I love the voice of a black man who is not afraid to moan and talk during sex 🥰. Uuugghh especially if he likes to talk me through my orgasms💦. Mmm & those with deep voices who sometimes growl during sex 🥴🥵💦💦. But him, he’s doing that thing that attracted me to masculine men in the first place. It’s the subtle ability to tell me what to do while also being comforting and supportive. “Yeah I know, let it out, it’s okay, let it out on daddy dick” 🫣 I listened to this over and over again while rubbing my pussy in the car.
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
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
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.
Therapist. Licking the tip of his finger, the man flips through his notes. The girl sits silently on the couch. Her misty eyes stare at the clock on the wall.
“Are you ready to begin?”
She doesn’t reply. Her therapist taps his pen on the paper. Two clicks of the pen, and he scratches out a few notes. She shudders slightly.
“Let’s get started. From the top, let’s go over what happened that night.” Her eyes drift down to the floor. “…again?” She swallows her words. “Trust the process.”
“Uhm… I went out dancing…” The girl’s unfocused expression is blank and docile. Her therapist adjusts his glasses and watches her carefully. “And what were you wearing?” She picks at her nails, avoiding the question. “…the clothes I showed you…” He nods. “Did you wear them today, like I suggested last time?”
Visibly nervous, the girl holds onto the fabric on the hem of her shirt. “…yes… under here…” The man smiles. “That’s good. You’ve come a long way from our first session. I remember you didn’t even want to look at those clothes.” He clicks his pen twice. “Let’s see them.”
Shallow breaths. She wants him to fix her. Lifting up the shirt, she reveals a thin lace top. He takes more notes. Her sweatpants slide down. A tiny frilly skirt barely hides her blue-and-white striped panties. Long socks match her underwear. Her therapist examines her. “Why do you think you chose to wear that outfit that night?”
Embarrassed, the girl tries to hide her body behind her frail arms. “It was a rave… lots of girls dress like this…” He doesn’t respond, letting the silence invite her insight. “…I guess I wanted attention…” The man writes on his pad. “Well, you certainly got it. Tell me more about what happened.”
“Was a little drunk… lost my friends… dancing on the floor… some guy started touching me…” Her small voice fades off. “Mmhm. Touching you where?” She’s getting more nervous. He adjusts his glasses and watches her breathe. “He was groping my tits.”
The man clicks his pen twice. She shudders. His hand reaches out and cups her breast. “Did he grab you like this?” The girl whimpers, her tiny bralet lets her feel each one of his fingers searching her. “No… was rougher…” Her therapist pushes his hand under the lace, squeezing and gripping her tits. “Like this?”
She nods. “…pinching my nipples and stuff…” He recreates it for her. “Dressed up like that, it’s no wonder some guy wanted to put his hands on you…” The man can feel her rapid heartbeat in her chest. “So what happened next?”
“…uhm… told him to stop…” He squeezes harder. His other hand lifts up her skirt. “Why did you do that? You’re letting him see your panties, don’t you think that’s a bit of a mixed signal?” The girl blushes a deep red. “…I dunno… I tried to get away… he followed me to some old hallway at the back of the club.”
“Going somewhere a little more private? Sounds like you were trying to get fucked.” Her body twitches in his hands. He clicks his pen again. She lets out a short gasp. “No… was just trying to have fun… told him to leave me alone… he grabbed my neck.” The man lifts his hand up from her tits, holding her by her throat. A firm squeeze makes her face turn pink.
“Did he choke you? Like this?” She can barely breathe. The girl nods, her eyes close. “What happened next?” She shakes her head. “Tell me what happened. It’s important for your therapy.” He chokes her harder. “I won’t let go until you do.” Her head spins. “…kissed me…”
Her therapist drags her in closer, pulling the girl onto his lap. His lips press into hers. His tongue fucks her mouth. She squirms and tries to push him away. He releases the choke, holding the back of her neck to keep kissing her. The girl slowly stops fighting.
“You’re doing good. Let’s keep going. What did you let him do next?”
Drool runs down her chin. Her distant expression is almost lifeless. “Dragged me into the janitor’s closet… shoved me into the corner…” He nods and kisses her cheek. “Okay, we’ll go through that now.”
His powerful hands grip her by the waist. She stumbles as he drags her across the room. He pushes her to the floor in the corner of the room. “I’m sure you were fighting more than that. Don’t leave out any details.” The girl’s eyes start to water. Her terrified breaths are short and raspy. The pen sits on the table by the couch. “Come on, tell me.”
“I was crying, begging him to not do it… I sucked his dick… thought it would keep him from – “ The therapist cuts her off. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He strokes her hair. “It’s okay to cry here. Let it out.” She sobs. “I didn’t want it.” The man unbuckles his belt. She’s back in that closet in the nightclub. Tears run down her face.
The girl is still sobbing as she wraps her lips around his cock. Her head bobs quickly. The therapist grips the back of her head, fucking into her throat. He lets out a satisfied groan as her tears and spit mix, drooling down her slutty outfit. “So, you thought if you made him cum, he wouldn’t fuck you?” He doesn’t look down, but he can feel her nod.
“Try harder, then.”
Stroking his shaft, she sucks off her therapist. The girl does everything she can. Forcing it as deep as it can go, rubbing his balls, running her tongue along the bottom of his shaft. Her facefucking gets more desparate. She knows she’s running out of time.
“Did he cum in your throat?” The man growls. She shakes her head no. He smiles and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Guess he needed more, huh? Keep telling me the story.” The girl gasps for air. “Please, no… just let me suck your cock… please… not that part…” Her therapist lays his dick across her face. “You’re almost there, keep going.”
He uses her tears as lube as he rubs himself across her cheeks. “He pulled my panties down… forced my legs open… he… he…” The man kneels down and follows the script. A sharp tug pulls her cute panties off her legs. “You’re more wet than last time. That’s good. You’ve made a lot of progress.” Her toes point into the air. He buries his cock in her pussy.
She lets out a quiet scream. The girl’s body starts to fight him. He pins her wrists to the floor and ruts into her. “He held you like this, right?” Even as she struggles, she nods. “Was his cock my size?” A pathetic whine. “No, you’re a lot bigger…”
The therapist pounds into his patient. “I’m…” The girl twitches underneath him. “I’m…” Deep hard strokes. “No…” She whimpers. The patient cums on her therapist’s cock. Her head spins as he breaks her. “Did you cum?” The man asks, inches from her face. “Yes…” He keeps going. “I meant the night that it happened.” She looks up at him, filled with shame. “Yes…”
“You’ve done so well. We’re almost all the way through. He came in your cunt, didn’t he?”
The girl’s eyes light up with fear. “No no no… not that part… please, no, stop…” Her warm wet pussy tightens involuntarily around his cock. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? It’s okay to let go.” She tries to fight again. Her fingers claw at his chest before he pins them to the floor again. “Please, no, stop. I want to stop. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Is that what you told him?” He thrusts faster into her slippery hole. “Don’t cum inside of me. Don’t don’t don’t don’t…” She bursts into tears again. “Did he cum in you?” The therapist’s soothing voice makes her shudder. “Yes, but I can’t go through that part… I can’t…” He kisses her, stroking her head like a terrified animal.
The man gasps and lets out a long exhale. She feels his cum flood into her. The catatonic girl stares down at her used pussy as he slowly slides out. The sticky damp of her therapist’s cum pours down her ass. She can see him talking, but all she can hear is pounding in her ears.
He relaxes on the couch. The girl’s tongue cleans his cock. “Did you do this for him?” The man slowly rubs her back. “…nu-uh…” She nuzzles into his bulge. “You’ve come so far. You almost made it all the way through the story before you tried to stop the therapy.”
“I think you’re close to a breakthrough. I’d like to bump you up to two sessions a week for the next little while.” The girl feels his half hard cock twitch in her mouth. He clicks his pen twice. She nods as his hands grope her tits.
Totally not thinking about all the unethical things I could do as a sorority mother with a house full of cute, naive co-eds. Playing the role of a sweet, doting maternal figure, helping with classes and stress management, making sure everyone's getting along and feels welcome.
And then behind the scenes pulling all the strings to turn these perfect little angels into corrupted sluts.
Orchestrating all the hazing rituals with all sorts of sexual orientation fuckery because everyone under my roof has to be a cute bi girl ready for anything. So yes, honey, you're gonna lick your pledge sister's cunt while everyone cheers you on. And when you make her cum, as a reward I'll get a well-trained frat boy to split you open with his thick cock until you squirt all over him.
There'd be a rule regulating the length of your skirts or shorts, daily inspection checks to make sure you're wet and ready (or quick to get hard in other cases, we're inclusive after all.) Girls would be encouraged to experiment with each other and help each other look pretty and presentable for use at all times.
Maybe I'd host contests too throughout the year. Freshman, Sophomores and Juniors will have to tally the amount of people they fuck throughout the year, with photo evidence of course. I'll give bonus points for naughtier exploits, including public play, humiliation, group sex, kinky role-plays, etc. Winner can pick one other girl to be their free use slave for the following year.
And then the Senior girls can be my cute whores to pimp out. The ones who are now so thoroughly brainwashed after years under my roof, that nothing is too much for them. It'll be fun using them as bribe material to keep the sorority thriving, and to line my pockets too.
It's only fair I get some kind of benefit, given what a loving sorority mother I am to my girls.
Pairing: Sleazy Music Producer!Toji x Popstar!Reader
Synopsis: You are an up-and-coming pop girl who has dominated the charts with your hit song and is quickly moving into the world of stardom. As your popularity in the music industry grows, your manager and fans are foaming at the mouth for a new hit single. So you pair up with Toji Fushiguro, a hitmaker and a playboy in the industry, well known for his beats AND his dick game. Despite your resistance to Toji's seduction, you quickly learn that becoming a household name in the music world isn't that easy. Maybe fucking this man can make you a star...or is that just what he slipped in your drink doing the talking?
Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse/Music Industry AU; Celeb!Toji x Celeb!Reader; Sexual Tension; Coercion; Drugging; Rape/Noncon; Dubcon; Drug Use (Marijuana + Cocaine); Older!Toji x Younger!Reader (Early 20s); Sex on Camera; Slutification; Objectification; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Spit Play; Degradation & Praise; Snorting Coke Off Toji's Dick; Facefucking; Face Slapping; Daddy Kink; Multiple Positions (Missionary & Doggy); Reader Cums 2x; Raw Creampie
Word Count: 11.2k
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!
Writer's Note: I wrote this a year ago & wanted to revise it so I could repost it on AO3. I hate The Idol with all my fucking heart...but "Popular" is a BOP. Originally, this was one for Gojo but I haven't written about my broke ass DILF Toji in a minute lol. I hope you enjoy! PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS.
Credits: Dividers by @firefly-graphics! Toji fanart below by aransmind! Toji fanart above unknown (found on Pinterest! Please tell me the artist if you recognize it so I can credit them!) -Jazz
Read on AO3 HERE!
