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[jakeycore]

*＊✿❀ WELCOME ❀✿＊*

fics masterlists

✮ Neteyam Sully ✮

Friendly Fire (aged up! neteyam x f! na'vi! reader) (mini series) (5 chapters)

On the battlefield, you and Neteyam are constantly at each other's throats. Behind closed tent flaps, you’re... well, still at each other's throats, just differently.

Horrizon Collide (neteyam! x f! windtraders! reader)

Neteyam found himself trading his heart for a few precious moments with the girl from the sky.

other characters fics coming soon

[redeyerhaenyra]

Soft as Snow (But Warm Inside)

Summary: So'lek doesn't want to risk impregnating you in such dangerous times, but you are desperate for him to cum inside, and have a way of.. convincing him..

Warnings: DUBCON ELEMENTS (So'lek tells reader to get off, reader doesn't, but he doesn't actually want her to get off anyway) fem!reader, p in v sex, riding, allusions to thigh riding, cunnilingus, and fingering- alot of cum... female and male cum.. reader is a MENACE, so'lek is a simp, some fluffy moments, very brief breeding kink, brief positive and negative pregnancy and children talk, liberal use of italics, implied sarentu!reader but can be reader otherwise, lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: I don't think I've written a proper fic in.. over a year.. aaaaa

Wc: 1.5k

You are a seductress. Lithe and writhing atop him like some kind of personal test from Eywa, a test of his resolve, perhaps?

It's hot, so hot, burning. Your skin sears him when you touch and he cannot help but wish to be charred even more. So'lek is a little envious of your stamina- you've been at this for a good while now, riding him into the ground, and whilst you have reached your end numerous times, whether it be on his mouth or his cock, he has yet to finish... And this frustrates you.

It is not for lack of desire, no no, far from it, So'lek finds himself close to release within a few minutes of being enveloped in your warm, wet, inviting centre… he often must actively fight the urge to finish sooner than he'd like to. But you, are a greedy thing, you want him, every part of him. You want his cum inside you.

So'lek finds it so hard to deny you anything, if you asked for the moon, he would fetch it, and the stars for good measure. There is something, a sparkle in your eyes, that he finds himself soulfully obligated to obey. You are the sun that lights up his days and the warmth that he holds close at night, and he knows he is no better, just as greedy, he has demanded you release over and over and over again on his fingers, or when rubbing yourself against his strong thighs- and he will no doubt do this again.. but..

Neither of you are unaware of the potential consequences of him spending inside you.. a child. An innocent thing, vulnerable. Undeserving of the world they might be born into. Pandora is dangerous, not in the natural way, of poisonous plants and predatory animals. The RDA plague the land and destroy all they touch, both of you are well aware of this, you both actively fight against the RDA, together as one.

And you! How vulnerable you would be if pregnant- So'lek has many times imagined a number of terrible scenarios that may occur with you, heavily pregnant, and him not there to protect you.

One day, he thinks, he would like a family with you. One day, when the RDA has been wholly and ruthlessly purged from the Western Frontier, at least.

And so, until this ideal was reality, So'lek had forgone releasing inside you at all, pulling out just before his orgasm could fully reach him and spilling himself on your thighs, or belly instead, grunting and groaning and falling on top of you in a heap.

But you, poor, hard done to thing, are desperate for it. You squeeze his pecs with both hands, grappling him as leverage to bounce above him- he can see his cock, throbbing almost painfully, slipping in and out of you as you roll your hips. He groans roughly at the sight, holding your hips with both hands, the sounds, wet and gooey. You have always been a leaky, dripping thing. He could but whisper in your ear about how hard you make him and you'd be leaving a sticky trail anywhere you went- and this is normally a point of triumph for So'lek, that he can so easily please his woman so thoroughly.

Right now, it is a vice he wishes would not affect him so. He feels it, throbbing at the tip of his dick, swollen and thick inside you. The base of his cock, where your bodies frequently meet, slapping skin lewdly, is covered in a syrupy mess of fluid that squelches each time you roll your hips, and you make sure to arch your back in such a way, shining above him like a star, that your perfect breasts jiggle and bounce just inches away from his mouth. You are a tease, where did you learn such things? Certainly not from him, surely. The sight makes his toes curl.

Oh, how he wants to indulge you, though. He can see you smirking, you know how close he is. You are simultaneously impatient and patient. Able to ride him for hours, can he hold out that long? He wants to give in so desperately, let go and fill you up impossibly deep, stuff you full so that your body would accept no other but him.

It takes enormous effort to speak, form words rather than mindless grunts. “Get off-” So'lek has to force the words out like he's been punched, “O-off, stop moving.” Don't. Keep going. “I-I will finish-”

You shake your head and bite your bottom lip. Oh, minx.

“No, fill me up, I want it,” You words are similarly rushed and desperate, just as affected by him as he is by you. “C'mon, do it, please please, c'mon, I want it inside-”

So'lek forces his eyes shut. He cannot bare to tear his gaze away from you, but he must. You sparkle with sweat on your brow, and your eyes are full of excited anticipation. Eywa give him strength, he hates to deny you.

“So'lek-” His eyes flash open.

“Please-!” You whine, whine like you are the one suffering here. “Pleaaaase, please, please-” His heart almost breaks, you are so eagre, you deserve it, he does too. “C'mon, do it, please, please, I need it, inside me, fill me up, I wanna feel you dripping down my thighs, So'lek, please, I love you, fill me up, I want you to make a mess of me-”

So'lek hears your words, each time you open your mouth he feels his resolve waiver. Thoughts race through his mind- Why shouldn't he? Why should the Sky People take even this pleasure from him? Both of you have a right to be together in this way. If the RDA want to wipe the Na'vi people out, surely then, you should be.. actively making more Na'vi.

He's so close to surrender, you see it in his eyes, you tend to blabber when close to orgasm, and so you lean back and let your mouth run, focusing on the sensation of him writhing underneath you;

“Please So'lek, I'll die without it, I want you to cum inside me so much it leaks and I can push it back inside of myself-”

The noise that So'lek emits lasts several seconds, and is positively pathetic. A deep, hoarse groan, with an edge of a whine to it, as he lets go and finally, finally, you feel his cock twitch and he releases inside you. He thought, hoped, he was harder to sway than this, but the image of you stuffing your fingers back inside your pussy after he's thoroughly used you, to make sure none of his seed is wasted, hits him like an Angtsìk. So'lek gives in, let's himself be taken away by the vast rapture of your form against his own. Big hands come down to feverishly grip at your rear, squeezing so hard, pulling you down to meet his cock like it's painful to be even a centimetre apart. In a way, it is.

His orgasm triggers your own, the warm, full feeling of his cum deep inside you, how suddenly the wet noises that eminate from your joined bodies become louder- there's so much of it- you arch your back to the sky and gasp and whine, your wonderful pussy clenches down, So'lek's grip on your bottom tightens and for a moment his voice breaks, his eyes wide and fixated on your cunt voraciously swallowing his release.

You keep rolling your hips through your own orgasm, blissful, euphoric, riding out the waves of pleasure. So'lek feels like he's just emptied his entire soul into you via his dick, exhausted, he lets his head drop back down onto the ground.

However lovely being inside you is, he feels so sensitive- So'lek squeezes your hips to stop moving, pants and looks up at you.

This time, you do as you're told, hips coming gently to a halt. So'lek shudders out a sigh, hazy and spent.

His gaze is on the ceiling, but isn't really focused anywhere- he feels he needs to sleep for a week, preferably with you in his arms, so you both may recreate something similar when he has regained his energy.

Meanwhile, you are being gentle, for once, moving yourself atop him to lay upon his chest, in such a way that his cock is still tucked away, warm and safe, inside your welcoming body. Are you as tired as him? Probably not. So'lek longs to know how you can go through so much physical activity and lust after more still. But, you are graciously letting him rest, for now… his hands come up to wrap around your shoulders as you bury your head in the crook of his neck.

You lay in comfortable silence together. A wet, sticky silence, but silence nonetheless. So'lek finds his mind wandering to the All Mother. He thanks her over and over again mentally for making you the way you are, personally shaped and crafted for him to adore. Though, he is unsure what he has done to earn such a gift.

He hears the wind outside. It's quiet. His body temperature is finally cooling, you are nuzzling his neck and purring into it, stroking idle patterns on his shoulder. He is still inside you, he can feel your heartbeat thrumming in your centre.

“You are not getting off anytime soon, are you?”

You snicker into his skin and look up at him. Big, gorgeous eyes that sparkle mischievously.

“No.”

[jakeycore]

Can I pitch you a fic idea it about avatar. I want a heart breaking fic of a Navi Metkayina fame navi oc who is blinded after a war with rda. She was a warrior as is no reduce to nothing so she become short tempered and angry. I want her to fall in love with Neteyam and learn to see again without actually seeing. Also her spirit sister is ta’nok the tulkun that is blind. I think it fitting like they share the same faith kinda like Rona and her tulkun both die. Plz I think you can do well at it. Can be multiple part or one all up to you. I would write it but I am trash at writing

This is so beautiful, i just teared up just by reading your inbox. I'll keep this prompt in my draft, though i can't promise if i will really write it haha. I'm not ready to make another commitment for a new fic :D

[jakeycore]

Friendly Fire is the best story I've ever read, simply incredible! Are you working on any other stories?

I'm working on a jake x reader fic one! Also there are few ideas about another neteyam fics but I haven't started it yet, I've been busy making socmed au on tiktok 🤣

[iikatsukii]

Too Late.

synopsis: they loved you when it was too late. 

pairings: sully family x daughter/sister!reader, neteyam x twin!reader, neytiri x daughter! Reader, jake x daughter!reader

warnings: mentions of death, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts(?), swearing, familial issues. 

word count: 3.6k

a/n: would yall believe me if i said i wrote this while listening to pussy talk by city girls LMFAOOOOO p.s. Happy valentines day (THE RED TEXT IS "FESTIVE" im trynna get into the valentines day spirit :D). I wish i could've given yall part two of illicit love instead of this but i'm not done with it </3. ALMOST THO!!! (gif creds: @world-of-pandora)

(p.s. part two is out now!!)

it was never supposed to end like this. jake's mouth felt bitter. his whole body shook as he let out the most heart-stopping scream when his eyes landed on his eldest daughter. you, neteyam's twin, lay lifeless in his arms. your father cried because he never got to tell you he was proud of you, or that he loved you, or that you didn't need to compare to your brother to still be considered his baby girl. 

it wasn't always like this, though. 

you and neteyam were always happy and playing around together when you were younger. still, as you two grew older, neteyam took on olo'eyktan training and became his father's perfect warrior. where does that leave you? mo'at had chosen kiri to pursue tsahik training because of her apparent connection to eywa. so where does that leave you? lo'ak took on the role of the troublemaker, and tuk, of course, is just the baby of the family. so where does that leave you?

you're lo'ak's babysitter. making sure the boy doesn't get into trouble, but with your lack of training due to your father training your brother more than you, you weren't really the best babysitter. honestly, it was more lo'ak protecting than you protecting him. he kept you from losing balance while in high places, saved you when you fell into the rapids and flew you home when you forgot your way as if you had not lived in this forest your whole life. 

you felt like a burden on your family. 

nothing you ever did was right. 

you went hunting? cool, but you didn't bring back enough for the whole family, so now neteyam and lo'ak have to go out and find more food for everyone else. 

you bead a necklace for your friend? great, but you messed up the pattern she asked for, so she brought it to kiri so she could remake it.

tuk wanted to go play with you? of course! but now she has a sprained ankle from falling into the river while you were looking at flowers a few feet away.

and every time, somehow, some way, your family always managed to say something that felt like a blade stabbed through your heart.

"next time, y/n, just leave the hunting to neteyam and i. at least we know the right amount to bring back." it was lo'ak before he and your twin had to go hunting for more food for dinner a few weeks ago.

"you know, sister, your jewelry hasn't been the same recently. i've had sooo many of your friends coming back to me saying you messed up the pattern they asked for. just try and pay more attention when you're beading." kiri said as you walked into your home. she was re-beading the necklace you gave to your best friend yesterday. 

the one she told you was perfect and that she loved it.

"how could you leave your sister unattended like that y/n she could've been killed?! why can't you be like neteyam? you’re twins, for crying out loud, y/n. do you not care for your sister's well-being?" your father scolded you outside your grandmother's hut. you could hear her cries inside the tent, along with your mother's gentle words of comfort, as she tried to calm her youngest daughter down. 

you were being compared to your twin for the millionth time in your life, and as used to this as you should be, it still hurt just as bad as the first time your father had said it. 

"she only sprained her ankle. it was an accident sempu–" you tried to defend yourself, but you were cut off. 

"NO. it is, sir. do you understand me?" jake yelled at you. in your 18 years, your father had never raised his voice at you, let alone for you calling him 'sempu.' he used to love it when you called him because you were his ite and he was your sempu. but right now, to him, you were just someone who had hurt his child and nothing more than that. you hang your head, eyes falling to the floor in front of you as you didn't want your father to see you cry. 

"sorry, sir." was all you said before walking away. you don't know where you walked, but you found yourself at the abandoned shack. you knew this area was forbidden, so when you realized where you were, you immediately crouched. you were just gonna walk back because your father would kill you if he found out you were over here, but then you heard voices. you looked through the bush to see a group of 3 or 4 avatars. you knew you couldn't escape now, so you pressed on the collar of your neck.

"sempu– sorry. sir, i need help, i wasn't paying attention to where i was walking, and i can hear avatars speaking english and–" your father cut you off.

"where are you?" he, your mother, and your two brothers were patrolling around your land's territories when they heard you through their earpieces. 

you let out a heavy sigh, praying to eywa that he wouldn't chew your ass up for being here, before pressing the button again and saying, 

"i'm at the abandoned shac–AHH! OWW, LET GO, YOU ASSHOLE!!" you couldn't finish as one of the avatars found your hiding spot, grabbing you by your queue.

thankfully your family had heard enough. your twin telling his father he knew a shortcut, they all flew as fast as they could to you. honestly, this was their last straw. everyone was fed up with you constantly making things hard for everyone.

your mother, though, was worried. you were caught by those skydemons all by yourself. who knew what they would do to you?

as you waited for your family, you were roughly held by your queue as they poked and prodded at you like they had never seen a native before. 

"let me see your hands." the man with a buzzcut spoke. 

"why don't you look at my feet instead?" you said. they all gave you a confused look until you kicked quaritch right in his face. you don't know how, but it caused the avatar behind you to loosen his grip, so you tried to make a break for it.

unluckily for you, the female avatar grabbed your arm, pulling you back into her form. she gripped you by your neck, unaware that she had pressed the button on your communicator. you hissed at her. the man you had kicked was only laughing as he wiped the blood dripping from his nose. "she must be one of his. she's defiant. grab her hands, let me see." he said

the avatar behind you grabbed your hands, holding them both out. 

"hm… four fingers. maybe she's not one of his." were they gonna let you go? wishful thinking.

"fine. she may not be one of his but if one of their people go missing they're bound to come for her. keep her." his words made your heart sank. were they gonna take you? away from everything? your home? your family? if you could even call it that. 

but then you thought about it. you really can't call it that. you don't remember the last happy memory you had with someone, anyone, in your family. it clicked to you that it had been about 10 minutes since you had radioed your father, and he wasn't here yet. were they even coming for you? you knew it was a stupid question. they weren't coming for you. why would they when this was the easiest way to get rid of the weak link of the family? it's not like your blood would be on their hands, and their life would be way better without you.

"they're not gonna come for me. i have no family. you killed my family in the last war, you dickhead." you lied to the man you had kicked earlier. 

hearing you say this confused your family. what were you talking about?

"dammit you're an orphan? i didn't know the na'vi had any of those. then what do we do with her. she's useless. nobody will notice she's gone." the woman behind you asked her superior. 

"hmm.. i have a better idea. kill her. use her as a warning to the sullys. this is what we're capable of now. it'll be a threat. give us jake sully and nobody else will die. but this one… this one is our lab rat. we're gonna make you bleed out nice and slow little one." he said as he grabbed his pistol off his waist, pressing it below your jaw. the nickname made you internally gag, but you held your ground. 

these people had no real idea how tired you really were. you were exhausted. you were ready for life with eywa. you wanted your deity to hold you close, keep you warm, and protect you from the harsh real world. the world that your parents didn't adequately prepare you for. the world that you were ready to leave. 

"kill me," you said as you grabbed quaritch's wrist and moved his gun from under your jaw to right above your heart. "and make it quick. nobody will come for me anyways," you said in a monotone voice.

the avatars all looked at you in awe. they had never once seen a na'vi so willing to give up their life. the natives they had all met were vicious, hissing and armed, always ready to kill. but you. you were the opposite.

you were fed up and ready to die. but not for your people. for your own inner peace. 

"no," quaritch said, putting his gun down. that shocked everyone. like he shocked his soldiers and your family, who had been listening the whole time. they were trying to get to you as fast as possible.

hearing how you really felt was a wake-up call for your family. and when they heard bullets moving within the chamber of quaritch's pistol, they all flew their ikrans as fast as possible, weaving through trees and around mountains, trying to get to you.

you looked at the man like he had just betrayed you. 

"DO IT, YOU COWARD! FUCKING DO IT! NOBODY WILL COME FOR ME!! THEY DON'T CARE!! THEY DON'T FUCKING CARE!!" you don't know what came over you, but you tried to wrestle quaritch's pistol out of his hands. your family was only 2 clicks away and could hear you struggling. everyone landed at the same time. the sullys, excluding tuk and kiri, who had stayed with mo'at, caught quaritch's attention, which distracted him enough for you to pull the gun from his grip. 

you distanced yourself from everyone, and looking around, you realized you were surrounded by everyone. your family and these random avatar people. everyone could read you. you were a ticking time bomb and the only person in control of the trigger was you. one of the avatars took a step forward slowly, but you saw him move and point the gun at him. it didn't stop him from moving, but you heard screams of protest when you pointed the gun at your own head. that's when everyone froze. the avatars. your family. nature. time. eywa. you. everything was frozen.

"babygirl…" the nickname made you snap your neck to the man who was the root of your problems. 

"NO! no, you do not get to call me that. if i can't call you ma sempu, don't bother referring to me as your daughter." you said. your energy was depleted, and you knew you would only be able to stand here for a couple more minutes before you opened your own doors and walked to your great-mother. jake tried to take a step closer to you, which only caused you to tense up and pull on the trigger a little bit. everyone immediately backed up, your mother hissing at you through her tears. "MA ITE, PUT THE GUN DOWN," she screamed at you.

"sa'nok…" you whimpered, not even being able to look her in the eyes. 

"sa'nu… i can't" you sobbed. you could barely breathe and your tears were coming down in waterfalls at this point. you couldn't see anything clearly. your tears had blurred your vision. 

you knew your mom loved you. she and tuk were the only ones in the family who had never uttered a harsh word in your direction. though she was busy taking care of tuk, so it wasn't like you got much attention from them either. but there's no way you would blame her or tuk for that. if anything, you're sorry that you have to leave them, but this world isn't for you. you turned on your heels, looking at the man whose gun you took.

"you are a coward. you should've pulled the goddamn trigger. you're fucking pathetic. are you happy now? now everyone here gets to experience what they've waited so long for." nobody had ever heard you speak to anyone like that. honestly, they couldn't tell if your words were directed at quaritch or yourself. 

you inhaled, looking up at the eclipse, your bioluminescent freckles glowing brighter than they ever had in the nighttime as tears cascaded down your face. 

"goodbye," you said as you squeezed the trigger, hearing a loud bang and tons of screaming. you felt no pain, though. you opened your eyes, not realizing you had closed them, and looked around. you noticed your pistol was stuck in the tree in front of you with an arrow clean through it. you turned to your twin with hate in your eyes. he lowered his bow as he read your expression. 

"now you wanna save me?" your voice was weak but filled with venom. 

"why didn't you save me when you noticed i stopped hanging out with you guys? hm? why didn't you teach me when i was younger? huh? why didn't you talk to me other than when you were chewing my ass out for something that was A FUCKING ACCIDENT, GODAMMIT. WHY?!" you felt like your tears were endless. 

"WHY DIDN'T YOU LOVE ME?! ANSWER ME YOU FUCKERS!! WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME?!" you screamed your frustrations at your father and brothers. none of them could look you in your eyes, save for your mother. "you only want to save me because you know how much i don't want to be saved anymore but it's too goddamn late," you said.

you turned to the female avatar who was holding you from before. you noticed her gun earlier and hoped you looked threatening enough for her to use it as you ran in her direction. she didn't know what to do. she didn't know you were a barely trained warrior or that you wouldn't have put a scratch on her. she didn't know you were harmless. all she knew was that you were a native, and the natives were hostile. 

so she pulled her gun out and fired two shots into your chest.

the momentum of the bullet was enough to stop you from running. you felt the searing pain start to blossom in your chest area. falling to your knees, your eyes met the woman who had shot you. you looked at her shirt, reading her name. it was a funny name to you, but you didn't care. she had fulfilled your wish without even knowing it. so you used your last breath to speak.

"thank you, z-dog" you slumped over on your side, as everything started to go slow. your vision was starting to darken, and you let it consume you, not wanting to fight for your life anymore. 

cue the screams and cries from your family and the fleeing steps of the rda soldiers. your chest stopped rising and falling, and your breathing had ceased. your family surrounded your body, trying to stop your bleeding and preserve the life that had already left your body. still, you had been shot twice, and both bullets had exit wounds. it was no use. nearby, na'vi had heard the screams of distress and had called over some hunters and scouts to investigate the scene since they knew the area was near the forbidden old shack.

the hunters and scouts arrived at the scene armed and ready to defend their people, but what they were met with was the last thing they expected to see. the eldest sully daughter was lying on the floor, motionless, with two bullet holes in her chest and her blood sinking into the forest floor. her family leaned over her body, screaming and crying for her to be okay and to return to them. they whispered how sorry they were. they whispered to her how if she came back, they would treat her right, teach her, hang out with her, and love her like they were supposed to. but it's too late.

nobody knew how to react. the eldest sully daughter had died, and nobody but her family knew what had happened. 

“ma ite, oel ngati kameie. i see you. i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry. you don't have to be your brother. being you was just fine." your father cried as he cradled your head. brushing your hair away from your face, getting blood on your cheek since his hands were covered in it. 

neteyam and lo'ak were each holding one of your hands. they cried as they watched their tears pool in your palm and then fall off the edge to drip into the soil below your body. they couldn't believe they treated you like anything less than their sister. they treated you like you were a stranger, a burden to deal with. and now that you were gone, they could not tell you how sorry they were for how they treated you.

neytiri was inconsolable. her firstborn daughter had just died in front of her eyes. willingly. she wanted this. her own daughter wanted to take her life. and she couldn't do anything to stop it. how could she not know? how did you go 18 years hurting in silence? how did she not know you needed to be saved? 

"ma ite. my baby. ma y/n." neytiri's heart shattered when she saw those bullets go through your chest. she cried over your body for what felt like hours, but it was only a few minutes until the male healers came so they could carry you to the healing tents to prepare you for your burial ritual. 

as jake pulled his mate from your body, she started to push against him trying to get him to let go of her so she could return to her daughter. 

eventually, jake lets go, unable to keep his mate from her child. he joined her and just asked the healers to give your family a minute with you. 

they just nodded in understanding, leaving your family to grieve. 

two pairs of footsteps rushed towards the clearing, where the family mourned one of their own. 

kiri and tuk had heard the news and came as fast as they could. tuk screamed, running up to you and curling herself into your chest as she sobbed into your neck. she didn't care if she was getting blood all over herself. you were her older sister, and she didn't even get to say goodbye. she felt nothing but sadness and loss. tuk felt terrible because the last time she had seen you was earlier when you brought her back from the stream because she had sprained your ankle. and now you were lying on the forest floor dead? how did this happen?

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! SISTER, PLEASE!!" kiri begged you to wake up as she placed herself where her father was earlier. she rested your head in her lap, looking into your lifeless yellow eyes. you were her elder sister. as much as you didn't know, kiri looked up to you. she knew how hard you tried for the family, and though it wasn't your fault that you would mess up a necklace every once and a while, she couldn't help but feel guilty for the words she said to you in those moments. she knew she could've should've been nicer about it. 

when it was finally time for the healers to take your body, once again, neytiri tried to fight against them. this time everyone in the family had to hold her back as the healer walked you away in a leaf big enough to cover your entire body from the eyes of those around you. once you were gone from her view, neytiri fell to the floor again, sobbing into the ground, 

"GREAT MOTHER, WHY?!!" their mother's screams felt like a knife in their hearts. the sully family felt nothing but guilt and grief upon your death. nobody got closure because there is no closure for this kind of thing. they were the reason you wanted to die, and now that you got what you wanted, they had to live with that guilt. 

you were high in being held in eywa's embrace as you cried. looking down on your family. you did not regret your decision, but you just had one question for your deity. 

"did they really love me, great mother." eywa heaved a sigh before answering you. 

"my ite, your mother and youngest sister loved you everyday, they were just very poor at showing it i'm afraid." you nodded your head, asking a follow-up question, 

"what about the others?" you knew by her face that you wouldn't like the answer, but it was too late. the question was asked. and the answer is precisely the reason why you did what you did.

"they loved you just a little bit too late, my child."

[jakeycore]

horizons collide // neteyam

neteyam x f! windtraders! reader

Summary: It started with simple trades. Sea stones for a wooden bird, grilled fish for a walk on the beach. But as the visits turned into months, Neteyam found himself trading his heart for a few precious hours with the girl from the sky. Warnings: 5.5k words, no smut, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, major character death, grieving, sad ending

The arrival of the Windtraders was always marked by the blast of a horn that cut through the sound of the crashing surf and the flash of vibrant banners against the pale blue sky of Awa'atlu.

While the Metkayina were people of the deep, the Windtraders were children of the breeze, traveling from the floating mountains to the distant coasts to exchange rare woods, woven silks, and forest pigments for pearls and sea shells.

Neteyam stood on the edge of the high walkway and shielded his eyes from the sun. A huge shadow moved across the bright water, turning the reef dark as something massive drifted overhead. High above, a giant floating Medusoid looked like a living airship as it drifted toward the village. Smaller flat-bodied Windrays were tied to it, flapping their wings like oars to guide the big creature through the air.

As the massive Medusoid hovered lower, the village of Awa'atlu came alive. Metkayina families poured out of their homes, shouting and waving at the traders above. It was a rare day of celebration, and the docks were quickly becoming packed. The sound of children laughing and the heavy thud of cargo hitting the sand filled the air.

Neteyam felt a sharp tug on his hand. He looked down to see Tuk, her eyes wide as she pointed at the giant living ship. "Neteyam, look! It's so big! Do they live up there the whole time?"

"I think so, Tuk," Neteyam said, smiling at her excitement. He saw his parents nearby, talking with Tonowari and Ronal, but he was more interested in the market starting to form in the airship.

He held Tuk's hand tightly as they pushed through the crowd. The market was a maze of temporary stalls and colorful rugs spread over the docks. It smelled like dried herbs, mountain resins, and sweet incense, smells that felt very different from the usual scent of salt and fish. People were everywhere, touching the fine silks and arguing over the price of wooden tools.

Tuk pulled him toward a stall tucked away near the edge of the shade. "Look at those colors!" she whispered.

You were standing behind a long wooden table covered in small clay pots and carved trinkets. Your hands were stained a deep, earthy red from the pigments you were sorting, and you were busy explaining the value of a high-mountain seed pod to a curious Metkayina woman. You looked busy but calm, moving with a steady energy that caught Neteyam's eye.

When the woman moved on, Neteyam stepped closer. Tuk immediately reached for a small, polished stone that glowed with a soft blue light.

"Is this from the sky?" Tuk asked, looking up at you with wonder.

You looked down and smiled at the little girl. "Not quite the sky, but very close to it. We find those in the caves near the mountain peaks. They hold the light of the sun for a long time."

Your gaze moved up to Neteyam. You noticed right away that he didn't look like the others.

"You are a forest Na'vi," you said. It was not a question. You recognized his darker blue skin and his leaner frame. He did not have the thick tail or the wide arms of the reef people standing nearby.

Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck and gave a small nod. "I am. My family moved here a few weeks ago."

