major political dispute.
“Next,” she muttered, mostly to herself. "Fire.."
Zuko leaned back slightly, watching her now instead of pretending not to.
You stayed close, your shoulder brushing his, both of you quietly observing as she worked.
Izumi’s tongue peeked out again as she wrote, slow and deliberate:
I am
She paused. “…How do you spell ‘practicing’?
Zuko answered this time without hesitation. “P–R–A—”
“I know how to start it,” she interrupted, frowning. “I just don’t know how it ends.”
You smiled softly. “C–I–N–G.”
She repeated it under her breath, then carefully added it to the line, brows furrowed in deep concentration.
I am practicing my firebending and I am getting better.
She sat back slightly, considering. Then added, smaller:
But sometimes it goes too big.
Zuko’s gaze softened almost immediately at that.
Izumi didn’t seem to notice. She just nodded to herself, “Honest,” she said.
“Very,” you murmured.
She tapped the brush lightly against the edge of the ink dish, thinking hard. “…And also,” she added, almost as an afterthought. The brush moved again. Slower this time. Less rigid.
Mommy and Daddy are helping me.
You felt it before you even fully read it—that small shift in the room.
Zuko didn’t move.
Izumi kept going, quieter now, like she wasn’t entirely aware of how much she was saying.
They are very busy but they still stay with me.
Your chest tightened.
Zuko’s hand, resting beside yours, shifted slightly—just enough that his fingers brushed against yours.
Izumi frowned faintly, like she was trying to find the right words for something she didn’t fully understand.
Then, carefully:
They are good at helping even when I don’t know what I need.
She paused again, staring at what she’d written.
Then added one last line, a little messier than the rest:
I like when we are together.
This time, she didn’t say anything after. Just stared at the scroll for a moment… then nodded, like she’d decided it was acceptable.
Zuko let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “…That’s a good letter,” he said quietly.
Izumi glanced up at him. “Of course it is.”
She stared at the scroll for a long moment, as if checking it for errors only she could see.
Then she nodded once, decisively. “Okay,” she said.
Zuko tilted his head slightly. “Okay?”
“I’m done,” she declared. You glanced down.
“All of it?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “It is complete.” She dipped the brush one last time, her movements slower now—less official, more careful. Like even she could tell this part mattered differently.
I hope to see you again soon.
She pressed her lips together, then added:
I miss you.
Her grip on the brush tightened slightly, but she kept going.
I love you.
No hesitation this time. Just certainty.
Izumi lifted her hand, studying the ink as if confirming it was strong enough to hold the feeling. Then she gave a small nod. As if satisfied. She set the brush down. “…Finished,” she announced.
Then Izumi pushed herself up from her chair. First she walked to you. She tugged lightly at your sleeve until you leaned closer. And without any ceremony at all, she pressed a small, quick kiss to your cheek.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
You blinked, smiling softly. “You’re welcome.”
Then she turned.
Walked to Zuko next. He didn’t even have time to straighten before she reached up, grabbed his sleeve like she owned it, and tugged him down slightly. A kiss to his cheek too.
“Thank you,” she repeated, just as seriously.
Zuko froze for half a second. Then, very quietly: “…Anytime.”
Izumi stepped back, satisfied, as if the matter was officially concluded. She looked at the scroll one last time. Then added, almost like an afterthought: “And I expect a response.”
You let out a soft laugh.
Zuko didn’t.
But the corner of his mouth lifted anyway as he reached over, gently steadying the scroll so it wouldn’t roll away.
Izumi was already standing there like she’d just concluded a royal summit.
“Alright,” you said, gently straightening up. “That’s enough excitement for today.”
Zuko nodded once, already half-reaching to gather the scattered brushes and scrolls. “Agreed,” he said. “It’s getting late.”
Izumi froze. Slowly turned her head. “…What?”
You blinked. “It’s bedtime.”
Zuko added, completely calm, “Yes. Time for bed.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“NOOOOO—” Izumi’s entire soul left her body. She threw her arms up like she was personally betrayed by the universe itself, stepping back from the table in pure outrage.
You were unable to hide your smile. “Oh, the joys of parenting.”
Zuko didn’t even look back. “…The joys,” he echoed dryly.
pairing: ঔঌ firelord! zuko x wife! reader
જ⁀➴sypnosis: After two miscarriages, you begin to lose hope of ever becoming a mother. But Zuko stays by your side through all of it, refusing to let you go through it alone.
mentions: established relstionship, marriage, miscarriage, pregnancy, angst | fluff ending
The room is too quiet.
