PLEASE post more neteyam works!!! that’s was absolutely incredible x
OEL NGATI KAMEIE — neteyam te suli x fem!ash na'vi!reader
WARNINGS: p in v / hate sex / death / gory descriptions of death / war / aggresive makeout / praise kink / slight hair pulling ?? / belly press kink / neteyam holds back his cum / reader has a female body / body kisses / groping / kuru connecting
AN: ask and you shall receive!! i rlly wanted this one to be longer because maybeee ill post tomorrow but i cant post sunday bcs im going out to dinner,,, ive been wrking on this smut for a few days because i wanted to work out all the details so that its angry and beautiful and such hateful yet loving sex ykkk?? also guys im making gonna work on a rotxo / aonung, but lmk if i should do separate fics of them or like them two x reader. ALL CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN SEXUAL ACTIONS ARE 18+!
WC: 3.5k holyyy
꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ
The air on the floating vessel of the Windtraders was different.
Thin, crisp, and humming with the low, organic thrum of the medusoids that kept the massive, woven ship suspended in the sky. Below, the world was a breathtaking, dizzying tapestry of emerald canopy and sapphire rivers. It was a mission of tense diplomacy; the Sullys, seeking refuge, were escorting Spider back to the Omaticaya, and the Windtraders were their reluctant, wary ferry. The fragile peace, held together by threads of shared necessity, shattered with the first war cry.
Fire lanced through the sky. The Ash Na’vi, the Fire Tribe, descended like a plague of locusts on their sleek, black-scaled Nightwraiths, their arrows trailing oily smoke and leaving streaks of fire across the hull of the Windtrader ship. The air filled with the scent of burning wood and the sharp, acrid tang of their alchemical weapons.
And then Neteyam saw you.
You were a goddess of war, a phantom of destruction perched on your terrifying mount. Your Nightwraith was a creature of nightmare, its scales absorbing the light, its eyes glowing like embers. You were a fury incarnate, your body lean and corded with muscle, your movements sharp and utterly lethal. Your bow was drawn, the polished yew wood gleaming, an arrow nocked with a head that glowed like a fallen star, a molten piece of your volcanic home. Your face was a mask of brutal artistry, your gray skin slathered with the crimson war paint of your tribe, the color of blood and rage. But beneath the soot and ash, Neteyam could see the faint, bioluminescent blue of your skin, a ghost of the life force he knew, a beautiful pattern obscured by a layer of hatred. You were fierce, ruthless, and unforgiving, and you were the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.
With a scream that tore through the sky—a sound that was both a battle cry and a promise of death—you loosed your arrow. It was a comet of pure destruction, a silent, deadly missile that streaked through the air with impossible speed. It slammed into the wooden planking just inches from where his younger sister, Tuk, was cowering behind a railing, the impact splintering the wood and sending a shower of fiery sparks onto the deck. A protective, snarling rage, white-hot and absolute, ripped through Neteyam’s chest. No one. Threatened. His. Sister.
He urged his Ikran into a sharp, suicidal dive, the wind screaming past his ears. He squatted low on the creature's back, his thighs clamping down, his own bowstring pulling taut against his cheek, the fletching tickling his skin. The world narrowed to a single point: you. The fierce, merciless warrior woman. He released his breath and his arrow. It flew true, a silent, deadly promise forged in the forest. With a sickening, wet thud that echoed even over the chaos, it pierced the neck of your Nightwraith, sinking deep into the vital artery.
He watched, hovering for a heartbeat too long, as your mount gave a final, shuddering cry, a sound of betrayal and pain. It began its fatal descent, its powerful wings failing, its body spiraling towards the earth. You clung on, a small, determined figure against the massive, falling body, a testament to your will, before you both disappeared into the thick Pandoran canopy below.
A roar of pure, unadulterated fury echoed from the forest floor, and before Neteyam could turn his Ikran, searing pain shot through its wing. His mount shrieked, a sound of agony that vibrated through his bones, lurching violently as an arrow, glowing with the same fire as yours, pierced through the leather and membrane. They were going down.
The landing was a chaotic tumble of snapping branches and tearing leaves. Neteyam was thrown from his Ikran's back, slamming into the ground, the air knocked from his lungs in a painful whoosh. He rolled, coming to his senses among the ferns. He was alive. His Ikran was injured, not dead, its wing bent at an unnatural angle. "Dad, I'm down," he rasped into his comm, getting a crackled response of orders to hold position and secure the area. He instructed his loyal beast to stay hidden, its wing too damaged to fly, stroking its head and murmuring reassurances. His eyes scanned the forest, his senses on high alert. He knew you were down here. And he was going to finish this.
A sound cut through the jungle's hum: a raw, agonized wailing that made the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. It wasn't a battle cry; it was the sound of a soul being torn apart, a sound of such profound grief it was almost physical. His ears drooped, his tail curling instinctively around himself as he moved silently toward the sound, every step a careful calculation. He hid behind the broad trunk of a massive, moss-covered tree, peering into a small clearing.
The sight stole the breath from his lungs.
You were on your knees, hunched over the massive, still body of your Nightwraith. The creature's neck was a mess of blood and feathers, his arrow protruding obscenely from the wound. The warrior was gone, replaced by a creature of pure anguish. You were screaming, a high, desperate sound of denial and pain, your hands grabbing at your mount's head, shaking it as if you could will life back into it. "Ney'te! Ney'te, wake up! Wake up!" you sobbed, your voice cracking.
With a gut-wrenching cry, you grabbed the shaft of the arrow and yanked it free. A fresh gush of blood flowed, and you threw the arrow aside as if it burned you, collapsing onto the creature's chest, your body wracked with violent sobs. You weren't just crying; you were breaking.
Neteyam felt a sickening twist in his gut. He had seen death, had caused it, but this... this was different. This was the shattering of a bond deeper than he could fathom. He took a step back, his foot landing on a dry branch.
Snap.
The sound was like a gunshot in the sudden silence.
Your head whipped up, and in a single, fluid motion, you were on your feet and pouncing. You slammed into him, pinning him against the tree with a strength born of pure fury. Your eyes, wide and wild, were bloodshot from crying, but they burned with a crazed, murderous light. You recognized him instantly. Your rounded obsidian knife was at his throat in a flash, its cold tip pressing into his skin.