"Only a few weeks?" you said. You looked at him with a little bit of sympathy. "That is not a long time at all. No wonder you still have the look of the woods on you."

You reached under your table and pulled out a small bundle of dried leaves. They were tied with a simple piece of string. You held them out toward him and watched as he took them. "Here. Take a breath of this. It is from the deep forest near the base of the mountains."

Neteyam leaned in and took a breath. For a second, his eyes closed. He looked like he was back under the thick canopy of the trees instead of standing on a hot, sandy dock.

"It smells like home," Tuk whispered. She leaned in to smell the leaves too, her eyes wide with wonder.

Neteyam opened his eyes and looked at you. He seemed a more relaxed now, his shoulders dropping just a little. "It does. Thank you. It is hard to find anything that smells like the earth here. Everything is just salt and fish."

You smiled. "I know how that is. My people are always moving, but we started in the trees too. Being away from the shade of the branches can make your heart feel a little heavy."

Neteyam straightened his back and held out his hand. "I am Neteyam. And this is my sister, Tuk."

The little girl waved, her eyes still fixed on the glowing mountain-glass. "I'm Tuktirey! But everyone calls me Tuk."

You gave a small bow, the beads in your hair clicking together. You mentioned your name as you shook Neteyam's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Neteyam and Tuk."

Tuk was still busy looking at the items on your table. Her eyes landed on a small wooden toy that looked like a bird. When she pulled a tiny string at the bottom, the wings flapped gently. She gasped and looked up at Neteyam with her best pleading face.

Neteyam sighed, but he was smiling. "How much for the bird?"

You looked at the toy and then back at the boy. You could tell he didn't have much on him, and honestly, you didn't really need more currency. "Do you have any of those blue sea-stones? The ones the reef children find in the shallows?"

Neteyam reached into the small pouch at his waist. He pulled out a smooth, bright blue stone that looked like a piece of the ocean frozen in time. He set it on the table. "Is this enough?"

"More than enough," you said. You handed the wooden bird to Tuk, who immediately started making it fly around Neteyam's head.

Neteyam started to turn away, but then he paused. He looked back at you, his golden eyes searching your face. The busy noise of the market was all around you, but he seemed focused only on your stall.

"How long does your ship stay in one place?" he asked.

"Usually just a few days," you replied. "Once the trading is done and the baskets are full, we catch the high winds. We have many more stops to make before the season ends."

Neteyam looked down at the docks and then back at the massive Medusoid floating above. "And when do you come back this way? When will the Tlalim return to Awa'atlu?"

"We come back more often than most," you said, adjusting a stack of woven mats on your table. "About once every month or two, depending on how the winds are blowing. The Metkayina have the best pearls and shells on the coast, so we make sure to keep Awa'atlu on our regular route."

Neteyam's face brightened. He didn't look as worried as he did a moment ago. A month or two was not a long time at all. It was much better than waiting for a whole year.

"That is good to hear," he said, and his voice sounded a bit lighter. He looked at the sea stones he had given you and then back at the bird toy in Tuk's hand. "It gives me more time to think of something better to trade you next time."

Tuk started pulling on his arm again, her feet dancing with impatience. "Neteyam! Come on! Kiri and Lo'ak are already at the other side of the docks!"

Neteyam sighed and let her pull him a few steps away, but he looked over his shoulder one last time. "I will see you tomorrow before the market closes," he called out over the noise of the crowd.

"I will be right here," you called back with a wave.

The next day, the heat of the afternoon was just starting to fade. The market was a bit quieter now that the first rush of the arrival had passed and people were now just talking or sharing meals. You were sitting behind your table, reorganizing your remaining clay pots when you saw a familiar tall figure walking toward you.

Neteyam was alone this time. He was carrying a large green leaf wrapped around something steaming. He looked more relaxed without Tuk pulling on his arm, and he had a shy smile on his face.

"I promised I would come back," he said as he reached the table. He set the leaf package down in front of you.

The scent was amazing. It was fresh fish, seasoned with local herbs and grilled over a fire. It was a huge improvement over the dried fruits you usually ate while living on the sky-ship.

"I thought you might be tired of the dried rations you keep on that ship," Neteyam said. He pushed the fish toward you. "It is a gift. Or a trade, if you prefer."

You took the bundle and opened it. The fish was white and flaky, covered in a sweet-smelling glaze made from local berries. You took a bite and couldn't help but sigh. It was the best thing you had eaten since leaving the mountains.

"You were right," you admitted, looking up at him as you took another bite. "The dried fruit on the ship is starting to taste like leather. This is amazing. Thank you, Neteyam."

He watched you eat for a moment, looking satisfied. He leaned his shoulder against one of the wooden poles that held up the roof of your stall.

"So," you said, wiping your hands on a cloth once you were finished. "Since you brought the best meal I have had in weeks, what do I owe you for the trade? More mountain glass?"

Neteyam shook his head and pushed off from the pole. "I have enough glass for now," he said. He looked out toward the shore where the water was turning a deep gold in the afternoon light. "How about a walk instead? Just a few minutes before your ship leaves and the winds take you away again."

You stood up and wiped the last of the crumbs from your hands. You looked at the crates you had already packed and then back at him. "A walk? Fair trade."

"I thought you might say that," Neteyam said. He waited for you to step out from behind the table.

You walked beside him, leaving the busy market docks behind. Your feet felt steady as you moved from the wooden platforms onto the packed sand of the beach. The air was warm and heavy with the smell of the ocean, but the breeze from the hovering Medusoid above kept things cool.

Neteyam led the way toward a quiet part of the reef, away from the crowds of Metkayina hunters and children. The water here was shallow and clear, showing off the bright purple and green coral beneath the surface. He walked with a calm stride, his tail swaying slowly behind him.

"You really enjoy the water, don't you?" you asked, watching the way he looked at the waves.

"I am learning to," Neteyam replied. He stopped at the edge of a tide pool and looked back at you. "At first, it was hard. Everything is so open here. In the forest, you are always covered by trees. But out here, you can see everything. It reminds me of the sky, in a way."

You nodded, looking up at your ship. "The sky is like that too. There is nothing to hide behind. It makes you feel very small, but also very free."

"The sky sounds a bit like the ocean," Neteyam said. He looked down at his feet in the shallow water and then back at you with a playful glint in his eyes. "But does the sky have anything that can do this?"

Before you could ask what he meant, he flicked his tail. A spray of cool seawater hit your legs and the front of your wrap. You gasped, more surprised than cold, and looked at him in disbelief.

"You did not just do that," you said, a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

Neteyam laughed, a sound that was bright and free. "You said you wanted to see the reef. Getting a little wet is part of the experience."

"Is that so?" you asked. You reached down, cupping your hands in the water, and sent a much larger splash right back at him. It hit his chest and face, making his ears twitch as he shook the water away.

"Okay, maybe you have a better aim than I thought," he admitted, wiping his eyes.

"I spend my days throwing ropes in high winds, Forest Boy," you teased, stepping closer. "I do not miss my targets."

You both stood there for a moment, laughing and splashing water at each other like children. For a few minutes, you weren't a trader with a ship to run, and he wasn't a warrior in training. You were just two people enjoying the sun and the salt.

Neteyam reached out and lightly tapped your shoulder. "The next time you come back, I will have an ilu ready for you. If you think walking the reef is fun, you should try riding through it."

"I might be a bit too heavy for a sea-creature with all my gear," you joked, though the idea made your heart beat a little faster.

"I will find you a strong one," he promised.

The playful moment was cut short by the hollow blast of the horn from the Medusoid. It echoed across the water, a signal that the winds were shifting and it was time for the ships to rise. You looked up and saw the giant banners on your ship beginning to unfurl, snapping in the breeze.

"That's my signal," you said, feeling a sudden weight in your chest. The fun was over for now.

Neteyam's smile faded, replaced by a look that was quiet and a little sad. He walked with you back toward the docks, keeping his pace slow as if to make the walk last just a little longer.

"A month or two," he said, repeating your words from the day before.

"Maybe sooner, if the winds are fast," you replied. You stopped at the base of the ramp that led up to your ship. You reached into your bag one last time and pulled out a small, simple ring made of dark mountain wood. It wasn't fancy, but it was smooth and strong.

You pressed it into his hand. "A trade for the fish. So you don't forget which stall to look for when the ships come back."

Neteyam closed his fingers over the ring. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the shouts of the other traders told you that you had to go.

"I won't forget," he said firmly. "Safe travels. Watch the winds."

"Watch the tides, Neteyam," you said.

You turned and ran up the ramp, joining your crew. As the Medusoid began to rise slowly into the air, you looked down. Neteyam was still standing on the dock, a small blue figure against the vast white sand. He raised a hand in a final wave, and you watched him until the clouds finally hid the reef from view.

After the Windtraders left, the village felt a little too quiet for Neteyam. He went back to his daily chores, practicing with his bow and learning to ride the skimwings, but his mind was often somewhere else.

He kept the small wooden ring you gave him on a thin cord around his neck. Every morning when he woke up, he would touch the smooth wood and think about the smell of the mountain leaves.

"One week," he whispered to himself as he watched the sun rise over the ocean.

By the second week, his brother Lo'ak started to notice. They were out on their ilu, waiting for a school of fish to pass by, when Lo'ak nudged him.

"You are staring at the clouds again," Lo’ak said with a grin. "Are you waiting for a storm, or are you just looking for that sky-ship?"

Neteyam just shook his head and dived into the water, ignoring his brother's teasing. He didn't want to admit that he was counting every single day.

Thirty days passed. Then forty.

Neteyam spent his free time diving deeper into the reef. He found a hidden spot where the sea-anemones grew in a perfect circle, glowing even in the daylight. He practiced guiding his ilu through narrow coral tunnels, making sure he knew the safest and most beautiful paths. He wanted everything to be perfect for when you came back.

Every evening, he would sit on the edge of the high walkway, the same place where he first saw your shadow. He would look at the horizon until the stars came out, waiting for a sign.

On the fifty-fifth day, Neteyam was helping his father move some heavy nets when he heard it. It was faint at first, but then it grew louder. The deep blast of a horn echoed across the water.

He dropped the nets and stood up, his heart suddenly racing. He looked up, and there it was. A giant shadow was slowly moving over the reef, blocking out the sun. The massive Medusoid was drifting toward the village, its colorful banners flapping wildly in the breeze.

"They're back!" Tuk screamed, running down the beach toward the docks.

Neteyam didn't wait for his father to give him permission. He let out a loud whistle to call his ikran. He leaped onto the saddle and took off, the wind hitting his face as he pushed higher and higher.

He flew straight toward the giant floating Medusoid. As he got closer, he saw the Windtraders moving around on the wooden platforms hanging from the ship. They were busy pulling ropes and preparing to drop the anchors.

He spotted you standing on the edge of the main loading deck, leaning over the rail to look at the reef below. When you heard the cry of his ikran, you looked up.

Neteyam guided his mount to hover just a few feet away from your platform. He looked like he hadn't stopped smiling since he heard the horn.

"You are early!" he shouted over the sound of the wind.

You laughed, grabbing onto a thick rope so you could lean out further toward him. "The winds were on our side this time, Forest Boy! I told you we would be back!"

Neteyam reached up and pulled the small wooden ring on the cord around his neck, showing it to you. He wanted you to see that he had kept it with him every single day.

Neteyam didn't wait for the ship to dock. He signaled his ikran to fly closer, leaped from the saddle, and landed lightly on the wooden deck. His ikran let out a loud cry and banked away, circling the giant Medusoid as it waited for its rider.

A few of the other Windtraders stopped what they were doing to stare. It wasn't every day a forest warrior landed on their ship while it was still in the air. Neteyam didn't seem to mind the attention. He stood tall and looked around, his tail flicking with excitement.

"Where is it?" he asked, walking over to you. "Show me where you keep all those treasures when you are not on the docks."

You laughed and led him toward your stall.

Neteyam walked up to the table and ran his hand over the surface. It was covered in new items you had picked up since you last saw him.

"You have been busy," Neteyam said. He picked up a small carved figure made of bone and turned it over in his hands. "Is this from the high mountains too?"

"That is from the northern plains," you said, standing beside him. "We traded some sea pearls for a whole crate of those. They say they bring good luck to travelers."

Neteyam set the figure down and looked at you, his eyes moving from the carvings to your face.

"So," you said, leaning against the wooden frame of your stall. "What do you want to trade this time? I have a lot of new things."

Neteyam didn't look at the table. Instead, he reached into a small pouch at his waist and pulled out something that made you stop breathing for a second. It was a necklace made of dozens of tiny pearls, all woven together with silver thread. In the center hung a large, polished shell that shifted colors in the light, moving from deep blue to a soft violet.

He held it out, the pearls clinking softly in his hand.

"No way," you said, your voice dropping as you looked at it. "This is too beautiful, Neteyam. This could be worth my entire stall, and maybe the ship too."

Neteyam didn't look at the necklace. He kept his eyes on you, a steady and serious look on his face.

"I don't want your stall," he said. He stepped a little closer, so close you could feel the heat coming off his skin. "I want a night with you. No trading, no work. Just a night for me to show you the reef."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head in surprise. You looked at the pearls and then back at his handsome face. "So the cost is higher this time, I see. A whole night?"

"The whole night," Neteyam repeated. He held the necklace out toward you, letting the pearls catch the light.

You took the necklace from him, the pearls feeling cool and heavy in your palm. "You are a very good trader, Forest Boy."

The sun had gone down, and the reef had changed completely. The bright turquoise water was gone, replaced by a glowing world of neon purples and soft blues.

Neteyam was waiting for you at the water's edge. When he saw you walking down the beach, he whistled softly toward the waves. A sleek ilu surfaced nearby, chirping and clicking as it swam toward him.

"You ready for your part of the trade?" Neteyam asked. He patted the side of the ilu and hopped onto the saddle, looking back at you with an encouraging smile.

You stepped into the water, feeling the cool glow swirl around your ankles. You were used to the dry winds of the mountains, so the wet feeling of the ocean still felt a bit strange. You climbed onto the back of the ilu behind him, your knees gripping the sides of the creature.

"Hold on to me," Neteyam said. "And don't let go. This one likes to move fast."

You reached forward and wrapped one of your arm around his waist and one arm on his shoulder, pressing your chest against his back. His skin was cool from the water but his muscles were solid and warm. You could feel the steady beat of his heart as he took a deep breath.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Before you could answer, the ilu surged forward. You gasped and tightened your grip on him as the creature dove just below the surface. The world turned into a blur of light. Thousands of tiny glowing organisms lit up as you passed them, looking like stars rushing past you in the dark.

Neteyam steered the ilu with perfect control. He took you through the narrow coral tunnels he had practiced in for weeks. Huge plants pulsed with light when the ilu brushed against them, and schools of small fish scattered like living fireworks.

That night became the start of a rhythm that neither of you wanted to break.

During your third visit, Neteyam didn't even wait for the ship to fully anchor before he was at the docks, his ilu already whistling in the surf. That night, he took you to a hidden cove where the sand was as white as bone, and you sat for hours telling him about the Great Stone Arches of the mountains.

By the fourth time the Tlalim ships appeared on the horizon, the trade was an unspoken rule. You would bring him a piece of mountain fruit or a new carving and he would bring you a meal and a ride through the waves.

When the fifth meeting arrived, the air was thick and heavy with the scent of an approaching storm, but the water was still calm. Neteyam met you as the sun was dipping below the sea, painting the sky in deep purples and bruised reds.

As the ilu surged forward, you didn't even have to be told to hold on. You leaned into his back, your arm wrapping around his waist with a familiarity that made your chest ache. As you dived beneath the surface, the familiar blur of stars and glowing coral rushed past, but this time, you weren't looking at the fish. You were focused on the warmth of his skin and the way he leaned back into your touch.

When you finally surfaced in your secret lagoon, the silence felt different. As you sat behind him on the ilu, your hand stayed locked around his waist, and you felt a strange flutter in your stomach that had nothing to do with the speed of the ride.

Neteyam guided the ilu to a shallow bank where the water only reached his waist. He hopped off and reached up to help you down. As your feet hit the soft sand, he didn't pull his hands away. He kept them on your waist, and you kept yours on his shoulders.

"You are quiet tonight," Neteyam whispered.

"Just thinking," you said, your voice a bit breathy. "About how much I hate leaving this place."

Neteyam stepped closer, closing the small gap between you. His golden eyes were searching yours. "I hate it too. I spend the weeks between your visits just waiting for the wind to change. It is like the best part of the month leaves when your ship does."

The spark you had been feeling for months finally caught fire. The flutter in your stomach turned into a pull you couldn't ignore. Neteyam’s gaze dropped to your lips and then back to your eyes, asking a silent question.

You leaned in first, just an inch, and Neteyam met you halfway.

The kiss was slow and deep, tasting like salt and the cool mountain air you always brought with you. It was a bridge between your two worlds, the high peaks and the deep reef finally meeting in the middle. His hands moved up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks with a gentleness that made your knees feel weak.

When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing in the same humid air.

"That was a very good trade," Neteyam murmured, his voice rough and low.

You let out a shaky laugh, pulling him back in by the cord of his necklace. "The best one yet, Forest Boy."

The sixth time the horn blasted, Neteyam’s heart nearly beat out of his chest. He had spent the last two months replaying that kiss in his head, feeling the warmth of your skin and the salt on your lips every time he closed his eyes.

He was nervous, his stomach doing flips as his ikran climbed higher toward the massive shadow of the Medusoid. He wondered if things would be awkward, or if you had missed him as much as he had missed you.

He landed on the deck with a practiced leap, his eyes immediately darting toward the spot where your stall always stood.

The space was empty.

There were no colorful banners, no jars of pigment, and no scent of mountain cedar. It was just bare wood. Neteyam stood frozen for a moment, his heart sinking. He thought maybe you had just moved to a different deck, so he started to run.

He searched the entire main ship, then whistled for his ikran and flew to the smaller vessels in the caravan. He checked every stall, looking for your face, but you weren't there.

Panic began to set in. He ignored the confused looks from the other traders and headed straight for the center of the lead ship. He found Peylak, the Olo’eyktan of the Tlalim, who was overseeing the unloading of heavy timber.

"Peylak!" Neteyam called out, his voice cracking. "Where is the girl who runs the pigment stall? The one who trades the mountain glass and the glowing seeds? She’s always right there by the railing."

Peylak stopped and looked at Neteyam. The older man’s face was drawn and pale. He didn't speak, only sighed and gave a small nod. "Wait for a second," he said quietly.

Neteyam stood there, his hands shaking slightly. He told himself you were probably just resting or working in the lower cargo holds. He imagined you walking out from behind a curtain, laughing at him for being so worried.

But when Peylak returned, he was alone. He was carrying a small wooden box, the lid carved with the symbols of the high mountains. He held it out with both hands, his head bowed.

"The Mangkwan raid was crazy these days," Peylak said softly. The mention of the Ash People made Neteyam’s blood run cold. "They came in the night, with fire and wings. She didn't survive the last Mangkwan raid. I believe this is her belongings."

Neteyam didn't take the box at first. He couldn't move. The bright sun of the reef felt suddenly freezing, and the sounds of the busy market seemed to fade into a dull hum. He looked down at the box, his breath hitching in his chest.

He slowly reached out and took it. It was light, too light to hold a whole life. When he opened the lid, he saw the blue pearl necklace you had traded your night for. It sat on top of a small bundle of dried forest leaves and the blue sea-stones he had given you during your very first meeting.

Neteyam didn't say anything. He couldn't. He just stood on the deck of the ship you loved, clutching the box to his chest as the winds you used to sail whistled past him.

Neteyam didn't stay to watch the rest of the cargo be unloaded. He couldn't stand the sound of the traders laughing or the clatter of wood on the docks. He took the small box, mounted his ikran, and flew away from the village.

He didn't go back to his family’s tent. Instead, he flew toward the hidden lagoon. It was the place where you had held onto him, where the air had tasted like salt and mountain breeze, and where he had finally felt like he belonged.

Neteyam landed on the white sand and sat by the edge of a tide pool. He opened the box and carefully took out the items inside.

He picked up the blue pearl necklace. He remembered the look on your face when he gave it to you. The way you had told him it was worth more than your whole stall. He wrapped the pearls around his wrist, feeling the weight of them.

"I am sorry I was not there," he whispered to the empty air.

He stayed there for a long time. He thought about the trade you had made, a whole night for few pieces of necklace or meal. He realized then that he would have given every night he had left just to see your ship on the horizon one more time.

In the forest, when someone died, they were returned to the earth to become part of the trees. Here, they were given to the sea. But you were a child of the breeze. You belonged to the wind.

He took a deep breath and took the wooden ring you gave from his cord before throwing it as hard as he could into the air. He watched it catch the light one last time before it vanished into the dark blue of the night sky.

"Go back to the sky," he said softly, his voice breaking.

He stood in the glowing water until the moon was high, the blue pearls still wrapped tight around his wrist. He knew he would keep counting the days, even if he knew the shadow of the Medusoid would never bring you back to him again. The forest boy would stay by the sea, but his heart had left with the wind.

[gigiszn]

THE POISON — neteyam te suli x fem!mangkwan!reader

WARNINGS: ANGST AND FLUFF / kidnapping sorta / practically child abuse / loss of parents / forced kuru connection / murder / being tied up

AUTHORS NOTE: this is the first part of my new neteyam series! not sure how long it'll go on for, looking to make maybe 3 parts if people like it! i really do need input tho, because i won't continue this series if nobody likes it. lmk! ALL CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN SEXUAL ACTIONS ARE 18+!

WC: 3.8k

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The name you were given was Mangkwan, but it felt less like an identity and more like a brand, seared into your soul by the heat of the volcanic plains you called home. It was a name that tasted of ash and sorrow, a constant reminder of the life that was forged for you in fire and fury.

You were an orphan of the great mountain, a child Eywa had seen fit to abandon. You had no real memory of the eruption, only phantom sensations of suffocating heat, a roar that drowned out all sound, and the scent of your own fear burning. You were told you were found whimpering in the cooling embers of your village, a small, soot-covered creature amidst the bodies of your people.

Varang, the fearsome tsakarem of the Ash Nation, had scooped you from the ruin. She was a survivor herself, barely a woman, but her eyes were already old with a hardness that the mountain had forged.

She was a complicated parental figure. Varang didn't know how to balance nurturing and commanding; she always settled on the harsh latter. She was barely more than a child herself when she took you in, though in her eyes, that was no excuse. From the moment she stepped up to be both Tsahik and Olo'eyktan at the ripe age of eighteen and yours of three, she fiercely guided you to follow in her footsteps, determined to forge you into a weapon stronger than herself.

Your childhood was a litany of brutal lessons. While other children learned songs and games, you learned the anatomy of a viperwolf from the inside out. You learned which plants could be used to poison a dart and which could staunch a wound well enough to keep a captive alive for interrogation. You learned to move without a sound over the crunchy, glassy obsidian fields that surrounded your stronghold.

Her lessons on empathy were the most cruel.

"Feel," she'd murmur, her voice devoid of warmth as she forced your kuru to connect with the twitching tendrils of a dying hexapod.

"Feel its terror. Its agony. Let it pour into you. Now, desensitize." The pain was blinding, a wave of pure, primal fear that made you want to scream.

The first time, you did. She backhanded you across the face, the sting of her rings a sharp lesson. "Weakness is a poison," she had hissed. "You will not be weak. You will be the poison."

Your iknimaya was not a test of skill and spirit; it was a trial by fire designed to burn away every last shred of your compassion. The final task was not to claim an ikran, but to face another initiate in ritual combat to the death.

Your opponent was a boy named Ror'ak, all lanky limbs and nervous energy. He was faster than you, but you were stronger, your lessons having honed your muscles into dense cords. The fight was a blur of parries and desperate lunges. When you finally had him pinned, your knife at his throat, his eyes wide with terror, you hesitated. It was a fleeting moment, a flicker of the child you might have been.

Varang's voice, sharp as a shard of rock, cut through the air. "Finish him, 'ite! Or I will finish you both." You closed your eyes and drove the blade home.

You did not eat for three days afterward, the bile in your throat a constant companion.

Now, you were the age she had been when she took command. The people of the Ash Nation looked to you when your mother was away on raids, their faces a mixture of fear and expectation. You ever so desperately wanted to provide a nurturing hand, to be a soft voice that could lead them away from the cruelty upon which their clan was pillared.

You saw the hunger in their eyes, the exhaustion etched into their skin. But of course, you kept your soul locked away, your face a mask of indifference. Instead, you offered the half-helpful, ruthless advice Varang had taught you to recite, your voice a hollow echo of hers.

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The raid on the Windtraders was supposed to be like any other. A swift strike, a display of power, a message sent. The sky was a brilliant, alien blue, a stark contrast to the perpetual gray haze of your home. You flew low, your ikran a streak of crimson against the vibrant green canopy. But then, a sharp, searing pain erupted in your ikran's shoulder.

An Omaticaya arrow, tipped with a paralyzing agent. Your ikran shrieked as it thrashed, its control lost. The world spun in a dizzying kaleidoscope of green and blue before you were slammed into the dense, suffocating undergrowth. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, and before you could regain your senses, strong hands were grabbing you, binding you in the tight, living wraps of forest vines that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

And now, you were a hostage. Held in a cell of woven roots high in the Hallelujah Mountains, the air was cool and damp, smelling of wet stone and the sweet, cloying scent of unfamiliar blossoms. It was a world away from the acrid sting of sulfur you were used to. Your legs were sprawled uselessly, the vines cutting into your skin every time you found the energy to attempt another pointless escape.

"Watch her," a deep voice commanded, laced with an authority that made your skin prickle.

You looked up to see the legendary Toruk Makto, Jake Sully. His face, a strange mix of human and Na'vi features, was a mask of cold fury. His eyes lingered on you with a calculating gaze before he turned and began shouting orders to his warriors in their fluid, melodic tongue.

His son, Neteyam, sat a few feet away on the cold stone floor. He was the image of his father, but younger, his features still holding a boyish softness that his father's had lost. The area was particularly secluded, most likely to prevent fear from reaching the minds of the young Omaticaya. His eyes would glance over at you every few moments, his posture rigid as he tried to maintain his composure in the tense atmosphere. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the distant calls of strange, colorful birds.

"Let me go," you hissed, finally breaking the quiet. You pulled on your restraints, the rough fibers digging into your wrists as you forced yourself onto your knees.

"No."

"Now."

"I said no," he hissed back, his tail flicking with an annoyance that mirrored your own.

"I have nothing to tell you. I am just a person of the clan." It was a complete lie, though you were almost sure he didn't know the extent of it. To him, you were just another warrior.

"Oh yeah?" he scoffed, pushing himself to his feet. There was no humor in his tone, only a sharp edge of suspicion. "It didn't seem that way when 'mommy' was fixing your posture on her ikran."

You huffed, leaning back against the rough stone behind you. Shit. No wonder they were keeping you holed up. You had been trying to play them like idiots, but they had known your status this entire time. He wasn't just a guard; he was an interrogator.

"Your fire queen mother will come rescue you soon, won't she? Tell us their attacks," he accused, stepping forward and pointing the tip of his knife directly at your throat. The obsidian blade was cold against your skin.

You actually laughed. It was a sharp, bitter sound that echoed in the small space. After a long sigh, you responded, your smile slowly faltering as you spoke.

"'Mommy' is not coming to get me anytime soon. I am weak and useless." You muttered the words harshly, a truth you had been force-fed your entire life.

It wasn't easy living as an Ash Tribe member. There was no love. No tenderness. You had been warned that if you were captured, you would not be rescued. You were an acceptable loss.

He lowered his knife slightly, his aggressive posture softening into confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's none of your business," you snapped, turning your face away from him, your jaw tight.

"I think it is," he insisted, his voice losing its edge. "You're my prisoner. Your state of mind is my business. Why would your own mother leave you to die?"

You let out a bitter sigh, the fight draining out of you. What did it matter anymore?

"In my clan, weakness is a liability. If you can't fight, you're left behind. I failed a test. I wasn't ruthless enough. So I am useless to them. An asset they cannot afford to waste resources retrieving." The words tasted like poison in your mouth.

He was quiet for a long moment, the weight of your words settling in the damp air. He sheathed his knife and sat back down, the anger in his eyes replaced by something else. Pity? You hated pity.