Not peaceful quiet. Just… empty.
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing in particular. The curtains are half-drawn, but you don’t remember closing them.
You don’t remember much of anything lately.
Your hands rest in your lap, fingers loosely intertwined. You keep looking at them like they’re supposed to be doing something, like there’s something you forgot. There was.
You swallow. Your chest feels… hollow. Not even tight anymore. Just hollow. That almost feels worse.
There’s a soft knock at the door. You don’t answer. It opens anyway. You don’t need to look to know it’s him.
His steps are quiet. Careful. Like he’s learned how to move around you without making things worse. “Hey,” Zuko says softly.
You hum faintly, just so he knows you heard him.
He doesn’t ask how you are. He’s stopped doing that. You hear him set something down. Probably tea. He always brings something, like maybe it’ll help even a little.
It usually goes cold. He comes closer, but not too close at first. Gives you space. Always giving you space. “…Can I sit?” he asks.
You nod. He sits beside you, leaving just enough room between you that you don’t feel crowded. For a while, neither of you says anything.
Zuko glances at you once, then away again. Like he’s checking, not staring.
“I had the council dismissed early,” he says after a moment. “They were being… persistent.”
You almost smile. Almost. “About what?” you ask, even though you already know.
A pause.
“…Irrelevant things,” he says.
You let out a small, tired breath. “That means yes.”
He doesn’t deny it. “They don’t get to talk about you like that,” he says, quieter now. There’s something restrained in his voice. Not anger exactly. Just… control.
You shake your head slightly. “They will anyway.”
Zuko doesn’t respond to that. Because he knows you’re right.
Silence settles again. You stare down at your hands. “They said it’ll happen eventually,” you murmur.
Zuko’s posture shifts just slightly beside you. “People say that,” he replies carefully.
“They said it the first time too.” Your voice doesn’t break. That’s the worst part. It’s just… flat. Like you’ve run out of energy to make it sound like anything else. “I believed them,” you admit. “I thought… okay, maybe it was just bad luck.”
Another pause.
“Then it happened again.” Your fingers tighten just slightly against each other. “I don’t think it’s bad luck anymore.”
Zuko turns his head toward you fully now.
You don’t look at him. “It’s me,” you say quietly.
“No,” he says immediately. Not loud. But firm.
You shake your head. “It has to be.”
“It doesn’t.”
You let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
“Zuko.”
He doesn’t back down. “It’s not you.”
You finally look at him. Your eyes are tired. Dull in a way they never used to be. “Then what is it?” you ask.
He hesitates and that hesitation says everything.
Not doubt about you.
Doubt about how to even put it into words without it hurting more. “…I don’t know,” Zuko admits quietly. It’s honest. Unpolished. Very him.
You let out a small, shaky breath through your nose, like that answer almost makes it worse because at least blame would’ve been simpler.
Your gaze drops back to your hands. Silence stretches again. Then your voice comes, quieter than before.
“It’s not even just… the heir thing.”
Zuko’s eyes shift slightly toward you.
You swallow.
Your fingers curl a little tighter together in your lap. “That’s what everyone talks about,” you continue. “That’s what the council means when they say things like ‘stability’ and ‘future line’ like I’m… like I’m a piece of a strategy.”
A pause.
Your throat tightens, but you keep going anyway.
“But that’s not what hurts the most.” That makes him still. Completely. You finally look down, blinking a little too slowly.
“I wanted it,” you say. Your voice cracks just slightly on wanted. “I actually wanted it.” You let out a breath that doesn’t feel like it reaches your lungs properly.
“I wanted to be a mother,” you admit, softer now. “Not because I was supposed to be one. Not because of the Fire Nation or the court or any of that.”
A beat.
“Just… because I thought I could be.” Your hands tremble faintly, and you press them together a little harder like that will fix it.
“And now it feels like…” you swallow, “like I keep getting told I can’t even have that.”
The words sit heavy between you both.
Zuko doesn’t rush in to fix them.
He just exhales slowly, like he’s trying to make space for what you just said instead of pushing it away.
“I think…” he starts carefully, then stops, restarting softer, “I think you’ve been carrying too much at once.”
You don’t answer.
Your eyes are still down, but your breathing has changed—less steady now, like the emotions are catching up all over again.