"You," you snarled, your voice a venomous hiss. Your breath was hot and smelled of salt and sorrow. "You did this. An eye for an eye."
Neteyam’s own anger flared, hot and defensive. "Your beast nearly killed my sister!" he spat back, his hands coming up to grip your wrists. "You fire-breathing monsters attack without reason!"
"We survive!" you screamed, pressing the knife harder, a thin line of blood welling up on his neck. "Something you forest-dwellers wouldn't understand!"
Your breath hitched, your chest heaving. You stared into his eyes, and for a moment, the murderous rage faltered. He saw it then, behind the fire and hate: a ocean of grief, tears threatening to spill from your wide, beautiful eyes. The sight hit him like a physical blow. He had done this. He had broken you.
"I..." he started, the word foreign in his throat. "I am..."
Before he could finish, the sound of an Ikran's cry split the air. An arrow thudded into the tree trunk just beside your head. You hissed in alarm and fury, pushing off of Neteyam and spinning around. Jake Sully was there, on his Ikran, his bow still raised.
You locked eyes with Neteyam one last time, a promise of vengeance burning in your gaze. Then, with a final, frustrated scream, you bolted. You hesitated for a fraction of a second at the still, limp body of your Nightwraith, a look of such profound loss crossing your face that it made Neteyam's chest ache. Then you let out another terrifying, guttural scream and vanished into the shadows of the forest.
Days later, Neteyam was on patrol, his Ikran gliding silently through the upper canopy. His duty was to sweep the area for any straggling Ash Na'vi, to round them up for his father to question. It was a grim task, but one he carried out with the precision expected of him. Still, your face haunted him. The warrior. The mourner. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the mission.
His Ikran gave a low rumble, and he heard it faintly on the wind.
A mourning song.
It was a haunting melody, filled with a grief so potent it was almost a physical presence. It was a song of the Ash Na'vi, but the voice... the voice was familiar. He guided his Ikran toward the sound, landing silently and continuing on foot.
He found you in a small clearing. You had built a small pyre of sacred wood and flowers, and on it lay the cleaned skull of your Nightwraith, Ney'te. You were chanting, your voice thick with unshed tears, your body swaying with the rhythm of the death rite. As your song ended, you went silent, your head turning slowly in his direction, as if you had sensed him the entire time.
Your eyes met. You hissed, a sound of pure venom, and without a word, you turned and ran.
This time, Neteyam was prepared. He was faster, fueled by a need he couldn't name. He chased you through the dense undergrowth, your smaller, lighter form a blur of red and black ahead of him. He finally cornered you at the base of a towering cliff wall, a dead end with no escape.
You spun around, your back to the stone, your chest heaving. But the hostility was gone. It had been burned away, leaving only ash and defeat. Your hands were up, not in a threat, but in surrender. Your tail was tucked between your legs, your gaze fixed on the forest floor. You had given up.
"Why are you running?" Neteyam asked, his voice softer than he intended. He kept his distance, not wanting to frighten you.
You didn't look up. "In the Fire Tribe," you said, your voice hollow, "it is survival of the fittest. The weak are left behind. I cannot go back. My soul sister is dead." You gestured vaguely in the direction you had come from. "I have nothing."
He knew that feeling. The constant pressure to be strong, to be perfect, to never be weak. The fear of not being enough. His gut screamed at him—the warrior's instinct to pin you down, to take you to Jake, to complete his mission. But the man in him, the part of him that had seen you break, won out.
He closed the distance between you until he was mere inches away. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin. He knew what it was like to feel lost, to feel like a failure. His hand rose, not in aggression, but in a gesture of peace. He brought his fingertips to his forehead, then extended them towards you in the ultimate act of seeing and acceptance. "Oel ngati kameie," he breathed. I see you.
Your mouth fell open slightly, your bottom lip trembling. The tears you had fought so hard to restrain finally broke free, tracing clean paths through the grime on your cheeks. And then, something inside you snapped. With a choked sob, you crashed your lips onto his.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was a collision. A desperate, angry, punishing press of lips. It tasted of salt, ash, and unshed tears. Your teeth clashed against his, a violent act of claiming. You poured all your grief, your rage, your pain into the kiss, trying to consume him, to hurt him as you were hurting.
Neteyam met your fury with his own. He gripped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your braids, holding you to him as he kissed you back with equal ferocity. It was a battle, a war fought with tongues and teeth. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, dominating, claiming, tasting every part of you.
You bit his lip, hard, and he tasted his own blood, a coppery tang that only seemed to fuel the fire between you. His hands roamed your body, grabbing, squeezing, not with gentleness, but with a desperate need to feel, to confirm you were real, solid, alive.
"You're a monster," you gasped against his mouth, your hands fisting in his loincloth, pulling him impossibly closer.
"And you're a murderer," he snarled back, his lips trailing a hot, wet path down your jaw to your neck. He bit the sensitive skin where your pulse hammered, not hard enough to break, but enough to make you cry out, a sound that was half pain, half pleasure.
His hands were everywhere, tearing at the straps of your top, his rough palms scraping against your skin. He needed to see you, all of you. He shoved the material aside, his mouth immediately finding the hardened peak of your breast. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub. You arched into him, a guttural moan tearing from your throat. Your hands clawed at his back, your nails leaving angry red lines in their wake.
"Say it again," you demanded, your voice breathy and commanding. "Say you see me."
"I see you," he growled, lifting his head. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that stole your breath. He saw all of you—the warrior, the mourner, the broken, beautiful creature in his arms. He spun you around, slamming you back against the cold, hard stone of the cliff wall. The impact knocked the air from your lungs. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand.
You struggled, a token resistance that was more about passion than escape. "I hate you," you spat, but your hips rolled against his, betraying your words.
"I know," he grunted, his free hand tearing at your tunic, ripping the fabric away to expose your stomach and the apex of your thighs. He dropped to his knees, his hot breath ghosting over your most sensitive flesh.
"But your body doesn't." He looked up at you, his eyes holding yours as he leaned forward and flicked his tongue against your clit.
You cried out, your body jerking at the contact. He was merciless. He licked and sucked, his tongue delving into your heat, his nose pressing against you. He was worshipping you and devouring you all at once. He brought you to the edge with a skill that made your head spin, only to pull back at the last second.