"I know what it's like," he said finally, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. "To have the weight of the clan on your shoulders. To feel like you can't ever be weak, not even for a moment."

You gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. It was the first thing you had in common.

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The days bled into one another, marked only by the shifting light filtering through the canopy above. The first few days were a tense standoff. You were defiant, he was suspicious. When he brought you a plate of fruit and dried meat, you turned your head away, a silent rejection.

He would just sigh and leave it on the stone floor just within your reach. Later, when he was sure you were asleep or feigning indifference, he would watch from the shadows as you awkwardly shuffled forward, contorting your body to snatch a piece of fruit with your teeth or nudge it closer with your chin.

You would devour it with a ferocity that shamed you, the gnawing in your stomach more powerful than your pride. Each time he found the plate empty, he would say nothing, simply clearing it away, a silent acknowledgment of your silent struggle.

Neteyam was your constant guard. Well, not a guard. He didn't just watch. He talked. At first, it was just to fill the silence, a one-sided conversation about the weather, about the different calls of the birds you could hear, about the way the bioluminescent flora would begin to glow as twilight fell. You answered in grunts or silence, determined to give him nothing.

But his persistence was a slow, steady tide eroding your walls. He told you about his siblings, about the thrill of flying through the arches of the mountains, about the profound connection he felt to the Spirit Tree. He spoke of Eywa not as a distant, neglectful force, but as a living, breathing presence that connected every leaf, every creature, every soul. It was a concept so foreign to you it sounded like a fantasy.

"You feel her?" you asked one day, your voice raspy from disuse. "This Eywa?"

"All the time," he said, his hand resting over his heart. "When I connect to the tree, I can hear the voices of my ancestors. I can feel the heartbeat of Pandora."

You thought of the dying animals, of the forced agony Varang made you endure. "My connection brings only pain," you stated flatly.

He looked at you then, a deep, searching look that made you uncomfortable. "That's not the way it's supposed to be," he said softly.

You found yourself laughing, a real, unexpected laugh, at a story he told about his brother Lo'ak getting his head stuck in a pitcher plant and having to be greased up by Neytiri to get it out. The sound startled you both. It was the first time you had laughed in years, and it felt like cracking open a part of yourself you had long since sealed shut. It was strange, you and him both knew, but something about his easy warmth, his earnestness, drew you in, a flicker of warmth in the cold, stone cell.

One afternoon, as a shaft of golden sunlight pierced the gloom of your prison, he asked something simple. "What's your favorite flower?"

You blinked, puzzled. It was one of the first times he hadn't tried to ask about your clan, about battle strategies, about Varang. "I... don't know," you admitted softly. "We don't really have flowers where I'm from. Just rock and ash. Things that survive."

He frowned, a sad look on his face. "That's no way to live."

They sat in silence for a few moments after that, the sound of the wind whistling through the mountains the only noise between them. The silence was no longer tense, but comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. Finally, you spoke up, your voice barely a whisper, as if confessing a mortal sin.

"My clan is filled with hatred and evil," you confessed, the words feeling like a betrayal but also a profound relief.

"I can't stand it."

You opened up, the words tumbling out of you like a flood. You told him about the horrors of your training, what Varang had made you do with your kuru, the way she had forced you to feel the pain of dying creatures just to strip you of your empathy. You told him about Ror'ak, about the look in his eyes, about the blood on your hands that you could never wash clean.

"She was trying to make me a monster," you finished, your voice cracking with the weight of the memory. "And I think she succeeded."

Hesitantly, he approached, sitting next to you on the floor, the closest he had ever been. He didn't say anything, just sat with you in your pain. Then, he reached his hand out carefully for yours as it lay limply on the floor. You flinched it away, your body conditioned to reject such tenderness, "Don't touch me," you hissed,

"I am poison." Your mother's words echoed in your head of what you should, be, what you are.

Neteyam paused for a moment, before giving a sheepish smile, "If you are the poison.. I want to be poisoned."

After a moment, you slowly brought it back to his. His touch was warm, his fingers gently tracing the patterns on your skin, a stark contrast to the rough, painful grip you were used to. They stayed like that for a long time, a silent promise passing between you, before the sound of approaching footsteps made you both scramble away from each other, the fragile moment shattered.

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The days turned into a week, then two. The routine became your new reality. He would arrive in the morning with food. You would talk, sometimes for hours. You learned about his family, his duties, his dreams of becoming a great leader like his father. He learned about your secret hatred for your own people, your longing for a life you couldn't name. You found yourself watching the door when he was gone, waiting for the sound of his footsteps, a feeling you couldn't identify blooming in your chest.

Then one day, he didn't arrive at his usual time.

A knot of dread tightened in your stomach. The sun began to dip below the floating mountains, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor of your cell. The silence was different now, heavy and ominous. Suddenly, a distant scream echoed through the mountains, followed by a burst of orange flames erupting in the sky, painting the clouds in violent hues.

Mangkwan.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You were confused and conflicted. They came back for you? But how? How did they find you? A more pressing thought consumed you, a wave of pure panic: Is Neteyam okay?

As if in answer to your silent question, Neteyam hurriedly ran into the cell, his expression frantic, a fresh cut bleeding on his arm. "Your clan is here," he said, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"They're attacking. They're looking for you."

You began breathing heavily, your heart hammering against your ribs. The sounds of battle grew louder—the shrieks of ikran, the war cries of your people, the answering shouts of the Omaticaya. You had grown to be fond of the Omaticaya. You could see them from your post, playing and laughing and bonding. You had seen Neteyam's little sister, Tuk, chasing a prolemuris, her laughter like bells.

But these were your people. The sounds of their war cries, a sound you had known your entire life, stirred something primal within you.

Neteyam crouched in front of you, his hands on your shoulders, trying to soothe you. "Look at me, breathe," he urged, his voice a desperate anchor in the storm of your fear. "We'll get you out of here. We'll hide you."

You were shaking your head, tears you didn't know you could still shed welling in your eyes. "They'll kill you," you choked out.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours, filled with a fear that had nothing to do with the battle outside. Then he leaned in and planted a soft, warm kiss on your cheek. The simple gesture was a grounding force in the chaos erupting around you. You immediately calmed down, your frantic breathing slowing as you focused on the warmth of his lips on your skin. You stared into each other's eyes, the world fading away, and as you were about to lean in, a terrifying screech was heard from behind.

Varang leaped from her ikran, landing with a thud on the stone walkway outside the cave, both her dual-ended knives drawn and glinting in the firelight. Her eyes, burning with a terrifying, protective fury, found you instantly.

Neteyam jumped back in fright, his hand flying to his own knife, but your mother was faster. With a flick of her wrist, she sliced through the vines on the entry-way and vaulted into the stone closure. She rushed over to you, cutting your restraints with a single, fluid motion. The vines fell away, and your blood circulation rushed back painfully.

She was grabbing at your face, turning it from side to side, checking for any wounds. She picked up your tail, inspecting it, then grabbed your now skinny wrists, her grip tight. She growled, seeing how the protective layer of ash you always wore had begun to fade from your skin, it slowly returning to its rightful azure in the humid forest air.

Then, she did something she had never done in your entire life.

She hugged you.

It was a fierce, crushing embrace, smelling of sulfur and home. She breathed out into your hair, her voice a ragged whisper. "I have never felt more anger and fear in my entire life than from the moment you were captured."

Varang stretched to her full height, spinning her blades around with a practiced ease, her eyes locked on Neteyam. "Away from my daughter, forest boy," she hissed, her voice a low growl.

Neteyam's ears flicked back in fear, but he stood his ground, placing himself slightly in front of you.

"Back away," he told her, his voice shaking but firm. "She doesn't want to go with you. She belongs here, she deserves to know Eywa."

Your mother hissed at the mention of Eywa, her anger furthering. "That false spirit abandoned her! I will not let you poison her with your lies!"

But your mind was racing. He's right. I don't want to go back. The thought was a lightning strike of clarity.

Varang turned to you, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. She tilted her head toward her ikran, waiting outside. "Let's go, my daughter."

The words were spoken as a command, but there was a thread of something else in them, something raw and pleading that you had never heard before.

Your body moved on instinct, a lifetime of obedience kicking in. You took a step forward, your bare foot silent on the stone. But your eyes locked on Neteyam's, and you froze. He looked shattered. His face, usually so composed and strong, was a mask of shock and profound hurt. He wasn't seeing the daughter of the Olo'eyktan; he was seeing you, the girl he had laughed with, the girl who had confessed her soul to him.

And you were about to go back? Leave him? After all your whispered words in the dark?

You hesitated, your mind a chaotic battlefield. Memories of Neteyam—his gentle touch, his easy laugh, the way he looked at you with warmth instead of expectation—clashed violently with the brutal reality of your upbringing. But then you kept thinking of her kindness, the desperate hug, the raw fear in her voice. She had come for you. She had been afraid. That had to mean something, didn't it?

You didn't have time to forge your own answer. Seeing your hesitation as betrayal, Varang's face hardened again. With an angry snarl, she reached out and grabbed your kuru, wrapping her own hateful tendrils around it. The connection was not one of affection but of pure, painful command. She tugged you away, the jolt forcing a gasp from your lips as you stumbled after her.

You were naive to believe your mother's softness was purely for the benefit of you, of course. Though Varang did love and care for you, she valued her vengeance over anything else.

And that could not be done without you.

"Neteyam!" you screamed, your arm outstretched toward him as she dragged you toward the edge of the walkway. "Neteyam!"

Just as Jake Sully arrived at the cell entrance, his face a thundercloud of fury, he grabbed his son, pulling him back from the precipice. "She's a goner, son! It's not worth it!"

But Neteyam fought him, his eyes locked on yours. Both your arms were outstretched for each other, fingers straining, a desperate, heartbreaking gap of a few feet separating you. You could see the tears in his eyes, mirroring your own. Your fingers brushed, a fleeting, impossible touch, before Varang pulled you onto her ikran.

The world became a blur of wind and fire as she urged her mount into the sky. You were forced to look down, to watch the small figure of Neteyam shrink until he was just a speck of blue and black against the glowing green of the forest, his arm still outstretched in a gesture of hopeless longing. The scream that tore from your throat was lost to the roar of the wind and the triumphant cries of your clan as they retreated into the dark, smoky sky.

You were going home.

But it had never felt less like it.

[xluvablz]

❀: “healers hands”

pairing: neteyam sully x f!omatikaya!reader

summary: neteyam keeps coming to your tent; first with wounds, then excuses, then nothing at all. teasing and care turn to trust and unspoken feelings. it isn't until he returns with a serious injury that the truth finally unfolds.

warnings: pure yearning. mostly fluffy and a bit of pining, but there is also some angst.

word count: 1.9k

tsakarem - tsahìk-in-training. paysyul flower - water lily.

The first time he limps into your healing tent, he’s all arrogance and sharp edges.  

A gash runs down his thigh; deep enough to need stitching, shallow enough that he insists it’s nothing.  

"Sit," you command, voice steady despite the way his towering frame fills the space.  

He smirks, blood dripping between his fingers, but obliges. "Didn’t take you for the bossy type, tsakarem," he teases surveying your features for a reaction.

You ignore him, gathering yalna bark and spider silk. When you kneel beside him, his breath hitches, just once, as your fingers skim his skin.  

"This will sting," you warn.  

He leans in, voices a low rumble. "I like it when it stings." 

You swallow hard.

With practiced care, you smooth the thick paste along the wound, nimble fingers gentle against his skin. Taking the thread, you begin stitching the edges closed, each careful pull precise and steady, your focus unwavering as you work to ease the pain and ensure the wound heals cleanly.

He barely moves beneath your touch, jaw clenched as he watches you from beneath his lashes. You murmur soft reassurances as you work, reminding him to breathe, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin whenever his muscles tense. 

When the last stitch is tied off, you press a clean cloth over the wound, checking your work with a quiet nod, before sending him off.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Three eclipses later, he’s back – this time with a bruised rib.  

"Fell off a branch," he mumbles, wincing as you prod the swelling.  

You arch a brow suspiciously. "You? The great warrior… fell?”

His laughter is warm, and closer than necessary. "Maybe I just wanted to hear you scold me again."

Your hands hesitate over his ribs. His heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingertips. “You need to be more careful, Neteyam,” you chastise, unimpressed at his new-found clumsiness.

Your hands still, clicking your tongue. “One day I won’t be here to patch you up.”

You reach for the salve anyway, smoothing it over the bruise with gentle pressure. He hisses, then relaxes, leaning subtly into your touch as if the pain is worth it just to be here; under your careful hands and watchful gaze.

His smile falters, just a fraction, at your words. “Yeah,” he murmurs, quieter now. “But you are now.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. You glance up at him, warmth settling in your chest as your thumb traces a soothing circle near the bruise.

“You enjoy this too much,” you mutter, face falling serious, trying to sound stern.

“Maybe,” he replies softly, eyes fixed on your face. “But I trust you.”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

The next time, his excuse is thinner than mist. You have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. 

A shallow scratch across his palm; barely deserving of the poultice you press to it.

But when your fingers linger, he turns his hand, his touch grazing yours, almost – almost – intertwining. The contact sends a quiet jolt up your arm, unwelcome yet undeniable.

“Tell me, healer,” he murmurs, fingers brushing over your knuckles, voice low and deliberate. “Do you tend to all the warriors… or just me?”

Your pulse stutters. “Just the reckless ones,” you scoff, forcing a lightness into your tone as you dab the salve more firmly than necessary.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his grin widens, all trouble and fangs. “Lucky me.”

You finally look up at him then, catching the way his eyes linger – soft, searching, entirely too familiar. For a fleeting moment, neither of you moves, the air between you taut with something unspoken, before you clear your throat and tug your hand free, pretending your heart isn’t racing.

“All done.”

He gives you a knowing look, head tilting slightly. Your gaze does not meet his, and your fingers writhe gently in your lap. He rises silently uttering a careful ‘thank you’ before disappearing behind the flaps of your tent.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Then comes the night he arrives with no wound at all.  

Just a single, perfect paysyul flower – rare, delicate, glowing softly in the dark.  

"For you," he says, uncharacteristically quiet.  

You stare at his outstretched hand offering you the delicate bundle of petals. Your body is enveloped by a warmth akin to the sun-soaked shallows of the forest, where the water holds heat long after the day has faded; it paints your face with a faint violet tint, and causes a familiar fluttering sensation in your chest.

His fingers brush yours as you take the flower, his touch too deliberate to be accidental. The petals glow softly between your hands, casting shimmering reflections across his face, illuminating the quiet intensity in his golden eyes.  

"You… brought me this?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.  

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, and can catch the scent of earth and morning dew clinging to his skin.  

"Couldn’t think of a better excuse to see you," he admits, voice rough at the edges. His thumb grazes your wrist before he adds, softer. "Missed you." 

The confession lingers in the air between you, fragile as the flower’s glow.  

And then – 

His hand slides up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward his.  

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, lips hovering so near yours you can taste his breath, sweet with the nectar of the forest.  

You don’t.  

The moment hangs, heavy with anticipation. His thumb is tracing circles on your jaw, his gaze locked on your lips. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and just slightly desperate.  

And then, from outside the camp, the sound of footsteps and a familiar voice rings through the night…  

"Neteyam!"  

His head snaps up, eyes flashing with irritation, before he lets out a sigh, almost annoyed. "Damn it,” he mumbles with a small huff.

"What is it?" he calls back, not taking his hand off your cheek. Your skin burns where he holds you, blush deepening into a plum hue.

A few moments later, a figure appears behind the tent flap. Lo’ak peers curiously, his gaze flicking between you and his brother for a beat. He arches a brow, taking in the sight of Neteyam’s fingers now shifted underneath your chin, before an amused smile creeps onto his face.  

"What’s this?" he asks, feigning surprise. "Am I interrupting something here?" 

Neteyam shoots him a warning glare. "What do you want, Lo’ak?"

Lo’ak doesn’t miss your reaction, or the way Neteyam’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb pressing into your skin like he’s silently staking a claim.  

A slow, shit-eating grin spreads across Lo’ak’s face.  

"Ohhh," he drawls, crossing his arms. "So this is where you’ve been sneaking off too lately." His eyes flick to you, mischief dancing in them. "Funny how you only seem to get hurt when she’s on healing duty, bro."  

Neteyam’s jaw clenches – hard. 

"Lo’ak," he growls, voice low and dangerous.  

But his little brother just laughs, backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! Sorry to interrupt... whatever this is." He wiggles his eyebrows. "But dad wants you for something."

And with that, he ducks out of the tent, leaving behind only the sound of his fading laughter and tension thick enough to choke on. 

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Weeks pass.  

Neteyam stops showing up with flimsy excuses. The playful tension between you fades into something quieter, made of lingering glances, fleeting brushes of fingers – but nothing more.  

Then, one night, the tent flaps burst open.  

Lo’ak stumbles in, panting, Neteyam slumped heavily against him. Blood soaks through his chest wrap, his breaths ragged. Your stomach plummets.  

"What happened?" you demand, already moving, hands steady despite the panic clawing up your throat.  

"Stupid ikran hunt," Lo’ak grits out, lowering him onto the mat. "Tried to show off – got clipped mid-dive."  

Neteyam’s eyes flutter open, hazy with pain. But when they land on you, his lips twitch weakly. "...Missed you," he slurs, delirious.  

Your hands tremble as you peel back the fabric, revealing the deep gash across his ribs.

"You idiot," you whisper, pressing a dapophet pad to the wound. "You could’ve died."  

His fingers brush your wrist, barely a ghost of touch. "Worth it… to see you… scowl like that."  

Lo’ak groans. "Oh my Eywa, half-dead and he’s still flirting."  

You ignore him, focusing on the way Neteyam’s breath hitches when your fingers trace his skin; gentle, but firm.  

"Don’t you dare bleed out on me," you murmur, voice thick.  

His hand finds yours, squeezing weakly. "...Wouldn’t dream of it, baby."

Your heart pounds out a desperate rhythm as you work, trying to stay focused on the task at hand, but he keeps making it worse. Every ragged breath, every brush of skin, every stolen glance sends adrenaline surging through your veins.  

Lo’ak watches quietly from the side, his amusement replaced with concern. He knows better than to distract you, but his eyes flit between you and his brother with growing curiosity.  

Neteyam’s gaze is hazy, fever-bright, but still filled with an almost reverent fascination. His fingers find your wrist again, a little firmer this time. The salve stings, but Neteyam doesn’t flinch. His eyes stay locked on yours, even as sweat beads at his temples, even as his fingers twitch against the mat. 

You lean closer, checking the stitching. "You’re lucky it didn’t puncture your lung," you mutter, trying to ignore the way his breath hitches when your fingers graze his bare ribs.  

His hand suddenly catches yours, pressing your palm flat against his chest, right over his pounding heartbeat.  

"Feel that?" he rasps.  

You freeze.  

"That’s you," he continues, voice rough with pain and something else entirely. "Every time you touch me – every damn time – it does that."

Your breath catches.  

Lo’ak, still hovering near the entrance, makes a strangled noise. "Okay, I’m out. I’ll just– go tell Dad you’re not dead." 

The tent flaps swish shut behind him, a silence following.

Neteyam’s thumb strokes your wrist. "Stay," he murmurs.  

"I’m your healer," you whisper, trembling. "I have to."  

He shakes his head, wincing at the movement. "Not… what I meant." 

And then – weak but determined – he tugs you down until your forehead rests against his, his breath mingling with yours.  

"Stay after," he clarifies, voice raw. "When I’m not just… another wound to fix." 

Your pulse thrums where your skin meets his.  

Outside, the wind rustles the leaves. Inside, something fragile and long-avoided finally snaps.

You let out a breath shakily, his words settling deep within you. He had stumbled his way into your tent – your life – and had made a home out of your heart.

"I could never leave you," you begin. "You know that. I've always been here– waiting." You take another breath, letting it fill your lungs before you continue, "I will always be with you.” Another breath.

“I see you.”

His grip tightens around your hand, desperate and reverent, words feeling as though they are caught in his throat.

“Say it again," he breathes, voice cracking.  

You don’t hesitate.  

“I see you.”

A shudder runs through him – half pain, half relief –before he tugs you even closer, your lips hovering just above his, sharing the same air, the same heartbeat.  

"Took you long enough," he rasps, but there’s no bite to it, just warmth; just yours. “I see you.” 

And when his eyes finally flutter shut from exhaustion, his fingers stay tangled with yours.  

Finally.   Finally.

[jakeycore]

Aw this is so cute

[oneheda]

ECHOES. | ➶ neteyam sully

── .✦ part 2 of: DECLASSIFIED.

DECLASSIFIED (SERIES): READ ON AO3

<< READ PART 1: BRUISES

wc: 5.5k

pairing: neteyam x fem!warrior!na’vi

story description: somewhere between childhood and now, the past began pressing closer, leaving marks that did not belong to you and neteyam’s shared training.

warnings: UNRELIABLE NARRATION, ANGST, slooooooooww burnnn, injuries (duh), blood like lots, a lot of self-destruction on both ends for neteyam and reader, HUGE impact of grief, secrets, miscommunication, mentioned character death, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, betrayal, hurt/comfort.

a/n: hi guys!! part 2 is finally out!! lots of story building in this one and takes place in a flashback :)) quite a dense part i had to split it into two so more parts r coming up! feel free to ask for tags, hope y’all’s enjoyyyyy

CHAPTER SUMMARY:

What began as a childhood promise turns into a debt of blood, as a promise made in the dirt all those years ago finally came due.

As Neteyam rises too fast into war, you learn how to fight, how to survive, and how to live with the knowledge that loving him means losing pieces of yourself.

8 years ago…

“Why’d you ask me,” the boy questioned softly, his gaze drifting upward to the vast, open sky scattered with wispy clouds. "To teach you how to fight?”

Everyone left in pairs, and both of you watched them go, counting without meaning to. The grounds of the forest still held their warmth, like the day hadn’t noticed they were gone yet. Someone barked a laugh, too loud, too sudden. Then that sound thinned too, swallowed by leaves.

You shrugged, your chin resting lightly on your knees as you looked ahead. Your fingers kept drawing the same crooked shape over and over again in the dust until it didn’t look like anything anymore.

"Because... you’re good?”

Neteyam made a sound through his nose; not quite a mere laugh, more like scepticism, as he dismissed your excuse. His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke, deliberately bumping his shoulder into yours with a gentle, measured force, as if trying to dislodge the truth from your words. "I know that’s not just all… I know you better than anyone.”

You wobbled slightly at the contact, shooting an amused eyebrow. "You do?” Then, with a mock serious tone, you added, "Don’t flatter yourself, future olo’eyktan, future chief, heir and eldest son of Toruk Makto—"

“—Shut up!” he exclaimed, his hand shooting up to cover your mouth. You squirmed, swatting at him with a soft laugh, the sound bubbling out of you despite his grip.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, leaning back. “Tell me.”

Tell me everything.

There was a weight to his gaze now, an eagerness that made your heart beat faster, a quiet insistence that demanded honesty even as the ridiculousness of the moment made it impossible not to grin.

Your chest tightened at that. He noticed. He always noticed. When your laugh faded a second too early. When your hands went still in your lap. When your eyes drifted somewhere far away and did not come back right away.

“…My dad was good too.” You admitted softly, picking up a leaf from the ground. You began to fold it, crease after careful crease, until the veins strained and split. “Everyone said he was brave. Strong heart.”

Neteyam fell completely still, listening. A stillness that felt like a protective shield, as if he had understood that some things needed to breathe on their own before they could take shape in words. He was good at that, good at knowing when to hold back, when silence could be stronger than reassurance, when presence alone could speak louder than any hurried comfort.

“He died in the war,” you added quickly, like you were afraid the truth would harden if you left it alone too long. “I do not remember his face right,” you said. “But I remember thinking he was really really big. Bigger than everything. Like… nothing could reach me as long as… he was there.”

You swallowed hard, letting the thought hang in the air, thick and almost tangible.

“Until he wasn’t.”

Your mind tried to conjure the features you had lost to time, but all that remained was the feeling — warm, towering, unshakable — and the hollow space left behind when it was gone. Your shoulders folded inward without you meaning to, curling around yourself as if your body remembered the loss before your mind even could.

“I hate feeling small,” you continued, each word shaking slightly like a bird uncertain of flight. “I hate when people tell me to stay back. Like I am something that needs to be kept out of the way.”

Your eyes followed a bug as it scuttled across the earth, its tiny legs a blur of motion, desperate to reach a crack in the soil where it would disappear. You envied that certainty, the sense that it knew exactly where it belonged. And then it was gone, swallowed by the small shelter of the planet, leaving only the imprint of its passing.

“If I learnt how to fight,” you said, blinking back the sting in your eyes, softer now, “Maybe I will... Maybe I would not freeze. Maybe I could be bigger than the fear.”

The leaves shivered in the soft wind, letting the sun scatter across the ground in scattered golden patches. Suddenly, Neteyam nudged your knee with his, light but deliberate, a small touch that jolted you out of the spiral of your thoughts. The shock made your chest skip, your heart hiccupping like a startled bird, startled by the sudden intrusion of something ordinary yet startlingly alive.

“That is a lot of thinking for someone so skawxng,” he said, his voice teasing but not unkind, tipping the air between you with a lightness that seemed to dare you to respond.

You gasped, sharp and indignant. “What?”

He squinted at you, one corner of his mouth tugging sideways, mischief threading through the intensity like sunlight slicing through leaves after a storm.

Before you could dodge, he attacked the side of your ribcage with his knuckles.

“Skawxng!” you laughed, breathless as you shot back, trying to climb over him and failing completely. He yelped and tipped sideways, grabbing for you as he went down. You both tumbled into the dirt in a clumsy heap, elbows knocking, laughter bursting out of you as dust puffed up around your bodies. You ended up tangled together, laughing so hard you couldn't move.

Eventually, you rolled apart and flopped onto your backs, staring up at the open sky. Your chest still felt tight, but not like it was closing. More like it was slowly, carefully loosening.

Neteyam reached out and flicked a bit of dirt at your arm.

“You are not small,” he said, like it were the simplest truth there was.

Above you, the sky stayed blue, and beneath, the ground felt warmer.

“You do not have to fight yet,” he said after a moment. “That is my job.”

You frowned and turned your head toward him. “What?”

He shrugged, like the answer was obvious.

“I am older than you by a year. I will graduate first in the Academy. When I turn eighteen, when I become the captain of Bridgehead raids, I will tell you if it is safe.”

He turned his head and his eyes met yours. “I will protect you.”

The words settled gently, not loud, not dramatic, but steady as a promise made to Pandora itself.

“May I be your vice-captain? Faction one, you and me?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed on you, steady, unreadable, like he was weighing something that had already been decided.

Then, the corner of his mouth lifted, just barely.

“Who else would I choose?”

2 years ago…

You pushed through the familiar press of bodies beneath the Tree of Souls, the roots knotted like a maze underfoot, the air thick with the scent of soil and sweat and the faint tang of bioluminescent sap.

Crowds had always filled this place at this time of the year, it never felt empty. And today, every movement carried purpose. Voices twisted together, fragments of whispers you could not quite catch. Names. Reputations. Predictions. Warnings. Every glance measured who could rise, who would follow, who might break.

Jake Sully stepped forward before the tree, his shadow long and steady over the gathered. The murmurs softened as if they had heard him without a word. When he spoke, it was calm, deliberate, the sound rolling over the assembly like slow water.

“This is not a celebration,” he said. Not because he needed to correct the crowd. Everyone already knew. “Leadership must rise where it is needed.”

The crowd shifted, a ripple of tension and acknowledgement weaving through the press of bodies. You felt it press against your chest, brush against your back, tug at your focus like the wind through the roots.

“By tonight, starting from Faction Seven to One, the new captains and vice-captains would be chosen!” Jake Sully raised his hands, his voice carrying through the crowd.

The Tree of Souls answered and voices rose, howling and cheering, feet stamping into the soil, hands slapping bark and each other in excitement. You were jostled from every side, pressed closer to the roots, swallowed in a tide of sound and heat.

Neteyam nudged your side with his elbow, light, deliberate, warm against your ribs. His grin was quiet but fierce, eyes bright in the chaos.