Song · 2023 · Duration 3:35
Since you've been a little girl, you always wanted to be a star. And you know the man sitting across from you is capable of helping you with that.
"So," Toji asks, taking a drag of his cigarette, "you wanna be famous, huh?"
You sit across from him on one of the comfortable leather couches he put in his studio in one of your "low maintenance" outfits: a white bralette, bra free, a cropped zip-up hoodie, low-riding jeans tight on your ass, and your favorite pair of pink furry slippers, your French manicure peeking out from the openings.
"I thought I was already famous," you chuckle. You sit-cross legged on the couch, a red solo cup in your lap.
You've only taken three sips since you've been here for over 20 minutes now. It is some concoction of tropical fruit punch and vodka that explodes on your tongue with its sweetness and tastiness.
Toji Fushiguro, a single father and the top music producer in the game, sits across from you in his chair that he likes to wheel himself around on. He is a huge guy, taller than you even sitting down, sitting with his jeans spread eagle in his gray sweats. You advert your eyes from it.
"Well, yeah, but famous-er," he retorts. "Way more popular than you are now. You're still an upcoming artist after all."
He smiles with his dark eyes, his lips curling up into a light smirk that causes the faint scar on his lip to become a bit more noticeable.
He is joking with you, you know, but even the mention of still being upcoming makes you want to bash your head into a wall. Hence while you're here. "Don't remind me," you sigh, taking another sip of the drink Toji whipped up for you. "My manager is on my ass about getting another song out for the summer." You grin at the man sitting across from you. "That's where you come in."
Toji raises his pierced eyebrow at you, giving him a very attractive look. He is truly a handsome man. He can make even the black hoodie and sweats combo he is wearing look like designer with his sexy features, dark eyes, and muscular robust. If he wasn't a producer, he would make a killing as a model.
If you are to Google him, Toji Fushiguro would come up as a top producer worth millions gracing magazine covers, a five-time Grammy winner, and someone who has worked with the top singers and rappers in the industry right now, including Megan Thee Stallion, The Weeknd, Rihanna, and Sexy Redd.
Everything he touches turns to gold. You knew that he would be able to give you what you want...and need.
Your manager has been breathing down your neck for a new hit to knock your first one out of the water, but so far, his efforts have been failing. Every producer he has called can't give you what you're looking for.
So you took matters into your own hands. You hit Toji up on Twitter on a whim, asking him to do a beat for you. He responded to you a day later, apologizing for his lateness and agreeing to meet up while he was in town. You felt giddy, excited for this chance to possibly gain more popularity and get closer to your goal.
Since you've been a child, you always wanted to be famous. Watching Beyoncé and Michael Jackson on your mom's TV, you knew that your dream was to get on a stage and perform. Make a million dollars. Tour the world. See the sights that your small-town parents never have.
So in your teens, you started doing YouTube videos where you'd dance and sing covers. Before the fresh age of twenty, you were discovered by a talent agent who flew you out to sunny California to audition for your manager's agency. He adored your pretty face, powerful vocals, and moves, deciding that you would be perfect.
A year later, you popped out with your first single 'Rev Your Engines' which was a mixture of bubblegum pop and hip hop that woke the industry and general public up. Everyone suddenly started noticing you in public and inviting you to award shows. You were performing on TV and gracing magazine covers.
The thrust into stardom was a weird and intense one, like taking too many drugs...yet like a drug, you can't get enough. You need more. More money. More fame. More recognition. And you know for a fact that Toji is capable of all of that. "Me?" he asks, acting shocked.
"Well, you are one of the top producers in the game," you giggle, taking another sip of the cocktail. "You'll be my secret weapon."
The producer's smirk grows, widening on his cheeks where two dimple piercing glitter back at you. "Oh, I know." You suck your teeth, rolling your eyes. "Nah, I'm fuckin' witchu," he cackles. "But seriously, with your vocals and my beats, any song we put out is sure to be a hit."
You laugh, giddy and slightly tipsy. "I like that energy!" you exclaim. "Mmm, and this drink! It's loosenin' me up."
Plus the red glow coming from a lava lamp sitting next to you and the soft R&B music he has playing from his Alexa Orb in the corner of the room with your Hello Kitty duffle bag. The ambiance is very seductive.
You are the only one in the studio with Toji right now. You are sure there will be other people coming in soon despite the late hour. Despite this being the first time you and Toji are officially meeting each other, you don't mind other people interrupting your studio session. He is a very busy man after all.
Your eyes flutter closed as the vodka begins to talk, your head tilting back against the couch. Unbeknownst to you, Toji's eyes trail up your body, stopping short on your stomach where a belly button ring glitters at him. "Just how I need you," he murmurs. "'Specially for the song ya had in mind. What'd you say? Somethin' sexy for the hot girls?"
You open your eyes to give him a playful wink, unaware of the hidden meaning behind his hot gaze. "Absolutely," you giggle, swishing your ice around in your cup. "I want somethin' that made the same noise as 'Rev Your Engine', but bigger. I got the lyrics for it here."
You take a final sip of your drink and leave it on a coaster before strutting over to your duffle to retrieve your songwriting journal. You don't feel the producer's eyes on your shapely, heart-shaped ass as it jiggles and bounces in your Region jeans.
"Oh?" Toji asks, interested. "Lemme see. I didn't know you wrote too." You hand your strawberry-printed journal over to him, rolling your eyes when he snickers at the cover. He turns the pages to your new song and begins to read.
Sweating slightly, you stand there in suspense, watching his smile fade and his eyes widen an inch. You feel your body flush with embarrassment and anticipation.
You know that your lyrics are more risqué and, quite frankly, slutty here: talking about bouncing on it at the club so everyone sees; being put on a leash; teasing him and his friend through a FaceTime call so they come over and cum in you.
Your lyrics aren't THAT blunt, but they are very "on the nose". And you know Toji knows that as he continues to read, silent. "C'mon, don't keep me in suspense, Toji!" you whine, wanting to snatch the journal away. "What'd you think?"
He finally turns to you, his face playfully deadpan. "I think you're a fuckin' freak," he replies, deadass. "Damn, girl, what do you do behind the scenes when you're not on stage or red carpets?" He passes the journal back to you, his eyes aglow with mirth.
"Wouldn't you like to know," you playfully murmur. You go to take your journal back, but Toji holds onto it, his calloused fingers nearly touching yours. The playful glint in his eyes fades, replaced with something hotter. More...personal. "Yeah, I would."
And it doesn't sound like a joke. His tone is too raspy and too serious for that. Your smile fades and your body feels like it has been put in a sauna, the temperature in the room spiking into the nineties now. The air between you throbs with tension and something that should not be transpiring the more Toji stares you down, almost as if he is trying to get you out of your panties.
Ding!
The sound of Toji’s phone pinging in his pocket cuts through the tension and stops whatever was about to happen from happening….which it wasn’t.
Toji, looking irritated, digs his phone out and puffs on his cigarette as he reads the message. “Oh, that's my plug," he announces, breaking out into a toothy grin. "Stick around. I'll be right back. Go in the booth when you're ready."
You nod and cradle your journal to your chest before he gets up and leaves you alone in the studio to recuperate and calm yourself.
Other than being a renowned and talented producer, Toji is also a total playboy. A whore, if you will. Always has a different girlfriend or fuck buddy every month. A model or stripper on his arm. Always photographed coming out of a sneaky link’s crib or a hotel. He gets around.
You have no time for any of that. Men like him will get you in trouble...though dating him would definitely up your popularity and boost your publicity. But you want to be famous for your talent, not being a famous man's girlfriend or side piece. No matter how hot Toji is...or how could he smells...or how wet his eyes make you feel.
When he returns, you've put down your cup and ventured into the recording booth. He smiles at you from behind the plexiglass, jiggling a baggie of weed around. "Ya want some?" he asks. He looks perturbed when you shake your head. "What, you don't smoke? In this industry?"
You scoffingly laugh, taking the headphones hanging off the mic. "I don't wanna fuck up my throat." Toji raises an eyebrow at this, catching onto the unintended sexual connotation. "You know what I mean!" you exclaim.
"Weed doesn't do that, sweetheart," he chuckles, sitting down in his chair with his legs spread once again. "Just say you're scared! It's fine!" You give him the middle finger, your French tips each printed with a gem. You always loved a good, cute set.
"Ya may need some of this green to sing lyrics like those," he whistles, giving you a wink. "I thought 'WAP' was nasty, but this takes the cake. Is your dad okay with his pretty little pop star singin' dirty shit like this?" He gives you a humored smirk through the booth.
You give him a tense stare, earning a raucous laugh in reply to the shots fired at your manager. It is public knowledge that your manager is very strict about who you involve yourself with...if he knows who you involve yourself with. He will never know about your meeting with Toji until the song is finished.
"My manager is fine with it," you reply. "He wants a hit, so I'm giving it to him. Now turn me up."
When you put the headphones over your head and hear the first threads of the beat, you already know what you want and how you want to sound. The best part of being an artist is recording.
You love losing yourself in the music, closing your eyes and taking yourself away to a place where there is nothing but your voice, the beat, and the feeling you feel while singing.
But with this particular song, it doesn't go that way. At first, you feel sensational. Sexy. Liberated. The vodka runs through you and Toji's laser vision on you make you sing the salacious lyrics with conviction and all the heart you have in your body.
But after a while, when Toji asks you to do different cuts and you pause to get your mind right, you start to feel that self doubt creep in. That thought that you look and sound stupid saying all of this shit.
At some point during recording, you stop, the words dying in your throat and the vodka's magic wearing off.
Toji wrinkles in brows in confusion, cutting the music in your headphones. "Hey, what's up, doll?" he questions. "You good? You stopped right at the chorus."
You slide the headphones off your head, biting your lip. "I-I don't know," you lamely admit. "I'm sorta second-guessing these lyrics. Maybe you're right: they're too dirty."
But Toji scoffs, waving a passive hand at your negative talk. "Nah, nah, nah," he protests. "Don't fuckin' do that. Don't get in that head. You're an artist, Y/N, and this is what artists do."
"Yeah, but..." You stare off to the side, still chewing on your bottom lip. Maybe this isn't a good idea. What if you lose your fanbase? What if people start to see you as a sexy gimmick and not a true artist?
Seeing you battle with yourself, Toji crooks a finger at you. "Here, come on out here and let me help ya out." He then gets up and walks over to the mini fridge sitting by his fish tank filled with aquatic wonders sitting adjacent to the other couch on the other side of the room.
You do as he says, leaving the booth to sit back on the couch next to it. As you get comfortable, he pours you another cup of the fruity concoction that you've come to love. "Sip on your drink a little," he encourages. "The vodka will help you." He gives you an encouraging smile, silently telling you to drink it.
You take a long sip, letting the sweetness explode over your tastebuds. "Mmm," you pleasantly hum.