"Neteyam," you whimpered, your hips bucking, seeking the release he denied you.
"Tell me what you want," he commanded, his voice a low rumble against your skin.
"You. I want you."
He rose to his feet, his own loincloth discarded. His cock was hard and heavy, jutting from his body. He hooked one of your legs over his hip, the head of his length teasing your slick entrance. He leaned forward, his kuru, his neural queue, uncoiling from behind his head. Your own followed suit, drawn by an instinct older than time. He looked into your eyes, a silent question, and you gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
The tendrils intertwined.
It was like a lightning strike. A universe of sensation exploded in Neteyam’s mind. He felt your grief as if it were his own—the searing loss of Ney'te, the hollow ache of loneliness, the burning shame of failure. He felt your anger, your fear, and beneath it all, a desperate, aching need for him.
He knew, in that moment, that you felt it too. You felt his burden, the weight of being the perfect son, the fear of letting his family down, the primal protectiveness that had driven him to shoot your mount.
He slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You both cried out, the sound echoing through the clearing. It was overwhelming. It was too much and not enough. He began to move, his strokes hard and deep, punishing. The stone wall scraped against your back with every thrust, a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure building inside you.
"Is this what you wanted?" he snarled, his pace relentless. "To be taken by the one who broke you?"
"Yes," you hissed, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Hate me. Fuck me like you hate me."
And he did. He fucked you against the cliff wall, your bodies slapping together, the sounds of your rough breathing and ragged moans filling the air. He pressed his flat palm against your stomach, his thumb pressing down just above your pubic bone. "Feel that?" he grunted, his voice thick with exertion. "Feel me inside you? Filling you up?"
You could only moan in response, the pressure of his hand on your stomach intensifying the sensation of his thick cock stretching you, claiming you. He was everywhere. In your mind, in your body, in your soul. He leaned down, capturing a stray tear that had escaped your eye with his tongue. The gesture was so tender, so at odds with the brutal way he was fucking you, that it shattered something inside you.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, a blinding, all-consuming wave of pleasure. Your inner walls clenched around him, and you screamed his name, a raw, primal sound of release. Neteyam felt your climax pulse through your bond, and it nearly undid him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his own release threatening to take over. But he held back. He wasn't done with you yet.
He pulled out of you, turning you to face the wall. He kicked your legs apart and entered you from behind, this time slower, deeper. One hand gripped your hip, the other snaked around to find your clit. He circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers, his cock stroking that deep, hidden place inside you that made you see stars.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured against your ear, his voice a stark contrast to his earlier harshness. "So strong. Taking me so well."
Praise, from your enemy. It was more intoxicating than any victory. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, your body singing with a renewed energy. His other hand came up to grope your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual stimulation was exquisite.
"Again," he commanded softly. "Come for me again."
And you did. Your second orgasm was even more powerful than the first, a deep, rolling wave that left you trembling and weak, your knees buckling. Neteyam’s arm shot out, bracing you against the wall, holding you up as you shuddered through the aftershocks.
He felt your pleasure wash over him through the kuru, a warm, euphoric tide that made his own control fray at the edges. He had wanted to break you, to punish you, but instead, he was worshiping at the altar of your pleasure, his own need a distant, secondary thrum.
He slowly withdrew from you, the loss of his heat leaving you feeling suddenly cold and empty. He turned you in his arms, your back still against the stone, and gently lowered you to the ground. The moss and fallen leaves were a soft cushion against the hard earth. He knelt before you, his golden eyes scanning your face, his expression no longer angry, but filled with a raw, undisguised hunger that was almost worshipful.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he moved within you. "For Ney'te. For your pain."
Your heart clenched. "And I'm sorry," you breathed back, your hands running down his back, feeling the play of his muscles under his skin. "For your sister. For scaring you."
For a long moment, you just lay there, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating as one. The forest was silent, save for your ragged breaths. The kuru remained connected, a gentle, comforting hum of shared consciousness. He had filled you, not just with his body, but with his soul, and in doing so, had healed the hollow, broken places inside you.
He finally lifted his head, his golden eyes searching yours. They were soft, filled with an emotion so powerful it made your chest ache. He gently disentangled your kuru, the loss of the connection leaving you feeling momentarily adrift before he gathered you into his arms.
He held you, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart. The enemy. The murderer. The healer. The lover. He was all of those things, and as you lay in his arms on the forest floor, you knew with a certainty that terrified and thrilled you, that you were irrevocably, undeniably, his.
notes reader is neteyam’s wife, workaholic neteyam, temporary separation, their son is the cutest toddler on pandora, groveling (if you squint), smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis a year ago, you made the painful choice to walk away from neteyam after he proved time and again that his duties to the war party came before you and his son. you knew he was only trying to be the dutiful soldier everyone expected him to be, and that he would have kept going that way... until your son unwittingly reminded his father of everything he was throwing away for the sake of duty and war.
word count 16.8k
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Your hand on your mount’s reins tightened as the sight of the clouded Hallelujah Mountains loomed closer and closer with each beat of your ikran’s wings. The flight from your home clan to the Omatikaya was over an hour long, but you were glad that the weather was nice enough for you to travel. Your other arm renewed its hold on the woven wrap strapped securely to your body, holding your son, his small hands gripping at your woven knife sheath, his large amber eyes wide with excitement.
He was two years old today. Two years since he came into the world, his cries echoing in the vast canopy of a home that no longer existed. His birth was closely followed by the return of the sky people who tore the sky open, burned your forests, forced the people to face a seemingly endless war, and took your husband from you.
“Mama! Look! Look!” Nevan chirped, his tail whipping excitedly against your hip inside the wrap. He pointed a chubby finger at the swarm of flying fkios. “Fkios flying so fast! Like me!”
You smiled, “Yes, sweet boy,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “They are going home, I suppose, just like us.”
He giggled when you tickled his ear with your nose. “Visit Papa?” he asked.
You clamped your mouth shut, pulling his body closer as if he wasn’t literally tied to you at the moment. “Ah, yes... Visiting Papa,” you murmured, but his attention was already back on the flying fkios, his dangling feet wiggling excitedly.