“This will be me next year,” he whispered, letting the words drift over the roar, almost lost in the tide. “And us next, next year.”

You twisted to meet his gaze, breath shaking slightly from laughter and adrenaline.

Yeah, it would.

Faction Seven.

Whispers rose immediately: The Academy. A machine that fed the rest. Inevitable. Inescapable. You spotted the youngest cadets shifting, eyes too bright, hands tight at their sides. They were already being measured. Already being counted. The chosen leader moved with quiet authority, every step precise, almost mechanical, a conductor of potential and destiny, shaping futures the world had not yet earned.

Faction Six.

Healers. Sacred but exhausted. They saw everyone broken. Neutral but burdened by the weight of life and death alike. People bowed their heads slightly when they passed, as if their presence alone demanded reverence. The chosen healer lifted a hand just barely, a signal of calm and order, and you felt the invisible weight of life and death leaning with them.

Faction Five.

Communications. Invisible, always listening, their presence a thread weaving through chaos. You noticed the subtle shift of the crowd as they swept past, glances dropping instinctively. The chosen captain moved forward, hands twitching in subtle rhythms. They would be the first to know and the last to be thanked.

Faction Four.

Support. Necessary. Often overlooked until they were gone, carrying the friction of the world on quiet backs. You caught the quick rise of shoulders as they were named, the almost imperceptible nods of acknowledgement from the crowd. The captain walked with measured steadiness, unassuming but holding the lattice of being an all-rounder in their stride.

Faction Three.

Strategists. Untouched by blood but haunted by consequences. Fighters muttered under their breaths, resentment curling in the air, yet every failed plan still hummed back to the strategist. Their chosen leader stepped forward, expression unreadable, calm certainty in every line of their posture, absorbing blame without flinching, commanding respect through controlled absence of it.

Faction Two.

Intelligence. Shadows that moved between shadows. Quiet, observing, unseen until it was too late. Every glance felt measured, every step calculated, as if they could read the future in the twitch of a shoulder or the flicker of an eye. The crowd instinctively lowered its voice and leaned away as the air seemed to contract around them. Their chosen captain slipped forward with subtle precision, hands brushing almost nothing, eyes scanning, cataloguing, storing everything. You felt it. The pressure of secrets and silent power pressed down like a blade that never dropped, knowing more than anyone, always a step ahead, untouchable and untold.

Faction One.

Bridgehead Raids. Elite. Frontline. Most died here. Most glorified. The clearing grew heavier as the previous factions took their places. Whispers curled through the crowd, brushing past your ears: “Only the best survive,” “They will be tested before anyone else,” “Death comes quickly here, but the honour is unmatched.”

Nothing happened. The captain did not appear. Confusion spread. Heads turned, voices fell to whispers. “Is someone missing?” “Who will lead?”

Jake let the pause stretch, letting the uncertainty hang in the air, pressing on every chest. Then he spoke again, measured, deliberate.

“We know there is an age limit. We know who stands here may not meet it.”

The crowd stiffened. Eyes widened. Whispers spiked: “Too young?” “Can they really lead?”

You felt your stomach twist, heart tightening with a mixture of anticipation and disbelief. Lo’ak nudged you from the side, grinning. “This is going to be wild.”

The clearing waited. Even the Tree seemed to pause with you. Every breath, every glance, every quiet shuffle stretched longer, heavier, until the name was finally spoken.

“Neteyam.”

Time slowed. Seconds stretched, folding over themselves, heavy with unspoken speculation. Eyes flicked, searching, darting. Cadets glanced at one another, trying to hide fear behind wide eyes. Then, the crowd erupted into cheers, howls, laughter, and voices weaving together.

Toruk Makto and Neytiri stood close together at the centre of the clearing, shoulders rigid but eyes shining with pride and worry in equal measure. Eventually, Neteyam stepped forward, weaving through the surge of voices and stomping feet that shook the ground beneath the Tree. Their youngest daughter, Tuk, bounced slightly on the balls of her feet beside you as Kiri had her arm wrapped around Lo’ak’s elbow, both torn between astonishment and concern. Each of them watched him as the world itself had tilted, their shared anticipation and fear adding weight to the clearing, a silent chorus of love and caution that followed him into the centre.

At some point, he paused and turned, eyes locking with yours one last time, sharp and steady, carrying the weight of promise, ambition, and everything unspoken between you.

And then it hit you, beneath the thrill, a sharp and impossible awareness of what this truly meant.

He will disappear into the shadows and you’ll never know with a certainty, if he’ll ever come home.

- ➶ -

A few months after…

Even when he wasn’t there, his presence filled the clearing. Cadets whispered under their breath as they executed drills, voices carrying both awe and envy.

“That’s Neteyam’s style,” someone murmured, eyes bright as they mimicked a movement he had perfected. Instructors nodded, murmuring praise to one another, remarking on the efficiency, precision, and unshakable confidence that seemed to follow his name even in absence.

And you felt it keenly, the hollow pull where he should have been, the phantom weight of his timing and guidance missing beside you. Every compliment for him, every admiration that carried across the clearing, threaded into your chest, a mixture of pride and bitter ache. He was everywhere without being there, leaving you to contend with the echo of brilliance he had once shared with you privately.

Yet, underneath the ache, there was warmth, a genuine surge of pride.

You were happy for him. You truly were.

“Don’t be so sad. I’m sure you’ll see him soon.” A voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, playful and sharp.

You looked up, letting yourself smile faintly at the tease, though the emptiness beside you lingered. “Yeah… soon,” you murmured, but it felt heavier than the words sounded. Soon was relative. Soon was weeks of him pulled into captain duties, strategy sessions, and Faction One drills that left him barely breathing, let alone sparring with you.

During trainings, you moved through the drills with careful precision, each strike and pivot a mirror of countless mornings spent under the sun. Sweat ran down your neck and stung your eyes, but you welcomed it, let it anchor you in the clearing.

Lo’ak was nearby, bounding over logs and weaving through mock opponents with that effortless, wild grace of his, every motion bold and unrestrained. He laughed when Spider stumbled over a poorly timed dodge, and Spider, ever precise, muttered something sharp under his breath before correcting his stance.

While you were adjusting your stance, focusing on the way your feet dug into the soil and the way your arms cut through the air, a hand came to rest lightly on your shoulder. It was neither heavy nor intrusive, but it carried a weight of presence that made your muscles tense instantly. You froze mid-motion, breath catching, and slowly tilted your head toward the source.

“Since you’re Neteyam’s partner, mind if I pick up a few tips?”

You turned toward the voice and found a boy standing before you, lean and coiled, his posture relaxed but every muscle ready. You took a moment to study him, measuring, weighing.

Interesting…

“You are…?” you asked, curiosity sharpening your tone.

“M’äko,” he said, his gaze steady, calm, but carrying a quiet spark that made your chest tighten. A few strands of hair fell over his forehead, but there was focus in his eyes, a subtle precision in the way he held himself. He moved like someone who had been watching long enough to learn without being seen, studying, analysing, waiting.

The thought made a small, cautious smile at your lips. “Hmm… I’d rather a spar,” you asked, letting the challenge hang between you. “Later tonight?”

A faint grin tugged at his mouth. “Bet.”

- ➶ -

The clearing thrummed with energy, sunlight streaking through the canopy in shifting patches, Roots twisted across the ground like coiled snakes, offering both obstacles and footing as you faced the Na’vi before you, the buzz of the crowd pressing in from all sides.

“And next we have, M’äko!” someone shouted, and a ripple of cheers broke out from the side of the crowd. The boy’s stance mirrored your own, deceptively relaxed yet taut with precision, and the sight made your chest tighten.

From the side of the clearing, a few muttered, “He’s so meek… can he really—?

M’äko stepped forward, hands low, eyes flicking nervously over the crowd. You lunged first, closing the distance with a practised sweep of your leg, and he jumped back, barely, his movements hesitant but precise. You struck again, faster this time, feinting left and then pivoting, and he ducked under your kick with an awkward grace that somehow kept him balanced.

M’äko was unpredictable in his meekness, hesitating when you expected aggression, pausing just long enough to make your strikes overshoot. Yet, each time you thought you’d land a clean hit, he twisted, slipped, or rolled out of the way. You threw a punch, and he mirrored your footwork instinctively, almost too quickly. You blocked a counter, and his limbs moved in a familiar rhythm… though you couldn’t yet place why.

Then it hit you mid-lunge, heart hammering, eyes widening in shock: he wasn’t just dodging.

He was moving like you.

In the fraction of a second your guard slipped, M’äko’s fist found its mark. Pain flared sharply across your ribs, the force twisting your torso as the world tipped beneath you. Dirt scraped against your palms, the scent of earth and sweat stinging your nose as you hit the ground with a thud that rattled your teeth. The air left your lungs in a harsh whoosh, leaving your chest tight and buzzing. You blinked through the sudden disorientation, heart hammering, and for a moment the crowd’s roar felt distant, muffled, like it belonged to another world.

“[Y/N]!” another voice cut in from the opposite edge as the cadets around the edge of the clearing shouted and cheered, but you barely noticed.

You knew you had trained for this, yet fighting someone who moved like you was disorienting, like your reflection had come alive and dared you to challenge it.

Like a mirror, M’äko had both his feet beside your hips before he lowered himself and pressed his spear against your neck. You recognised it instantly as he leaned in close; the subtle rhythm, the way he breathed. Every instinct, every pattern you had drilled into muscle memory, every predictable rhythm, it was all a trap.

And so you did the impossible. Every instinct that had once been automatic, every movement you had perfected through countless drills and repetitions, you abandoned. You hesitated where you would normally strike, letting the rhythm you had trained into muscle memory falter, falter just enough to feel wrong, like you were failing in real time. You shifted your weight sharply to the side, feigned exhaustion, and in the same motion, swung your leg upward, snapping it with a precision that lifted M’äko off balance.

His eyes widened in surprise, his mirrored motions faltering for the first time.

He could only replicate the you he had seen, the predictable patterns, the rehearsed motions.

He could not anticipate what you had just become.

In that heartbeat, that single, chaotic fraction of a second, the opening appeared. You didn’t hesitate. You rolled from under his staggered stance, driving your elbow upward in a brutal arc that clipped his knee, followed immediately by a pivoted kick to push him down on the ground.

The clearing seemed to exhale around you, carrying the weight of every risk, every calculation, every shadow of doubt. Soon, M’äko pushed himself to his knees, hair falling across his forehead, and looked at you, breath heavy, eyes shining with something that felt like respect tinged with disbelief.

The bot gave a small, crooked grin. “I didn’t see that coming,” he said, voice low, half-laughing, half-awed. There was a silent recognition between the two of you: that you had faced yourself and emerged sharper, faster, and far more dangerous than even your own reflection had ever promised.

You let yourself grin back, a mix of relief and triumph warming your chest.

“Neither did I.”

The clearing still hummed when the distant sound hit you first. A sudden roar tore through the forest, scattering birds into the treetops. Heads snapped up as the wind ripped through the clearing, bending branches and scattering leaves, carrying the scent of sweat, smoke, and…

Blood.

Above the canopy, a swarm of riders cut through the sky, a twisting, pulsing wave of movement. They moved with frightening speed, almost too fast to follow, a blur of bodies, spears, and banners flashing past the light rays of dusk through the trees.

Heads snapped up as the people below watched them, every heartbeat synchronised with the thrum of wings and the echo of war cries. Even from the ground, their momentum carried authority — unstoppable, alive, and terrifying. The cadence of their flight made it clear: the raid was over.

“The warriors! They’re here!”

- ➶ -

The wind tore through High Camp, whipping your hair into your face and carrying the scent of the heights. The air trembled, a rolling vibration that made the suspension bridges shiver and the ropes hum. At first, it was just a shadow against the sky, a flicker among the clouds. Then dozens of ikrans appeared, streaking across the horizon in perfect, terrifying formation.

The swarm twisted and spiralled, wings slicing through sunlight, casting streaking shadows across the camp. Your stomach lurched as the mass of motion drew closer, each shadow a living force above the sheer drop of the cliffs.

Every eye at High Camp caught him at the same instant.

Neteyam’s ikran dipped mid-flight, wings flailing as he struggled against the gusts, faltering just enough to send a shock through your chest. His chest rose and fell with rapid, uneven breaths, every movement deliberate, measured, but betraying the pain he carried. Soon enough, with every ounce of strength, his ikran landed hard on the stone floor, one foot scraping against limestone rocks to garner friction.

A scarlet red streak across his side shone bright against the muted greens and browns of High Camp, a beacon none could ignore.

The crowd at High Camp froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide, whispers twisting into sharp gasps.

“Neteyam…” someone breathed, voice almost swallowed by the wind.

The moment came before anyone could fully process it. Neteyam’s legs buckled beneath him, a sudden, horrifying weakness that made the wind leave every lung at once. He felt his tsaheylu snap, a gut-wrenching disconnect that made his stomach lurch as a high-pitched, piercing yelp tore from his ikran, a sound so raw and full of alarm that it ricocheted through the walls of High Camp.

A pair of warriors nearest him lunged forward instantly, catching him before he could fall completely, their arms a steady anchor against the swaying platform. Another grabbed his ikran’s reins, gently guiding the creature to hover above the clearing so it wouldn’t panic. The camp erupted in murmurs, some sharp, some panicked, voices overlapping as if the very air vibrated with alarm.

“Tsahik!” one of the warriors shouted, hoisting him onto their shoulders. “Tsahik, we need the healers. Now!”

Others fell into motion like clockwork, forming a protective path through the camp as Neteyam was carried toward the sacred tent. Faction Six had already been alerted, their sacred presence moving quickly, the smell of medicinal herbs and the quiet authority of the healers filling the tent before anyone reached the flap.

From the trails and platforms around High Camp, injured warriors began streaming in, some leaning on companions, others limping or cradling burns and cuts from skirmishes on the cliffs and lower forests. The tsahik's tent transformed into a whirlwind of motion-hands grasping, herbs crushed, water poured, murmured reassurances layered over sharp commands. Healers worked on multiple bodies at once, adjusting splints, washing wounds, and steadying the weakest.

Neteyam lay at the centre, and yet around him, life in its rawest form swirled — a tapestry of pain, survival, and relentless dedication.

Even at a distance, the urgency and precision of the healers struck you, their hands steadying the bleeding, calming the panicked, measuring life’s fragile thread with ruthless clarity. The ragged cries, the scent of blood and sweat, the desperate hands of warriors moving with practised intensity pressed against you like a memory you could not shake.

Somewhere deep in your chest, a hollow pull twisted through you, a cruel reminder that this was the path your father had walked.

There was only one ending waiting at the end of men like them, and you recognised this future because you had already survived its aftermath once before.

Have you?

- ➶ -

Tsahik’s tent was hushed, sealed off from the rest of High Camp as if the night itself had drawn a careful line around it. The crowds were gone. The fires outside had burned down to embers. Even the forest seemed to have folded inward, leaves still, insects muted, the world resting while you remained awake.

Neteyam lay at the centre of the tent, wrapped in bandages and dim light, his body too quiet for someone who had always carried motion so easily. The bioluminescence threaded through the woven walls cast a faint glow over his chest, rising and falling in a shallow rhythm.

You knelt near him, hands pressed together, forehead bowed, murmuring prayers that barely existed as words anymore. You offered them to Eywa anyway. You did not know what else to do.

When the tent flaps shifted, you felt it before you heard it. A presence, soft and careful. Kiri stepped inside, her silhouette framed briefly by the night glow before the fabric fell closed behind her. She paused, eyes moving instinctively to Neteyam, then to you.

She lowered herself beside you at last, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her shoulder without touching it. The space between you was small, deliberate, filled with everything neither of you said.

Silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

Only then did Kiri speak.

“He didn’t do too badly,” she said softly, almost to the air itself. “For barely a month.”

You did not answer. Your gaze stayed fixed on the slow rise of Neteyam’s chest, as if looking away might break the fragile proof that he was still here.

Kiri waited, then spoke again, gentler this time. “I’ve noticed you. These past weeks.”

She hesitated, choosing her words with care. “You’ve been hard. On everything.”

A beat.

“And distant. Especially with Neteyam. I noticed.”

Your throat tightened. You swallowed. “It is necessary.”

Kiri shook her head, just slightly. “No,” she said. “You are preparing yourself for a future of hopelessness. One that has not happened yet.”

Your lips parted in something that was not quite a smile. “What is the difference?”

She inhaled slowly. “All has not been lost,” she said. “It won’t be.”

You let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, thin and brittle. “How do you know that?”

“Faith,” Kiri answered.

The tent seemed smaller after that. The glow along the walls dimmed, or maybe your eyes just refused to hold onto the light.

For a long moment, you said nothing.

Then, quietly, “My mother had faith too.”

Kiri’s voice softened, your name barely more than a breath.

“[Y/N].”

You did not look at her when you said it. You did not need to. The words were not meant to argue or accuse. They were simply a truth, worn smooth by time, by repetition, by the way it had been held and turned over in your mind for years. Faith had lived strongly in your home once. It had been spoken with the same certainty, and it is still the same hope.

Yet, it felt as though it had not been enough.

If it helps,” she said, tentative, “vice captains will be chosen soon. Captains choose their second.”

You shook your head immediately. “I’m too young. It won’t be me.”

Kiri’s gaze drifted back to Neteyam, to the stillness of him, to the cost written plainly in bandages and blood. “He’s too young too,” she said. “And yet, here he is.”

Something inside you finally collapsed.

You folded forward, burying your face in your hands as your shoulders trembled, grief spilling out in quiet, broken breaths. Kiri moved without hesitation, arms wrapping around you, holding you as if she could keep you from shattering completely.

Too young.

- ➶ -

Today was the day. The choosing took place at dawn.

The forest was still damp from the night, leaves heavy with moisture, the ground cool beneath bare feet. Warriors gathered in silence, standing shoulder to shoulder, faces drawn and unreadable. No one spoke above a murmur. This was not a celebration. It never was.

Neteyam stood at the centre.

He looked different now. Not weaker, not broken, but altered. His movements carried a careful precision, as though every step had been measured and weighed against pain. Fresh bindings wrapped his torso, darkened at the edges where blood had soaked through and dried. His breathing was steady, but you could see the effort it took to keep it that way.

Jake spoke first, his voice low, carrying without strain.

“Now, last but not least we have Faction One. The captain has the right to choose their vice.”

Neteyam lifted his chin at the sound of it. The words settled over the clearing slowly, like mist sinking into leaves. You felt them land in your chest, familiar and heavy, a sentence you had been waiting to hear since you were children tracing shapes into the dirt and pretending the future was something gentle.

The warriors shifted, subtle but collective. Everyone knew what this meant. Everyone knew what was being weighed. Vice-captain was not a title given lightly. It was a promise of blood shared, of commands obeyed without question, of standing beside someone when the ground ran slick and the sky burned. It was trust sharpened into duty.

Jake’s gaze moved briefly across the gathered faces, then returned to his son. “Neteyam, you have been recognised.”

“Choose.” He added.

Neteyam inhaled.

It was a careful breath. A measured one. You saw his shoulders lift, then settle, as if he were bracing himself against something invisible. For a moment, his eyes flicked toward you. You stood a little behind the others, hands loose at your sides, spine straight. You did not look at Neteyam. You did not need to. You could feel him, the way you always had, like a familiar current running just beneath the surface of the world. You remembered the years of training that had braided you together, the way your bodies had learned each other’s timing without words, the way you had fought like two halves of the same instinct. You remembered promises spoken quietly, almost jokingly, as if saying them aloud would make them less fragile.

You felt it then, a strange, suspended stillness, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Finally, you looked up.

He looked away..

Not unkindly. Not hesitantly. Just briefly, like his look was a glance meant to reassure rather than choose. Like something already decided.

Your chest tightened.

“Keyra.”

When he spoke the name, it was steady. Clear. Unwavering. The sound carried cleanly through the clearing and struck the ground like a dropped stone.

Voices broke loose the moment the name left his mouth.

Too young. She’s too young. She’s the same age as him.

You felt it before you saw it, the collective pivot of attention, the way the clearing seemed to inhale and reorient all at once. Faces swung toward you. Dozens of them. Warriors, elders, cadets. Eyes narrowing. Eyes widening.

The forest blurred at the edges. The roots beneath your feet felt suddenly unreal, as if you were no longer standing on solid ground but on the brink of something vast and unnamed. Noise folded into a low, distant roar, your pulse loud in your ears, your breath coming shallow and uneven.

You did not move.

Everyone was looking at you now.

And whatever life you had imagined for yourself a moment before quietly, unknowingly slipped out of reach.

AHHH sorry this kinda took a while… the brainstorming for this was a TADDD bit. can’t wait for the next parts because it gets a lot more…. messy! anyways, as always — likes, comments, reblogs are deeply appreciated. 🫶🏻

[jakeycore]

seed of fire / neteyam

aged up! neteyam x na'vi reader.

Summary: The secret you shared with Neteyam had taken shape, breathing and growing within you. Warnings: 6k+ words, aged up! neteyam, rivals to whatever that they are now, no smut, angst, a little fluff, you are still an idiot at the start (avoidant final boss), but you got the ending you deserved.

Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire, frozen fire, seed of fire

"He has arranged it," Neteyam finally looked at you, and the sheer agony in his expression made your breath catch. "I'm to be engaged. To the daughter of one of the lead warriors. Someone worthy of the future Olo'eyktan."

The words felt like a physical blow to the chest, harder than any strike you'd ever taken in training. The "we" you had finally started to believe in shattered into a thousand pieces.

You didn't let your hand shake. Instead, you sat down, reached for your sharpening stone, and ran it along the edge of your blade, anything to keep you busy so you don't break. The screech of metal on stone filled the silence.

"Then congratulations are in order," you said. You didn't look up. "A warrior's daughter. That’s a strong match."

Neteyam didn't move. You could feel his heat, his presence pressing into your space, demanding a reaction you refused to give.

"Is that it?" he asked, his voice cracking. "You’re just going to wish me well?"

"What else do you want, Sully? A toast? I’m happy for you. You get the crown, the girl, and the legacy." You finally looked at him, offering a small, hollow smile that didn't reach your eyes. "It’s a win for the clan."

"Stop it," he snapped, grabbing your wrist to pull the knife away. "Don't act like this is a strategy meeting. We are mated. We went to the grove. We joined before Eywa—"

"We didn't join anything," you said, wrenching your arm back. You stood up, tall and unbothered. "It was a just another hookup we did. Don't make it a big deal."

Neteyam recoiled. His ears flattened against his head and his tail went still. "The tsaheylu... I felt your soul. You can't lie about that."

"The tsaheylu is a biological connection, Neteyam. It’s nerves and electricity." You picked up your sharpening stone again, focusing on the blade in your lap. "I’ve connected with dozens of people over the years. You were just the most recent."

"Yeah? Right before you killed them?" his voice was low with a sudden venom. He stepped into your space, forcing you to look up. "You don't connect with people to feel them. You use it as a weapon. You use it to torture them before the end. Are you proud of that?"

You didn't flinch. You met his stare with eyes like flint. "If that's what you need to tell yourself, go ahead. It doesn't change the fact that you and whatever happened in that grove aren't special."

Neteyam went silent. The anger seemed to drain out of him, replaced by a hollow and cold look that made him look older than he was. He stared at you as if he were looking at a stranger, someone he had never shared a breath with, let alone a soul.

"It's tomorrow's eclipse," he finally said. His voice was flat, drained of any emotion.

"What?"

"The engagement party," he said, turning away from you. "It’s during tomorrow’s eclipse. My father expects everyone to be there."

He didn't wait for you to respond. He walked out of your place and into the night, the sound of his footsteps disappearing long before the beat of his ikran's wings hit the air.

The light faded as the eclipse began. The forest took on a muted hue and the bioluminescent veins of the trees started to pulse. You slipped into the back of the gathering, keeping close to the large trunks to blend in.

A small hand slipped into yours. Tuk looked up at you with wide eyes, her expression a mix of confusion and relief. Next to her, Kiri gave you a short nod, her eyes full of a knowing pity that made you want to look away. Lo'ak stood on your other side, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I thought you weren't coming," Lo'ak said under his breath.

"Just watching the show," you replied.

Your eyes went to the center. Neteyam was there, polished and perfect. He wore the heavy mantle of a leader, his braids neat and his posture straight. He was leaning in toward the girl, which you believe is his fiance. Neteyam said something quietly to her, his face close to hers, and she smiled, resting a hand on his arm.

The girl said something that made him chuckle, and he reached out to adjust one of the beads on her shoulder. The gesture was small, but it felt like a knife twisting in your gut. He was playing the part perfectly. He was giving her the same gentle attention he had given you, only this time, he wasn't hiding it.

Tuk squeezed your hand tighter. "She's nice," the little girl whispered, "but she's not you."

"She's exactly who he needs, Tuk," you said, your voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.

The Olo'eyktan stepped into the center of the clearing as the eclipse reached its peak. The shadows deepened, making the glow of the forest floor look even brighter. Jake began to speak, his voice steady and loud, calling on the ancestors to witness the union.

Neteyam stood perfectly still. He kept his eyes fixed on the girl in front of him, his hands resting on her shoulders. He never looked back at the crowd. He never looked at the spot where you were standing. It was like you didn't exist in his world anymore.

Kiri and Tuk let go of your hands. They shared a quick look with each other before walking forward to join the rest of the family. They took their places beside their brother, leaving you standing alone with Lo'ak in the darkness of the trees.

"You don't have to stay for the whole thing," Lo'ak whispered. He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable as he watched his brother play the role of the perfect heir.

"I’m fine, Lo'ak," you said. You kept your eyes on the back of Neteyam's head. "I just wanted to see the ceremony."

"He's been acting like a statue all day," Lo'ak muttered. "He won't talk to me. He won't talk to anyone. He just does what my father tells him."

"Maybe he's nervous," you said.

You leaned against the bark of a tree, crossing your arms to hide the way your fingers were twitching. Your voice sounded flat, even to your own ears.

Lo’ak let out a short breath. He looked from you to his brother and back again. "He’s not nervous. He’s gone. He’s been like this since he came back from your camp. He looks dead inside."

You turned your head to him. "So you know he's been visiting me?"

Lo’ak looked at you, his tail giving a sharp flick of annoyance. He didn't look surprised.

"I’m his brother," he said. "He’s a terrible liar when he thinks no one is watching. Every night he’d disappear toward the west, and every morning he’d come back smelling like woodsmoke. My parents might be blind, but I’m not."

You looked back at the center of the camp. The ceremonial drums started a slow rhythmic beat, signaling the start of the dance. Neteyam took the girl’s hand. He led her toward the flat stone at the center of the village. His movements were stiff, like a wooden doll being pulled by strings. He didn't have the fluid grace he usually had when he hunted.

"If you knew, why didn't you say anything?" you asked.

"Because he looked happy for once," Lo’ak muttered. He kicked at a loose root in the dirt. "He’s spent his whole life trying to be the perfect son for my dad. When he was coming back from your place, he actually looked like he could breathe. Now? Look at him. He’s a ghost."

Neteyam spun the girl around in the first movement of the dance. The crowd cheered, clapping in time with the drums. He caught her waist to steady her, his face inches from hers.

"He made his choice, Lo’ak," you said. You felt the familiar ache at your gut, a dull pulse that matched the beat of the drums.

"He didn't choose anything," Lo’ak snapped. "He did what he was told. There's a difference. And I believe you made him do that too."

You opened your mouth to snap back, to tell him he didn't know anything about what happened in that hollow. But the words died in your throat. The ground under your feet suddenly felt like it was tilting to one side. The smell of the smoked meat and the heavy incense from the ceremony hit you all at once, making your stomach roll.

You swayed, reaching out to steady yourself against the rough bark of the tree.

"Hey," Lo'ak’s voice lost its edge, shifting to something closer to worry. "You okay? Your face just went grey."

You had been feeling off since you woke up at dawn, you thought it was just because of the lack of sleep you had last night. Now, it was a sharp, localized cramp on your belly that made you hitch your breath. Your vision blurred, the bioluminescent lights of the forest spinning into long, messy streaks.

"I'm fine," you managed to mutter, though the trees were starting to blur into one dark mass. "Just haven't eaten."

"Like hell you are," Lo’ak said. "Let's get you to the Tsahik."