He nods in agreement, clinking his red cup with yours. "See? Nice and sweet, like you." He takes a sip of his, licking the red residue from his plump top lip. You ignore the way his tongue glitters with a piercing.
He then gives you some space and takes a seat in the couch across from you where he begins rolling himself a blunt. Maybe it's the vodka creeping into your brain crevices, but suddenly, Toji's veiny, calloused, and inked hands are very attractive.
They seduce you with every twist, bend, roll, and pinch that his fingers make as he sprinkles in some shavings of marijuana and prepares his blunt.
He is an expert at this, focused and highly intriguing the more you watch him. Especially when his pink, pierced tongue slides along the brown paper to close the blunt, successfully rolling it. He then takes his lighter out and fights it, the flickering flame illuminating his son's name tattooed on his right collarbone: Megumi.
His plump lips wrap around the blunt and he takes a puff, smoke billowing in the air like tiny ghosts. You feel hot suddenly, like your entire body is throbbing, and your veins itch with some weird anticipation. Is it the vodka? It's making you feel too reckless.
"Can I have a hit?" you softly ask. The producer raises a brow, smoke billowing out of his nostrils.
He blows an O in the air, bringing your attention to his mouth. He smirks and saunters over to you with the blunt, telling Alexa to play his 'Hotbox Playlist' as he does.
The sound of a Giveon song enters the air as he takes a seat beside you, nearly dipping the cushions because of how big he is. "You ever done it before?"
You shake your head, making him laugh. "Don't worry, doll, I've got you. Start off slow when you inhale."
He passes you the blunt, instructing you to hold it between your forefinger and thumb. Trembling with nerves, you slowly wrap your lips around the blunt and inhale, the end of the blunt glowing red like a firefly in the summer night sky.
As soon as the weed hits your lungs, you're coughing, your throat burning. Toji stifles a laugh. "Easy, easy, baby," he chuckles, patting you on the back. "I said take it slow. Try again."
You take another sip of your cocktail and do it again, being extra careful to not inhale so hard. This time, it is easier and when the weed hits, it hits big time. You feel a warmth in your lungs and your chest, causing you to press a hand against your beating heart. "Ooh," you sigh. "Wow."
Toji grins at you, nodding. "Uh-uh," he agrees. "It'll kick in soon. Wanna get back in the booth?"
You lazily nod, feeling good and as light as a feather. So you take your cup into the booth and do another cut of the song. This time, your vocals are slow and sensual. Your eyes flutter closed as the vodka and weed take over, making your body feel heavy and light at the same time.
As you sing, you focus on Toji and he focuses dead on you, barely taking his eyes off of your face and body. They trail over you like you're a dessert plate...and for some reason, you like that. You enjoy him watching. It makes your body throb more and your breath come out short.
Not to mention the wetness in your panties. When did that happen?
After your session, Toji gives you a thumbs up and you sway out of the booth, holding onto the wall for support. Maybe you need to back up off of the cup for a while. The vodka is obviously hitting you, but you can't remember the last time you felt so disoriented and aroused. Could it be the weed too? You only took two puffs!
"We got a good take," Toji says, giving you a smile that illuminates his handsome face. "You're a natural at this, doll." His gaze is full of so much admiration that it makes you flush. You shyly giggle, unaware that your hand resting on the chair is close to his forearm. "I learned from the best."
You're not quite sure what that means, but Toji doesn't question it. Instead, he takes another puff of his blunt and taps it into the ashtray sitting next to him. His smile widens, a secretive playfulness in it. "Now let's celebrate."
And so you do. You drink more and you watch Toji puff on his blunt, becoming more aroused by the way he forms those smoke Os and wondering what his tongue piercing feels like. At some point, when the edges of your vision become blurrier and your panties grow tighter, Toji pulls another bag out of his pocket.
He sits next to you on the couch, the smell of his cologne and body wash smelling like ocean waves engulfing your senses. You watch intently as he takes a magazine and sprinkles white powder onto it. He also whips out a $100 bill and a Black Card from his wallet, no doubt flashing his wealth at you.
You stare at the white substance, your fuzzy mind processing things slowly but processing nonetheless. Cocaine. Toji notices your perturbed expression and gently nudges you. "Don't be so scared, baby," he chuckles. "We're havin' a little party, ain't we? I'm sure you've done it with the girls at the club before."
You only did it once at an industry party and vowed to never do it again after waking up in someone else's bed with no recollection of how you got there. But when you see Toji begin to cut straight lines with his Black Card and roll up the dollar bill, you start to wonder.
When he bends down to snort a line, he grunts slightly and sniffles, leaning his head back with his eyes closed and his throat exposed. He swallows roughly, his Adam's Apple bobbing. Then the expression on his face softens and he shudders, a look of euphoria on his face. Now you really start to wonder just how it feels.
He slowly turns to you, his smile lazy. "Wanna try?" he asks, passing you the bill. The alcohol and weed fumes make you more susceptible and reckless. More willing to try anything. Everything sounds like a good idea now.
So you lean down, stick the dollar bill up your right nostril, close the left with your fingertips, and tentatively snort a line of the coke. You can only explain it as a rush of fire going up your nose, leaving you to only do half a line.
You gasp and grunt at the pain, pinching your sinuses. "Easy, mama," Toji coos, stroking your hair. "It'll pass. Once it hits, it'll feel real good."
And it does. A warm feeling spreads throughout your body like you are washed in light and you feel tingly. Your heart beats like a hummingbird's wings and everything seems sharper. You break into a smile, giggling. A weird light glints in Toji's eyes. "Yeah, it's workin'," he chuckles.
You lean back against the couch, the ceiling spinning slightly. Your body throbs with heat, your skin feeling as if lava has replaced your blood. "Mmm," you hum uncomfortably, wriggling slightly in your hoodie. Toji leans back against the couch too, his head just inches from yours. "Hot?" he chortles. "Yeah, it'll do that."
His fingers pinch the zipper of your hoodie, not unzipping it but not moving either. "Why don't you take it off if you're hot?" he suggests. So you do, letting the tiny piece of clothing fall from your arms and reveal the hard nipples under your thin bralette.
Now your limbs itch to move. You need to stand. So you suddenly stand, damn near scaring Toji, and your favorite Kehlani song begins to play. You hum in delight and start to sway to the music.
"Feelin' good, baby?" Toji asks. His voice sounds far away yet so close at the same time.
"Mmm-hmm," you hum. "I love this song." You begin to wind your hips to the slow beat, envisioning yourself as a wave. As your hips begin to gyrate in a circle to the beat, Toji watches from his spot on the couch, wanting you to get out of more of your clothes. You stick your hands out for his, giggling. "Dance with me, Toji," you request.
Toji's slick, slightly-red eyes stare at your dainty, manicured hands before he gives in and stands. Your heart lurches at the sheer size and height of him looming over you, though you don't feel intimated. If anything, it is all a major turn on. He takes his hand in yours and begins to sway with you to the music, the two of you in your own little world hazed with weed smoke and booze.
He then snakes one muscular arm around your waist and uses the other to turn you around so you're facing away from him. You breathe sharply through your nose as he presses himself against you...or are you pressing back into him? Either way, suddenly, your ass is brushing against the undeniable stiffness of his hard-on in his sweats.
"Dance for me," he whispers to you. He then takes a seat again and watches you as you begin to wind your hips to the music, flipping your hair and staring him down so seductively that his hard-on twitches in his sweats. He is but a fan in your audience as you glide along the stage.
You then place a hand by his shoulder to grasp the couch and hook a leg over his thigh. Then the other. And suddenly, with one yank from his hands snaking up your hips, you are straddling him. "This could be the single cover right here," he murmurs, eyes roaming up your body.
You shake your head, humming "mm-mm" is disagreement. His brows wrinkle. "Why not?" he questions, his hands still snaking along your hips and up your spine. "You'd make a million on a single if ya did, just sayin'. Maybe even with less clothes."
You remember when you were first starting out that a photographer in charge of snapping photos of you for your press tour tried to pressure you into posing topless. You refused. But now, sitting here with Toji, feeling his hot muscles under your fingertips and his even hotter cock throbbing underneath you, you think that maybe you were mistaken.
"Really?" you softly ask. The producer crookedly smiles at you, making himself look even more dangerously attractive. "Hell yeah. You have a beautiful body, Y/N. The talent is just a plus."
His hands trail up to grasp your breasts in your bralette, his palms pressing against your hard nipples through the thin fabric. "I can see these goin' viral on IG already," he dreamily sighs. "Goddamn, you're perfect."
In the back of your head, you are fully aware that your producer is groping you and this situation is very inappropriate...but you also don't care. Caring isn't even in the room with you right now.
"You sure this would make me go viral?" you giggle, but you secretly mean it. Your back arches, pushing your chest farther into Toji's hold. "Wanna find out?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.
And so, Toji gets his phone out, the bright light of his camera washing over you, while you slip off your top. As you do, your pussy gushes in your panties and your nipples grow harder, hardening to peaks once the barrier of your top is gone.
You sit there on top of him, your heart accelerating and your blood pressure reaching the ceiling. Toji gapes at you, his large hands gently brushing your skin. "Shit," he swears. "Look at you, baby. The hottest girl ever."
He snaps a photo of you with your tits out, the flash making your eyes flutter and tear. One of his hands reaches out to gently fondle one of your pretty titties, the light touch making you tingle. "Toji," you whimper.
"Yeah?" he asks. "What is it, baby doll? You like posin' for me?" He takes another photo, this one catching the way your bottom lip catches between your teeth. Finally sick of taking photos, Toji tosses his phone asides and latches his lips to your neck.
You gasp as his soft lips latch onto your tender skin and throat, his inked hands groping your breasts, rolling and fondling them in his big palms. "W-We shouldn't...oh," you moan.
You instinctively tilt your head back to allow more of his touch. His kiss. His everything. "What if someone comes in?" you weakly ask.
Toji looks up at you, giving you a rather irritated expression at the mention of a stranger interrupting your moment. "Nobody's comin', baby. It's 1 AM, plus I've got the key." He continues to kiss your neck, each one like a trail of fire licking across your skin. "Just relax for me. You'll love this."
"Toji," you mutter. "We shouldn't..." But your reasoning dies as soon as his tongue juts out to lick your neck and earlobe, his piercing cool against your hot, clammy skin. You moan again, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and neck, feeling his muscles underneath his hoodie.
He pulls away and gazes longingly at your tits in his hands, squeezing them gently. "Look at these tits," he groans. "So perfect. You can be a star with this body, baby." One of his hands snake down to your ass, creeping underneath your jeans to grasp your cheeks. Your moan is louder this time, leading Toji to swallow it with his mouth.
His lips are soft and taste of fruit punch, his tongue wetly sliding against yours. His kiss is just as addictive and dangerous as he is. You share moans and gasps as you continue to heatedly make out in Toji's studio, your body drawn to his like a moth to a flame.
With every second of his lips locked with yours, you grow more impatient and aroused. Every part of you screams 'I am horny'.