When your ikran glided down onto the landing ledges of the High Camp, the crisp smell of distant rain from high above yielded to the smell of heavy mountain air and some smoke from the resistance’s machinery. You dislodged your kuru from your ikran’s, trying not to look at the man standing at the edge of the platform.
He wasn’t wearing his warrior gear for once, only his chest knife sheath, but he still looked every bit the commander he had become since the sky people’s return. The role he allowed to step over his roles as a husband and a father, you thought cynically, but you immediately tried to quell it. What’s the use of thinking of it when it has already happened before your very eyes and it already ruined everything?
He was standing tall, almost like the pillar that he is to the clan, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his rigid posture faltered, but you tore your eyes off him when your son wriggled furiously in the wrap.
“Alright, alright, sweet boy,” you chuckled, dismounting your ikran and carefully unbuckling the woven wrap.
From your peripheral vision, you could see Neteyam walking toward you two, but as soon as you’d freed him, Nevan immediately scrambled down, his little feet pattering furiously across the ground as he ran toward his father. Neteyam dropped to his knees, his massive arms catching the boy, lifting him high into the air, making Nevan let out a high-pitched, joyful screech.
You watched Neteyam press his forehead against his son’s, closing his eyes as a fierce, protective rumble vibrated in his chest. But even as he held the boy, his eyes flew up, looking past Nevan’s shoulder, his gaze locking onto yours with a look that is so heavy, suffocatingly dense with a longing so profound it felt like a physical weight in the air between you. It was the look of a starving man staring at a feast he wasn't allowed to touch.
His eyes traced the curve of your jaw and the softness of your features, desperate to find even just a sliver of hint that you’re feeling what he’s feeling. But you didn't give him one. Carefully, you looked away, focusing instead on your son’s little kicking legs and on the way Neteyam’s large hands held him safely. You chose to see him only as a father, completely shutting out the man who used to hold you the exact same way.
It hadn't always been like this. That was the cruelest part.
Your marriage hadn't been a political arrangement or a hasty union, it had been a lifetime in the making. Your parents were part of Jake and Neytiri’s inner circle since before the first war against the sky people. Through the many times your parents would bring you to visit the Omatikaya, you had witnessed Neteyam grow from a lanky boy into the man he is now.
And he had known you were for him since you were children. Neteyam was never one to waste time or play games, so he had always stake a claim on you, and the moment you both came of age, he courted you with a fierce, unwavering devotion that made even your parents sigh. You were sweethearts as teenagers, inseparable and fiercely protective of one another. When he mated with you before his and your people, his eyes had held nothing but a future filled with you.
And, your pregnancy had been a dream. Neteyam was a doting, almost ridiculously attentive husband. He would spend hours rubbing soothing oils on your aching back, pressing his ear to your growing belly to whisper stories of the forest and your childhood escapades to his unborn child. He never left your side. You had no doubt, not a single one, that you were the center of his universe.
Then, the sky people returned.
And the man you loved was swallowed whole by the war. Suddenly, he wasn't just Neteyam. He was the firstborn of the resistance leaders, the commander, and one of the unyielding pillars that kept the people from being completely overcome by the RDA. He began leaving before the first light of dawn and returning long after you and the baby had fallen asleep.
For over a year, you lived as a ghost in your own home. You sat alone in the dark, rocking a crying infant, praying to the Great Mother that the next body brought back on a stretcher wouldn’t be his. You begged him, you cried, you pleaded for just one evening. “Just for a day, Neteyam. Stay. Be with me, be with our son...”
But his face would harden, that stubborn, unyielding Jake-Sully look taking over. “I am doing this for our future, my love. If I do not fight, our children will have no world to inherit.”
And then it all just crumbled on your son’s first birthday.
It was a simple thing, really. You had spent days gathering sweet fruits, weaving small toys, hoping against hope that Neteyam would remember. You waited until midnight. When he finally walked into the kelku, covered in war paint and soot, he didn't even look at the small, untouched feast on the woven mat. He just muttered about a successful raid on an RDA supply train and collapsed into sleep.
He had completely forgotten.
And you were hit with the realization that the man you loved was dead, replaced by a warrior who had no room left in his heart for anything but strategy and casualties. You had cried all your tears by then. The well was dry. You were just so profoundly, deeply tired. So, you talked to him about going back home, citing the safety your clan’s territory could provide for you and Nevan to make him agree.
“Baby, this is your home now...” he had told you then, his arms tight around you as he fit his head in the crook of your neck.
“I know, Neteyam. But the explosion was too close yesterday. I am afraid for Nevan. This is not a place where he can safely run around and... be a child. I do not want to lose him, too...”
“Too?” he had asked, his hands maneuvering you so you’d face him but you didn’t budge. “Baby, you didn’t lose me—”
“All evidence to the contrary, Neteyam. I haven’t shared a meal with you in so long, you weren’t there when Nevan first laughed or when Nevan first uttered the word Papa, you weren’t there when he took his first steps. I am a ghost in this home. It would make no difference if we are away, because you had been acting like you had no family to come home to.”
His arms tightened around you, his nose burying in your neck. “It would make all the difference. I am coming home to my wife and child safe and sound, and that was my solace—”
You struggled to remove his arms around you, but his arms were iron tight. Your heart throbbed with pain but you couldn’t even cry. “So, then let me go home. Nevan and I will be completely safe there, if that’s what you truly care about.”
“I can’t be away from you, yawne, you’re practically asking me to stop breathing. I cannot not see you and Nevan—”
“When was the last time you’d seen your son, Neteyam? You leave before he wakes up and comes back long after he’d fallen asleep. I think you can, Neteyam, you can stand not seeing us. As I said, it would make no difference if we were here, or we were back home.”
That was that beginning of you leaving him to his war. He hadn’t known it would be a full-blown separation... But he had long before set that distance between himself and you. You’d just gotten the memo late.
“Watch, Mama! My big splash!”
Nevan’s high-pitched voice snapped you back to the present. You sat on a smooth, sun-warmed rock by the riverbank, your hand propped on the soft woven mat laid beautifully on the grass. Around you were various food, pies, and fruits Neteyam had prepared. You could barely eat it without your throat closing at the grief of this not being a permanent thing.