Lo'ak didn't wait for your permission. He hooked one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you as your head lolled against his shoulder. He moved fast, ignoring your weak attempts to push him away.

The air in the Tsahik’s tent was quiet and smelled of bitter herbs. It was a sharp contrast to the floral scent of the ceremony outside. He laid you down on a woven mat, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Wait here. I'll get her," Lo'ak said. He vanished through the tent flap, his footsteps fading into the distance.

You lay there, staring up at the thatched roof. The pain in your stomach making it hard to find a comfortable position. You could still hear the faint thumping of the drums from the village center. It felt like a lifetime ago that you were standing in the shadows watching Neteyam dance.

The tent flap moved. Mo’at stepped inside. She didn't say a word as she sat beside you. Her hands were cool as she pressed them against your neck, checking your pulse.

"Lo'ak says you collapsed," she said.

"I'm just tired," you whispered.

Mo'at ignored you. She moved her hands down, pressing firmly against your abdomen. You winced, your body tensing instinctively. She paused, her fingers lingering over the spot that hurt the most. She closed her eyes for a moment, her expression shifting into something deeper, more focused.

When she opened her eyes, she didn't look at your face. She looked at your stomach.

"A life only exists when the Great Mother gives her blessing," Mo'at said. She pulled her hands back, watching you with eyes that saw everything.

You didn't move. You barely breathed. "What do you mean?"

"You are carrying a life," she repeated. She stood up, looking toward the tent opening where the sounds of the celebration drifted in. "And we know well whose that is."

The air in the tent felt tight. You looked down at your hands, your fingers digging into the mat. This changed everything. The secret you shared with Neteyam had taken shape, breathing and growing within you. A life that tied you to the Omatikaya in a way that your exile couldn't break.

Outside, the drums hit a steady beat. Neteyam was supposed to be pledging himself to someone else, but his blood was already here, in this tent, with you.

You thought about Neteyam’s face when he left your place. You thought about him dancing with the warrior’s daughter. If you told him, he would leave her. He would defy his father and the clan. If you told him, the engagement would end before the eclipse was even over.

He would walk away from the girl, the alliance, and his father’s pride. He would choose you, but he would do it out of a crushing sense of duty. He would spend the rest of his life as an outcast, stripped of his name and his future, just to sit in a cave with a girl the clan feared.

You didn't want him like that. You didn't want to be the reason he lost the only world he knew.

"Don't let him know," you said. Your voice was thin, but it didn't shake.

Mo'at stopped what she was doing. She turned around, her brow furrowed as she looked at you. "What?"

"He has a path. He is the future of this clan," you said, looking at the tent flap. Beyond it, the music was getting louder. "If he knows, he’ll leave her. He’ll fight his father. He’ll give up everything he was born for just to be with an exile."

You knew Neteyam. He was loyal to a fault. If he found out he had a child, he would throw away his crown, his family, and his honor to sit in that damp cave with you.

Mo'at watched you for a long time. The silence in the tent was heavy, broken only by the bubbling of her pot. "You would carry this alone?"

"I could handle it," you said. You sat up slowly. "Tell Lo'ak it was just a fever."

Mo’at stood by the simmering pot, she stirred the liquid, the steam rising to cloud. "This child is my blood," she said. "My daughter's first grandchild. You ask me to bury a branch of our family tree in the dirt of a cave?"

"I’m asking you to save him," you said. You gripped the edge of the mat, forcing the nausea down. "If he finds out, he leaves. He’ll watch the clan look at him with shame every day."

"Please," you pleaded, your eyes stinging. "Let him have the life he was born for. Don't let me be the thing that breaks the Sully family."

Mo'at stayed silent for a long time. She finally poured the medicine into a small wooden bowl and set it beside you. She didn't look at you when she spoke.

"I will tell them it was a fever," she said. Her voice was thick, carrying a weight you couldn't name. "I will tell Lo'ak to escort you back to your shelter. But Eywa sees all, girl. You cannot keep the tide from coming in."

"I just need to keep it back long enough for him to forget me," you said.

You drank the medicine. It was bitter and tasted like earth, but it settled the fire in your stomach. Within minutes, the tent flap opened, and Lo'ak stepped back in, looking anxious. He looked from you to Mo'at, waiting for the verdict.

"It is as I thought," Mo'at said, her voice regaining its sharp authority. "She's just too tired. Take her back to her shelter and see that she rests."

Five weeks had passed since the eclipse. The western cliffs was colder now, the wind biting through the thin skin of your shelter. Without the communal fires of the village, the nights felt twice as long.

Neteyam hadn't come back. Not once. You heard from the occasional passing scout that the wedding preparations were moving fast. The prince was busy. You told yourself it was what you wanted, but some nights the loneliness felt like it was physically crushing your lungs.

The sickness hit you in waves. Some mornings you could barely stand to look at the dried meat you had worked so hard to store. You spent most of your time sitting by the small fire.

"You're just as stubborn as he is," you muttered, your voice raspy from disuse. You were sitting by the fire, skinning a small yerik. The smell of the raw meat made your stomach flip, a sudden wave of hormonal irritation rising in your throat. "Just like him. Sticking around where you aren't wanted."

You dropped the knife and rested a hand over your belly, feeling a faint flutter from inside. "I hope you don't get his eyes nor his ego," you said.

You leaned back against the rock wall, a stray tear sliding down your cheek. "I will take a good care of you. You won't need a clan that hates you. We'll leave before you're even born, and he'll never even know he had a son or a daughter to break."

"He'll never know what?"

The voice was like a physical strike. You bolted upright, the sudden movement making your head spin and your stomach flip.

Neteyam was standing at the entrance of the hollow. He looked terrible. His skin was dull, his eyes were bloodshot, and he had clearly lost weight.

He didn't move. He just stared at your hand, which was still pressed firmly against your stomach.

"I heard you," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I heard what you said."

You scrambled to your feet, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. "You heard wrong," you said. "I’m losing my mind out here. I talk to the walls. I talk to the shadows."

"Shadows don't have fathers," he said. His voice was thick, like he was choking on the words. "And shadows don't get his eyes."

You backed up until your shoulders hit the damp rock. "It's just talk, Neteyam. I’m bitter. I’m angry. I say things I don't mean."

"You said he'd never know," Neteyam stepped into the shelter. He ignored the mess of your camp, his focus entirely on you. "You said you'd leave before it was born. That I’d never have to break."

He wasn't angry. He sounded like he was falling apart. He took another step, his hand reaching out but stopping short of touching you.

"I thought you hated me," he whispered. "That night here at the fire... when you told me I was just a hookup. I believed you. I went to the ceremony and I stood there like a corpse because I thought I was the only one who felt the bond."

Neteyam looked at the fire, then back at you. His jaw was set and his face was pale.

"I sat through that ceremony," he said. "I let them announce the match because I thought I was nothing to you. I thought the bond was all in my head."

"You can't leave everything for this," you said. You wiped a stray tear away with the back of your hand. "I can raise this child alone."

"I won’t let you," he said. He stepped forward and grabbed your arm.

Neteyam’s grip on your arm was firm. He wasn't letting go.

"I can't let you live alone with my child," he said, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, crowding you against the stone. "You think I’m that kind of coward? That I’d go back and play husband to a woman I don't love while you're out here struggling to breathe?"

"It’s not just yours," you snapped, finally wrenching your arm back. "It’s mine too. If the clan finds out, what then? You want your child to be an outcast? To be treated like a curse just because of who their mother is?"

You looked toward the dark mouth of the cave, your heart racing. "I have to leave. I’ll go as far as I can before the truth comes out. It’s the only way they stay safe."

Neteyam didn't move. He stood like a wall between you and the exit. "You’re not going anywhere."

"Neteyam, think for once," you said, your voice rising. "The village will never accept this. You’re supposed to marry a warrior’s daughter, not harbor an exile."

"Then I'll go with you," he said.

The words were flat and sure. He didn't hesitate. He just watched you, his jaw tight and his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"You’re talking about leaving everything," you said. You shook your head, trying to find the words to make him see sense. "Your family. Your title. You'd be an outcast. You wouldn't be a Sully anymore. You'd be nothing."

Neteyam didn't even blink. "I don't care."

"You say that now," you whispered, the first tear finally spilling over. "But when you're hungry and cold, and you realize you can never go home... you'll hate me for it. You'll look at this child and only see what you lost."

"Never," he said. He stepped forward, closing the space between you.

The weight of it finally broke you. The weeks of isolation, the sickness, and the terror of the future crashed down. You started to sob, the sound raw in the quiet cave. You covered your face with your hands, your shoulders shaking as you let go of the mask you'd been wearing.

He didn't hesitate. He pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. One hand went to the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder while the other held you tight.

"We'll find a way," he whispered into your hair. He held you until your breathing slowed, his own heart beating a rhythm against yours. "I'm not letting go again."

Neteyam sat on the dirt floor, pulling you back against his chest so you could lean your weight on him. He kept his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. The fire had burned down to a pile of red coals, but the heat from his body was enough to stop your shivering.

"The girl," you said, your voice still a rough whisper. "The engagement. What are you going to tell them?"

"Nothing yet," Neteyam said. He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. "I just need to be here. Everything else can wait until the sun comes up."

You looked at the glowing coals, feeling the steady thump of his heart against your back. The idea of him walking away from everything felt impossible. He was the heir to the Olo'eyktan, the one everyone looked to.

"Are you sure?" you asked. Your voice was small in the quiet of the cave. "You have to leave everything. Your parents, your siblings... your name."

Neteyam didn't hesitate. He tucked his head closer to yours, his arms tightening around you. "To build a new family with you? Yes."

The honesty in his voice made your chest ache. You wanted to believe it could be that simple, but you knew the world outside this hollow wouldn't let it be.

"Your mother will never forgive me," you whispered. "She’ll see this as me stealing her son."

"She’ll see that I made my own choice," Neteyam said. He shifted his hand, spreading his fingers over your stomach. The heat of his palm felt like a promise. "I'm not letting my child grow up in the shadows because I was too afraid to leave the light. I’m staying, and that’s the end of it."

He sat there with you for a long time, just breathing together. The fire eventually died out, leaving the cave in the dim blue glow of the forest. You felt the exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Your eyes were heavy, and the warmth of Neteyam’s chest was almost enough to pull you into a deep sleep. But then the air changed. A rhythmic thumping started in the distance, growing into a roar that vibrated against the stone walls of the hollow. It was the sound of hundreds of wings beating in unison.

You both scrambled to your feet. Neteyam grabbed his bow, and you followed him to the edge of the cliff.

The sky was crowded. Dozens of ikran riders were sweeping past the ridge, their silhouettes sharp against the moon. You squinted, picking out the patterns on their wings.

"It's the Mangkwan," you whispered, your heart dropping into your stomach. "But why are they carrying rifles?"

Neteyam’s face went hard, his eyes tracking the metal gleaming in the hands of the riders. "That’s Sky People gear," he said. "I think they’ve made a deal."

The riders were diving straight toward the heart of the Omatikaya territory, moving with a speed that meant they weren't there to talk. The peace of the forest was about to be torn apart.

"We have to go," Neteyam said, whistling for his ikran. "Now!"

You grabbed your bow and slung the quiver over your shoulder. You gave a sharp whistle, and your ikran spiraled out of the mist, landing on the ledge with a hiss.

Neteyam was already mounted. "Stay close," he said.

The wind bit at your face as you dived. The village was a mess of orange fire and screaming. You could see the bioluminescent plants being crushed under the weight of the landing Mangkwan mounts.

Neteyam didn't hesitate. He pulled his bow to full draw and let out a sharp cry, letting an arrow fly. It caught a Mangkwan rider in the chest just as the man was raising his rifle toward a group of fleeing children. The rider tumbled from his ikran, his weapon clattering onto the roots below.

"Take the ones on the perimeter!" Neteyam shouted over the roar of the wind.

You banked your ikran to the right, your heart thumping against your ribs. You notched an arrow and released. The shot was clean, catching the enemy in the throat. He slumped over his mount's neck, and the ikran spiraled out of control, crashing into the thick brush.

Gunfire erupted from below. Bullets hissed past your head like angry insects. You saw the Mangkwan were coordinated, moving in groups to pin the Omatikaya warriors down. They knew the terrain. They knew the weaknesses of the village.

Neteyam was a blur of blue and shadow, weaving through the trees and picking off riders with a terrifying speed.

The forest floor was a chaotic map of fire and blood. You could see the Omatikaya warriors being pushed back toward the roots of the Hometree, their bows no match for the rapid-fire rhythm of the rifles. They were losing ground fast, their numbers dwindling as the Mangkwan riders picked them off from the canopy.

Then you saw her.

Varang was leading the charge, her ikran a streak of dark scales against the orange glow of the burning moss. She had a human carbine gripped in her hand, firing with a practiced precision.

"Neteyam!" you screamed, pointing toward the center of the village where Jake was pinned down by three riders. "Go! Help your father!"

Neteyam hesitated, his hand white-knuckled on his bow. He looked at you, then at the fire spreading toward the nursery, then at his father. The conflict in his eyes was agonizing.

"I'll handle Varang!" you yelled, banking your ikran hard to cut her off.

He let out a frustrated snarl, but he saw the logic. He dived toward the ground, his ikran shrieking as he plummeted into the smoke to reach Jake.

You turned your attention back to Varang. She saw you coming. She pulled her mount up, hovering in the heat-shimmering air above the burning trees. A cruel smirk twisted her lips as she recognized the exile who had once been her daughter-in-arms.

Varang didn’t waste time with a greeting. She squeezed the trigger, the muzzle flash of her rifle lighting up the smoke-filled air. You yanked your ikran’s head to the side, feeling the hot whistle of lead pass so close to your ear that your skin stung.

She banked her mount with a violent jerk, her movements far more aggressive than the graceful flight patterns you’d been taught. "Look at you now, fighting your own people."

"You stopped being my people the second you took their metal," you spat back, your voice nearly lost in the rushing wind.

You yanked your ikran's reins, forcing a sharp roll to the left as a burst of gunfire chewed through the air where your wing had been. The heat from the fires below rose in shimmering waves, making the air thin and turbulent. Your stomach lurched, a  reminder of the life you were carrying, but you forced yourself to stay upright.

Varang didn't care about grace. She flew like a machine, her ikran screaming under the strain of her brutal steering. She swung the rifle around, using the strap to steady her aim against the wind.

You realized then that you couldn't win a distance fight. Not against a rifle. You leaned forward, hugging your ikran's neck, and forced the bond into a suicidal dive. You were aiming the entire weight of your mount.

Varang’s eyes widened as she realized what you were doing. She tried to bank away, but you were already on top of her. Your ikran slammed into hers with a sickening thud of bone on bone. The force of the impact nearly threw you from the saddle. You reached out, grabbing the edge of Varang's gear, your fingers locking onto the cold metal of her rifle strap.

The two ikran became a tangled mess of wings, talons, and shrieking rage. They couldn't stay in the air. The bond between the mounts and the sky broke, and suddenly, the horizon line vanished.

You were falling.

The wind whipped your hair into your eyes as you and Varang tumbled through the air, still locked in a desperate struggle.

The green canopy of the forest rushed up to meet you. It was a wall of leaves and thick branches.

CRACK.

The first layer of the canopy hit like a physical blow. Branches snapped under your weight, tearing at your skin and your wrap. You lost your grip on Varang as you both smashed through the layers of the forest.

You lost the sky, you lost Varang, and for a terrifying second, you felt nothing but the weight of the fall.

Then, the world turned a deep shimmering violet. You had fallen near the Tree of Souls.

"Get up," a voice rasped.

Varang was ten feet away, staggering to her feet. She looked like a nightmare carved from the shadows. She didn't have her rifle anymore, but she had a long knife gripped in her hand.

You forced your body to move. Every muscle screamed in protest. You rolled onto your knees, your fingers digging into the soil.

You reached for your hip. Your bow was snapped in half somewhere in the canopy, but your knife was still there. You drew it, the blade trembling slightly in your grip as you forced yourself to stand.

"You're bleeding, daughter," Varang sneered, spitting out a glob of dark blood. She took a step toward you, her gait uneven but determined. "What now? You pray to Her? You think the Great Mother cares about you?"

You let out a low hiss, your teeth bared.

"See?" Varang let out a laugh. "You still hate her. I can feel the anger in your skin. Why don't you come back to us? Leave these forest-dwellers to burn in the fire they started."

"It’s between me and Eywa," you spat, your fingers tightening around the hilt of your knife until your knuckles turned white. "And I don't find any fun in killing innocents."

Varang’s face contorted, the mocking laugh dying in her throat. She looked at you with a disgusted clarity, as if she were finally seeing a weapon that had turned out to be a dud.

"Fine," she hissed. "Then die with the rest of the shadows."

She lunged low, her blade aiming for your thigh to ground you. You pivoted, the moss slippery beneath your feet, and slashed out with your own knife. The blades met with a dull clack, the vibration traveling up your arm and jolting your bruised shoulder.

Varang was relentless. She fought with the weight of someone who had nothing left to lose, her strikes heavy and punishing. You were forced onto the defensive, backing up toward the massive, glowing roots of the Tree of Souls.

Varang didn’t give you another chance to find your footing. She lunged with the weight of a falling tree, her shoulder slamming into your chest and sending you sprawling backward. You hit the ground hard, the back of your head snapping against the exposed, glowing roots of the Tree of Souls.

Varang slammed her weight into your chest and the back of your head cracked against a thick root. The world went white for a second. You felt the dampness of the moss soaking into your skin and the heavy pressure of her knee pinning your shoulder down. She leaned in close, the knife hovering just above the pulse in your neck.

You couldn't breathe. You looked up at the violet canopy of the Tree of Souls and for a moment you thought the ancestors were already calling you home.

Your hand scrambled blindly in the dirt, searching for a rock or a branch. Instead, your fingers closed around a  vine that had grown out from the main root. Without thinking, you grabbed the end of your queue.

The second the neural filaments touched the tree, the world exploded.

It didn't feel like a normal bond. It felt like a thousand voices screaming and singing at the same time. The history of the Omatikaya and the memories of every person who had died flooded into your mind.

The flood of dead voices almost made you sick, but you shoved the memories back and reached for the raw energy humming in the soil. You didn't care about the ancestors right now. You just wanted Varang off you. You slammed your will into the root, treating the forest floor like an extension of your own nerves.

Thick, cord-like vines snapped out of the glowing moss like traps. They coiled around Varang's ankles and calves in a heartbeat, jerking her backward with enough force to pull her right off your chest.

You pulled yourself up into a sitting position. The connection felt like fire in your veins, but you didn't let go. Varang was pinned flat against the earth.

You looked down at her, your face cold."You despise Eywa because you think she's weak," you said, your voice sounding strange and echoed through the bond. "But I never thought she was weak. Maybe she's just a little unfair."

You reached out with your free hand and grabbed Varang's queue, connecting it with the roots of the Tree of Souls.

The second the filaments locked into the glowing root, Varang’s entire body went rigid. It looked like a bolt of lightning had traveled up her spine.

You leaned over her, your face inches from hers. "Can you hear them?" you hissed, the words coming out as a low, dangerous growl. "Every life you took. They’re all in there."

Varang’s fingers clawed at the dirt, her nails breaking against the stones. She was feeling the weight of every death she had caused. She looked up at you with a face full of raw terror, her bravado completely gone.

You watched her for a moment longer, letting the cold justice of the forest sink in. Then, with a sharp, brutal jerk, you ripped her queue away from the root. You willed the glowing vines to loosen their grip, and they slid back into the moss like snakes.

You forced your legs to stay steady as you looked down at her. "Thanks for raising me, mother," you said. Your voice was quiet and cold. "But please. Leave me and this place alone."

Varang didn't wait for you to change your mind. She scrambled backward on all fours, her hands slipping on the damp moss as she tried to get away from the roots.

You watched her go until the sound of her frantic scrambling was swallowed by the hum of the valley. Your strength went with her. Your legs gave out and you slumped back against the pulsing root, your queue still locked into the neural network of the tree.

The world felt thin, like you were floating in deep water. You looked up at the shimmering canopy, the bioluminescence blurring into a hazy glow. The collective voices of the ancestors were still whispering in the back of your mind, a low roar of memories that didn't belong to you.

"I know you're probably gonna ignore me," you whispered, your voice barely a thread of sound in the quiet valley. You gripped the root tighter, forcing your last bit of intent into the connection. "But please let the people win. I don't ask for me. I don't care what happens to me. But do it for them. For the ones that always devoted themselves to you."

The violet light of the vines started to spin, faster and faster, until the glow turned into a blinding white wall.

Then, the world went black.

The first thing you felt was the heat. Not the searing fire of the burning village, but a thick, humid warmth that smelled of crushed ginger root, dried sage, and old earth.

You tried to sit up, but a hand immediately pressed down on your shoulder, firm and steady.

"You’re awake," Neteyam’s voice was a low rasp.

"Where am I..." The word felt like sandpaper in your throat. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was too dry.

"It’s the Tsahik’s tent," Neteyam whispered. He reached out, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"How is everyone?" you asked, your voice cracking. "Did we win?"

Neteyam nodded slowly, a small, hollow smile touching his lips. "We did. But it wasn't the warriors who finished it. In the middle of the fire, everything changed. Dozens of palulukan and unbonded ikran came screaming out of the trees. It was Eywa. She heard someone."

"Someone called to the Great Mother," Mo'at said from her place, her voice deep and resonant. "The spirits were screaming in a way I have not felt since the Great Sorrow. We wondered why the forest rose to protect us when we were so close to falling. Then we went to the Tree of Souls and saw you there, passed out in the dirt with your queue still fused to the roots."

"People are respecting you now," Neteyam said, his eyes searching yours with a desperate kind of hope. "You don't have to go back to the cave. You don't have to hide in the shadows of the cliffs. We can live here. Together. As we were supposed to."

The thought of it made your heart ache. For months, you had survived on scraps and silence, watching the village from the treeline like a ghost. Now, the idea of sleeping under a roof and walking the common paths felt like a dream you were about to wake up from.

The tent flap moved aside, Jake was the first one in. Behind him, Neytiri stepped in, then came the others, Kiri, Lo'ak and little Tuk, who looked like she wanted to jump on the bed but was holding herself back.

Neytiri walked closer, she reached out, her cool fingers brushing your forehead. "Are you okay now?" she asked. Her voice didn't have the sharp edge it used to. It was soft, almost like the way she spoke to her own daughters.

You nodded and swallowed hard, looking at the family gathered around you.

Jake stepped forward. "People are apologizing for what they did to you," he said. "The hunters, the warriors, they know what you did at the Tree. They'll be happy if you're willing to stay. There is a place for you here. A permanent one."

You felt a lump form in your throat. You looked at Neteyam, who was still holding your hand, his face glowing with a relief so bright it almost hurt to see. You took a shaky breath and nodded.

"I'll stay," you whispered.

A small sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the tent. Tuk finally couldn't help herself and leaned against the edge of your mat, her eyes wide.

Neytiri sit down beside you, her hand moving from your face to rest gently on the blanket covering your stomach.

"Also," Neytiri said, her lips curving into a genuine smile for the first time since you had known her. "We cannot wait for the birth of our first grandchild."

You looked at Neytiri, your eyes wide with shock, then slowly turned your head to look at Neteyam. He was still sitting right next to you, but his ears suddenly flicked back and he refused to meet your gaze.

"You told them already?" you asked, your voice a mix of disbelief and a tiny bit of a smile.

Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck, looking completely sheepish. "I didn't mean to," he muttered. "When they brought you in... you were so pale. I just panicked. I kept asking the Tsahik if the baby was okay."

Neytiri let out a soft laugh, and even Jake chuckled, shaking his head at his eldest son's lack of a filter.

"He was very loud," Jake said.

You looked at Neteyam’s burning cheeks and the way his tail was twitching in embarrassment. For the first time in months, the weight on your chest was gone, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

"Well," you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. "At least I don't have to worry about how to break the news."

Neteyam finally looked at you, his eyes bright with a joy he didn't have to hide anymore. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, the rest of the family settling in around the mat, finally whole. The war was over, the exile was finished, and the forest was quiet. You were home, and for the first time, you knew you weren't going anywhere.

This is the reallll last part, don't ask for more lmao. I'll come with another story maybe, and maybe with other characters too. 🤫 I can't answer to all the inbox but thank you so much for the supports, I love you all.

Also, happy new year's eve for you guys!

[jakeycore]

frozen fire / neteyam

aged up! neteyam x na'vi reader.

Summary: The secret of your Mangkwan blood was never meant to leave the shadows between you and Neteyam. But a single slip of Neteyam’s tongue brought the truth crashing down, turning you into a public enemy and sealing your exile in the cold western cliffs. Warnings: 3,5k words, aged up! neteyam, rivals to friends to (kinda) lovers maybe, no smut, angst tho, you two are still being idiots, heartbreak(?) hehe.

Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire, frozen fire, seed of fire

The High Camp was buzzing with the frantic energy of an impending move. Huts were being dismantled, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke and stressed ikran. You kept your head down, your hands busy tightening the cinch on a supply pack. You had perfected the art of being a ghost.

You hadn't spoken a word to Neteyam since the grove. Not a real word.

Every time you passed him, you felt the phantom itch of the tsaheylu at the base of your skull. You could feel his gaze on you, heavy and questioning, but you never looked up. The air between you was always charged, like the sky right before a lightning strike.

You avoided him because the tsaheylu hadn't just shared sensations. Whatever that happened that night has stripped you of your armor.

You used to be a girl with no home, no ties, and no weaknesses. But in that night, you had felt his soul recognize yours, and even worse, you had felt yourself recognize him. You were terrified of the "we" he had whispered.

Every time you saw the silver scar on his chest, you remembered the taste of his skin and the way his heart had thudded against your palm. It made you feel weak. It made you feel Omatikaya. And you knew that the moment you looked into his gold eyes, everything you’d used as a shield of your feelings would crumble into dust.

So, you treated him like a stranger. You stayed in the shadows, focusing on the cold weight of your daggers and the salt-sting of your memories, convinced that if you ignored the bond long enough, it would eventually stop screaming.

But the bond never stop screaming. If anything, it just got worse, finding a way to howl in the dead quiet.

Avoiding him was your way of running from the version of yourself he created. That girl was soft. That girl was loud. That girl belonged to a family, a clan, and a future.

The silence between you was a thin sheet of ice, and today, Neteyam was wearing heavy boots.

"The supply lines are moving East," he said, his voice loud enough to carry over the din of the deconstructing camp. He was standing in the center of the walkway, forcing you to acknowledge him. "My father wants the medics on the first flight."

"I heard the briefing, Sully," you muttered, still refusing to look up from your pack. "I don't need a personal herald."

"Apparently you do," he snapped, his patience finally fraying after two weeks of being treated like a ghost. He stepped into your personal space, forcing you to drop the rope. "Because every time I try to give you an order, you disappear. You’re avoiding your responsibilities."

"I’m avoiding you," you hissed, finally snapping your head up. Your eyes clashed with his, and the air between you ignited. "There’s a difference. I do my job. I just don't do it for you."

"Why? Because you can't look at me without remembering what we did?" Neteyam's voice rose, attracting the attention of a few nearby hunters. "Because you're scared that I actually know what's behind that cold, arrogant mask of yours?"

"There is nothing behind it!" you yelled, shoving his chest. It was like hitting a stone wall.

"No! I'm tired of the lies!" he roared, his voice carrying across the entire ridge, stopping the dismantlement of the huts. He stepped closer, his finger pointing accusingly at your chest. "You act like you don't belong here, like you're some ghost. Why are you so ashamed of who you are?"

"Stop it," you breathed, panic rising in your chest as you saw Jake and Neytiri approaching from the command tent.

"Why?" Neteyam yelled, his voice cracking with the weight of the angst he’d been carrying. "Because you're Mangkwan? Because you think being a sea-blood killer means you don't get to have a heart?"

The busy sounds of the camp died instantly. Hunters froze. Children stopped playing. In an Omatikaya camp, the presence of a Mangkwan was a shock. You felt every eye in the camp land on you, seeing through your disguise for the first time.

You looked at Neteyam, your heart shattering not from the secret being out, but from the fact that he was the one who threw it away.

"You're a fool," you whispered, the betrayal stinging worse than any wound.