As if sensing this, Toji wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up, standing up with you in his arms. He then lays you down on the couch and hovers over you, his handsome face swallowing up your sight of the ceiling. His hands, quick and skillful, reach for the fly on your jeans. You don't stop him when he starts to unzip them.
"I can make you a star, y'know," he continues as he peels off your pants. "You don't have to worry. With me, I can make you big." Your pants slide down your legs, revealing the pink G-string you're wearing underneath.
Toji smirks at this, pinching the thin waistband of the thong between his fingers and pulling it back to snap against your skin. Once your pants are off of you, he goes back to sucking on your nipples while one hand sneaks down to rub your pussy through your thong.
You gasp at his touch, his thick fingers rubbing circles around the wet spot of your panties. "Oh, Toji!" you whine. "F-Fuck!"
"So pretty," he murmurs against your tits. He nuzzles them. Inhales your scent. Presses kisses to your chest as his hand continues to move in semi-circles against your soddened panties, feeling how puffy your pussy lips are sticking to your thong.
"So wet for me," he sighs. "Guess that little pill I slipped in your drink kicked in."
Suddenly, the world tilts on is axis and everything feels sharper now. You gaze down at him, confused and alarmed. "W-What?" you gasp.
He slipped you something? When? How? Why? Is that why you're feeling so weird?
Toji tilts his chin up to heavily kiss you, his stubble rubbing against your cheek. "Relax, doll. It's just an aphrodisiac." He smirks against your open mouth as you moan in his face, his fingers slipping between your slit. "Somethin' to get this body ready...somethin' make this little pussy wet for me."
He tears himself away from your tits, opting instead to be between your thighs. With his hands around your ankles, he yanks you down the couch so your legs are hanging off of the couch and he is kneeling between them. You watch helplessly as he drags your wet thong down your creamy, soft legs and places the tiny, soaked panties in his back pocket.
His eyes, laced with weed and lust, stare into yours, illuminating by the red glow of the lava lamp. "Just do what I want and I'll make you the brightest star in this fuckin' world," he softly growls. "Now open up for me."
You have no choice in the matter anymore once he is diving between your thighs and pressing them apart with his strong hands to get better access to you. Toji Munch Fushiguro should be his new government name because the man knows a thing or two about eating pussy.
"Toji!" you gasp, your hands grasping his black hair. "Oh, fuck! Oh, my God, yes!" You can't keep quiet as his tongue slithers inside of your wet hole, his pillowy-soft lips sucking on your puffy pussy lips drenched in your juices and his spit.
Speaking of spit, he likes to do that. He pauses a few times from tongue fucking you to spit copious amounts of saliva onto your pussy, letting it drip down your asscrack, and slurping it back up, making your throbbing clit hum and sing with pleasure.
You have never been eaten out in such a possessive, dominating, and eager way. His mouth is like Heaven and Hell mixed into one, each stroke of his tongue sending you further down the rabbit hole like little Alice.
As he eats, you grip your titties, tweaking your nipples and fondling them in an effort to give yourself more stimulation.
"Oh, Toji, please," you whimper. "Please make me cum."
Your cute moans seem to awaken something in Toji because suddenly, he is roughly yanking you up and scooping you up into his arms. You gasp, wrapping your arms and legs around him. "You wanna cum, slutty girl?" he murmurs against your mouth. "Fine...I'll make ya cum."
You can only squeal when he kneels down with you hooks his hands under your ass to press your pussy against his face. You stay as still as a statue when he walks over to the nearest wall and presses you against it, still slurping your pussy like a starving man.
"Oh, fuck!" you moan, tossing your head back against the wall. You grasp his scalp, pushing him farther into your gushing cunt, your feet dangling off of his shoulders. "Fuck, Daddy, yes!"
The name just slips out of you the tighter Toji holds you, the power in his fingertips making you gush and pour more honey into his mouth.
"I'm gonna cum!" you whine, your voice bouncing off of the studio walls. "Please, Daddy, make me cum!" Toji hums agreeably into your pussy, his licking growing more vigorous and eager, wanting you to cum all over his face.
And with a loud moan that could break glass, you finally come undone in his arms, your pussy quivering and shaking around his mouth. It could just be the cocaine paired with Toji's mouth, but it is an intense orgasm that leaves you shaking and your head fuzzy, not a single coherent thought in it.
When you finally come down from your orgasmic high, Toji carefully places you down on the couch and unwinds your jelly-like legs from his shoulders. He stares at you, his chin slick with your cum and his lips dripping in it. "That felt good, right?" he coos. He licks away your honey, keeping his eyes locked on you.
Slowly, you nod, still at a loss for words. His big hand shoots out to grip your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. "Say thank you," he growls. You roughly swallow, doing your best to please him despite your mental being so fucked up. "T-Thank you, Daddy," you stammer.
Toji smirks, pressing a chaste, wet kiss to your lips. "Mmm, good girl. You listen so well."
Yes, you are a good girl. And as a good girl, you know you need more. So when you see Toji's hard cock outlined by his sweats twitching and throbbing, you crawl to him. He watches in awe as you press your cheek against his dick print and begin nuzzling it, your eyes fluttered closed.
"Watchu want?" he chuckles. "You want this here?" He takes a handful of his cock, gnawing on his bottom lip.
You slowly nod, oozing wetness from your pussy that throbs insistently despite your recent orgasm. "Then come and get it," he demands. "Take my cock out if you want it, doll."
He watches you slink forward, your back arched and pretty ass tooted in the air for him. You eagerly untie his sweats, delighted to find that he isn't wearing underwear, and pull them down to reveal the long, hard, thick, throbbing, veiny cock dangling between his muscular thighs sinewy with hair.
You ogle at his hard dick and his lickable happy trail as he strips his hoodie off, revealing his tattoos and broad chest littered in black chest hair. You salivate at all of him, but especially his cock. The desire to feel it stretch out your mouth and throat fills you with a buzz.
"Nice, right?" he chuckles, a cocky smile on his face. "Needs a little bump though." He takes the baggie of coke off the coffee table and you watch, entranced, as he sprinkles some white powder onto his shaft.
Now you cannot hide your hunger anymore. Greedily, you wrap a hand around the base and take a lick of his cock, licking up the coke in the process. Toji moans at the sight, tilting his head back as you slurp up his pre-cum bubbling from his tip, moaning as you do.
The coke sinks into your tastebuds and gums, giving you a zing that hits in a way the first line didn't. You feel alive, like you can walk on the moon.
It gives you the urge to swallow every inch of Toji's cock, taking him deep into your wet mouth and sloppily sucking on him. White residue from the coke sticks to your nose and the corners of your spit-covered lips as you greedily suck, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down, up and down, your throat sliding around him.
"Ngh," he grunts, squeezing his eyes tight. "Fuck, that's fuckin' hot!" His face is flushed red, his Adam's Apple bobbing roughly as your throat flexes around him. "Go 'head, baby girl. Take me in that throat and suck me good."
Feening from the encouragement and praise, you wrap two hands around the base and suck what you can, sliding your sloppy, wet, tight throat around Toji's cock. As you do, a blinding light washes over you as Toji watches you from his phone, the camera shining on you.
"Thaaaat's my little star," he encourages, staring at you through the lense of his phone. "My good lil' cock slut. You take dick as good as you sing, baby girl."
His hand wraps around the back of your head and he pushes you deeper onto it, causing you to sightly gag as his bulbous tip brushes against the back of your throat. He begins to fuck your face, ruining your makeup and your throat, grunting as he does so. Your head feels fuzzy and dizzy, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he uses your mouth like a toy.
A buzz, indeed. Especially the way the man attached to the delicious dick in your mouth talks to you. "Such a pretty little bitch I've got," Toji murmurs. "You love this shit, don't you, slut?" His words are degrading and nasty, but his voice is sugary sweet, sending shivers down your spine.
You try to speak around his cock, but he stops you by pushing deeper, filling your nostrils with the scent of him. He is pressed flush against you, his heavy balls pressed against your chin. "Don't talk with your mouth full," he grunts. "Just keep suckin'. I want the perfect angle of you."
He turns his phone horizontal so he records in landscape. Your eyes, glassy with tears, stare up into his phone. “And don't worry; nobody's seein' this but me." He gives you a smirk riddled in sin and red-hot lust as he continues to fuck your throat off its hinges.
You have no choice but to sit on your knees and take it, breathing through your nose and letting spit drip from your chin down your tits, much to Toji's satisfaction.
You place your hands on his hips, indulging in his firm ass and thighs as he thrusts into your mouth, groaning at the feeling of your tight-as-a-vice throat.
He then pulls away, dragging his cock out of your mouth and letting the saliva string stretch from his tip to your lips. “Open your mouth.”
His tone is firm, serious. You do as you're told, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out.
He leans towards you, tilting your face up by your hair, and spits a wad of saliva into your mouth. “Now put it back on my cock."
You do just that, going back to sucking him dry as his spit drips from your mouth onto his shaft, drizzling down his balls. “Yeah, slurp it up, baby,” he groans. “Such a good fuckin’ girl!"
He watches you with an expression close to anguish as if he can't take the sight of you gagging on his dick. As he begins to throb and swell in your mouth, a guttural sound escapes him as if he is resisting. “No,” he growls. “If I’m gonna cum, I need to fuck you first.”
So he pulls out of your mouth and taps the wet tip against your lips, putting his phone away. “Do you want me to fill that pussy up, doll?”
You feel your body tingle with excitement and need, the desire to be fucked, filled, and ruined taking over. “Yes,” you whisper.
A light flickers in Toji's eyes, exciting you further. “Then grab onto me.”
You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, allowing him to scoop you up so your legs dangle from his waist. He sticks his tongue in your mouth, sloppily kissing you as he walks you over to the control panel.
He plops you down on the edge of the panel, accidentally switching the 'ON' button for recording. Neither of you notice, even as Toji's voice echos throughout the studio as he speaks. “Up ya go,” he chuckles. “You’re so wet for me, baby.”
He slides his tip down to your pussy, gently prying your lips apart and swirling it around in your juices. You softly gasp as he nudges your clit, sending sparks of electricity throughout your body. “Toji,” you whimper. “Fuck me please.”
Between the way your eyes grow slick with unshed tears, your cute little French tips dig into his shoulders, and your simpering begging, Toji is helpless to resist you. He sticks his mouth to yours as he slides himself home inside of you, causing you both to gasp at the new sensations.
Sex off cocaine, vodka, and aphrodisiac pills is something you have never experienced before. There is nothing quite like it.
Toji must feel it too because his entire body is tense as if he can't take the pleasure. "Fuck, you're tight, baby," he grunts. "And so wet." He begins to thrust, rough and unrelenting, each word punctuated by a stroke that makes you gasp and your thighs shake.
"Such. A good. Fuckin'. Girl for me," Toji groans, driving his cock into you again and again. Your mouth falls agape on each moan and gasp that rattles your bones and drags unnatural sounds from you, each stroke of his cock taking you to a world far beyond this one (plus the cocaine helps).