You’d told him Nevan wanted to celebrate his birthday here, that he misses Jake and Neytiri, and he promised you it would be different this time. You told him not to promise you anything, and just show it to his son. So far, he had kept his promise. He had cleared his entire day, which is probably an unthinkable feat for the commander of the resistance. He had brought a mountain of gifts for his boy. Beautifully carved wooden toys that he probably spent the past moons making, a small bow, and a woven arm band.
Now, he was knee-deep in the crystal-clear water, his loincloth soaked, laughing as Nevan furiously slapped the water, sending a pathetic little wave toward his father’s shins. Neteyam exaggerated his reaction, falling backward into the water with a loud splash, making Nevan howl with glee.
For a moment, the illusion was perfect. You looked like a little family. Neteyam would look up at you from the water, a soft, hopeful smile playing on his lips, trying to pull you into the warmth of the moment. You would smile back politely, a distant curve of your lips that never reached your eyes. You were here for Nevan. Only Nevan.
Nevan waddled out of the water, dripping wet, and proudly held up a crudely constructed object from the pack you brought from home. It was a woven sheath of colorful leaves, bound tightly with vines, holding a cluster of bright purple orchids. You shook your head with a smile as you fixed the pack, wiping the puddle of water he left behind.
“Look, Papa!” Nevan beamed, shoving the wet flowers directly into Neteyam’s face. “A flower sheath! Uncle Maytel taught me how... how to twist the vines. They don't break!”
You searched for a dry towel in your pack, smiling as you watched your son speak, his little body trembling in excitement.
“Uncle... Maytel?” Neteyam echoed. The playful, warm tone in his voice vanished instantly, replaced by a low, measured cadence.
You blinked, your eyes snapping to him. Suddenly, you had become aware of how ugly that sounded in the ears of people who didn’t know. You froze for a moment, the air in your lungs suddenly feeling like liquid lead as you watched Neteyam momentarily narrow his eyes, the look of a formidable hunter spotting a prey. Or a predator sensing blood might be the better description.
“Yes!” Nevan replied excitedly, entirely oblivious to the sudden, deadly shift in the atmosphere. He had just opened a cage containing a predator, and he thought he was playing with a puppy. “Uncle Maytel... He makes the best ones! He is Mama’s friend... They talk all the time. See... This is pretty. Right, Papa? Look at Mama's hair. See? I can make that, too, Papa. I will teach you!”
Nevan pointed a chubby finger at you. You had indeed used a beautiful hair decoration to pin back your hair in a half ponytail, letting the rest of your wavy locks flow loose behind you, having no idea at all how the sight of you earlier today literally stole the breath from Neteyam’s lungs. You are so beautiful, always have been, but it hits him particularly hard now that he doesn't see you as often.
He has never been used to being away from you for so long. This is probably the longest he has gone without you, such that every time he sees you now, his heart starts doing the thing it did when he first realized he loved you: flipping inside his chest and then melting into a puddle.
You kept your face as blank as stone, waiting for Neteyam to look at youjust as his son instructed. Neteyam was standing up now, but he wasn't looking at the decorations on your hair. He was staring directly at you, and the look he gave you almost choked the air right out of your throat. He didn’t look mad, it also wasn’t the detached look of a commander. It was that intensely familiar, deeply possessive, primal look he used to give you when another hunter talked to you for a second too long during his youth. His eyes darkened, his lips tightening into a straight line as his gaze finally dropped to the decorations in your hair before snapping back to your eyes immediately.
“Is that so, my boy?” Neteyam said softly, his voice dropping an octave, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Yes! He says Mama is... is very beautiful!” Nevan cheered, completely ruining any chance of a graceful exit.
So for the rest of the afternoon, you made it your absolute mission in life to never, ever be left alone with Neteyam.
When you returned to the camp, you practically shadowed Jake and Neytiri. When Neytiri pulled Nevan onto her lap to feed him sweet fruit, you sat right beside her, suddenly intensely interested in what she has to say. When Jake took Nevan to show him the ikran roost, you walked right behind them, using your son as a shield as Neteyam followed like a shadow.
He stayed a respectful distance though, answering his son's hundred questions about the beasts, even the imaginary ones, coming up with the perfect answers for it. For a moment, you were back to being a teenager, annoying the golden heir of Toruk Makto with your silly questions and having him answer you with complete seriousness, as though he really thought about your silly questions like they were points for further research.
His eyes were a constant, burning pressure on your skin the entire time, and every time you glanced up with a neutral expression, he was watching you. Eventually, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purple. Neytiri, seeing how exhausted the toddler was, scooped Nevan up.
“He will sleep with us tonight,” Neytiri said softly, giving you a knowing, gentle look that made your stomach twist. She thought she was doing you a favor, giving you and Neteyam a night of privacy. “Go. Rest.”
“Oh, I can take him—” you started quickly, reaching for your son.
“No, no,” Jake chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Let his grandparents spoil him for one night. Go on.”
You stood there, watching Neytiri walked away, your son already fast asleep against her shoulder. Oh, boy. You watched the rest of the camp clear out as the rest of the people retreated to their homes. You didn’t turn to Neteyam, turning instead toward the guest tents, your pace brisk, but you didn't even make it halfway before a large hand gently but firmly gripped your forearm.
It wasn’t a harsh pull, but his grip was unyielding. “Our home’s here,” he reminded you.
You glared at him through your lashes. “I haven’t forgotten,” you said in a clipped tone, walking straight into the shadows of your old home, and seeing that nothing much had changed, only that he’d put up photos on the wall.
And from where you were standing, you’ve seen one from his unilatron many years ago. With him painted in swirling marks of white and you, standing beside him with a huge smile. Another, at your mating ceremony, and another, a photo of you heavily pregnant. The last one was a photo of the three of you, with Nevan as a newborn, cradled in your arm, both of your faces adorned with brilliant smiles.
Grief seized your heart and you had to physical turn away from it, your hands balling into fist.
“You've been avoiding me all day,” Neteyam stated, standing between you and the flap entrance, his large frame casting a long shadow over you.
“I was spending time with our son's grandparents, Neteyam. It's his birthday,” you replied, keeping your voice entirely light and normal. You walked over to the sleeping mats, untying your travel pack and organizing your things with practiced nonchalance.
“Who is Maytel?”
The question was sharp and direct, like always. Neteyam had never liked beating around the bush. You took a deep breath, turning around with a calm, casual smile. “A childhood friend from my clan,” you said.