Zuko shifts closer.
Not invading.
Just… closing the distance until you can feel him there properly.
“Maybe you should take a break,” he says quietly.
Your fingers twitch in your lap. “A break from what,” you murmur, almost bitter without meaning to be. “My life?”
“No,” he says immediately. Firm, but gentle. “From everything that’s been weighing on you like this.” He hesitates for half a second, like he’s choosing words he won’t regret. “And… from the pressure. From expectations. From people talking like they get to decide things about you.”
Your throat tightens again. Because it sounds nice. But it also sounds impossible. You let out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t stop just because I step away.”
“I know,” Zuko says softly. That’s what makes you finally look at him again. He looks tired too. Not in the same way as you. But in that quiet, steady way of someone who’s been holding the weight of too many responsibilities and refuses to let it fall on you instead. “I can’t make it all disappear,” he adds. “But I can make it smaller for you. At least here.”
A pause.
His voice softens even more. “And you don’t have to think about any of that right now.”
Your eyes sting again, and this time you don’t even try to stop it.
One tear slips down before you can blink it away. Then another. Zuko notices immediately.
Of course he does. He shifts first, lying down slowly on the bed, then gently tugging you with him—not forceful, just inviting.
You go. Carefully at first. Then all at once.
You end up on top of him, not fully, just enough that your weight is there, real and grounding. Your head rests against his shoulder almost instinctively, like your body already knows where it belongs. Zuko adjusts instantly. One arm wraps around your back. The other comes up slowly, settling near your head like he’s anchoring you there.
“There,” he murmurs softly. “You’re okay.”
You shake your head slightly against him, but it’s weak. “I’m not,” you whisper.
“Yeah.. I know.. sorry” he says again with a little bit of guilt that the
Your breathing stutters, and suddenly the dam breaks a little more fully. You try to swallow it down, but it doesn’t work.
It just spills out quietly into his shoulder.
Zuko doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away.
He just holds you closer, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s alright,” he says softly, brushing a hand through your hair. “Let it out.”
That’s when it really hits you. Just… finally allowed. Your shoulders shake slightly as you cry, face pressed into him, overwhelmed and exhausted and everything at once.
Zuko shifts just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. Then another, just slightly lower on your cheek. Slow. Reassuring. Like he’s trying to remind you you’re still here.
The garden is quieter than the palace.
Leaves moving gently in the wind. Water somewhere nearby. The kind of sound that doesn’t ask anything from you.
You sit on the edge of a stone bench, hands resting in your lap again, like they always seem to lately when you don’t know what to do with them.
Zuko is standing a few steps away at first.
Like he can tell this moment is different, even before you say anything. You don’t look at him when you speak. “I found out something today.” Your voice is calm. Too calm.
That already makes him focus. He doesn’t move closer yet. Just watches you carefully. “…Okay,” he says softly. “What is it?”
A pause.
You inhale. It feels heavier than it should. “I’m pregnant.” Like the world pauses for half a second to make sure it heard correctly.
Zuko doesn’t speak immediately. His expression shifts, but not dramatically. It’s subtle. Something in his eyes softening, then tightening, then softening again like he’s trying to find the right place to put the feeling.
You finally look at him. And it’s not what you expected. Because he doesn’t look like he’s celebrating. But he doesn’t look afraid either.
He looks… careful. Like this is something precious and fragile at the same time. “…Are you okay?” he asks first.
Not “are you sure.” Not anything else. That alone almost breaks something in you. You let out a small breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “I don’t know,” you admit honestly.
He nods slowly like that makes sense. Then he finally slowly walks over. He sits down beside you on the bench, leaving a small space at first like always. You don’t lean away.
He notices that. His hand rests on his knee for a moment before he speaks again. “This doesn’t have to be…” he starts, then stops, choosing his words. “It doesn’t have to be something you carry alone in your head.”
Your fingers curl slightly. “I’m not excited,” you say quietly. Then, after a pause: “I’m not sad either. It just feels… strange.”
Zuko nods once. “I understand that,” he says.
You glance at him. He’s not pretending this is simple. That helps more than anything. He exhales slowly. “I think…” he begins carefully, “after everything, it makes sense that it doesn’t feel like just happiness.”
A pause.
Then softer: “But I’m here. Whatever it is for you.” That lands differently again. Because it doesn’t demand anything from you. Not joy. Not certainty. Not even hope. Just presence.