Toji grabs your chin, mushing your cheeks together. "Say it!" he demands. "Say you're my good fuckin' girl!" He thrusts a little harder, making your pussy throb and tighten around his merciful cock.
"I'm your good fuckin' girl!" you sob, gripping him for dear life. Your feet dangle from his waist, your body wrapped around him like a koala bear as he fucks you dumb. "Yeah?" he chuckles. "You love this? You love bein' my little slut?"
Your desperate moans answer for him. Your head lulls against his shoulder, each thrust exhausting you. It is too much. Too intense. The sheer ecstasy is almost agonizing.
“Such a tease," he growls. "Always teasin' me with this fuckin' body. I've been wanting you for so long, baby."
He leans you back against the buttons on the control panel, giving him a good view of your body. He fondles one of your tits as he fucks you, his eyes lecherously sliding across every curve of your frame. "Toji," you whine. "Harder."
The producer chuckles, his cock throbbing inside of you. "Harder?" he parrots. "You've got it, babydoll. You know why?"
He begins to drive his hips harder against you, the sound of his thighs slapping against yours permeating the air. "'Cause you're mine now," he moans. "You're my little pop girl and I'm gonna give you everything you want and more."
And with every thrust, he does. He sends you on a rocket trip than you don't want to get off. You see stars as he fucks you, knocking all common sense and reason out of your pretty brain. You begin to deliriously smile as you moan, your pussy squelching lewdly around his cock. You love being his little slut. His little dancer. His whatever he wants you to be.
"C'mere," he demands in his deep, sultry voice. You sit up for him, eagerly staring at him as he you wait for his next request. "Tilt your head up."
You do so and he leans forward, open his pretty lips for you...and drooling a string of spit into your mouth. "Give it back to me," he sultrily orders.
Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, you grip him to you as you sloppily kiss him, serving his saliva back to him as you kiss. You begin to suck on his big, fat tongue, moaning wantonly as his cock massages your pussy walls.
Your moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, leaving nothing to the imagination, especially when you start to get close. Your body crackles with fire, your core tightening like a balloon filled with too much air. "T-Toji," you whimper, your toes curling against his ass. "Daddy, I'm gonna cum again!"
Toji frantically nods, slowing his pistoning thrusts down to slow, deep strokes. "I can feel it," he hisses. But then he stops and slowly pulls away, moaning at the sight of his cock slick and shiny with your juices. You gape at him, confused and desperate.
Why the fuck did he stop?
But the heated look in his eyes stops you short. "Turn around and bend over." He doesn't look like he's up for any protests. Though your legs feel like jelly, you slide off of the control panel and whisk yourself around, bracing yourself against the panel for more.
And Toji gives you so much more when he taps his cock against your pussy and glides in again, causing you to gasp. He is so much deeper in this position, his balls gliding against your clit as he begins to give you shallow thrusts. Pressing his lips to your ear, he nibbles on the lobe, sending you careening deeper into bliss.
"I'm gonna fuck this pussy until you cum all over me," he whispers. "And then you're gonna lick all of it off me when I'm done."
As you shudder, he grips your hips and begins to piston into you, pulling in and out, in and out, stroking your walls and stimulating your clit with his balls slapping against them every second. Your eyes roll back and your mouth lewdly hangs open as Toji fucks your pussy like it is his, drawing his throbbing cock into you with every intention of making you cum.
With every thrust, your ass bounces into his pelvis, creating a symphony of slapping sounds that mix with the music playing from Toji's playlist. You feel one of his big hands paw at one of your cheeks, roughly groping your behind. "Look at this fuckin' ass," he growls. "You drive me crazy, you little slut."
SPANK!
SPANK!
You moan at each harsh spank, his calloused hand causing your asscheeks to catch fire. "Nice little tattoo of my name would look good here," he chuckles, sliding his finger along the top of your ass. "Then you'd really be mine. Nobody could touch you but me."
His hand wraps around your throat, nice and tight, slightly restricting your airways and making you feel lightheaded. It makes his thrusts feel that more intense; that more good. Your mind is totally blank. You are thinking of nothing but the pleasure and the way your pussy feels being filled up and pounded senseless.
You are not a singer. You are not a dancer. You are not a star. All you are right now is Toji Fushiguro's slut and you are totally okay with that.
You can feel yourself tensing up as your core tightens, causing your moans to grow louder and your grip on the panel to get tighter. Toji's thrusts get faster and rougher, nearly causing you to fall into the panel and accidentally press buttons that you shouldn't.
His tongue licks at your earlobe, his piercing cool against your hot skin. "Just a little more, sugar," he groans into your ear. "Take a little more. C'mon, you've been doin' so well takin' this dick so far."
You whine in response, your pussy squelching and quivering with need. "Daddy, please!" you beg. "I'm gonna cum! I-I can't...can't..."
Your body begins to give out on you, your limbs turning to mush. Toji wraps an arm around your waist and grips you to him, his other hand still tight around your neck as he draws himself into your cunt.
"You'd better cum for me now then," he demands, his voice rough and raspy. It makes you peak that much higher. "Cum for me, baby doll. Cum all around that fuckin' cock. Give it all to me."
And you do. With his voice in your ear and his tight, possessive grip on you, your moans and whines grow louder as that invisible string gets tighter and tighter...until it snaps. "Oh, sh-sh-shit!" you shudderingly whine, cumming all around Toji's cock.
This orgasm is just as intense as the first one. It leaves you shaking in Toji's arms, especially when he keeps thrusting into you so roughly. Your pussy has no choice but to continue cumming, all of your cream leaking out down Toji's shaft and your inner thighs. You start to feel the aftershocks like you're standing in the middle of an earthquake, your body shuddering and jerking through your orgasm.
This triggers Toji because he roughly bends you over so your ass is sticking out and proceeds to pummel your pussy as if you are a toy. A fleshlight. Nothing but something for his pleasure.
You grip the control panel for dear life, gasping as he draws himself into you, pounding into your hole over and over again. Your eyes weakly tilt up to look in the booth glass, watching Toji's jaw tighten and his muscles tense, each vein in his neck popping with restraint and concentration.
Finally, he stills, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. You feel his cock swell inside of you, warning you of his orgasm.
Wuickly, he pulls out and begins to furiously stroke his cock, his grunts and wet sounds the only things loud enough for you to hear through the blood pounding in your head.
"Fuck!" he bellows as a stream of cum escapes his cock and slaps across your ass. Strings of swears and moans drip from his lips as he sprays your ass with spunk, the warm, wet droplets making you gasp as they hit your skin.
With a sigh, Toji slightly stumbles away, whistling to himself. "Hold up," he tells you. You do so, making no effort to move. Your limbs are too tired and you feel the high from the coke and the pill he slipped you start to wear off. You just feel tired and used. You need a hot shower.
Click!
You blink at the flash of light from Toji's phone as he snaps a pic of you bent over naked with his cum coating your ass. "Such a dirty little girl," he sighs, giving your ass a feeble grab. "You'll look so good on my lock screen."
You say nothing in response. You know that tomorrow you won't even remember this night.
Toji sighs, taking a seat in his chair and scooping you up to sit in his lap. Your sweaty bodies press against one another, sharing in your lost highs and exhaustion.
He suddenly laughs, his chest rumbling under your ear. "Oh, look, doll," he chuckles.
You weakly turn your head to where he points, blinking tiredly at the red light on the recording button.
'ON', it says to you.
Toji smirks down at you, his hand possessively gripping your ass as he snuggles you in his lap. "We got a hit on our hands."
Lo’ak catches his friend and his brother, Neteyam fucking
WC. 3.7K
Lo’ak’s still damp from his swim, river water drying in uneven patches on his skin as he makes his way back through the village.
He throws lazy waves at familiar faces, trading a few half-hearted greetings, fingers brushing against other palms in passing.
It’s easy, mindless—until he spots Spider.
Spider’s leaned back against a trunk, arms folded, like he’s been waiting. Lo’ak lifts his hand automatically, five fingers spread.
“Hey, bro.” Their palms meet with a solid smack, fingers curling for a second before they pull away.
“Hey. Where were you?” Spider eyes the droplets still clinging to Lo’ak’s braids.
“Just taking a swim,” Lo’ak says, shoulders rolling in a casual shrug. His tail flicks behind him, relaxed.
Spider’s mouth curls. “I was on a date with Kiri.”
Lo’ak stares at him for half a beat, then makes a face so dramatic it hurts. “Ew, bro. Just—no. Ewwww.” He clamps his hands over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, like that’ll erase the image.
Spider laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Relax, skxawng.”
Lo’ak drops his hands and blows out a sigh, still grimacing. “Where is Neteyam?”
Spider glances around too, like they might just materialize. “Haven’t seen him. Thought he was with you.”
Lo’ak shakes his head. “No idea. We should look for him or Mom’s gonna blame me somehow.”
Spider snorts. “True.” He pushes off the tree. “I’ll check by the rivers.”
“I’ll go forest,” Lo’ak says, already turning away.
It’s not really weird for Neteyam and you to disappear together like this.
You always come back with some story about flying or exploring or “just riding,” like it’s nothing.
They both swore they’d never date—too different, too much history, too much of everything.
Lo’ak has never bothered to question it.
He heads deeper into the trees, following the path he’s seen you and Neteyam take a hundred times.
The forest wraps around him, thick and familiar. The buzz of insects and distant animal calls fills his ears, a constant, comforting noise.
Then something cuts through it.
A soft, breathy, unmistakable sound. “Mh… ah…” And underneath it, a wet, steady smack-smack-smack.
Lo’ak stops walking.
For a second he just stands there, listening, brows knitting together.
It could be anything, he tells himself, but his chest tightens and curiosity curls sharp under his ribs. He shifts his weight, ears twitching as he picks up the direction. His first instinct is to turn around.
He doesn’t.
He starts moving toward the sound, quieter now. He tells himself he just wants to make sure no one’s in trouble. That’s all. That’s it.
And maybe—yeah—he’s curious. He’s never gone all the way with Tsireya. They’ve kissed, they’ve touched, but nothing like the raw, honest noise that’s pulling him in now.
A cave entrance appears ahead, half-hidden by hanging vines. On the rock beside it, two thumbprints have been pressed into the wall in red paste, dragged and curved into a rough heart. The paint looks newer than everything else around it, edges still dark.
Lo’ak’s throat goes dry.
Just a quick look, he tells himself. Just long enough to see who it is, and then he’ll leave. No harm done.
His heart is pounding harder now, so loud it nearly drowns out the moans.
He steps closer, back flattening to the wall as he edges up to the opening. He leans forward, very slowly, head peeking around the stone.
And then everything stops.
It’s Neteyam.
His brother.
His perfect, responsible brother.
With her—one of his closest friends.
Neteyam, on his knees on the cave floor, body pressed tight to yours.