“A childhood friend,” Neteyam repeated, his voice low, a dangerous rumble vibrating in his throat. He took a slow step toward you, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him. “Never heard of him before.”
“I have many friends back home, Neteyam,” you said. “There was no reason to bring him up. He's just a friend. He helps at home, and he’s good with Nevan. My friends have all been a huge help to me since I moved back.”
Neteyam stopped just inches from you. He was so close you could smell the familiar mint-y scent of him. All your senses were melting. It knew the smell so well, had even associated it with home and safety, and it tore at your chest, a cruel reminder of the husband you had lost. He leaned down slightly, and though he didn’t touch you, you were forced to look into his heavy, shadowed eyes. The possessive fire in them hadn't died down, if anything, it was burning hotter, fueled by the agonizing restraint he was forcing upon himself.
“He makes ornaments for your hair,” Neteyam murmured, his eyes dropping to the flowers on your soft hair. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and rip it from your hair, but he kept his fist clenched at his side. “He talks to you all the time—”
“To help. All my friends help me, Neteyam, you’ve seen Laika and Nira helping me last time," you countered smoothly, your eyes locking onto his, refusing to back down. “I am a single mother raising a little boy. I needed all the help I can get. Nothing more.”
His head reared back a little as if you’d hit him. The words single mother hit him squarely like a slap and you saw the visible flinch in his jaw, the way his chest heaved as he swallowed the bitter taste of his own failures.
He stared at you for a long, suffocating moment. He knew you were telling the truth about Maytel being just a friend. He knows you, he knows the woman he married, he knows that you would never violate the bonds of marriage, even a broken one. But that didn't stop the sickening, agonizing jealousy from clawing at his throat. Another man was filling his space. Another man was teaching his son how to weave. Another man was making his wife smile.
“You are not single. I am still very much here,” he said.
“I don’t want to argue about what here actually means,” you replied, tearing your eyes away and removing the decorations on your hair to free it from its bounds.
He watched you, choosing not to press further, but as he stepped back, his eyes remained devastatingly heavy on you. “He is a friend,” he whispered, his voice thick with an unspoken, desperate plea. “But he is not my son’s father. And he is not your husband.”
As he uttered those words, the reality of his hypocrisy came crashing back down on him. Maytel, indeed, was not Nevan’s father, nor was he your husband... But could he honestly say he was both of those things to you and Nevan? He visited the two of you as much as he was capable, but that didn’t mean anything. He was an absent father, and an even more absent husband, and he wondered completely how his son still held excitement and affection for him instead of distance.
And how the boy knew everything he was doing for the people. He knew that, even in your current indifference, you had thoroughly made the boy understand that his father had sacrifices to make for the benefit of Eywa’eveng. He watched you lay down on the sleeping mat, pulling a woven blanket up to your shoulders and turning your back to him. He sat down on the opposite side of the yurt.
He wouldn’t lie down, and you had noticed he never did once the two of you were alone in a space. Whenever he visited back home, he would do the same thing, sitting down far away from you, his heavy, burning gaze fixed on your back, mourning a home he had lost to a war he was still fighting.
The morning arrived with a crisp chill you hadn't felt in so long. The altitude of the floating mountain made the sun feel unreal. You shared a meal with Neytiri and Jake. Your son, having already bathed, wore a new loincloth with fine weaving, and you put a hand over your mouth as you laughing at him proudly showing it to everyone.
“Grandma made this, Mama!” he told you, munching on a sweet fruit as his little body leaned into Neteyam.
Neteyam held his wrist gently, kissing the side of his head. “No sweet fruit yet without a real meal, little boy...” Neteyam mumbled, replacing the fruit with a bite-sized piece of meat.
“Okay, Papa... But Grandpa said I can eat? I don’t eat this at home... Right, Mama?“ Your son turned to you, now munching on the meat Neteyam had given him.
You smiled softly. “I try not to let him eat too many sweets unless necessary to regulate his body,” you explained. “But Papa is right, Nevan. You must eat your food first before the sweet fruit.”
Neteyam glanced at you, his soft eyes smiling even as he tried to look serious for Nevan who nodded without a fight, even picking some vegetables off his leaf and eating happily.
Neytiri smiled at you. “He is a good child, Y/N. You are doing such a great job with him,“ she said, her eyes a little misty.
You smiled, caressing your son’s head. “Neteyam is, too, Mother. Despite the grueling demands of the war, he makes sure to find time for Nevan,” you said. You couldn't possibly leave him out, not when you knew he was trying his best.
After the meal, the peace you were feeling had dissolved and was replaced by the reality that you had a hazardous flight ahead of you. Outside the yurt, the camp was already buzzing with the low, mechanical drone of the resistance. You stood beside your ikran, adjusting the heavy leather straps of the riding harness, checking every buckle with meticulous care. Nevan was already strapped securely to your body in his woven wrap. He was heavy, but his warmth was comforting, his little hands clutching a newly carved wooden ikran that Neteyam had given him.
A shadow fell over you and you didn't need to look up to know it was Neteyam. He double-checked your ikran’s saddle, his movements deliberate and sharp, before he checked the saddle of his own mount, preparing to take flight alongside you. You stopped tightening the cinch of your saddle, your hand resting flat against the leather. You swallowed the dryness in your throat and turned your head toward him.
“Neteyam,” you called out, your voice quiet but steady. He paused instantly, his ears twitching forward as he turned his head to look at you, his golden eyes wide and alert, catching every syllable. “I think... It wouldn’t be safe if you come with us.”
A subtle, pained stillness took over his features. His chest expanded with a sharp breath, his fingers tightening against his mount's reins. “The skies are not safe, yawne. The gunships have shifted their patrol grids closer to the western border. I am accompanying you home.”
“Neteyam, I would like that, too.” you said, stepping closer so your voice wouldn't carry to where Jake and Neytiri were standing a few paces away. You gestured faintly to the sky, then down to the boy against your chest. “But the tension with the sky people is worse this moon. They know your ikran, Neteyam. They know you. You are the commander of the vanguard; your presence draws the kind of attention I cannot risk when I have our son with me.“
The words seemed to render him weak. Neteyam looked at you with eyes so deeply pained, so utterly crushed, it felt like a blow to the chest. He looked down at his own hands, then at his son's chubby legs dangling from the wrap, as if he couldn't fully comprehend the reality that his very existence, the fierce, formidable identity he had built to protect his people, was now a liability to the safety of his own family.