You look down at your hands again. “I keep thinking,” you admit, quieter now, “what if I start hoping too much again.” Your voice tightens slightly. „And then—” You stop. You don’t finish it. You don’t have to.
Zuko shifts closer this time. Slow enough that you can feel it before it happens. “I know,” he says softly. “But we don’t have to decide how this story ends right now.”
You let out a breath. Something in your chest loosens just a little. “That sounds dangerously optimistic for you,” you mutter.
That earns the smallest hint of a smile from him.
“It’s controlled optimism,” he says.
You huff faintly. Silence again. But it’s different now. Less empty. More shared.
Zuko’s hand moves slightly on the bench between you, not grabbing yours yet, just there. Offering.
You look at it for a moment.
Then slowly, you take it. His fingers close around yours immediately.
The room is warm in a way you don’t fully register at first.
Soft light. Quiet movement. The distant sound of water being changed, cloth being folded, someone speaking in a low voice and then stopping when they notice you’re awake. Everything feels far away except the one thing right in front of you.
Zuko is there first.
Sitting beside the bed, still in that same controlled stillness he always has when he’s trying not to overwhelm a moment. But his eyes are different right now. Not sharp. Not guarded.
Just waiting.
For you.
“You’re awake,” he says softly.
You try to answer, but your throat feels dry. You manage a small nod instead. There’s a pause.
And then he leans forward slightly. Careful. Like he’s been carrying something fragile the whole time and is finally allowed to bring it closer. “She’s here,” he says.
Your breath catches. Not dramatic. Not sudden.
Just like your body finally understands what those words mean before your mind can fully catch up. Zuko stands slowly and steps out of the way.
And then you see her. Wrapped gently in soft cloth, small in a way that doesn’t feel real at first. She’s being held by one of the attendants, but even that feels temporary—like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.
For you.
Your hands move before you even decide to. “Can I—” you start, voice rough. The attendant nods immediately, carefully placing her into your arms. And everything else disappears. The weight is so small. So impossibly small. And yet it feels like the entire world has been placed against your chest.
You freeze for half a second, like you’re afraid to breathe too hard. Then she moves. Just a little.
A tiny shift against you. And something inside you breaks open in the softest way. Your breath shakes. “Oh,” you whisper. It’s not even a word that means anything. Just sound. Just feeling.
Zuko is still beside you. Watching. But not interrupting. Not speaking. Like he knows this moment belongs entirely to you. You look down at her properly now. Her face is scrunched slightly in sleep, peaceful in a way that makes your chest ache in a way you didn’t know could be warm. “She’s…” your voice falters. Beautiful. Perfect. Real. You don’t finish the sentence. You can’t. A tear slips down your cheek before you even notice it’s there. Then another. And this time you don’t try to stop it. Because it’s not the same kind of crying anymore.
It’s release. It’s disbelief.
It’s love arriving all at once after so much waiting and fear and loss.
Zuko shifts closer and sits beside you again, slower this time, like he’s afraid to disturb the air around her. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs gently.
“I know,” you whisper back, but you’re smiling through it. A small, fragile thing at first. Then real. You adjust her slightly in your arms, instinctively protective already, even though she’s so safe it almost feels unreal.
“She’s here,” you say again, quieter this time, like you need to hear yourself say it to believe it.
Zuko’s hand rests lightly on the edge of the blanket near her. Not touching her directly yet. Just close.“I know,” he says. And then, softer: “She’s perfect.” That does it.
Your breath breaks completely for a second, and you laugh through tears you didn’t even realize were still coming. “She’s going to hate how serious you are,” you manage weakly.
That earns the smallest exhale of a laugh from him. “Probably,” he admits.
Silence settles again, but it’s not heavy. It’s full. You look down at her again, and your fingers adjust carefully, instinctively protective now in a way that feels like it’s always been there. “I was so scared,” you admit quietly.
Zuko’s expression softens immediately. “I know,” he says.
You swallow. “But she’s here.” Your voice cracks slightly on the last word.
Zuko nods once. “She’s here,” he agrees. And for a long moment, that’s all there is. Just the three of you. And the quiet, overwhelming beginning of something that finally feels like hope that stayed.
Zuko’s hand shifts from the edge of the blanket to your shoulder instead, grounding you gently, like he’s checking that you’re really here too.
You don’t look away from the baby for a long moment. Then, softly, you whisper, “We did it.”