Your top is shoved up carelessly around your chest, and your breasts are bouncing with every solid snap of his hips. His cock is buried deep inside you, sliding in and out in a rhythm that looks practiced, his body moving like he knows exactly how to make you fall apart.
Your wrists are pinned above your head in one of his hands, fingers wrapped around both of your wrists like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
His other hand is braced beside your shoulder, steadying himself.
His face is twisted in concentration and pleasure, brows drawn together, mouth hanging open.
You’re looking up at him with this dazed, soft expression—eyes heavy, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
Your legs are spread wide around his hips, knees bent and drawn up to give him more room, more access.
Every thrust pushes a little noise out of you.
Little whimpers.
Quiet, breathy sounds that don’t sound like pain at all.
Lo’ak’s stomach flips.
His body goes cold and hot at the same time.
Part of him wants to shout his name, pull him back, do something, but he’s rooted to the spot, hand halfway raised and frozen.
Maybe Neteyam’s forcing you. Maybe you don’t want this.
He opens his mouth, breath catching—
“Yes… oh my! nete, right there,” you gasp, voice breaking on a moan. Your hips roll up to meet his, chasing him, grinding against him like you’re trying to pull him deeper.
Lo’ak’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. The words die in his throat.
Neteyam’s head tips back, his braids shifting with the motion.
His eyes squeeze shut and a low sound tears out of him as his hips stutter for a second, then pick up again.
He leans down, his chest pressing flush to yours as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, almost protective hug.
His face buries into your neck, nose and lips pressed against your skin as his thrusts speed up.
Your arms slip free from his grip, winding around his shoulders and neck, fingers immediately finding his braids and fisting in them.
You cling to him, nails dragging lightly over his back.
You sound like you’re about to cry, but nothing in you reads as scared. Just overwhelmed. Just wrecked.
“I’m cumming,” you huff, the words catching in your throat, your back arching off the ground.
Neteyam slows, but he doesn’t pull out.
His hips shift from sharp thrusts to slower, deeper rolls, grinding his cock inside you.
It’s almost worse; you whine at the change, frustrated and needy.
He lifts his head and looks down at you, a slow smile spreading across his face as he watches you squirm.
“Easy,” he says, voice low, a little smug. He leans in and kisses you—your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth—little, soft kisses like they’re habit.
Lo’ak’s chest tightens at the intimacy in it. This isn’t some random hookup. This is his brother being gentle.
“You like it, hm?” Neteyam murmurs against your skin, his accent heavier, words dragging. You nod—too fast, too eager.
“You wanna cum?” he asks, lips brushing your ear now, his teeth just grazing the shell.
Your head moves in another frantic nod, a small sound punched out of you.
“Then you’ll have to do it yourself,” he says, and there’s a grin in his voice.
He pulls out slowly, his cock sliding free of you with a slick sound.
Your body shudders at the loss, and Lo’ak can see the shine between your thighs, the way your previous orgasms have left you messy and wet.
Neteyams own cum falling out of you from his own previous orgasms.
Neteyam lies back beside you, then shifts fully onto his back, one arm relaxed behind his head, the other reaching for you.
“Come here,” he says, fingers curling around your thigh. Your leg trembles as he guides you over him, helping you swing a leg across his hips.
Your legs are shaking so hard you have to catch yourself with your hands on his stomach as you hover above him.
You let out this fragile little whine, your muscles clearly on the edge, but you steady yourself and start to sink down.
His cock pushes back into you, slowly stretching you around him again.
“Yes,” you moan the moment you’re seated fully, and this time you don’t bother easing into it.
You start moving—pushing up with your thighs, lifting yourself just enough to slam back down onto him.
The pace you set is fast, almost frantic.
Your hands dig into his abdomen for balance, fingers splaying over his skin, and your head dips backwards , chin tucking out from your chest because it’s too much effort to hold yourself perfectly upright.
Your hair swing with each bounce, and the sound of your bodies meeting—wet, sharp, constant—fills the cave.
Your ass hits his hips again and again, the impact making everything in Lo’ak’s head stutter.
This isn’t clumsy or new. This is familiar. Rehearsed. Comfortable. They’ve done this before—more than once.
Especially when he hears Neteyam’s voice, softer now, slipping out between strained breaths.
“Ma yawne,” he rasps. “My pretty girl. That’s it. Just like that.”
You fall apart again, a sharp, high whine ripped out of you as your back arches and your rhythm falters a your orgasm hits you hard.
Neteyam’s hands fly up to catch your hips, holding you steady, fingers digging in to keep you from collapsing completely.
Lo’ak thinks it has to be over. It has to be. His chest is tight. He’s sweating and can’t even remember when he started.
But Neteyam’s not done.
Still lying on his back, he starts thrusting up into you from below, meeting your movements even as they get sloppy and weak. Your moans go messy, words dissolving into broken sounds.
“I know, baby, I know,” he pants, jaw clenched. “I’m close. I promise.”
You shake your head, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. Overstimulation has you shivering, shoulders hunching forward, breath catching on every exhale.
“Take it for me, please,” he begs, voice cracking around the edges now. His hands squeeze your hips, pulling you down harder, like he’s afraid you’ll lift off and run.
Tears finally slip free, tracking down your cheeks. You’re not sobbing, but you’re clearly past your limit. Neteyam sees it. Lo’ak can see him see it.
“Don’t cry,” Neteyam says, and his voice softens in an instant. “I’m right here.” His thumbs rub circles into your skin, trying to soothe even as his body refuses to stop moving.
“I want to wipe them,” he says, a helpless little laugh breaking through, “but you feel so good.”
He keeps thrusting up into you, relentless, his grip on your hips guiding you down each time his hips rise. You finally give in and collapse forward, chest pressing against his. Your arms slide around him, your face burying into his neck.
From Lo’ak’s angle, he can see the way your fingers curl into his shoulders, hanging on.
“Am I making you feel good?” Neteyam asks, and the question comes out half-moan, half-prayer.
You nod weakly against him, a broken sound leaving your throat. It’s enough.
He slams up into you one last time, deeper than before, and goes still—body tense, muscles straining as he spills inside you with a ragged groan. His hand slides up your back, holding you there while he rides it out.
Lo’ak realizes his own hand is clamped over his mouth, nails digging into his cheek. His heart is racing so fast it hurts. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there.
You’re still for a moment, then your head turns on Neteyam’s chest. Your eyes are closed, lashes damp with tears, breathing uneven. Slowly, they flutter open.
They land right on him.
Your whole body jolts. “Lo’ak,” you breathe, horror coloring your voice.
He doesn’t think. He doesn’t speak. He just turns and bolts, feet pounding against the ground as he runs, heat burning his face and filling his chest with a mess of emotions he has no words for.
Neteyam’s still catching his breath, chest heaving under you, his cock softening deep inside as the last shudders fade. Your whisper cracks the haze. “Lo’ak.”
His head snaps up, golden eyes wide as he follows your frozen stare to the cave mouth. Lo’ak’s gone—nothing but shadows and the fading crunch of footsteps—but the damage is done.
In the jolt, his cock slips free from you with a wet sound, a thick trickle of his cum spilling out of your pussy, warm and messy down your inner thighs.
“Skxawng,” Neteyam mutters, half curse, half laugh, though his voice shakes. He shifts quick beneath you, hands gentle but firm on your hips as he helps lift you off him completely. “He saw.”
You scramble back on shaky legs, thighs slick with your mixed releases, heat flooding your face as you feel more of him leak out.
“Oh my god—shit, Neteyam, he saw everything.” Your hands fumble for your top, yanking it down over your chest, fabric sticking awkwardly where sweat and slick have smeared.
He’s already moving, rolling to his knees and snatching his loincloth from the cave floor.
“Hey, hey—breathe, ma yawne.” His voice stays steady, even as he ties the ties with quick, jerky pulls.
But his eyes dart to the entrance every few seconds, ears twitching for pursuit. “We’ll fix it. He’s my brother—he won’t say anything. Not yet.”
You snatch your bottoms, fingers clumsy as you try to lace them up one-handed, the other tugging your top straight—ignoring the sticky warmth still dripping between your legs.
“Won’t say anything? He ran. Like he saw a thanator.” A panicked laugh bubbles out, more sob than sound.
“What if he tells Spider? Or Lo’ak blabs to everyone—your dad, Jake, the whole clan?”
Neteyam’s on his feet now, stepping close to help.
His fingers brush yours aside, deftly retying the stubborn straps on your hips with a practiced touch—careful around the fresh mess.
“He won’t. Lo’ak’s mouthy, but he’s loyal.” He straightens, cupping your face quick—thumbs swiping at the tear tracks still drying on your cheeks. “We knew this could happen. Secrets don’t keep forever.”
You lean into his palm for half a second, then pull back, grabbing your hair to twist it into some semblance of order.
Strands are everywhere, tangled from his fists earlier. “Yeah, well, we kept it secret for a reason. no teasing from those idiots, no Jake side-eyeing you like ‘you’re distracted, son—focus on training.’” Your voice pitches lower, mimicking Jake’s gruff tone. “And now? This is worse than awkward. It’s mortifying.”
He snorts, grabbing a loose vine to scrape the worst of the red paste heart off the cave wall—evidence.
“You think I don’t know that? But hiding forever wasn’t the plan.” He finishes with the wall, turns back, and steps in to help with your hair—fingers combing gently through the knots, parting it smooth like he’s done a hundred times after moments like this.
“We tell him straight. Tonight. Me and you, together. No lies—just the truth. ”
Your hands still as he works, the familiar pull of his touch grounding you a little. “And say what? ‘Sorry bro, been fucking in caves—wanna be best man?’” You huff, but there’s no heat in it, just frayed nerves.
Neteyam chuckles low, tying off the last braid with a quick twist. “Something like that. Minus the cave part first.” He steps back, scanning you top to bottom—fixes one last crooked strap, smooths a wrinkle. You do the same for him, straightening his beads, brushing dirt from his shoulder. Domestic, even in panic.
He takes your hand, squeezing firm. “Come on. We find him before he spirals. ” His finger taps your leg for more reassurance. “He’ll get it. Or he’ll sulk, but he’ll get it.”
You nod, heart still hammering, but his calm seeps in. “Okay. Together.”
You slip out of the cave hand-in-hand, frantic steps carrying you back toward the village—already rehearsing the words, bracing for Lo’ak’s wide-eyed chaos.
-
Lo’ak’s avoidance hits like a slow burn the second you all touch down back at camp.
It’s subtle at first—just a quick dodge when Neteyam claps a hand on his shoulder, murmuring “baby brother” like always.
Lo’ak doesn’t even glance back. Just yells some random name into the crowd, like the wind stole Neteyam’s voice entirely.
He weaves through hunters, tents, kids—anywhere but near you two. By evening, it’s clear: he’s ghosting hard.
Two days drag like that.
Neteyam tries everything—casual nudges by the fire, quiet pulls aside during training. Nothing sticks. The stress etches fine lines around his eyes, and it seeps into you both.
He’s canceled two dates now.