Nevan, completely unaware of the reason of the heavy silence, looked up at his father with wide eyes. He held up his wooden toy, making a little whistling sound through his teeth. “He’ll fly with us, Papa!”
Neteyam’s heart tightened so visibly you could see the muscle in his jaw clench as he forced a small, strained smile for the boy. He reached out, his large thumb gently tracing Nevan’s round cheek, but his eyes kept flickering back to you, searching your expression for any sign of hesitation. There was none.
Behind him, Jake and Neytiri exchanged a quiet, heavy look. Jake stepped forward, his hand coming down firmly on his eldest son's shoulder.
“She’s right, son,” Jake said softly. “The RDA has scout ships tracking your specific signature. If they spot you flying with your wife and child, we don’t know what they could do.”
Neteyam’s shoulders sank, the breath leaving him in a low, defeated hiss. He knew the logic was flawless. He knew it was the right tactical decision. But the soldier in him was currently losing a brutal war against the husband and father who desperately wanted to prolong his hold on both of you.
“I will send two warriors,” Neteyam muttered, his voice thick as he stepped back from his mount. "They will fly low behind you, out of sight. They will ensure you reach home safely.”
You nodded. “Thank you,” you said softly, genuinely relieved.
Neteyam stepped closer to the side of your ikran, his large body aching to simply reach out, to wrap his iron-strong arms around both of you and never let go. He leaned in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the top of Nevan’s head, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of his son one last time.
As he began to pull away, Nevan’s small fingers suddenly shot out, grabbing Neteyam’s long braids with a stubborn, toddler grip. He yanked, preventing his father from moving back.
“Papa kiss Mama!” Nevan ordered with a bright, demanding grin, his tail swishing behind him in a mischievous flick. “Good bye!”
Neteyam froze, his head tilted downward by the boy's grip. Slowly, his eyes lifted from Nevan’s face to yours. They were completely stripped of the commander's armor, now earnest, dark, and filled with a raw longing that made your breath hitch in your throat. He waited, silently asking for permission.
You looked at his lips, then at the desperate hope in his eyes, and felt the old, stubborn walls in your chest crack just a fraction. Slowly, you tilted your chin up, offering your lips to him.
The tension in Neteyam’s shoulders died instantly. A soft, ragged sigh escaped his nose just before his large, warm hand came up to cup your neck, his thumb on your jaw. He leaned down and closed the distance. You were expecting a brief, polite kiss of departure, but you should have known by the way he held you that it wouldn’t be like that.
The moment his lips touched yours, he held you there with the fierce, unyielding eagerness of a man who had been starving for a year. His lips were warm, firm, and thoroughly possessive, parting slightly as he kissed you, reminding your body of exactly who he was to you. A sudden, stupid heat flared in your stomach, your pulse spiking as your lips instinctively softened against his, responding to the familiar, intoxicating rhythm of his kiss.
He groaned softly against your mouth, his thumb caressing your jaw, pulling you just a fraction closer, trying to collapse the entire year of separation into a breathless second. But a sharp, high-pitched giggle broke the air. Nevan was squirming between you, his small hands clapping.
The sound snapped you back to reality. You pulled away, your breath coming a little faster, your cheeks flushed dark with a sudden surge of heat. Neteyam’s hand lingered on your jaw for a second too long, a low, deep rumble of impatience vibrating in his chest at the interruption, his eyes dark and heavy as he stared at your parted lips.
“Fly safely, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough.
You couldn't even form words. You simply nodded, mounted your ikran, and took to the sky, your mind in an absolute daze as the wind rushed past your face.
The flight back home felt like a blur. Even after you had safely landed on the soft, mossy platforms of your home clan and unbuckled an exhausted Nevan from the wrap, your lips still felt strangely warm, tingling with the ghost of Neteyam's mouth.
“My bestest friend in the world! You are back!”
The cheerful voice of Maytel broke your reverie as he walked down the wooden ramp, followed closely by Laika and Nira. The three of them had been your lifeline this past moons, always ready to help with the daily chores and Nevan.
Maytel practically bounded over to you, his face painted with a mischievous, gossiping energy. He didn't even wait for you to greet them before he leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me everything! How was the High Camp? My weekend went just as good! Do you remember that hunter from the clan nearby that I was eyeing? The one with the long arms? I swear, yesterday, we were together—”
“Maytel!” you hissed, your eyes widening significantly as you pointed them sharply down at your son who was rubbing his eyes but listening intently.
Nevan was an incredibly smart boy and his ears picked up on village gossip faster than a direhorse on the run.
Maytel immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, grinning apologetically. “Oh! Right. Hello there, little Neteyam. How was your visit to your Papa?”
Nevan’s ears instantly perked up, his fatigue temporarily forgotten as his eyes lit up with excitement. “We played a lot!” he chirped before holding his small arms out as wide as they could go. “Papa made big splash in the river! And gave me many toys! You’ll see, Uncle!”
Nevan eagerly held up the wooden ikran, bouncing on his heels as he babbled to Nira and Laika about the sweet fruits, the big mountain camp, and how his Grandpa let him touch a real ikran's snout. The three of them doted on him, laughing at his wild gestures until the boy's eyelids grew too heavy to fight.
You carried him down on his soft, woven cot, watching him with a doting smile as his tail curled peacefully. Even in sleep, his small forehead furrowed slightly in a way that looked identical to his father. It was a constant wonder to you how your boy could look so much like Neteyam, even with his soft baby features.
When you walked back out to the main platform, Maytel was sitting on a woven mat, repairing a fishing net. He looked up, a theatrical sigh escaping his lips.
“Now,” Maytel smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “What happened with the dear husband?”
You rolled your eyes, sitting down across from him and pulling a basket of fibers towards you to clean. “Nothing.”