The shift was immediate and brutal. When you walked toward the communal cooking fire, the chatter died down as if you’d brought a cold draft with you.

Mothers would reach out, their fingers hooking into their children's shoulders to pull them back into the shadows of their tents as you passed. You saw the way they looked at you, not with hatred, but with a deep superstitious fear. To them, a Mangkwan was a creature of blood and shifting tides, a bad omen that didn't belong in the steady heart of the forest.

The gossip was the worst part.

"She never goes to the Tree to pray," you heard a woman murmur as you scrubbed your daggers by the stream. "I heard they don't have hearts. No faith."

"Did you see her eyes during the hunt?" another replied. "Cold. No wonder Neteyam was acting so strange."

You kept your back straight and your expression like flint, but every whisper felt like a needle under your skin. You were used to being alone, but this was a different kind of isolation. The kind where you were surrounded by people and yet remained completely invisible, except for the parts of you they feared.

You stopped going to the communal meals. It was easier to eat dried fruit alone in the dark than to watch the Omatikaya shift their mats away from you. Even the other medics, people you had bled beside in the medical wing, now found excuses to be elsewhere when you arrived for your shift.

The final blow came from the commander.

Two days after the move, you were summoned to the command center. You expected a briefing, a target, or even a lecture. Instead, you found Jake Sully standing over a map, his face tight with a weary sort of frustration. He didn't look at you as you approached.

"You’re being removed from the main mission roster and for any kind of missions. I can’t have you on the front lines if the hunters and warriors won't trust you at their back. It's a safety risk, for them, and for you."

"I saved your son’s life," you said, your voice a low rasp. "I’ve bled for this clan for almost two years. And you're benching me because of camp gossip?"

"I’m protecting my people," Jake countered, though there was a flicker of something like regret in his eyes. "All of them. Including you. You’re being moved to the outpost in the western cliffs. You’ll stay there, away from the main camp, until things settle down. You'll hunt for your own food. You’ll keep your distance."

"What? Why–"

"The people are uneasy," Jake interrupted, finally looking up. His eyes weren't unkind, but they were firm, settled in a way that left no room for argument. "They’re calling you a bad omen. The hunters won't fly with you, and the families don't want you near the main camp's supply lines. They think your presence brings the wrong kind of attention from the Great Mother."

It was a soft exile. A way to scrub the Mangkwan stain from the Omatikaya’s sight without actually killing you.

"And my work in the medical wing?" you asked, your voice a brittle thread of its former self.

"Neytiri thinks it's best if you stay away from the wounded," Jake said, and there it was, the real sting. "She says the spirits of the ancestors won't heal those who are tended by a hand that doesn't pray."

You didn't even wait for a dismissal. You turned on your heel and walked out, your heart a cold dead weight in your chest.

Within the hour, you had packed your few belongings. You didn't say goodbye to the other medics. You didn't look for Neteyam. You moved your gear to a small and damp hollow on the far edge of the cliffs, miles away from the warmth of the communal fires and the humming songs of the village.

From your new home, the High Camp looked like a distant and glowing star. You were close enough to see the life you had briefly shared, but far enough away to know you would never be part of it again. You sat in the dark, the Mangkwan cave feeling more like home than the forest ever had.

The isolation that was supposed to break you turned out only to sharpen the edges you’d spent months trying to blunt. If they wanted a Mangkwan demon, you would give them one.

Living away from the villages meant you were the first to see the valley wake up, and you were the only one who didn't have to wait for a leader's permission to move. While the Omatikaya were still waking up and singing their morning prayers to Eywa, you were already deep in the brush, moving like a ghost through the shadows.

A few days into your exile, you spotted a prime yerik, a massive one that usually required a party of four hunters to take down. You tracked it for almost an hours in total silence and finally brought it down with a single strike to the neck.

The trek back to the fringes took you right past the main gathering trail, exactly when the mid-day hunting parties were returning.

You didn't hesitate to hide. Instead, you shouldered the massive weight of the beast, your muscles slick with sweat and its dark blood staining your shoulders, and walked right through the center of the path.

You saw them before they saw you. A group of young Omatikaya hunters were laughing, carrying a couple of scrawny yerik, barely enough to feed a single family.

As you approached, the laughter died. You kept your pace steady, your eyes fixed forward, a solitary, blood-drenched shadow. You moved right past them, the sheer size of your kill making their measly catch look like a joke.

"How did she take that down alone? Without a party?" You heard one of them said, his voice dripping with a mix of awe and resentment.

"She probably used poison. There is no honor in a kill like that," another spat, though he didn't dare say it loud enough for you to turn around.

You let out a short, cold huff of a laugh, loud enough for them to hear. You didn't need their honor. You had the meat, and you had the satisfaction of watching their pride shrivel in your wake.

You reached your isolated hollow and dropped the beast with a heavy thud that echoed against the cliffside. You sat down, pulling out your primary dagger to begin the skinning, the bitterness in your chest feeling almost like a victory. They could pray all they wanted, but they were still going home with empty stomachs while the omen ate like a queen.

You were halfway through the work when you felt it. That familiar prickle at the base of your skull. You didn't look up. You just kept the blade moving, the silver edge slicing through the hide with a wet sound.

"That's a lot of meat for one person," a voice said from the shadows of the trees.

Neteyam was standing there, leaning against a trunk.

Neteyam stayed back for a second, his weight shifting uncomfortably. He looked at the massive yerik and then back at you, sitting there in the dirt, covered in blood and looking more dangerous than he’d ever seen you.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice dripping with a cold, sharp sarcasm. You didn't even look up from your work, the blade of your dagger slicing through the hide with effortless precision. "I'm greedy. I plan on eating every single bit of it myself."

Neteyam shifted awkwardly, his fingers twitching over a small woven satchel hanging at his hip. You caught the scent of it, a sweet and ripe darsel fruit. He had clearly come here thinking you were starving in exile, playing the hero to the abandoned girl. But as he stepped fully into your camp, his eyes widened, and his ears flattened in sheer embarrassment.

Your hollow had become a damn fortress of plenty, leaving no room for suffering. Racks were full of smoked fish, baskets were overflowing with forest fruits you’d scavenged better than any Omatikaya, and the massive yerik at your feet was enough to feed a dozen hunters.

You paused then, looking at the tiny bag of fruit in his hand and then back up at his face. A mocking smirk spread across your lips. "What’s that, Sully? Are you bringing me a snack?"

Neteyam looked down at the fruit, his blue skin flushing a darker shade. He looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He let out a long breath and walked closer, dropping the satchel onto a flat stone with a muted thud.

"I... I didn't know," he muttered, his usual confidence completely stripped away. "I thought you were... I came to say I'm sorry."

Neteyam moved closer, his footsteps soft on the damp earth. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. "I’ve been trying to talk to my father," he began, his voice low and cracked. "About the exile. About what happened at the camp. I’m... I’m sorry. I shouldn't have yelled it. I shouldn't have put you in that position. It was my pride, and I—"

"Are you joking?" you interrupted, finally looking up. You let out a short laugh that had no warmth in it. You wiped a smear of blood off your cheek with the back of your hand, leaving a dark streak. "This is the best time of my life, Neteyam."

He froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"No orders, no prayers, and most importantly... there's no annoying prince breathing down my neck. No you annoying me every ten minutes, no sulking about your duty. I finally have some peace," you said, a cruel but beautiful smile spreading across your lips.

Neteyam flinched as if you’d struck him, his golden eyes searching yours for a lie. "You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" you countered. "I’ve never been happier. So you can take your sorrys and your snacks back to the village. I’m doing just fine in the dark."

Neteyam went quiet, his gaze dropping to the massive yerik you’d single-handedly conquered. The silence stretched, thick with the tension of the last two weeks, until he let out a long, weary breath. He looked up at you, his golden eyes searching yours, softened by a vulnerability he usually kept locked behind his warrior’s mask.

"Fair enough," he murmured, a faint, lopsided ghost of a smile touching his lips. He gestured to the carcass, then back to himself. "But if you’re truly as greedy as you say... do you think you could find it in your heart to share some of that meat with a hungry prince? I’ve had a long walk, and the communal's meal is starting to taste like disappointment."

You stared at him for a beat, your thumb tracing the edge of your blade. You wanted to stay bitter. But seeing him looking so genuinely humbled made the ice in your chest crack just a tiny bit.

"Alright," you muttered, turning back to the carcass. "But you’re cleaning the ribs. I’m not playing servant just because you’ve got a royal title."

"Deal," he said quickly, almost too fast, as if he was afraid you’d change your mind.

He moved in beside you, picking up a smaller blade from your kit. For a while, the only sound was the crackle of the fire you’d started and the rhythmic work of preparing the meat.

As the meat started to sizzle over the flames, the scent filled the small hollow, cutting through the damp smell of the caves. Neteyam didn't even wait for an invitation this time before he reached over and snagged a piece directly from the heated stone, huffing a breath to cool it before popping it into his mouth.

His eyes widened, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his throat. It was tender, perfectly seared, and carried the smoky richness of the wood you’d chosen.

"Wow," he exhaled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I forgot you actually know how to cook."

"I do," you muttered, though you couldn't hide the slight twitch of your lips. "The cooking is just a side effect of having taste buds."

Neteyam smiled and looked at you. In the village, he was the leader, the son, the responsibility. But here, in the dirt of your exile, he looked relaxed. He loved being with you because you were the only person who didn't look at him and see a throne. You just saw a guy who was bad at lying and liked your food.

"You're staring, Sully," you said, though there was no real bite in your voice anymore. You nudged a larger portion of meat toward him with your blade. "Eat. Before I change my mind and make you pay for it in fruit."

"I'd pay a lot more than that to stay here for a while," he admitted.

"The mighty warrior, hiding in an exile hollow because he can't handle a few meetings," you teased, though your heart did a slow roll in your chest. "Your father is going to come looking for you, Neteyam. I’m already the camp’s bad omen. I don’t need kidnapping the prince added to my list of crimes."

"If kidnapping the prince is a crime, then I am a willing victim," Neteyam murmured, his voice dropping to a low, magnetic hum that vibrated in the small space between you.

He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. You started to open your mouth to tell him to go home, to tell him that this was dangerous, but the words died in your throat as he leaned in.

The weeks of silence had turned the kiss slow and heavy. It wasn't like the desperate collision in the grove. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you.

You didn't remember how long the kiss lasted, or when exactly the fire burned down to glowing embers. You ended up tangled in his arms, your head pillowed on his chest and your legs intertwined with his. Neteyam held you, his chin resting atop your head as his heartbeat drummed a steady rhythm against your ear.

For the first time in weeks, you felt home.

The sanctuary of the hollow became a world of its own. Over the next month, the western cliffs were no longer a place of exile, but a stage for a dangerous yet beautiful routine.

Neteyam visited nearly every night. Sometimes he’d arrive with medical supplies he’d swiped from the stores. Other times, he’d just bring himself, looking haggard and wind-beaten, seeking the only place where he didn't have to lead. You’d skin the day’s kill together, bickering over Mangkwan versus Omatikaya techniques, before collapsing into the small, warm space of your shelter.

"Your father is going to kill you," you joked one evening as he landed his ikran in the shadows. You were leaning against a tree, tossing a small dagger into the air and catching it by the hilt. "The Olo'eyktan's son, missing every sunset. Wonder what he's doing."

Usually, Neteyam would fire back with a snarky remark about your hospitality. But tonight, he didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. He walked past you into the hollow, his movements heavy, his ears pinned low against his head.

"Neteyam?" you asked, the playful edge vanishing from your voice. You caught your dagger and tucked it away, following him inside. "What happened? Did the RDA move? Is it the camp?"

He stood by the dying fire, his back to you. The tension in his shoulders was so thick it felt like it might snap the bones. When he finally turned around, his golden eyes were shadowed with a look of pure defeat.

"My father held a council today," he said, his voice a dry rasp. "With the lead warriors. Specifically, with Eytukan’s bloodline allies."

A cold pit started to form in your stomach. "And?"

"He has arranged it," Neteyam finally looked at you, and the sheer agony in his expression made your breath catch. "I’m to be engaged. To the daughter of one of the lead warriors. Someone worthy of the future Olo'eyktan."

The words felt like a physical blow to the chest, harder than any strike you’d ever taken in training. The "we" you had finally started to believe in shattered into a thousand pieces.

[jakeycore]

FRIENDLIEST FIRE WAS SO FUCKING GOOD I ATE THAT SHIT UPPP i know u mentioned that it’s probably the last part but i’d launch myself into space if u planned to continue it BECAUSE NETEYAM AND READER ARE EVERYTHING TO ME also i need them to stop being idiots and just get together alr + i can tell that there could be sm angst after their spicy night with the tsaheylu #iloveangst #need

hello! I want to ask if I make part 4 of friendly fire but without smut would you guys still read it? 🥺

[jakeycore]

my first edit

not a fic but i just opened an tiktok account and made my first edit! like and share please mwah

Link: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSPwSofjN/

[jakeycore]

friendliest fire / neteyam

aged up! neteyam x na'vi reader. MDNI 🔞

Summary: He almost died. You saved him. And now neither of you knows how to pretend it didn’t change everything, especially now that he knows about the thing you’ve hidden since the day you arrived. Rivals don’t do the things you two do… do they? Warnings: 6k+ words, aged up! neteyam, rival to friends i guess (still with benefits) , explicit smut, p in v, finally not a hate sex, cunnilingus, pussy eating, reader on top (woohoo), riding, this is more fluff than the before i think

Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire, frozen fire, seed of fire

Three days later, the air in the high pods of High Camp was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and woodsmoke. You climbed the woven ramps, your heart doing a nervous stutter-step that you refused to acknowledge.

You found him in the healers' wing, propped up against a stack of woven mats. He was stripped to the waist, a thick, clean white bandage wrapped firmly around his chest. He was pale, but the gray tint to his skin was gone, replaced by the healthy blue glow of someone far too stubborn to stay down.

The moment you stepped inside, his ears perked up.

"You’re late," Neteyam called out, his voice still a bit gravelly but carrying that familiar, arrogant lilt. He didn't even wait for you to sit before he gestured to a bowl of fruit nearby. "I’m starving. Peel me one of those? The healer treat me like I’m made of glass."

"The healer is your grandmother, Neteyam," you said. You stood at the foot of his mat, arms crossed, staring at him. "You almost bled out in the dirt three days ago, and your first words to me are a demand for snacks?"

"Technically," he said, leaning back and wincing just a fraction as his wound pulled, "my first words were that you're late. The fruit was a follow-up."

He patted the space on the mat next to him. When you finally sat down, he watched you with golden eyes that had lost their glaze, regaining that sharp, teasing light that always managed to get under your skin. "I remember the part where you told me to shut up. Very romantic," he said.

"I was trying to save your life," you hissed, feeling your face heat up. "You were being incredibly annoying."

"I was dying! I’m allowed to be a little dramatic," he countered, reaching out with his good arm to snag your wrist, pulling your hand toward him. He traced the small scabs on your skin where the ropes had been. "But I heard you. 'I've got you,' you said. You sounded so worried."

You hissed, jerking your hand back. "I was worried about the lecture your father would give me if I brought his heir back in pieces. Don't let it go to your head."

Neteyam chuckled, but the sound turned into a small wince as his chest rose. He settled back against the mats.

"How did you do it?" he asked softly. "That thing with the tsaheylu. The leader woman... she looked terrified of you. Like she’d seen a ghost."

"Her name is Varang," you said. You went still, looking down at your scarred wrists. The memory of the black rage and the way you had crushed Varang’s mind made your skin crawl. "And let's say, experience is the best teacher," you continued.

Neteyam’s ears twitched, his head tilting to the side. Experience? Na'vi don't use the bond like that. They use it for connection, for the ikran, for the direhorse. They don't use it to lobotomize people

He looked at you closely, his eyes narrowing as he put the pieces together. "What do you mean, 'experience'?"

You sighed, the secret you had kept since the day you arrived at High Camp finally slipping out.

"Neteyam, I wasn't a Windtrader. I was a Mangkwan," you said, your voice a cold thread. "Hell, not only a regular Mangkwan, I was the tsakarem."

The silence that followed was heavy. Neteyam’s hand, which had been reaching for yours again, froze in mid-air. "You're one of them?" he whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.

"Was," you corrected sharply. "Yeah... maybe I lied about my story when I arrived here," you chuckled, though there was no humor in it. The sound was dry and sharp.

Neteyam sat back, his mind racing through every moment he had known you, the "stray" girl who had fought twice as hard as any Omatikaya, the girl who knew too much about pressure points and psychological warfare.

"So that mad woman..." Neteyam started, his voice hushed as he looked at the entrance to the pod to ensure no one was listening. "Varang. She’s your mother?"

You recoiled, a genuine hiss of disgust escaping your lips. "Now that’s an insult. I’d rather have been birthed by a viper."

You looked down at your hands, picking at a loose thread on the mat. "The part of me being an orphan isn't a lie."

You felt a cold weight settle in your chest, the kind that no amount of forest sun could warm. "My parents died in the same volcanic eruption that blackened the southern islands. I watched the sky turn to ash and the earth swallow everything I loved."

You looked up at Neteyam, your eyes hard and dry. "I’ve hated Eywa ever since. You’ve never seen me pray to her, have you?" You let out a short, jagged chuckle. "While the rest of you are singing to the trees, I’m wondering why the Great Mother felt the need to bury my family in ashes."

Neteyam’s expression shifted from shock to a deep, pained silence. For an Omatikaya, for the son of a man who spoke to Eywa through the Tree of Souls, your words were pure sacrilege. But he didn't pull away.

"Varang found me in the ash," you continued, your voice hollow. "She didn't see a grieving child. She looked into my eyes and realized we shared the same hatred. She saw a girl who wanted to tear the world apart, and she took me under her wing to show me exactly how to do it."

Neteyam looked at you deeply. The teasing spark in his eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a heavy, grounding gravity.

"Why did you run away?" Neteyam asked, his voice barely a breath.

"You don't even want to know how the training was," you said, your voice going dangerously thin. You stared at your hands, but you weren't seeing the healer's pod. You were seeing the dark, damp caves of the Mangkwan coast.

"She forced me to bond with dying victims. Men, women, animals... it didn't matter. She made me stay connected while their life flickered out. I felt the fear, the cold, the agony. I felt the last breath they ever took. Again, and again, and again... until I felt numb."

You looked at him, and for a second, your eyes were as cold as Varang’s.

"That’s how you control a tsaheylu," you said. "Because their feelings don't affect you anymore. You learn to treat someone’s soul like a room you’re just walking through."

Neteyam flinched. He looked at the bandage on his chest, realizing that when you had saved him, you had used a skill forged in the deaths of dozens of others.

"But I don't like torturing people," you said, your voice finally breaking, the hardness cracking. "Varang wanted me to enjoy it. She wanted me to be the one who pushed them over the edge. But every time I felt a heart stop... it felt like my own was stopping, too. I couldn't be the monster she wanted," you whispered, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Then, you cleared your throat, forcing the darkness back with a sharp, jagged smile. "I actually had a proper little rebellion. I told her to her face that I wouldn't do it. She was, let's say less than pleased. But I fought her, managed to scramble away, and limped into High Camp looking like a drowned forest cat."

You let out a dry chuckle, nudging his good leg with your elbow. "So, technically, I didn't lie! I was a victim of the Mangkwan. I just left out the part where I was their tsahik-in-training. I figured 'Windtrader orphan' sounded much more sympathetic and much less than 'I-can-fry-your-brain-with-my-hair.'"

Neteyam rolled his eyes so hard he nearly winced from the effort, a huff of indignant laughter escaping his chest.

"A Windtrader," he repeated, shaking his head. "I should’ve guessed it was a lie. No Windtrader hiss like a wounded kitten every time things don't go their way. And they certainly don't look like they're ready to commit murder when someone asks them to help with the laundry."

"I do not hiss like a kitten," you snapped, your ears flattening.

"You do," he insisted, a teasing glint returning to his gold eyes despite his pale face. "You’re all spikes and teeth. Every time I try to help you with your footing or show you a better grip on your knife, you go hiss. It’s cute. Like a little forest cat that thinks it’s a thanator."

"I am a thanator compared to you right now," you retorted, gesturing vaguely at his prone, bandaged form. "You’re currently a very blue and very talkative rug."

"A rug that saved your life," he reminded you, pointing a finger at your nose. "Before you went all 'scary priestess' on everyone, I was the one standing between you and Varang’s blade. I think that earns me the right to call you a kitten."

"It earns you a smack to the head if you weren't already concussed," you muttered, though you didn't move away. "And for the record, you're so stupid. I told you not to drop that bow. We wouldn't be in this mess if you just listened for once."

Neteyam let out a dry, rattling breath that might have been a laugh if it didn't hurt so much. "Oh, right. Because watching your head get jerked around while you screamed in pain was the perfect time for me to be 'logical.' My mistake."

He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, his face tight with lingering exhaustion. "Honestly? With how much you’ve been lecturing me since I woke up, I’m starting to think I should’ve just let her cut your kuru. At least then you would be quiet."

Your tail lashed behind you. "And I should have left you bleeding in the forest. At least, the soil would’ve made better use than your stubbornness."

Neteyam hissed at you.

You hissed back.

The air between you was thick with heat and the lingering tension of two people who had almost lost everything, expressed through the only way you knew how: sharp words and bared teeth.

"Am I interrupting a hunt?"

The deep, gravelly voice of Jake Sully echoed through the pod.

You both jumped. Neteyam winced, hissing for a very different reason as he clutched his chest, and you scrambled back, nearly tripping over a bowl of medicinal mash.

Jake stood in the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked between the two of you. Jake’s expression was unreadable, but one of his eyebrows was arched in a way that suggested he had heard more than he was letting on.

"Dad," Neteyam panted, trying to smooth his expression into something resembling a disciplined soldier. "No. Just... discussing tactics."

"Sounded like a lot of hissing for a tactic discussion," Jake said, stepping into the room.

He looked at you, his gaze heavy and observant. "And you. I hear the healers have been looking for you. Something about you refusing to let them check your wrists because you were too busy 'supervising' my son’s recovery?"

You looked at your feet, your tail giving one final  flick. "He’s a difficult patient, sir."

"She’s a tyrant," Neteyam muttered under his breath.

You give him a final hiss before finally excusing yourself to leave the room.

Three months had passed since the "tactical disaster" in the forest, and life at High Camp had returned to its usual rhythm, which, for the two of you, meant a constant state of verbal warfare and physical tension that could set the foliage on fire.

The scar on Neteyam’s chest was now a jagged, silvery mark against his blue skin, a permanent reminder of the day he was an "idiot."

"I hate you," you said. You two were on the way of a hunting, and of course it was full of arguing like usual. "I hate your face, I hate your ego, and I especially hate that you think you're better than me."

"Because I am," Neteyam chuckled.

"You know, the more I think, the more I want to finish what Varang started. Maybe I should re-stab your scar and actually leave you bleeding in the forest," you hissed.

"Still all spikes and teeth," he said. "Are you going to hiss at me again, kitten?"

"If you call me kitten one more time, I will actually fry your brain," you threatened.

Twenty minutes later, the bickering hadn't stopped, but it had shifted into the rhythmic, professional silence of the hunt. Mostly.

You moved through the mid-canopy like ghosts, leaping from branch to branch with practiced ease. Neteyam was a few meters to your left, his long limbs moving with the terrifying fluidity that made him such a lethal scout.

Neteyam didn't even look at you. He just raised two fingers, pointing toward a thicket of purple-leafed bushes. A yerik stood there, its six legs tensed, ears twitching at a sound only it could hear.

He looked at you then, a challenge dancing in his gold eyes. He didn't say a word, but the tilt of his head was clear: My kill or yours?

You didn't wait for a formal invitation. You notched an arrow, the movement silent and blurred. But as you drew back the string, Neteyam’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing your elbow to adjust your stance by a fraction of a millimeter.

"Your elbow is too high," he breathed into your ear, his chest nearly brushing your back. "You're getting sloppy because you're angry."

"I am not sloppy," you whispered back, your tail twitching in irritation. "And get off me. You’re ruining my line of sight."

"I'm perfecting it," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Now shoot, kitten. Before it smells your attitude and runs away."

You gritted your teeth, focused on the target, and loosed the arrow. It whistled through the air, a clean, silent streak of death. The yerik dropped instantly, not even a cry escaping it.

"Clean," Neteyam admitted, finally pulling back. He looked at the fallen prey, then back at you with a smirk that was entirely too fond. "Almost as good as me."

"In your dreams, Sully," you snapped, already jumping down toward the forest floor to claim the kill.

Neteyam hauled the yerik onto his shoulders, the weight of the animal barely seeming to slow him down. Instead of heading back toward the main camp, he began to climb toward the high ridges, toward the shimmering, ethereal glow that illuminated the horizon.

"Where are you going?" you asked, jumping over a gnarled root. "The villages are the other way, Olo'eyktan-to-be."

"I know where the villages are," Neteyam replied over his shoulder, his tail swishing with a steady, rhythmic confidence. "We’re making a stop first."

As the trees began to thin and the air grew thick with the hum of a thousand invisible spirits, the glow intensified. You rounded a corner and stopped dead. The Tree of Souls stood before you, its long, glowing tendrils swaying in a wind that didn't exist, a living cathedral of light.

He dropped the prey at the edge of the sacred ground, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked at the tree, then back at you, his expression maddeningly calm.

You let out a dry, sharp bark of a laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. "You’ve got to be kidding me, Neteyam. Are you trying to perform an exorcism? Do you think the tree is going to smell the 'Mangkwan' on me and strike me down?"

"I think you’re being dramatic," Neteyam countered, walking over to you. He didn't stop until he was in your personal space. "I’m not asking you to pray. I’m not asking you to like Her."

"Then why are we here?" you asked, though the hum of the tree was making the hair on your arms stand up.

"Because you spend all your time looking at the ground or looking for enemies," Neteyam said softly. He reached out, his fingers catching a floating woodsprite.

Atokirina. A seed of the sacred tree that was drifting toward your face. He held it out to you, the tiny, glowing creature spinning slowly in his palm.

"I wanted you to see that not everything in this world is fire and ash," he murmured. "Even if you hate the Source, the view is still better than a cave in the Mangkwan coast, isn't it?"

"It’s just a tree, Neteyam," you whispered, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

"It's a very pretty tree," he corrected, his smirk returning. "And it’s very quiet. Which is the only way I can get a word in without you hissing at me."

The atokirina flew away from Neteyam's palm.

You let out a huff of a laugh, leaning your weight onto one hip as you stared at the swaying, luminous vines. The light played off your skin, making the old scars on your wrists look like silver threads.

"I don't know, Neteyam," you joked, your voice echoing slightly in the hollow silence of the grove. "I'm afraid I would scare your ancestors away. Can you imagine? One touch and all the great Omatikaya leaders of the past start screaming because a Mangkwan witch just walked into the chat."

Neteyam snorted, stepping closer until his shoulder brushed yours. "My ancestors have seen Great Shadow wars and human invasions. I think they can handle one grumpy girl from the coast."

"I'm serious," you said, though your smirk remained. "I did terrible things with my kuru in the past. If I plug into this thing, I might accidentally download a virus into your precious Eywa."

"A virus?" Neteyam shook his head, looking at the tree with a quiet, steady reverence. "It doesn't work like that. You don't 'take' from the tree. You just... listen."

He reached out, his hand hovering near the glowing white tendrils, then he looked back at you. His eyes were soft, searching. "You’re not a virus. You’re just afraid."

The joke died in your throat. Your gaze drifted from his face to the swaying vines of the Tree of Souls. The hum of the tree felt like a physical weight against your chest, a heartbeat that wasn't yours

"I'm not afraid," you lied, your voice dropping to a whisper.

But you were. You were terrified. You were afraid that if you connected, you’d see your parents with their faces twisted in the same fire and ash that had claimed them. You were afraid their spirits would look at what you’d become, what Varang had turned you into, and turn away in shame.

And even worse? You were afraid that you’d reach out into that Great Mother's mind and find... nothing. That the silence would be absolute, proving that your parents were just gone, scattered like smoke, and that Eywa had never been listening at all.

"Just try," Neteyam urged softly. He took a step toward you, his hand grazing your arm. "One touch. If it’s too loud, or if you hate what you hear, you pull away."