Never snaps, never frustrated in that sharp way.
Just cups your hands gentle in his, forehead resting warm against yours, breath mingling. “I’m sorry, princess. Gotta try to talk to him tonight.”
You pout, fingers tracing his jaw. “Well, he’s not talking to me either. ”
“I know, ma yawne.” His thumbs stroke your knuckles, eyes soft but tired. “Tomorrow—me and you. Promise. No distractions.” He presses a lingering kiss to your palm, like he’s sealing it.
But tomorrow doesn’t come.
It’s the same quiet cycle: chase Lo’ak, hit the wall, circle back to you with apologies and that same vow. Rinse. Repeat. You feel the ache of it in stolen moments—his hand squeezing yours a beat too tight, the way he lingers before pulling away.
Then Jake calls the shot.
Simple errand: fly to the Clouded Forest, grab fabric from the outpost. Come back.
The three of you gear up without fanfare, mounting your ikrans in tense silence.
Neteyam leads point, you tight on his wing, Lo’ak lagging deliberate at the rear.
You swear you feel his stare drilling into your back the whole flight—hot, unspoken.
The air between you feels thick, wrong.
Normally you’d fly playful alongside him, yelling dumb jokes over the wind, racing dives.
But every time you ease closer now, he guns ahead or drops low—creating space like it burns.
You hate it.
Hate how your best friend’s freezing you out over this. Over Neteyam. Your chest tightens with every evasive loop he pulls.
Your ikran keens sharp mid-flight—hunger screech.
You yell it to Neteyam, voice carrying clear beside you.
He nods once, quiet and sure, then twists back to signal Lo’ak with a broad hand wave: land.
You don’t look; don’t need to. The sarcastic huff floats up faint from behind.
They touch down in a misty clearing by a stream, wings folding with rustles.
Your ikran dives straight for fish, snapping at the water with focused splashes. You slide off her flank, leaning against a rock to watch—arms crossed, picking at a loose thread on your strap.
Anything to avoid the heavy quiet.
Neteyam hangs back deliberate a few paces away, perched on his own ikran’s saddle, gaze flicking between you and the trees.
Giving space.
Lo’ak won’t even turn your way—back rigid, fiddling endless with his gear pouch, shifting foot to foot like ants crawl under his skin. Ten minutes stretch. No one speaks. The only sounds are water, ikran gulps, distant bird calls.
Then it breaks—low, muttered, but sharp enough to cut: “If you guys wanna hold hands or whatever… just do it, man.”
You turn slow. He’s slouched against his ikran’s side, sulk carved deep—shoulders in, eyes on the dirt.
Neteyam’s head snaps up. “What’re you talking about?” It comes out edged, protective—like Lo’ak’s slinging it at you. His face tightens, ears pinning back a fraction.
Lo’ak pivots gradual, arms folding loose. “I’m just saying… you two haven’t been hanging out. Or whatever.” A beat, jaw working. “If you’re gonna fuck, just say it..”
“Watch your mouth.” Neteyam’s off his saddle smooth and fast, feet hitting ground as he closes half the distance. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Neteyam,” you say soft, stepping forward—but it’s like white noise to them, locked in.
Lo’ak’s eyes flash. “You wanna know? You’re fucking my best friend. The girl I used to ramble about nonstop—crush so bad I told you everything.” He stops, chest rising quick, the words hanging raw. Silence crashes in, thicker now. Your face burns; old memories twist awkward in your gut.
Neteyam steps closer, looming but not crowding—just steady force. “You don’t get to throw that.”
“Then why hide it like some big Eywa-forsaken secret?” Lo’ak bites back.
“It’s not like that, Lo,” you murmur, fingers twisting at the skin of your arms—nervous habit. “We just… wanted our own space..”
He glances your way, first real look in days. “How long?”
Your voice stays even. “Started after you got back from the reefs. We… leaned on each other about stress and stuff... A lot.”
His shoulders sag a touch, tone dipping softer. “So you’re what—fuck buddies now?”
Neteyam huffs quiet, almost a laugh—steps in to clap Lo’ak’s arm, firm but fond. “Do we look like the type to make love for no reason, baby brother?”
Lo’ak blinks. “Anyone else know?”
“Only our moms. And now you.” Neteyam’s smile breaks real, warm—tension cracking.
Lo’ak exhales long and heavy, like he’s been holding it two days straight. Weight lifts visible from his frame. “Oh. Shit… that actually makes me feel better.” He scrubs hands up behind his head, slouching carefree all sudden. “Had me thinking everyone knew but me.”
You can’t help the snort. “If we’re honest? Pretty sure everyone did know but you.”
Neteyam turns to you, grin splitting wide. Laugh rumbles out low. “Yeah—sneaking off every night. Every morning. Every afternoon.”
“Right?” You match his laugh. “‘Just riding ikran.’” He pitches his voice high, mocking the old cover lame as hell, and you both crack up harder.
“Well—” Lo’ak draws it, smirk tugging now, ice fully thawed.
“Bro, teach me how to make a girl moan like that.” He launches into it—exaggerated “ahh-ahh-AHHH neteeew right thereeee” from the cave, puckering sloppy kissy faces, arms flailing dramatic.
“Skxawng!” You lunge swatting, half laughing, but he bolts, cackling wild around the ikran. Neteyam leans back on his saddle, arms crossed easy, that quiet, sure smile fixed soft. Watching his girl—his future, mother of his kids—chase his brother like nothing changed.
A/N, this takes place like 5 years after the ATWOW
The volcanic ridge still smoked from the last battle when the three leaders made their pact.
Varang stood like living obsidian, ash streaked across her broad shoulders. Jake Sully spoke with the weight of two worlds. Colonel Quaritch gave a curt nod. A new RDA splinter faction carved through Pandora like a sky-metal plague. No single clan could stop it.
So they would become one.
“The blood of my daughter and your son will bind us,” Varang declared. She gestured to you—her eldest, silent and straight backed. Ash markings streaked your arms, fire opal beads at your throat. You had not spoken. Duty was duty.
Neteyam stood at Jake’s right, tall and steady. His golden eyes met yours. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, nor did you want to.
The ceremony was brief. Vows spoken.
The night air carried sulfur. Inside, a small fire pit glowed—your one request.
The marui felt smaller than it should have, the air thick with the scent of sulfur from your small fire pit and the faint green sweetness of forest moss.
A single low burning flame cast long shadows across the woven walls. Outside, the village had gone quiet—elders and warriors from both clans keeping respectful distance, as if their silence could bless what was about to happen.
Neteyam stood on the far side of the sleeping mats. His hands moved with deliberate calm as he loosened the ties of his loincloth, letting the fabric fall away. He was already half hard from nerves and thought of having sex for the first time – even if it’s not how he imagined –, his cock heavy between his thighs. He did not look at you with desire. He simply breathed once, steadying himself, then stepped closer.
You removed your own coverings without flourish—beaded top first, then the woven skirt—folding each piece neatly beside the mat the way you had been taught to treat important things.
The cool night air brushed your bare skin. You lay back on the thick layered blankets, knees parting just enough, arms resting at your sides. Your tail lay still. Your eyes fixed on the dark weave of the roof above.
Neteyam knelt between your spread thighs. For a moment he simply looked at your body like a warrior checking his weapon before battle. He reached for the small jar of oil the healers had left, coating his fingers efficiently.
He pressed one slick finger inside you, then two, working them in and out with careful, measured strokes. The stretch was already uncomfortable. Your jaw tightened. You stared harder at the roof and breathed through your nose.
When he deemed it enough, he wiped his hand on a cloth and positioned himself. The broad head of his cock nudged against your entrance. He paused only long enough to murmur, voice low and professional, “I will go slowly.”
You gave one small nod.
He pushed forward.
The burn was immediate and sharp. Your body resisted the thick length forcing its way in, the stretch bordering on too much. A faint tremor ran through your thighs. You clenched your jaw harder, teeth grinding, refusing to let even a single sound escape. Neteyam’s breath hitched once—tight control—but he kept moving, sinking deeper inch by inch until his hips met yours and he was fully seated.
For a few seconds he stayed still, letting you adjust. His arms braced on either side of your head, muscles tense. Then he began to move.
It was mechanical. Steady. Nothing more. His cock slid out almost to the tip, then pushed back in with the same even rhythm—again, and again, and again. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the quiet marui. There were no kisses, no whispered words, no hands exploring your body. His hips worked with purpose, focused only on finishing what duty required. Your own body felt nothing but the continuous burn of being opened and the faint ache building deeper inside.
“Breathe,” he said once, voice rough but still controlled, when he noticed your chest had gone tight.
You obeyed. In. Out. Eyes never leaving the roof then they flicked to his just to noticed that his eyes are tightly shut, like your body is the most disgusting thing.
His pace quickened slightly near the end—short, practical thrusts. His breathing grew heavier, more strained. Then, with a quiet, restrained exhale, he pushed deep one final time and came. You felt the warm pulse of his release inside you, the subtle twitch of his cock as he emptied himself.
He stayed buried for only a few seconds before carefully pulling out. The sudden emptiness made you clench involuntarily around nothing. A small trickle of his seed mixed with the oil leaked onto the mat beneath you. Neteyam reached for a clean cloth, wiping you gently but efficiently between the legs, then cleaning himself.
When he was done, he lay down on the far side of the wide sleeping mat, back turned to you. The space between your bodies felt wider than the forest itself. Your tails did not brush. His breathing slowly evened out. Yours did too.
Neither of you spoke.
You stared at the roof a while longer, the burn between your legs slowly fading into a dull throb, then rolled onto your side facing away from him. Back to back. The fire pit crackled once and settled. Outside, a night insect chirred. Inside, only silence.
Duty was done.
Weeks became months. The alliance held by threads. You lived in the shared marui near the forest’s edge—stone lined fire pit on your side, forest weaves on his. You spoke little. You left the marui only when necessary.
Every night the same ritual: you cooked for him—roasted hexapede with ash seasoned herbs you gathered in secret. You cleaned the marui, mended his weapons, kept the fire steady. Then, when the village slept, he would come to you. He would position you on your back, enter you with the same careful but distant rhythm—his cock pushing in, pulling out, hips working until he finished with a quiet exhale. You lay still, enduring the stretch, feeling nothing but the ache of duty. He would roll away immediately. You slept back to back, tails not even brushing, not a single touch from either of you.
At first it was obvious: you did not enjoy each other’s presence. He returned from patrols tired and tense; you stayed silent, eyes on your tasks. He tried, in small ways, to help you fit in—showing you which forest herbs soothed the stomach after your fire meals, inviting you to watch young hunters train from the marui entrance. You rarely went. The Omatikaya whispers followed you anyway.
“She is barren,” they muttered when you passed. “Varang’s daughter cannot even give the Sully line an heir. Useless ash blood.” Neytiri’s gaze lingered longest, disappointed. Jake tried to quiet them, but the resentment grew.