Zuko exhales, almost like he’s been holding his breath for years without noticing. “Yes,” he says quietly. “We did.”
You finally glance up at him. Your eyes are still wet, but softer now. Lighter in a way they haven’t been in a long time.
He meets your gaze immediately. No hesitation. Just him. You shift slightly, careful not to move too much, and Zuko leans in at the same time—like it was always going to happen this way.
His hand comes up to your cheek, warm and steady. And then he kisses you softly. A quiet, grounding kiss that feels like everything finally settling into place.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against yours. “…I’m proud of you,” he murmurs.
You let out a shaky breath that turns into a small smile. “Don’t start being emotional now,” you whisper. A faint hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. “I won’t make any promises,” he says.
And behind you, the baby stirs softly—reminding you both that this is real.
All of it.
This was chilling in my drafts. You can always hit the request box too. 💗
THE FIRE LORD'S GARDENER CAN'T BE THIS CUTE. ─────────!. [pt.O1]
pairing; ꒰ firelord!zuko x f!earthbender!reader ꒱ .ᐟ ♡
synopsis; sent from the earth kingdom as a gesture of peace, you arrive at the fire nation with every intent to fulfill your duty of restoring the royal palace gardens. what you didn’t prepare for was the fire lord’s routine visits. you assume it’s to manage his suspicions. he assumes it’s to observe your progress. neither of you are correct. and falling in love was never the plan. (wc: 2k)
cw; fluff, meet cute, soft zuko, plant bending (earth bending variant), accidental intimacy, pinning, rom/com, idiots in love talk about plants instead of feelings, blue spirit zuko returns, zuko unironically starts a love triangle with himself
What struck you first about the Fire Nation was its nearly intolerable heat.
You fanned yourself with one hand as you disembarked the ship, feeling as though the sun was following you personally. Nevermind the collective eyes from men at the docks burning curious holes into your earth-colored robes. Keeping your sights ahead, you climbed into a gilded carriage sent from the palace. You reminded yourself that this was all normal. It was the Fire Nation, after all. Of course it would be warmer.
And you also reminded yourself of your purpose.
By the strange good favor of reputation traveling farther than you ever intended, you were invited to advise on the royal grounds of the Fire Nation’s palace. The Fire Lord desired the palace gardens renewed. To welcome a more peaceful era, and as a token of trust between the Earth and Fire kingdom. And so you had bowed your head and said yes, though your stomach had churned at the thought.
You were received by palace attendants with all the expected courtesy. They carried your belongings and offered tea, all with serviceable smiles. Then escorted to your chamber prepared for you in the Guest Wing. Where you were told the Fire Lord was occupied with other affairs, and would formally welcome you the next day. And tomorrow, the master groundskeeper would be available to show you the estate and to answer any practical needs.
You should have rested. The journey had left you queasy and achy. The sea, though calm by a sailor’s standard, had never agreed with you. Yet the knowledge of the gardens beyond your window beckoned you like an old friend waiting for you to visit. That, and you assumed the fresh air would likely settle your stomach. Reasonably, it seemed like a good idea.
But if it was such a good idea, then one would certainly pinch their chin and cock their head sideways if they caught you dodging attendants and guards.
On your own secret mission, you managed to find the royal gardens without being noticed (at least that’s what you thought). You walked slowly, fingertips brushing against leaves and petals. Knees bending now and then so you could press a hand to the earth in passing. And everywhere you found the same thing: growth with very little joy.
You made your way to the lower terrace, tucked just far enough from the main walkways where there was little chance of being spotted by wandering eyes. You knelt beside a patch of dried and barely growing jasmine. It had been planted with good intentions, but not much else. The soil beneath it had been packed too tightly for the roots to breathe or absorb any nutrients.
You placed your hands gently against the ground and exhaled, fingers curled slightly.
You loosened the soil in careful ripples, easing tension and guiding moisture upward in soft threads. The roots shifted almost immediately, and a small green shoot pressed its way upward where there had been nothing before.
Your face glowed, eyes glistening at the sight. “Why, hello there little friend. So glad you could finally join us.”
“Is this how you always work?”
The voice behind you was calm and low. And seemed so close, you felt the heat of their body seep deeper than the sunlight pressing against your back. Your hands jerked from the soil. And your breath caught sharp in your chest as you turned quickly on your knees.