You looked at the glowing vines, then back at him. "If I see a bunch of old Omatikaya chiefs telling me to do my laundry and stop being mean to you, I’m never letting you hear the end of it."

"Deal," he murmured, a small, encouraging smile breaking through his seriousness.

You took a shaky breath, your fingers trembling as you reached for your queue. You slowly brought the pink, sensitive filaments of your kuru toward the glowing vines of the tree. The closer you got, the more the air seemed to thrum.

At the last second, you froze. The fear of seeing them, or not seeing them, hit you like a physical blow to the stomach.

"I can't," you gasped, snatching your hand back as if the tree had burned you. You stumbled a half-step away, your chest heaving. "I told you, it's just a tree. I’m not doing this, Neteyam. Do your own prayer, take the damn yerik, and let’s go home."

Neteyam didn't push. He just gave a quiet, knowing nod, respecting the wall you’d slammed down. You walked away a few paces, leaning against a nearby trunk as you sat down beside the dead yerik.

You watched him with narrowed eyes as he approached the glowing tendrils. He closed his eyes, connecting his kuru with that glowing vines.

When Neteyam finally finished, he disconnected and walked over, sinking down to sit beside you. He didn't say anything at first, just sat there in the shared quiet of the bioluminescent glow.

Suddenly, a single atokirina bobbed through the air, drifting right toward your face. Without thinking, purely out of a reflexive, you slapped it away from you.

"Don't," Neteyam said, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist mid-swing. He didn't pull you away, he just held your arm steady in the air. "Stay still," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the woodsprite.

You were confused, but you stopped struggling. Then, more of them came. It wasn't just one, dozens of the glowing seeds descended like falling stars, landing on your shoulders, your hair, your knees, and your hands. They were weightless, pulsing with a faint, cool light until you were draped in a shimmering, white shroud.

You sat there, frozen, until they all finally took flight again, drifting back into the heights of the tree.

"What was that?" you asked, your voice barely a rasp. You felt exposed, like the tree had just looked right through your skin.

Neteyam was staring at you. "You've been chosen. By Eywa," he breathed.

"For what exactly?" You snapped, standing up abruptly and brushing off the invisible dust of the spirits. "To be a glow-in-the-dark target? To be your tribal mascot? No. Absolutely not. I’m not 'converting' or becoming a believer just because she says I'm chosen or whatever. I don't care about her seeds and I don't care about her signs."

Neteyam stood up, hoisting the yerik over his shoulders with a grunt. He looked at you, that maddening, smug smirk slowly returning to his face despite your outburst. "Stubborn ass."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Neteyam let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh, adjusting the heavy weight of the yerik on his shoulders. "Of course you would. Only you could be blessed by the Great Mother and treat it like a personal insult."

"It is an insult," you countered, falling into step beside him, your tail lashing with leftover adrenaline. "She’s been silent my whole life while I was bleeding in the ash, and now that I’m finally tucked away in your little forest paradise, she wants to say hello? She’s late. By about ten years."

Neteyam didn't look back, but you could hear the smile in his voice. "Maybe she was waiting for you to stop hissing long enough to hear her."

"I will hiss at her, I will hiss at you, and I will hiss at anyone who thinks I'm going to start wearing flowers and singing to a tree," you grumbled. You reached up to adjust your hair.

Neteyam didn't answer with words. Instead, he shifted the yerik to one shoulder and reached out with his free hand, his fingers snaking toward your queue.

"Hey!" you barked, jumping back as if he’d shocked you. "Hands off the merchandise, Sully! You want to lose a finger?"

"Just checking for more bugs," he teased.

"Bugs? I'll show you some bugs, you moron!" you snarled, lunging at him.

Neteyam wasn't expecting the sudden tackle. He tried to pivot, but with the weight of the yerik on his shoulders, his balance was off. You dove for his midsection, your fingers finding the sensitive spot right above his hip bones.

"Wait—no!" Neteyam choked out a surprised, breathless laugh as he went down. The yerik slid off his shoulders into the grass with a heavy thud, and he hit the mossy ground a second later with you pinned firmly to his chest.

You didn't stop. You dug your fingers into his ribs, tickling him ruthlessly. "How's that for a bug, Sully? You want to check for more?"

"Stop! I yield!" he wheezed, squirming beneath you, his hands catching your wrists to try and pull them away. He was strong, but he was laughing too hard to actually use his strength. "Mercy! The Mangkwan... they have no honor!"

"None at all," you hissed, but you finally stopped the tickling.

You didn't move, though. You stayed right where you were, straddling his waist, your hands pinned against the ground by his. The forest around you seemed to go quiet, the glow from the Tree of Souls spread across your face.

It had been three months. Three months since that night in the tent before the ambush. Three months since you two touch each other.

"What's the matter?" Neteyam teased, his voice dropping into a rough, low vibration that seemed to hum right through your skin. "You're usually so loud when you're winning. Why so quiet now, kitten?"

"Shut up," you whispered, though you didn't move.

"Make me," he challenged.

"Oh, I know a way," you murmured.

You didn't go for his ribs this time. You didn't go for a punch or a shove. Instead, you reached around his head, your fingers navigating the dark braids until you found his queue.

Neteyam didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to block you. He just lay there against the moss, his smirk widening into something amused. He wasn't afraid of what you could do to his mind, he’d already felt your soul when you saved his life. He knew you wouldn't really try to fry his brain anyway.

"Go ahead," he challenged softly, his hands moving from your wrists to rest firmly on your waist. "Do your worst, Mangkwan. Break my mind. I think there’s only room in there for you at this point, anyway."

The challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy. You didn't back down. You reached for your queue, the neural filaments shivering as they sensed the proximity of his.

As the filaments braided together, the world exploded.

Neteyam’s pupils dilated instantly, his golden irises nearly swallowed by black as the connection slammed into him. He let out a ragged gasp, his head falling back against the moss as the sheer force of your mind flooded his. He closed his eyes tight, his fingers digging into your waist as he tried to process the sensory overload. It wasn't like connecting to an ikran or a tree. It was like plugging into a live wire.

Through the bond, you felt him, all of him. You can feel his overwhelming heat, his fierce protectiveness, and the raw, aching want he had been suppressed for months.

You, however, remained perfectly still. You kept your eyes open, watching the way his chest heaved and the way his tail twitched violently in the grass.

"Too much for the prince?" you whispered, your voice cool and steady despite the fire rushing through the bond.

Neteyam let out a low, pained groan of pleasure, his grip tightening on your hips. Through the tsaheylu, his thoughts racing. He was seeing flashes of that night in the forest, the smell of your skin, the way you looked when you were angry, and the terrifyingly beautiful way you looked when you were saving him.

He opened his eyes, hazy and dark, looking up at you with a vulnerability he only ever showed in the dark. [Stop... acting like you don't feel this,] his voice echoed directly into your mind, bypasssing your ears. [I can feel your heart. It’s lying for you.]

He was right. Even if your face was a mask of calm, the bond didn't lie. Your heart was drumming a matching rhythm against his own.

"You look good quiet like this," you murmured, your voice a cool contrast to the storm raging through the bond.

Neteyam let out a long and shaky exhale. Without breaking the connection, he sat up, his hands never leaving your waist, until you were eye-to-eye in the middle of the glowing grove.

"You're a demon," he rasped, though he was pulling you closer.

"And yet, you're still here," you whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere."

He didn't wait for another taunt. He leaned in, closing the final inch of space. When your lips finally met, the tsaheylu flared again, sending a physical jolt through both of you.

The tsaheylu turned the kiss into something visceral, a sensory overload that made the forest floor feel like it was falling away.

Neteyam’s hands moved with a sudden, possessive urgency, sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him until there wasn't a breath of air between your chests. He tasted like the cool water of the river and the sweet nectar of the flowers.

The tsaheylu spiked, a line of pure sensation shooting through your nerves as Neteyam’s hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. He adjusted you until your back was pressed against the dead yerik, using the animal's body as a makeshift headrest.

"Neteyam," you breathed, your head thumping back against the yerik as his mouth left yours.

He didn't stop. He moved lower, his lips tracing a path of fire down your throat, lingering on the spot where your pulse was jumping like a trapped bird.

He went lower still, his head dipping below your eye line. You arched your back, your breath hitching in your throat as the tsaheylu transmitted every ghost of a touch, amplifying it until you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began.

He also could feel your sharp intake of breath, the way your muscles coiled in anticipation, and he chose that exact moment to slow down. He looked up at you from his position, his golden eyes hooded and dark, glowing like embers in the twilight of the grove.

"Are you unaffected by this, little Mangkwan?" he whispered, his voice vibrating through the neural link.

You tried to glare at him, but it was hard to maintain your "scary priestess" persona when your toes were curling into the moss. "I'm going to kill you, Sully."

"You've been saying that for months," he teased, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle on the inside of your thigh. "But your heart is telling me something else."

Neteyam’s hand moved with a slow, deliberate precision, sliding the edge of your loincloth aside just enough. He leaned in, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he took you in. He could smell the heavy and sweet scent of your arousal.

Then, he leaned in and took a taste.

You let out a sharp, choked-off cry, your head thumping back against the yerik so hard the animal's carcass shifted. Because he was connected to you, he felt exactly how good it felt to you while he did it. He felt the jolt of pleasure as it traveled up your spine, and he fed it right back into the loop, amplifying it until the world was nothing but violet light and the sound of his name on your lips.

"Oh," Neteyam groaned against you, his voice vibrating through your entire lower body.

Neteyam didn't hold back. Every flick of his tongue was a calculated strike against your remaining sanity. You were blinded by the way the bond made every touch feel like a lightning strike, the way his satisfaction bled into your own until you were drowning in a sea of shared, mounting ecstasy.

"Neteyam—" you gasped, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders.

You felt his tongue, hot and expert, swirling against you, and because of the bond, you felt his own primal satisfaction at the way your thighs trembled against his ears. He could feel the exact moment your breath hitched, the exact millisecond your internal muscles coiled, and he used that knowledge to push you even harder.

Your fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, your nails carving crescent moons into his skin, but he only pressed deeper. He was drinking you in, tasting the salt and the sweetness. His own arousal bleeding through the link until you could feel the heavy, thrumming ache in his own body.

He let out a low, muffled growl against your skin, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, anchoring you as you began to arch uncontrollably. [Give it to me,] his voice echoed in your mind, dark and commanding. [Let it go, kitten. Let me taste it all.]

The command in your head was the final blow. The release hit you with the force of a physical collision, a psychic shockwave that traveled through the tsaheylu and slammed into Neteyam’s mind at the same time it wrecked your body. Your back arched so sharply it felt like your spine might snap.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the ragged sounds of your breathing. Neteyam eventually sat up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Slowly, your strength returned to your limbs. You sat up, sliding onto his lap and straddling his waist. You reached out, framing his face with your hands, and pulled him into a kiss. This one was slower, deeper, and tasting of the victory you both finally shared.

When you pulled back just an inch, you saw that familiar, smug look starting to creep back into his expression. You couldn't have that. Not yet.

"Don't look so proud of yourself, Sully," you rasped, your voice still a little wrecked.

Neteyam let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, his hands tightening on your waist. "Well. I recall you nearly breaking my shoulders and screaming my name loud enough to wake the ancestors."

"The ancestors are probably more disappointed in your lack of focus," you countered, though your breath hitched as his hands slid from your waist to your thighs, his grip firm and grounding.

"Lack of focus? I'm focused exactly where I want to be." He shifted beneath you, his hips tilting upward just enough to make you gasp.

"If you're so worried about my focus," Neteyam rasped, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register, "then why don't you take control?"

He didn't wait for an answer. His hands, large and steady, lift your hips before he managed to move his loincloth aside. He grabbed your hips again, aligning you perfectly above him. The tsaheylu flared. You felt the heavy and thrumming weight of his desire.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands coming down to rest on his broad chest for balance. "Careful, Sully," you whispered, your eyes locking onto his. "You might find out I’m a lot more than you can handle."

"Try me," he challenged.

You sank down slowly, the sensation so intense that your head fell back. The sensation hit both of you with a "double" intensity that felt like a physical weight.

Through the bond, you weren't just feeling yourself, you were feeling him feeling you. You felt the incredible, searing warmth of your own body from his perspective, the way you were so tight and welcoming that it made his vision go blurry. At the same time, he was feeling the sensation of fullness through your nerves, a heavy, grounding ache that made your toes curl into the moss.

The feedback loop of the tsaheylu was becoming a storm you couldn't control. You moved with a rhythmic grace, your hips rolling in a slow, torturous grind that forced a groan from deep within Neteyam’s chest.

Neteyam’s hands moved to your hips, his large palms anchoring you, guiding your pace when he felt you falter from the sheer intensity.

[Look at me,] he commanded through the link.

You forced your eyes open, your vision swimming with violet light and sweat. You began to move faster, your breath coming in short, sharp hitches that sounded like prayers in the silence of the grove. He was so warm, so impossibly solid beneath you.

He met every one of your descents with a powerful, rhythmic thrust of his own hips, his tail lashing the ground, coiling and uncoiling in the grass. Because of the bond, you could feel the tension building in his loins—a coiled spring of energy that was seconds away from snapping. He felt your internal muscles clenching around him, the rhythmic ripples of your body sending waves of agonizing pleasure straight to his brain.

It was a total sensory takeover. The scent of the crushed moss, the humming of the sacred tree, the salt of your skin, and the taste of his breath as you leaned down to capture his lips again.

The kiss was the fuse that finally hit the powder keg. As your lips crashed together, the tsaheylu give a torrent of shared sensation that left no room for thought.

You accelerated your pace, your body a blur of motion against his, the friction generating a heat that felt like it was melting the very air between you.

And then, you felt the exact moment he reached his limit. It acted as a trigger for your own body. The pressure in your core coiled tighter and tighter, an agonizing thrum that demanded to be let loose.

Then, it happened.

The release rippled through your body.

You let out a cry into his mouth as your internal muscles clamped around him in a series of powerful spasms. You felt your own climax as a blinding explosion and then, a millisecond later, you felt his release. A deep, pulsing flood of heat that mirrored your own, echoing back and forth through the tsaheylu until the pleasure was infinite.

Neteyam’s back arched off the moss, his hands gripping your hips so hard his knuckles went white. He groaned your name into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your teeth as he finally let go.

Slowly, the weight of gravity returned. You collapsed forward, your head falling onto his shoulder, your chest heaving against his as you both fought for air.

Neteyam’s hand came up to stroke the back of your head and back. He didn't speak. After a long moment of just holding you, he shifted, slowly laying back down on the mossy ground and pulling you with him.

You let out a soft giggle against the skin of his shoulder. You rolled off his chest but didn't go far, settling onto your side and resting your head on the crook of his arm.

He shifted his arm, pulling you even tighter against his side until you were tucked perfectly against his chest, cocooned by his scent and the heat still radiating from his skin. One of his large hands rested over your hip.

You fell asleep first, your breathing evening out as you drifted into a sleep.

As you drifted deeper into sleep, the tension finally left your body, your hand resting limply over Neteyam’s heart. He stayed awake for a long time, watching the way your expression had finally softened in the dark.

Satisfied, he pressed a final, lingering kiss to the top of your head and let his own eyes flutter shut, his grip on your hip never loosening even as he drifted off.

From the high, luminous canopy, dozens of atokirinas began to descend. The woodsprites drifted down like slow-motion snow, pulsing with a rhythmic white light.

They landed everywhere. They settled on your intertwined legs, on Neteyam’s broad shoulders, and in the messy tangles of your hair. One landed softly on the bridge of your nose, another settled right over the spot where your kuru was still braided with Neteyam’s.

The morning light filtered soft and hazy. You felt the absence of his heat before you even opened your eyes, the tsaheylu have been gently disconnected while you slept.

You stirred, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand, and saw Neteyam already sitting up beside you. He was staring at the glowing vines of the tree, his expression a complicated mask of realization.

As he looked around, the weight of last night seemed to crash down on him all at once. The sex, the tsaheylu, the fact that he came inside, and worst of all, that you two had done all of it here, before Eywa, right under The Tree of Souls.

"We aren't mated, are we?" he asked.

You contemplated the thought for a split second, but you quickly rubbed it off.

"Absolutely not," you said firmly, standing up and brushing the glowing moss from your skin.

i emptied my drafts, sorry if the title sucks i just can't think of another :p

[jakeycore]

FRIENDLIER FIRE WAS AHHHHH 😩😩 peak literature right there.. i had this thought while reading though- since reader formed tsaheylu with varang, but did it with neteyam after, is that bond with varang severed? or are they still technically spiritually connected 👀 i can imagine reader haunting varang in her nightmares and they meet during afaa and when she sees reader her immediate thought is get me tf away from her 🤣

youre gonna love part 3 honey 😏

The connection between reader and varang is more than you thought 🤫

[jakeycore]

friendlier fire / neteyam

aged up! neteyam x na'vi reader. MDNI 🔞

Summary: The rivalry didn’t stop just because the clothes came off. If anything, the stakes are higher now. Warnings: 8k+ words, aged up! neteyam, rival with benefits, explicit smut, p in v, (still) hate sex, fingering, edging, blowjob, mention of blood, heavy injury Notes: yeah this is kinda long ig, but i hope you enjoy it

Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire , frozen fire, seed of fire

The sun was high over High Camp, baking the mud and stone. The air smelled of roasting fish and ozone. You were sitting on the edge of the communal fire pit, restringing your bow. Your fingers were raw, and every muscle in your legs screamed in protest every time you shifted weight—a lingering, aching reminder of the cave floor.

You adjusted the woven strap of your top, tugging it higher on your shoulder to cover the bruise Neteyam had left there. It was a dark, purple mark, shaped unmistakably like teeth.

"That dive yesterday," a voice said, breaking your focus.

You looked up. It was a young hunter from the second squad. He was smiling at you, holding a bowl of fruit. "I saw the telemetry logs. I didn't think an Ikran could bank that hard without stalling. You have to teach me how you shifted your weight."

You smirked, leaning back on your hands (and wincing slightly). "It’s not about the weight. It’s about the knees. You have to lock them against the saddle right before the turn."

"Show me?" He asked, stepping closer, his tail swishing with clear interest. "After the midday meal? We could take the training mounts out."

It was innocent.

It was friendly.

"She's busy," a cold voice cut through the conversation like a obsidian knife.

Neteyam appeared behind the young warrior, looming like a thunderhead. He wasn't looking at the other boy, his golden eyes were locked on you, specifically on the way you were leaning back.

The boy jumped, ears pinning back. "I was just asking about—"

"I heard," Neteyam interrupted, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "But unless you want to explain to the Olo'eyktan why the perimeter sensors haven't been recalibrated yet, I suggest you get back to your post."

"But... my shift doesn't start for another hour."

"I moved it up," Neteyam lied. Effortlessly. "Go."

The boy didn't argue with the Chief's son. He gave you an apologetic look and scrambled away.

You watched him go, then turned your glare on Neteyam. "You're a jerk. And a liar."

Neteyam didn't flinch. He walked around the fire pit and crouched down in front of you, invading your personal space. He reached out and snatched the bow from your lap, inspecting your stringing work with a critical eye.

"You're distracting the other warriors," he muttered, plucking the string. It hummed perfectly. He scowled, annoyed that he couldn't criticize it.

"I was talking strategy," you countered, snatching the bow back. "Something you might want to try instead of barking orders."

"He wasn't looking at your strategy," Neteyam said low, his voice dropping to a rumble. "He was looking at your mouth."

Your rolled your eyes. "So? Maybe I like the attention. Not everyone treats me like a headache they can't get rid of."

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that only you could hear amidst the camp noise.

"He doesn't know you," he hissed. "He thinks you're just some brave, pretty refugee. He doesn't know you're a brat who refuses to follow orders."

"Jealous, Sully?" you taunted, tilting your chin up.

"Territorial," he corrected, his eyes darkening. "You're my headache. I'm the one who has to clean up your messes.

"I can handle myself."

"I know." His gaze drifted down to your shoulder, staring pointedly at the strap covering his mark. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. "Fix your strap. It's slipping."

You froze, heat rushing to your face. You quickly adjusted the strap, glaring at him.

"You did that on purpose," you accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Neteyam said, standing up and dusting off his hands. The perfect soldier mask was back in place, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Report to the sparring ring in ten minutes. I want to see if your hand-to-hand is as sloppy as your landing was."

"I hate you," you said, standing up and wincing as your sore muscles protested.

Neteyam paused, looking back at you. He let his eyes rake over your form, slow and heavy, remembering exactly why you were sore.

"Ten minutes," he ordered. "Don't keep me waiting."

The moon was high, casting a silver glow over the forest floor, painting the ferns in shades of indigo and violet. The camp was asleep. The fires had burned down to embers, and the only sound was the distant rhythm of the ocean against the sea wall.

But deep in the forest, in a small clearing hidden by a curtain of hanging vines, the silence was being violently broken.

Thud.

You hit the mossy ground hard, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp gasp. Before you could scramble up, a heavy foot pressed into your stomach, pinning you down.

Neteyam stood over you, silhouetted against the bioluminescent canopy. He was dripping sweat, his chest heaving, his braids tied back severely to keep them out of his face. There was no audience here. No recruits to impress. No father to perform for. Just you, him, and the dark.

"Dead," he whispered, the word cutting through the humidity.

You groaned, grabbing his ankle and twisting your hips. It was a dirty move, one you learned from a street fight. You torqued his knee sideways. Neteyam hissed, losing his balance, and stumbled back.

You didn't give him a second to recover. You sprang up, ignoring the ache in your ribs, and tackled him.

The two of you went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling through the wet ferns. He was stronger, but you were vicious. You managed to get a forearm against his throat, pinning him to the root of a massive tree.

"You over-committed," you panted, your face inches from his. "You thought you had me. Typical arrogance."

Neteyam glared up at you, his pupils blown wide in the darkness. He wasn't even trying to throw you off yet. He was just staring, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath yours.

"I let you up," he rasped, his voice rough.

"Liar," you spat, tightening your grip on his forearm. "You just hate being on the bottom."

The air between you crackled, thick and heavy. This far out, there was no one to hear the harshness of your breathing or the way your hearts were hammering in unison.

Neteyam’s hand shot up, gripping the back of your neck. Rather than an attack, it was a demand.

He pulled your head down, not for a kiss, but to press his forehead against yours, hard.

"You fight like a feral animal," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "No technique. Just... chaos."

"It works," you breathed back, staring defiantly into his golden eyes. "I'm the one on top, aren't I?"

Something in his expression fractured. The rivalry, the anger, the exhaustion all twisted into that familiar, suffocating heat.

"For now," he challenged.

He bucked his hips, a sudden explosion of strength that caught you off guard. He flipped the positions effortlessly, slamming your back against the tree trunk. The bark was rough against your skin, but his body was harder. He pinned your wrists above your head with one large hand, his other hand gripping your jaw to keep you looking at him.

"You talk too much about winning," Neteyam growled, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating purr. "But you forget who trained you."

"You didn't train me," you shot back, though your voice shook slightly as his knee pressed between your legs, parting them. "You just... polished the edges."

"Then let me polish them," he whispered darkly.

He didn't wait for a witty comeback. He crushed his mouth to yours, devouring the sound of your protest. It was aggressive and messy, fueled by the adrenaline of the fight. You bit his lip and he groaned into your mouth, his grip on your wrists tightening to the point of pain— a pain you welcomed.

You wrenched your hands free from his grip, not to push him away, but to claw at his back, dragging your nails down his spine. He shuddered, breaking the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, biting down on the sensitive muscle there.

"You're so loud," he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming down your sides, finding the ties of your loincloth. "Good thing we're miles away."

"Shut up," you gasped, throwing your head back against the tree bark.

The bark of the massive tree bit into your back, but you barely felt it. All you could feel was Neteyam pressing his hips against yours.

His hands were frantic, tugging at the ties of your loincloth, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps against your neck. He was eager. Too eager.

"Finally," he groaned, abandoning the knot to just shove the fabric aside, his knee nudging your legs further apart. He moved to bridge the gap, his body coiled tight, ready to bury himself inside you and take what he thought was his.

You caught him by the shoulders and shoved. Hard.

His momentum died right there, even if he managed to stay on his feet. Neteyam froze, his chest heaving, his golden eyes snapping up to yours in confusion and annoyance.

"What?" he rasped, his voice thick with lust. "Don't tell me you're backing out. You started this."

"I'm not backing out," you said coolly, though your own pulse was hammering. You slid your hand down his chest, over his taut stomach, and rested it firmly on his hip bone, keeping him just inches away from where he wanted to be. "I'm just... pacing you."

Neteyam frowned, his brows knitting together. He tried to push forward again, grinding against your hand. "I don't need pacing. Move your hand."

"No," you said, digging your nails into his skin. "I remember the cave, Neteyam. You were sloppy."

Neteyam went still. Even in the dark, you could see the flash of indignation. "I was not—"

"You were fast," you interrupted, tilting your head mockingly. "Embarrassingly fast. For a warrior who lectures me about stamina and discipline all day, you certainly lost yours the second you touched me."

He snarled, a low sound. "I was pent up. It was a one-time thing."

"Was it?" You smirked, trailing your other hand down his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your fingertips. "Because you seem to be rushing again, boy. Panting like a dog, fumbling with knots... is this the famous Sully composure?"

Neteyam gripped your wrist, his fingers bruising. "You want composure?" he growled. "Fine."

You smirked, tilting your head. "So I'm setting the pace tonight. You wait until I say you can—"

Neteyam didn't let you finish.

In a blur of motion, he grabbed your wrists, tore them from his chest, and slammed them high above your head against the tree trunk. He gripped both of them in one large hand, his fingers overlapping easily, pinning you completely.

"You think you have the authority to command me?" he growled, his voice dropping into a register so deep it vibrated in your bones.

"I—"

"Quiet."

He used his free hand to grab your jaw, squeezing your cheeks to force your mouth open, silencing you. The playful teasing vanished from the air, replaced by a suffocating, heavy dominance.

"You want slow?" he hissed. "I'll give you slow. But you don't get to decide when it ends. I do."

He entered you then—not with the frantic rush of the cave, but with a terrifyingly slow, deliberate slide that stretched you to your limit. You gasped, your head falling back against the bark, your hips instinctively bucking to try and take more, to speed him up.

"Ah," he chided, his grip on your wrists tightening. He held you still, refusing to let you move. "Stay still."

He withdrew slowly, agonizingly, before sliding back in, just as slow. It was torture. It was a display of perfect, cruel control. He watched your face, watching your composure shatter while his remained iron-clad.

"Please," you whimpered, the word slipping out before you could stop it. The friction was maddening, and his refusal to speed up was driving you insane.

"Please what?" he mocked softly, nipping at your throat. "Please speed up? I thought I was too fast for you? I thought I was sloppy?"

"Neteyam, shut up and just—"

He thrust harder, hitting a spot that made your vision blur, but immediately slowed down again.

"I'm... bored," you lied through your teeth, your voice breathless but dripping with venom. You tightened your legs around his waist, pulling him in deep, trying to force the pace yourself since your hands were still pinned. "Is this it? Is this the legendary stamina? Because you're stalling, Sully."

His jaw worked. The vein in his neck pulsed. He wanted you to break, but you were cracking his composure instead.

"I am controlling the pace," he hissed.

"You're afraid," you taunted, arching your back off the tree to meet him, defying his hold. "You're afraid if you let go... you'll finish in seconds again. Prove me wrong."

That snapped the last thread of his restraint.

But he didn't thrust harder. Instead, he withdrew completely, pulling away from you with a sudden, jarring motion that left you gasping at the loss of heat.

Before you could make a sound, his hands were heavy on your shoulders, shoving you downward. The force was undeniable, a physical command that brooked no argument.

"Down," he snarled, his voice stripped of any patience.

Your knees hit the damp moss with a soft thud. The sudden change in elevation made your head spin. You looked up, wiping a stray lock of hair from your face, and found Neteyam towering over you.

He looked imperious in the moonlight, his chest heaving, his jaw set in a line of hard stone.

"You have a big mouth," he hissed, looking down at you with dark, dilated eyes. He tangled his hand into your hair, tilting your head back until your neck was exposed, forcing you to look up at him. "Use it for something other than talking."