Your own Ash people were changing too. Warriors arrived in small groups, merging with Omatikaya and Metkayina outposts. Joint patrols, shared fires, volcanic glass traded for woven nets. Varang sent word: “The clans become one fire. Do not fail us.” You nodded to the messenger and kept cooking.
Neteyam never complained. He would sit by the fire after long days and say quietly, “The stew is good tonight.” Or he would leave a smooth river stone beside your sleeping mat—something warm from the day’s sun. You accepted it without comment. But slowly, the days stacked.
One evening he returned with a shallow cut on his arm from a skirmish. You cleaned it without being asked, your fingers steady on his skin. He watched you. “You do not have to stay inside every day,” he said softly. “The village is safer with you in it.” You met his eyes for a moment, then looked away. “It is better here.”
Another night, a storm howled. You rose to secure the marui flaps against the wind. Neteyam helped without a word. When lightning flashed, he saw the faint tremor in your hands—memories of your volcanic home. He did not reach for you, but he said, “The fire you keep lit keeps the rain from feeling so cold.” It was the first time you felt something close to not dislike.
Weeks later, an Ash scout arrived with news of a merged training ground. You went once, at Neteyam’s quiet request, and demonstrated a fire enhanced trap.
The Omatikaya warriors watched warily, but one young hunter thanked you when it worked. You returned home and cooked in silence, but that night, when the mechanical mating ended, Neteyam lingered a second longer before rolling away.
He came to you after the meal, it’s not out of the normal for him to come to you for sex every week, you really needed to give him a child, but you couldn’t.
So he tired and tried and tried. And he won’t stop, not until his duty is done.
You lay back, legs parted. He prepared you with the same clinical efficiency, then entered you in that familiar rhythm of his cock sliding in and out in steady, purposeful strokes.
You endured the stretch in silence, jaw tight, eyes on the roof once more.
This time, as his hips moved, something in his breathing changed. His thrusts grew slightly deeper, a little less controlled. His cock pushed in and out with the same steady motion, but his body tensed more with each stroke.
Then, without warning, a deep, broken moan tore from his throat as his hips jerked forward. He stopped for a moment, buried to the hilt, cock pulsing hard inside you. The sound vibrated against your shoulder where his face had dropped. He deepened himself even further with a slow push, as if chasing the last of the sensation. Then he started moving again with shallow, trembling rolls of his hips, dragging it out.
But suddenly he stopped in his tracks.
His whole body went rigid. A harsh breath left him. He pulled out quickly — almost too quickly — his still hard cock slipping free with a wet sound. A thick trail of his release followed, leaking down your thigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice strained and rough with lingering pleasure and sudden regret. He hovered above you, golden eyes wide, one hand braced beside your head. “I didn’t mean to… lose control like that. I should have pulled out sooner. I’m sorry.”
You lay there, chest still rising and falling, the stretch and sudden emptiness lingering between your legs. For a long moment neither of you moved. Then Neteyam slowly lowered himself to his side of the mat and turned his back to you.
You rolled away as always. Back to back. Yet the space between you felt fractionally smaller that night, the silence a little less heavy.
Small interactions piled like kindling.
He taught you the names of forest fruits that grew near the marui. You showed him how to sharpen blades with volcanic grit so they never dulled. He defended you once when an elder called you “barren weight.” His voice stayed calm: “She keeps this home. She keeps me fed. That is not nothing.” You heard it from inside the marui and felt a strange warmth in your chest.
You began leaving the marui more—short walks to gather herbs, standing at the edge of training fields. The clan’s whispers quieted when you quietly warned a patrol of an RDA drone using an Ash smoke signal you taught them. One mother whose child you had quietly mended after a fall brought you woven fabric for the marui. “You are trying,” she said. Acceptance crept in, slow as dawn.
You grew more comfortable. The forest no longer felt like enemy territory. You smiled—small, barely there—when Neteyam returned and the stew was ready exactly as he liked it. He noticed. His shoulders eased around you.
Months turned. The sex nights continued—awkward, distant, bodies performing duty. But the days changed them.
One afternoon he returned early from patrol and found you humming—an old Ash fire song—while stirring the pot. He paused in the doorway, watching. When you turned, he said, “That song… it sounds like home for you.” You nodded once. He sat and listened until it ended. For the first time, you did not mind his presence.
Another day, a joint Ash-Omatikaya hunt brought back more meat than expected. You helped prepare it for the village feast outside your marui. Neteyam stood beside you, shoulder brushing yours as you worked. No words. But when the clan ate and someone praised the seasoning you had added, his tail flicked once against yours—accidental, yet neither pulled away.
The resentment from the clan had faded. They saw you now: the quiet woman who protected their patrols, who fed their future Olo’eyktan, who merged her fire with their forest without complaint. Neytiri even nodded to you once in passing.
One night, after a long successful raid against the RDA, something shifted.
Neteyam returned with ash on his skin from the battlefield. You had waited with food and clean cloths. He let you wipe the ash away, your hands moving slower than usual. His breath caught when your fingers brushed his queue.
“May I kiss you?” he asked, voice rough.
You met his eyes. For the first time, you answered with more than duty. You leaned in.
The kiss was hesitant, then deep. His hands—usually so careful and distant—traced your body with wonder: palms sliding over your breasts, thumbs circling sensitive peaks until you gasped.
“This is okay?” He whispered against your lips.
You couldn’t give anything but a small nod as you feel yourself for the first time getting wet.
He laid you down gently on the mats, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin along your queue.
He lingered there, lips brushing the glowing spots where your queue met your scalp, sending sparks down your spine.
His breath was warm against your skin as he moved lower, pressing open mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder, then down to the soft swell of your breast.
He took one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling slowly, sucking gently until your back arched and a soft sound left your throat. His hand cupped the other breast, kneading with careful reverence, thumb stroking in time with his tongue.
He continued downward, kissing over the slight curve of your belly, then lower still. His large hands gently parted your thighs, palms smoothing along the sensitive inner skin.
He looked up at you once, golden eyes dark with something new and deep, silently asking permission.
When you didn’t pull away, he leaned in and pressed a slow, reverent kiss right at your core. His tongue followed—warm, tentative at first, then more confident as he tasted you, licking long stripes before focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves that made your hips twitch.
One of his fingers circled your entrance, then slid inside, curling gently while his mouth continued its slow worship. He added a second finger, stretching you carefully, scissoring them in a steady rhythm that built a warm, aching pressure low in your belly.
Your hands found his braids, fingers tightening as quiet moans slipped from you. He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending fresh waves of pleasure through you. He kept going until your thighs trembled around his shoulders and your breathing turned ragged—only then did he pull back, lips glistening, eyes locked on yours with quiet awe.
He moved up your body again, kissing every inch he had touched, until his face hovered above yours. His cock rested heavy and hot against your inner thigh, twitching with need. Only then did he position himself at your entrance.
When he finally pushed inside, it was slow, eyes locked on yours the entire time. No awkward rhythm. Just the warm, full stretch of him and the way his hips rolled with quiet purpose.
You moaned—quiet, breathless, but real. He answered with a low sound of his own, the first time you had ever heard him like that, and the first time he has ever heard you like that.
He touched you where you needed—fingers finding the spot that made your thighs tremble, whispering, “Let me feel you.” Your tail curled tight under you.
You moved together, bodies learning a new language. Pleasure built slowly, steadily, until it crested.
When you came, it was with a shuddering cry you had never allowed before—your walls tightening around him, fingers digging into his shoulders.
Neteyam followed moments later..
A deep, broken moan tore from his throat as his hips jerked forward. He kept his eyes locked on yours the whole time, golden gaze burning into you even as his body shuddered. He didn’t stop. Instead he leaned down and kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours while he stayed buried deep, pulsing inside you. The kiss turned slower, deeper, as the aftershocks rolled through both of you. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, eyes never leaving yours.
“I don’t want to stop,” he whispered against your lips.
You answered by pulling him back into another kiss.
The night stretched on.
He stayed inside you through the first afterglow, rocking slowly until he hardened again. Then he gently pulled out, sat back against the woven wall of the marui, and guided your head down with a reverent hand in your braids. “Please,” he breathed.
You took him into your mouth for the first time—tentative at first, then growing bolder as his low groans filled the space. He kept eye contact the entire time, one hand cupping your cheek while the other stroked your queue. When he felt close he pulled back just enough to jerk himself with quick strokes, spilling thick ropes across your tongue with a choked moan, watching you swallow every drop while he kissed you immediately after, tasting himself on your lips.
He laid you down again and slid between your thighs, cock gliding along the slick seam of your sex without entering, fucking the soft press of your thighs while he kissed you breathless. His hands held your hips steady, eyes locked, until he came again, painting your stomach and breasts with warm stripes.
Later he had you on your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips as he took you from behind. You pushed back against him, moaning into the mats while he leaned over you, one arm wrapped around your waist, lips on your shoulder, whispering your name.
He came deep inside you that time, hips stuttering, but still didn’t stop—simply flipped you onto your back, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and kept going.
He held you completely in the last rounds—lifting you into his lap, arms wrapped around your back, your legs locked around his waist as he thrust up into you. Your bodies pressed flush together, skin slick with sweat and release, mouths never leaving each other. Eye contact was constant now—every thrust, every roll of his hips, every shared moan passed between your locked gazes. He kissed you through your third orgasm, swallowing your cries, then followed with a long, shuddering groan of his own, spilling inside you once more.
The small fire in the pit had burned low hours ago. Pale dawn light filtered through the marui flaps by the time you both finally collapsed, bodies tangled and exhausted.
Neteyam stayed inside you for the last slow, lazy rocks, forehead pressed to yours, eyes half lidded but still holding yours.
His hands stroked your back, your queue, every inch he could reach while soft kisses pressed to your lips, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.
He finally slipped free and pulled you against his chest, arms wrapped around you like he never planned to let go. Your tails twined together. His heartbeat thumped steady under your ear.
“I never knew it could feel like this,” he murmured into your hair, voice hoarse from the long night.
You didn’t speak. You simply pressed a slow kiss to the center of his chest and let yourself stay there, warm and held, the first true light of morning painting the marui walls around the two of you.
Weeks later, the sickness came in the mornings.
The healers confirmed it. You were finally pregnant.
Neteyam’s hand rested on your belly that night, forehead pressed to yours. The clan celebrated—Ash fire drums mixing with Omatikaya songs. But inside the marui, it was just the two of you.
“You gave us this,” he whispered. “Are you ready to be a mother.” He whispers as he kisses his creation in your belly.
You threaded your fingers through his braids and spoke the most words you had ever given him:
“And you taught me the forest could hold fire without burning it away.”
The alliance was no longer fragile. The clans had merged—fire and forest, ash and leaf—stronger than before.
And in the marui that finally felt like home, two once distant mates held each other, the child between them proof that slow, quiet love could grow even from the hardest stone.
A little rocky at first but it got better … hopefully!
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
pixelskylines
origamiaround