The Fire Lord stood only a few paces away. He wore robes of deep red and black bordered in gold, formal enough that there could be no mistaking who he was. Dark hair framed a face you knew at once from portraits and formal ink renderings. His scar, vivid and unmistakable across his handsome face, drew the eye first. Before you could be accused of rudely staring, you pitched your sight back to the gravel beneath his feet.
Still on your knees, you gathered your hands in front of you in a bow that had your forehead touch the gravel. “Fire Lord, please forgive me. I meant no disrespect for coming here without a proper escort.”
“I should be the one apologizing,” he said, raising a hand almost in shock by the impact of your forehead meeting the ground. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You managed to unclench your eyes. That was not the reply or tone you had expected. Carefully, you looked up. Sure enough, his features matched his words as a look of concern—and justifiable confusion—creased the skin between his brows.
“Thank you for your considerate words,” you swallowed, and swiped away the small rocks practically embedded into your skin, “but I was more surprised than anything else.”
That was an utter lie. But you were in no place to make the Fire Lord feel guilty for sneaking into his personal gardens.
After a short pause, his gaze shifted past you, toward the jasmine. “They look healthier today.” A forlong look seemed to cross the otherwise placidness of his face. As though the thought had carried him somewhere else in time. “I’m hoping to have some tea once they’re ready.”
You turned, following his attention, and blinked when a small cluster of blossoms had already begun to grow.
“Oh, of course,” you said, a little brighter. “The soil is very good here. The hint of volcanic minerals will surely bring out the most of the floral notes for you to enjoy, my Lord. Well, expect it’s only—” you pinched your lips shut. At least you knew it was a very bad idea to criticize the soil management within your first conversation with the Fire Lord.
“Only what?” he asked, definitely not allowing you to play it off as useless rambling.
“...only that it seems somewhat over-managed, if that makes any sense at all. Not that it wouldn’t make sense to you, my Lord. I’m certain it would, if I explained. Although, I’m not trying to imply to know what you don’t know—” you cleared your throat to regain some semblance of composure, “with permission to speak plainly, it’s as if everything here has been forced to survive, rather than allowed to comfortably bloom on its own.”
When his lips remained a thin line for longer than your heart could take, you had every sense to leave on a ship by sunset. Thankfully, you were saved by a curve that ghosted one corner of his mouth.
“That sounds like the palace in general.” He said before continuing. “I was informed by the chamberlain that you had arrived. I meant to welcome you properly tomorrow, but I caught something moving in the gardens outside the window of my private study.” He stole another glance at the blossoming buds. “I was curious.”
You fiddled with your dirt speckled finger tips. “I’m sorry to have distracted you from your work.”
“It was a welcomed distraction," he said, though his eyes never left the jasmine bed.
The conversation should have ended there. Where you would finally stop playing in the dirt like a worm, stand to pat your sleeves and knees clean, then politely bid the Fire Lord a pleasant day. Instead, voices rustled the nearby foliage.
“...she was meant to stay in the guest wing!”
“...just hurry and find her before anyone else does.”
You froze. Knowing very well who those voices were looking for.
“I have this strange feeling,” you whispered sheepishly, “they might be looking for me, my Lord.”
The Fire lord glanced toward the path where eminent footsteps approached, then squarely back down at you. A brief assessment of your predicament held two very important truths; the first being you were not supposed to be here and, two, he was most certainly not supposed to be the one to have found you first. And just to add in a third, the attendants currently approaching were absolutely in no way supposed to find those two things happening at the same time.
“Don’t move,” he instructed.
You complied, mostly because you weren’t sure where you could go even if you tried to escape at this point. He stepped closer, and you blinked up at him as his outer robe shifted, and a wall of dark fabric draped over you. Shrouded within his robes, the tips of his fingers graced your shoulder, gently guiding you closer to his side. You stared at the fabric in front of you, and where the pattern shifted as two figures appeared at the end of the path.
“Fire Lord Zuko!” One voice pitched in utter surprise. “We–ah–didn’t realize you were in the gardens,” the attendant continued, treading carefully on their words. “We’re terribly sorry to disturb you.”
“There’s no disturbance,” he said, not moving an inch. “I was just getting some fresh air.”
“And we were only making sure everything was….in order!” The other attendant couldn’t help but blurt out.
An awkward pause. And you swore the other attendant's elbow had twitched to nudge the other in the gut.
“Is there something missing?” Zuko asked.