You just smirked, the expression sharp enough to cut, and wrapped your hands around the backs of his thighs.

"Gladly," you murmured.

You didn't wait for him to posture or prepare. You leaned forward and took his length in, not tentatively, but with a sudden, voracious enthusiasm that knocked the wind out of him.

Neteyam’s head snapped back. A harsh, broken noise tore from his throat. His hands tightened in your hair instantly, not to pull you away, but to anchor himself as his knees threatened to buckle.

You worked him ruthlessly, looking up through your lashes to watch the ruin of his composure. You tightened your suction, using your hand to twist and stroke in a rhythm that was designed to destroy him. You wanted him to lose his mind, and you were succeeding.

He snapped.

He abandoned the pretense of the stoic test. His grip on your hair turned bruising, and he started to move, snapping his hips forward to meet you. He fucked your mouth. Hard.

He drove into you with zero regard for finesse. You didn't back down. You didn't gag. You met every thrust, your own competitive fire fueling you. You took him deeper, tightening your throat around him, challenging him to find your limit.

Is that all you got? your eyes screamed. Take it, his body answered.

He was close. Terrifyingly close. You could feel the way his muscles seized, the way his breath hitched into a high, desperate whine in his throat. He was seconds away from spilling over, seconds away from losing the game and finishing right there in the dirt like a rookie.

And he knew it.

"Fuck," he choked out.

Suddenly, violently, he yanked your head back by your hair, forcing you to release him with a wet pop.

You gasped, trying to catch your breath, staring up at him confused and disappointed. "What? Too much for you?"

Neteyam looked down at you, chest heaving, his face twisted in a mask of pure frustration and lust. He was trembling, sweat dripping from his nose, looking like he wanted to murder you and worship you at the same time.

"You don't get to win that easily," he rasped, his voice wrecked.

He didn't give you a second to process the loss of contact. He gripped your hips and slid down the rough bark of the tree, dragging you down with him until he was seated on the mossy roots and you were pulled hard between his legs.

He slammed your back against his chest, trapping you. His thighs bracketed yours, keeping you spread open, and his arm clamped across your chest like a bar of iron, pinning you against him.

"You stopped," you panted, tilting your head back to glare at him upside down. "You were right there. You coward."

"I'm not a coward," Neteyam growled. "I don't finish while you're still thinking you're in charge."

He didn't wait. He shoved his hand down the front of your loincloth, bypassing the fabric with a rough, impatient jerk. He found you instantly—soaked and swollen.

"And look at that," he sneered against your ear. "You talk so much, but you're dripping for me."

He thrust two fingers inside you, deep and sudden.

You gasped, a loud, broken sound that echoed too clearly in the quiet forest. Your hips bucked instinctively, trying to escape the sudden intrusion, but he had you trapped between his thighs.

"Too loud," he muttered.

He took his free hand, the one that had been pinning your chest, and slammed it over your mouth. His palm was rough, calloused from the bowstring, and it smothered your cry instantly, pushing your head back against his shoulder.

"Quiet," he ordered, his voice vibrating against your spine. "Just take it."

He began to move his fingers. He knew where to strike. He curled his fingers, hitting that maddening spot inside you with a punishing, rhythmic curl. Come here. Come here.

You bit into his palm, muffled whimpers vibrating against his skin as the pleasure spiked hot and fast. You were already on edge from the teasing earlier, and he knew it. He ramped up the speed, his wrist twisting, his thumb grinding against you, driving you blindly toward the cliff.

Your vision blurred. Your toes curled into the moss. You were there, right there, your body tensing for the release—

And he stopped.

He didn't pull out yet. He just stopped moving, leaving his fingers buried deep inside you, still as stone.

You made a frustrated, muffled noise against his hand, thrashing in his hold. You tried to grind down on his hand to finish it yourself, but he stay still.

"Ah," he whispered into your ear, his tone dark and mocking. "Did I say you could finish?"

He waited. He waited until your muscles stopped spasming, until the peak faded into a dull, aching throb of need. He waited until you were limp against him, panting through your nose, furious and desperate.

"You wanted to test control?" he murmured. "This is control."

He started again.

Slowly at first, agonizingly slow drags that stretched you out, before snapping back into that vicious, fast rhythm. He played you like an instrument. He built you up, higher this time, the pressure building in your lower belly until it was unbearable. You were arching off his chest, clawing at the arm wrapped around you, begging him without words.

And just as you started to keen against his palm, trembling on the edge of ruin—

He stopped again.

"Not yet," he hissed, nipping the side of your neck. "You made me wait. Now you wait."

Tears of frustration pricked your eyes. It was torture. It was humiliating. And it was the hottest thing he had ever done.

He held you there in the dark, his hand over your mouth silencing your protests, forcing you to simmer in your own desperation while he sat calmly behind you, the master of your body.

"Are you going to behave?" he asked softly, moving his fingers just a fraction. "Or do we go for a third round of this?"

You nodded frantically against his palm, your pride completely dissolved by the ache throbbing between your legs. You couldn't take a third round of edging. You felt like you were going to snap in half.

"Good choice," Neteyam murmured against your ear.

He slowly peeled his hand away from your mouth. You sucked in a jagged breath, your lips swollen and wet, immediately turning your head to glare at him.

"You're cruel," you gasped, your voice trembling.

"I'm effective," he corrected.

He withdrew his fingers from you in one slow, agonizing slide, leaving you suddenly cold and achingly empty. You made a noise of protest, trying to chase his touch, but he gripped your hips and shoved you forward, off his lap and onto the mossy ground.

"Hands and knees," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."

You didn't fight him. You scrambled into position, the damp earth cool against your palms, your back arched instinctively. You heard the rustle of movement behind you, the sound of him adjusting himself, freeing the part of him that you had tortured earlier with your mouth.

Neteyam loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. He placed a heavy hand on your lower back, pressing down to correct your arch, forcing your hips higher.

"Perfect form," he mocked darkly, his voice vibrating against your spine. "See? You can follow orders when you want to."

He didn't give you a moment to retort. He didn't give you a count of three. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise, and drove into you with a single, brutal thrust.

The air left your lungs in a sharp, broken cry. He filled you completely, stretching you to your absolute limit, erasing the empty ache he had left you with moments ago. The sensation was overwhelming, too big, too deep, too sudden.

"Neteyam—" you gasped, your fingers clawing into the damp moss.

"I'm here," he growled, leaning down to drape his heavy frame over your back, his chest pressing you down toward the earth. "I'm right here."

He began to move, and there was no hesitation this time. No pacing. He pounded into you with a ruthless rhythm, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the clearing. He pulled your hips back onto him with every thrust, burying himself to the hilt, hitting that spot inside you with a violence that made your vision white out.

"You like that?" he taunted, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he picked up the speed. "You like running your mouth, don't you? But look at you now. Face in the dirt, taking everything I give you."

"Shut... up," you panted, though the words lacked any real bite. You were overwhelmed, your body betraying you, arching back to meet his ruthless pace.

You tried to retort, to tell him to go to hell, but the words dissolved into a broken, ragged moan as he hit that deepest point of you again. Your arms were shaking, elbows bending, threatening to collapse under the force of his thrusts.

"You're struggling," Neteyam observed, his voice dark and breathless. He sounded pleased. "Can't hold yourself up?"

He grabbed your waist with both hands, pulling you back hard against his hips, doing the work for you so he could pound into you with even more force. The friction was blinding. He was relentless, a storm of motion that refused to give you a second to breathe.

"You wanted to finish?" he hissed against your neck, sweat dripping from his brow onto your skin. "I made you wait. I edged you until you were trembling. And now..."

He let go of one hip, sliding his hand down your stomach, slipping between your legs to find the slick, swollen bundle of nerves he had tormented earlier.

"Now I'm going to ruin you."

He ground his thumb against you right as he thrust deep.

It was too much. It was sensory overload. Your head fell back, a scream tearing from your throat that you couldn't suppress if you tried. His hand was skilled, cruel, and fast, working in perfect, punishing sync with his hips.

"That's it," he growled, feeling your walls clamp down around him, feeling the way your whole body seized up. "Cum for me."

The command was the final straw. You shattered. The release hit you like a lightning strike, arching your spine so hard it hurt, a broken scream tearing from your throat. You clamped down on him, your body convulsing in wave after wave of blinding pleasure.

Neteyam groaned, a harsh, guttural sound that vibrated against your back. He thrust into your spasms once, twice—hard and desperate—chasing his own end.

"F-fuck," he stammered, his hips jerking.

He was right there. You could feel him swelling, throbbing, ready to spill.

But at the very last second, just as his breath hitched into a silent scream, he wrenched himself out.

The friction vanished instantly, leaving you gaping and empty, gasping for air. Before you could process the loss, you felt hot, heavy spurts of liquid hitting the small of your back, sliding down your skin to mix with the sweat and the moss.

Neteyam hissed through his teeth, his hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave a mark as he emptied himself onto you. He jerked his hips, groaning your name, shaking with the force of his release. He coated your skin, marking you in the most primal way possible, refusing to hide the evidence of what he’d done to you.

He rode out the high for a long moment, his chest heaving, his forehead resting against your sweaty shoulder blades.

When the tremors finally stopped, he didn't move away. He collapsed forward, his heavy weight pressing you into the ground, his slick chest sliding against your back.

He turned his head, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, right next to where he had bitten you earlier.

"Look at you," he panted against your skin, his voice thick and wrecked. He reached down, his hand sliding over your lower back, smearing the warm mess he had made over your skin. "Covered in me."

You lay there, trembling, face pressed into the dirt, too overstimulated to even speak.

Neteyam let out a low, dark laugh. "I think that counts as a win," he whispered into your ear.

Neteyam finally rolled off you, the loss of his heat leaving you shivering in the damp air. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't ask if you were okay. He just stood up, his feet crunching on the moss, and immediately started fixing his loincloth, hiding the evidence of his lapse in control with annoying efficiency.

You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, wincing as your lower back protested. You felt sticky, sore, and thoroughly used. You watched him run a hand through his braids, regaining his composure as if he hadn't just been snarling into your neck a minute ago.

"Hey," you snapped, wiping mud from your cheek, feeling the wetness cooling on your lower back.

He glanced down at you, his face impassive, though his chest was still rising and falling a bit too fast. He picked up his knife from where he’d discarded it and turned to leave.

"At least give me some aftercare, you asshole," you grumbled, glaring at his retreating back.

Neteyam stopped. He looked over his shoulder, his golden eyes sweeping over your disheveled form, the mess on your back, the bruise forming on your shoulder, the fire still burning in your eyes.

A slow, maddening smirk curled his lip.

"You wish."

He turned and walked into the shadows of the forest without looking back, leaving you to clean up his mess.

You scowled, grabbing a handful of moss to wipe the sticky evidence of his "win" off your skin, muttering curses under your breath. You reached for your loincloth, your legs still shaking so bad you nearly toppled over.

"Asshole," you hissed again, to the empty forest. "Arrogant, preening, forest-boy piece of—"

Snap.

A bone-dry snap instantly swallowed the ghost of Neteyam’s footsteps. Close. Way too fucking close.

You froze, your hunter instincts cutting through the post-coital haze instantly. The forest had gone quiet. The insects had stopped buzzing.

You dove for your knife—which was three feet away in a pile of your discarded gear.

You didn't make it.

A shadow detached itself from the gloom of the tree trunk. A heavy, ash-grey hand clamped over your mouth, and a thick arm banded around your throat, jerking you backward off your feet.

You kicked out, your heel connecting with a shin guard made of bone, but the figure didn't budge. You were slammed hard against a chest that smelled of rancid fat and charcoal—not the clean scent of rain and earth that Neteyam carried.

Mangkwan. The Rogue Tribe. Slavers and scavengers who picked off stragglers near the border.

"Get off of me!" you screamed, thrashing wildly. You managed to twist your body, driving an elbow into his gut, but your exhaustion betrayed you.

You rolled, scrambling on hands and knees toward your knife. Your fingers brushed the hilt—

A boot stomped down on your wrist.

You cried out, the bone radiating pain. The Mangkwan warrior loomed over you, raising a heavy obsidian club.

The club whistled down, aiming to split your skull. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the dark.

Thwip.

The sickening crunch of bone never came. Instead, there was a wet thud and a gargled cry of pain. You opened your eyes to see the warrior stumbling back, clutching his shoulder where a long, feathered arrow had punched clean through his bicep. The obsidian club fell harmlessly into the ferns.

"Ambush!" a sharp, female voice barked from the shadows.

Before you could scramble toward your knife, a hand—stronger and crueler than the first—snaked into your hair. You were yanked backward so hard your neck popped, and a cold, serrated blade was pressed against your jugular.

"Still," the woman hissed.

It was Varang. The matriarch of the raiding party. Her skin was painted in skeletal white rib cages, her eyes rimmed with red pigment. She hauled you up against her chest like a ragdoll, using your body as a shield.

A figure dropped from the canopy, landing in a crouch ten feet away.

Neteyam rose slowly to his full height. He had his bow drawn, the string pulled taut to his cheek, the arrow aim locked dead on Varang’s left eye.

"Let her go," Neteyam said, his voice terrifyingly calm.

Varang laughed, a rasping sound like dry leaves rubbing together. She didn't know who he was. "You have a steady hand, boy," Varang noted, her eyes darting between the arrow tip and your throat. "But not steady enough."

She moved.

She didn't lunge for you, and she didn't slice your throat. Instead, she dropped the knife from your jugular and whipped her hand behind your head. Her rough, calloused fingers didn't grab your hair this time.

She grabbed your queue.

She closed her fist tight around the base of your kuru, squeezing the sensitive neural tendrils hard enough to send white-hot lightning shooting down your spine. The other hand holding the knife against it.

You screamed. It was a raw, primal sound of agony that tore through the clearing. Your legs gave out, but she held you up by the braid alone, twisting it viciously.

Neteyam flinched. The perfect statue of the warrior cracked. His bow tip dipped, just an inch, his golden eyes widening in genuine, suffocating panic.

"Drop it!" Varang barked, yanking your head back by the neural whip so hard you thought your neck would snap. "Drop the bow, or I cut it. I’ll cut it right now and leave her severed in the dirt."

The threat hung in the air, heavier than death. To a na'vi, a severed kuru was a fate worse than dying. It was a disconnection from Eywa, from the ancestors, from everything.

"No," Neteyam breathed, his voice cracking. The deadly calm was gone, replaced by the terrified desperation of a boy watching his world about to be destroyed. "Don't... don't touch that."

"Then yield!" Varang shrieked, twisting her wrist.

A white-hot bolt of lightning tore down your spine, seizing every muscle in your body. You screamed, your vision fracturing into spots of light, your knees hitting the dirt. Absolute and unyielding, the pain bypassed your flesh to strike at the soul itself.

Through the haze of agony, you saw Neteyam.

He was breaking.

The boy who never missed, the boy who lectured you on tactical sacrifices, was crumbling. His bow lowered inch by inch, his face pale and twisted in horror. He was going to do it. He was going to surrender himself to these butchers just to stop the pain.

"No," you gasped, the word scraping out of your throat like sandpaper.

Neteyam’s eyes snapped to yours. They were wide, wet, and terrified.

"Don't," you choked out. "Don't drop the bow!"

"Shut up!" Varang hissed, jerking your queue again.

"Shoot her!" you screamed, your voice tearing raw against your throat. "Neteyam, shoot her!"

He aimed. For one heart-stopping second, he aimed right between your eyes, trying to find the sliver of space to hit Varang. His finger tightened on the string. The muscles in his forearm bunched.

But then Varang twisted your queue, just a fraction, and a fresh wave of agony convulsed through your body. You whimpered, your head jerking back.

That was it. That was the breaker.

Neteyam let out a sound like a wounded animal, a sharp, horrifying exhale of defeat.

He didn't ease the tension. He didn't lower the weapon slowly.

He opened his hand.

The bow dropped.

It hit the mossy ground with a dull, wooden thud that sounded louder than thunder in the quiet forest. The arrow clattered uselessly into the ferns.

"No!" you sobbed, staring at the weapon, then up at him. "You idiot! Pick it up!"

Neteyam ignored you. He looked solely at Varang, his hands shooting up into the air, palms open, chest exposed.

"I yield," Neteyam choked out, his voice shaking. "I yield. Look. No weapons."

He kicked the bow away from him, sending it sliding across the dirt toward Varang’s feet. Then, he dropped to his knees. "You have what you want," Neteyam stated, his voice devoid of fear. It was cold. Hard. "I am unarmed. I am compliant."

Varang scoffed, but she saw the look in his eyes, the look of a predator waiting for a single mistake. She uncurled her fingers from your neural whip, though she kept a brutal grip on your shoulder.

"See?" Varang grinned, her filed teeth glinting in the dark. "He can be taught."

She whistled, a sharp, piercing sound.

From the shadows, three more Mangkwan warriors emerged. They had been waiting and watching.

One of them kicked Neteyam hard in the back.

You gasped, lunging forward, but Varang jerked you back.

Neteyam didn't make a sound. He absorbed the blow, his body jerking forward slightly, but he righted himself instantly. He didn't look at the attacker. He kept his eyes fixed on you, assessing the damage, checking your pupils, checking your breathing.

"Hands," a warrior barked, throwing a loop of heavy, rough-spun cord around Neteyam’s wrists.

Neteyam moved his hands behind his back slowly, deliberately. He allowed them to wrench his arms up high, binding his wrists together with agonizing tightness.

"The girl, too," Varang ordered, finally shoving you toward another warrior.

You were grabbed roughly, your own hands bound behind you with biting cord. You were hauled up to your feet, stumbling against the warrior who held you.

"You idiot," you hissed across the clearing at Neteyam, your voice shaking with rage and fear. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I can break out of ropes," he said, his voice low and steady, carrying easily over the noise of the clearing. "I can't fix a severed nerve."

The warrior behind him laughed, yanking the knot tight. "You talk big for a—"

Neteyam moved.

It was an explosion of motion. He dropped his weight instantly, snapping his head back with bone-crushing force, aiming for the nose of the warrior behind him.

But the Mangkwan warrior wasn't a novice recruit in a training ring.

He didn't even flinch. He simply tilted his head back, letting Neteyam’s skull hit his armored chest plate with a dull, pathetic thud.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a brief second. Idiot.

The warrior laughed, a low, wet rumble in his chest. He didn't lose his grip on the rope, in fact, he tightened it, wrenching Neteyam’s arms up so high you heard the shoulder joints pop. Neteyam gasped, his knees buckling under the pressure as the warrior kicked the back of his legs, forcing him back down into the mud.

"Feisty," the warrior mocked, pressing a heavy boot between Neteyam's shoulder blades to pin him flat. "But stupid."

Varang watched the display with a bored expression. She stepped forward, her bare feet squelching in the mud, and stopped inches from Neteyam’s face.

She crouched down, grabbing a fistful of his braids and yanking his head up so he was forced to look at her.

"Are you done?" she asked, her voice sounding like gravel.

You hissed. "Dont"

Varang’s head snapped toward you. Her eyes, rimmed in red pigment, narrowed as she looked you over—bound, helpless, but still snarling commands at her like you were in a position to negotiate.

"Don't?" she echoed, her voice dripping with amusement.

She looked back down at Neteyam, whose face was contorted in pain as she twisted his braids. She smiled, a cruel, jagged thing.

"Don't touch him?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Or what? You'll hiss at me again?"

To make her point, she didn't let go. But she didn't just pull his hair, either.

She looked at you, her eyes dead and cold, and smiled.

"You speak too much," she whispered. "Let's see how loud you scream for this."

She drew the jagged bone knife from her belt. There was no wind-up. No dramatic pause. She simply drove the blade down with terrifying speed.

Schlick.

The sound was wet and sickening. She buried the knife to the hilt in Neteyam’s chest, high on the left side, missing his heart by barely an inch but piercing the lung.

Neteyam’s back arched off the ground, a silent, horrific convulsion. His eyes went wide, the pupils blowing out until the gold vanished. He tried to inhale to scream, but only a wet, bubbling gurgle escaped his lips.

"There," Varang sneered before she ripped the knife out, sending a fresh spray of blood across the ferns. "Quiet."

The world stopped.

The sound of the forest vanished. The sound of Varang’s laughter faded. All you could hear was the wet, rattling wheeze of Neteyam trying to breathe through a chest full of blood. You saw the light in his eyes flicker and start to dim.

Something inside you snapped.

"NO!"

The warrior holding your arms never stood a chance. You threw your head back, slamming your skull into his face with enough force to shatter his nose and your own forehead.

He howled, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.

It was enough.

You ripped your arms free, the rough cords tearing the skin off your wrists, but you didn't feel it. You spun around, grabbed the warrior’s spear, and didn't even bother to use the point. You swung the heavy wood like a bat, smashing it into his temple with a crack that echoed through the trees. He dropped like a stone.

Varang turned, her eyes widening as she saw you.

You didn't stop. You launched yourself across the clearing, vaulting over Neteyam’s bleeding body, landing in a crouch between him and the matriarch.

You didn't scream this time. You hissed, a raw, guttural sound that vibrated deep in your chest, your lips pulled back to bare your teeth, your fingers curled into claws.

Creak.

Three bows were drawn instantly.

The Mangkwan warriors surrounding the clearing reacted to your aggression with lethal precision. Three poison-tipped arrows were locked onto your chest, the strings pulled taut. They were less than ten feet away. There was no way to dodge.

You didn't care. You stood your ground over Neteyam’s convulsing form, glaring at them with eyes that promised murder, daring them to loose.

"Hold!"

The command cracked through the air like a whip.

Varang raised a hand, palm open, signaling her men to stand down. The warriors hesitated, their fingers twitching on the strings, confused by the order to spare a prisoner who had just broken a guard's nose.

She stepped toward you, ignoring your bared teeth and the feral hiss rattling in your throat. You were crouched over Neteyam, your hands slick with the mud and his blood, ready to tear out the throat of anyone who came closer.

"You have spirit," Varang noted, her voice dangerously soft. "But spirit needs to be broken."

She moved faster than you could track. Before you could lunge, she sidestepped your clawing hands and slammed a knee into your ribs, knocking the wind out of you. She spun you around, not to bind your hands, but to grab the base of your scalp.

"No!" you gasped, thrashing, but she pinned you against her chest, her arm like a vice across your throat.

"Shh," she whispered against your ear, bringing her own braid forward. The tendrils at the end of her queue were writhing, pink and predatory. "I'm going to show you what dying feels like before I even cut you."

She forced the connection.

She jammed her neural tendrils against yours. Usually, Tsaheylu was a gentle and sacred act, a merging of souls. This was a violation. It was a psychic rape.

The bond formed instantly.

Varang gasped, her eyes rolling back, ready to flood your mind with her darkness, her sadism, the accumulated pain of a thousand victims. She intended to crush your mind, to turn you into a vegetable while Neteyam watched.

But she made a fatal miscalculation.

She expected to find fear. She expected to find a terrified little girl crying for her mate.

Instead, she connected to a hurricane.

The moment the bond clicked, you didn't pull away. You pulled her in.

The snapped rage surged past a simple adrenaline rush, hitting like a black, bottomless ocean of pure violence. You tore the floodgates wide, letting the pressure drown her in the dark.

You want inside? your mind screamed, the voice echoing like a thousand crashing waves. THEN LOOK.

"GAH!" Varang shrieked.

Her body went rigid against yours.

She tried to project pain, but your rage devoured it. You forced your emotions onto her. The blinding red need to kill, the agonizing grief of watching Neteyam bleed, the sheer, animalistic hatred you felt for her right now. It was too much. It was a sensory overload that no single mind could contain.

You acted as the predator throughout that entire bond.

Varang scrambled backward through the mud, her heels digging into the earth as she tried to put distance between herself and the monster she had just touched.

You rose to your feet, swaying slightly, your chest heaving. You felt huge. You felt like the forest itself.

You drew in a breath that seemed to pull all the air out of the clearing, your lungs burning with the force of it. You looked at her, then at the warriors standing frozen with their bows, and you let it out.

"DIE!"

Varang shrieked—a high, pathetic sound. Her nerve broke completely. The psychic crushing you had given her, combined with the primal terror of your voice, was too much.

"Retreat!" she screamed, scrambling to her feet and bolting into the darkness, abandoning her dignity, her weapons, and her pride. "Move! Move!"

The warriors didn't hesitate. Seeing their matriarch broken and fleeing, they panicked. They lowered their bows and ran, tripping over roots in their haste to get away from the demon girl who had turned the mind-bond into a weapon.

In seconds, the clearing was empty.

The heavy silence of the forest crashed back down, deafening after the chaos. The adrenaline that had turned you into a monster began to drain away, leaving you cold, shaking, and small again.

Then, a sound behind you shattered the moment.

A wet, gurgling cough.

The red haze vanished instantly. You spun around, dropping to your knees beside Neteyam.

You lunged for him, your hands shaking as you reached for the jagged hole in his chest. The smell of copper was overwhelming, mixing with the damp scent of the earth. You needed to apply pressure, you needed to stop the life from leaking out of him.

The moment your palms touched the wound, his body bucked.

With a sudden, violent burst of adrenaline, Neteyam’s hand shot up. He slapped your hands away with a wet smack, his strength surprising and desperate. It was a soldier’s reflex, just like a dying animal lashing out at anything that touched the source of its pain.

"Stupid!" you hissed, your voice a mix of terror and fury.

You didn't let him fight you. You grabbed his hand and pinned it firmly to the mossy ground. He was weak, despite that burst of adrenaline, and his fingers felt cold against yours.

"I want to go home," he rasped, the words sounding small and hollow, stripped of all his usual cockiness. It was the voice of a boy who was slipping away, his consciousness fraying at the edges.

"Yes," you snapped, your voice thick with a desperate, shaky authority. "You’ll go home. But only if you shut up and let me treat this properly."

But Neteyam, despite being inches from death’s door, was apparently not too far gone to be a complete nuisance.

"It... stings," he whined, his voice a wheezing, pathetic rasp. He tried to wiggle his shoulder away from your hands, his face scrunched up like a toddler. "You’re being... too rough. You’re doing it... wrong."

"I am saving your life!" you hissed, nearly sitting on his stomach to keep him pinned. You grabbed a handful of the medicinal paste you always carried in your pouch.

"That's cold," he complained, his eyes fluttering but his mouth still moving. "Ow... stop. Your hands are... shaky. Get a... real healer."

"Neteyam, I swear!" you snapped, but your voice broke. He was losing too much blood, and his frantic movements were only making it worse. He was spiraling into shock, his mind racing in a dozen directions, and his constant, delirious complaining was making it impossible to work.

You needed him still. You needed him quiet.

Without a second thought, you reached behind his head and grabbed his queue. He didn't even fully processed it before you brought your own queue forward and snapped the neural tendrils together.

Tsaheylu.

The connection hit like a physical wave. Usually, a bond was a shared experience, a mutual opening of souls, but right now, you were the anchor. You didn't let his pain or his frantic thoughts overwhelm the link.

You filled the bond with a heavy, golden sense of calmness.

You projected the feeling of sunlight hitting still water, the scent of the forest after rain, and the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart that wasn't ready to stop. You forced your own steady breathing into his mind, overriding his panicked gasps.

The tension drained out of his limbs instantly. His hands, which had been fighting yours, fell to the moss, palms up. His eyes, once wild and glazed with pain, softened and fixed on your face.

Quiet now, you projected through the link, a gentle command. Just let me work.

He didn't say a word. He just lay there, tethered to your spirit, his senses flooded with the peace you were providing as a shield against his own agony.

In that silence, you finally finished. You packed the wound and wrapped the bandages tightly, your movements smooth and efficient now that he wasn't fighting you. You could feel his heartbeat through the bond, still weak, but steadying.

"I've got you," you whispered, your voice the only tether left. "We're going home."

Home. The word echoed through the bond, a final, shimmering image of the Hometree and the scent of woodsmoke. It was the last thing he processed before the darkness finally pulled him unhim. It's not a cold, lonely darkness, but a deep, healing sleep fueled by the calm you had poured into him.

[jakeycore]

FRIENDLY FIRE WAS SO GOOD YOU DESERVE A MEDAL AND A BIG FAT KISS RN 🫵😤🩷

thank you 😜🥰😍😘