“No, no, not at all. My Lord,” the more composed of the two answered. “Nothing of importance.”
“That's a relief,” the Fire Lord breathed, idly nodding to his surroundings. “If it’s nothing important, then I imagine it won’t cause any trouble.”
The attendant could barely control the nervous squeak in his voice. “No trouble at all, my Lord. There’s certainly nothing about what we’re looking for that should trouble you.”
You felt a slight tremble in his body. Something dangerously close to a chuckle. But he buried it away, his posture settling back into practiced composure.
“E-Excuse us, my Lord. We’ll continue the search elsewhere,” the second attendant scrambled to add.
You pressed your lips firmly together. Scolding yourself for finding any of this amusing as well. Because if you had made a sound, you were fairly certain the entire situation would fall apart immediately. Luckily, you managed to steel your nerves long enough for them to bow and retreat down the path with haste.
“You can come out now,” he said after a moment of quiet settled over the garden.
You shifted, the world widening again around you as you stepped back into view. You did not look at him immediately, still trying very hard not to smile.
“You should return to the guest wing,” he said, seeming to also be taming his lips from smiling at present. “And if you’re going to lie about where you’ve been, you should make sure to be more convincing than those two.”
“You’re right, I should." You hummed in agreement. “Before I become even more trouble.”
“That would be best.”
You turned to leave, then paused before turning over a shoulder. “Thank you for that,” you added softly.
He didn’t reply with any words. Allowing only a small smile to grace that hard line that refused to bend. It faded just as quickly as it came. And he reserved his attention toward the jasmine bed again.
You made your way back up the path, mindful of where your feet fell. Though not quite mindful enough to resist looking over your shoulder once more.
He was still there. Standing exactly where you had left him.
once you and zuko wed, he finds himself constantly looking for your hands.
his honeyed-ember eyes drawn to the glint of gold, hand-forged by one of the nations finest blacksmiths, nestled neatly on your left hand — a circle of eternal fate that ties him to you forever. the sight of your wedding ring settled the dramatic drum of his heart, because you made a promise to him, one of forevers and late nights and early mornings and meals for two. you’ve always wanted to be his and he’s always wanted to be yours. now it’s true, now it’s a fact.
there’s no need to be jealous when you shake the hands of ambassadors that eye you like a prize to be won, because at every congress and gathering — you are introduced as the wife of the fire lord, queen of the fire nation. a little piece of him tied to your name. you find his hand and you squeeze, the metal cool against his palms that sizzle with flickering flames of annoyance. somehow you’ve always grounded him.
there’s a pride that fills zuko, when little girls from your home and tribe ask if you’ve married a prince whenever they set their sights on the bedazzled band on your ring finger. there’s a blush that spreads violently from the tips of his ears down to the back of his neck, a scarlet hue stark even against the burn scar from his youth, when the elders pinch and pull zuko’s cheeks inspecting him. you’ve done well, they tell you. they’d have snatched him up and married him too — if they were younger. though, the ring could have been bigger, they mention. he is the fire lord after all.
when you train, when your body moves with the fluidity of water that has shaped the earth into the one he’s lucky enough to walk with you — zuko teaches himself to locate your wedding ring amongst your bending. the pools of water that loop around your liquid like a shield or a weapon only you have the strength to muster, add to the ring’s dazzle. he finds you dazzling then, one with the water — where life both begins and ends in one full circle. you’ve always told zuko, that your destinies are looped, that water had guided you to him and vice versa. you would born for each other. to die with each other — even if you find your power a means to his end.
zuko wouldn’t mind if it were you who put his flames out. he had made a promise at an altar with the world his witness. he would live and die by you. for you.
at night, when the sun’s flames ebb way and fade into petal pinks and midnight blues across her sky — zuko searches for your hand in the dark like a moth drawn to a single source of light. his lips graze the ring and his hands map your body with the same determination he’s always possessed. the rock at the centre breaks the chapped skin there at the same your own lips part with a soft, shattered moan because the fire lord’s goal has been the same from the start. he wants to prove himself worthy of the wedding ring, the promise of eternity, that sits heavy on your finger. if not during the day with his actions and his loyalties, then at night where your bodies meet like the tides and shores under the guidance of the moon’s gentle command. tangled limbs and interwoven fingers, pleasure that hangs like stars in the night sky.
zuko, throughout it all, searches for your hand, the wedding band, just make sure that it’s still there and that you still love him so.
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