Maytel groaned loudly, tossing a piece of twine into the air. “I do not know how you could do it, syulang! How you can resist all of... that! The last time he came to visit you here, oh, I couldn't even come near the house even if I tried. The air was so heavy! He is so large... taller than all the men in our village! And so handsome, too... Ah, those thighs... One could only imagine the beast he has inside that loincloth—”
“Maytel!” you shouted, your face burning as a sudden, vivid image of Neteyam’s muscular frame hovering over you flashed unbidden into your mind. Your stomach did a treacherous little flip. Oh, indeed, it was a beast. You cleared your throat quickly, trying to suppress the heat in your neck. “Perhaps you should have visited when he was here. Just yesterday by the river, Nevan mentioned your name to him, and it sounded so terrible. Neteyam thought you were my boytoy.”
Maytel’s eyes widened to the size of stones, his hands dropping the net completely. “What?!”
You rolled your eyes at his dramatic reaction. “Yeah. I should introduce you sometime, just so he stops looking like he wants to hunt something down.”
A slow, terribly mischievous smile spread across Maytel’s face. His amber eyes danced with glee. “Was he jealous, syulang?”
You shrugged, trying to appear completely indifferent. “Neteyam has always been very possessive. It is just his nature.”
“Of course he is!” Maytel grinned, leaning in close, his voice dripping with dramatic flair. “The way that man looks at you... Oh, he looks like a predator completely ready to pounce! Only that you’ve put him inside a cage.” He shivered, rubbing his arms. “We should rattle the cage, syulang.”
Your eyes narrowed instantly into a dangerous glare. “What are you talking about?”
He smirked, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, let’s see what happens if he keeps thinking I actually want you. You know? A little competition...'”
“No,” you said firmly, your voice dropping into a serious, unyielding tone that left no room for argument. “We will not play with my husband like that. He is currently in the vanguard, fighting a war for all of us. He has enough weight on his shoulders without us playing petty games with his mind.”
Maytel pouted, rolling his eyes as he picked his fishing net back up. “You are such a killjoy!”
When night finally came, the village fell into a quiet rhythm, the bioluminescent flora providing light in brilliant shades of cyan and deep magenta.
Inside your quiet hut, the small tablet you used for long-range communication emitted a low chime. Neteyam called almost every day when he wasn't able to visit, a routine he had stubbornly kept since the day you left.
You picked up the device, pressing the connect button and Neteyam’s face appeared on the small screen, the blue light of the monitor reflecting his sharp features, sitting in the dark of your yurt, looking exhausted.
“Papa!” Nevan’s voice cut through the quiet as the boy scrambled from his cot, his small hands immediately snatching the tablet from you.
You let him take it, stepping back. The memory of the kiss from this morning was still burning in your chest, and the ridiculous things Maytel had said earlier kept echoing in your mind. Hearing the deep, gravelly texture of Neteyam’s voice through the speaker seemed to tickle something deep within you, sending a slow, persistent heat crawling up your neck.
You watched from a distance as Nevan babbled to the screen, showing his father the toy again, telling him about the fish he saw in the river. Neteyam listened with an intensity that made your heart ache, his expression soft and full of a quiet, reverence for the boy.
“Go to sleep now, son,” Neteyam’s voice softened as Nevan yawned heavily, his little eyes fluttering shut as he rested his head against the mat, the tablet propped up beside him. “Good night, Nevan.”
“Night, Papa...” the boy murmured, completely out.
The screen shifted slightly as Neteyam adjusted his hold on his end. He knew you were still in the room. Even though he couldn't see you in the dim light of the hut, his voice dropped into a low, intimate frequency that felt like a warm hand sliding up your spine.
“Good night, my love,” he whispered into the quiet. “I love you so much.”
The line went dead with a soft beep.
You stood there in the dark for a long time, the silence of the room suddenly feeling incredibly loud. Your skin felt hypersensitive, your heart drumming a strange rhythm against your ribs as you carried the tablet back to the shelf and finally lay down on your own sleeping mat beside your son.
When sleep finally took you, it didn't bring the peaceful, dreamless rest.
It was a dream that seemed familiar to you. It was real... More like a memory haunting you. You were under a canopy in a forest that was so green and vibrantly alive. Your vision focused and you saw Neteyam in fromt of you. He looked so young, entirely devoid of the rigid exhaustion the war brought. He was grinning, a look that made your heart jump.
He had you pinned against the smooth bark of a giant root, his large hands mapping the curves of your body with a desperate fervor. You were both shivering, caught in the reckless, consuming heat of youthful desire. His fingers were knuckles-deep inside you, the slick, wet heat of you coating him as he moved frantically in and out, stretching you beyond relief. It was a tight, intense friction, but even in the haze of the dream, you found yourself thinking that it was a far gentler stretch than the thick, heavy length of his cock, which your hands were currently fisted around. You pumped him in tandem with his rhythm, his weight leaning heavily into you as a ragged groan escaped his throat.
“I missed you, my baby...” he mumbled against your skin, his lips trailing a path of burning kisses from your collarbone up to your jaw before crashing onto your mouth, tasting of pure adoration. His fingers moved faster, driving you closer and closer to a cliff you wanted to fall off of.
You let out a soft, breathless chuckle against his lips, your fingers tightening around his length. “Missed me? We are always together, ‘teyam...”
But the moment the words left your mouth, you watched his face fall, a profound sadness washing over his golden eyes. “Not really, no...” he whispered, his voice cracking with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “You are so far away from me right now...”
Panic seized your heart, sharp and sudden like an arrow to the ribs. “What...?” you gasped, reaching for his face, but his image was already dissolving like smoke in the wind. “Neteyam—”
You woke up with a violent gasp, your eyes flying open to the quiet, dark interior of your hut.
Your heart was hammering a frantic, echoing rhythm against your ribs, and your breath came in ragged bursts. The cool night air swept over your bare skin. Between your thighs, the phantom ache of his fingers was still vividly there, a throbbing warmth that slowly turned cold as the reality settled in. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to force the image of his younger, unburdened smile back into the dark.
You missed him so much.
This wasn't the first time. You had dreamed of him many times in the past moons. But they were never dreams that hasn’t happened, they were always memories, beautifully cruel and vibrant, haunting you even in your sleep. Your dreams weren’t showing you what could be, it was torturing you with what used to be, a reminder that while you had successfully run away from the war, you had never truly managed to run away from him.
The lingering mix of heat and longing from the dream stayed with you for days, but lately, only the heat seemed to have stuck. And it’s annoying. You were glad you didn’t have to see him for the time being, because it often happens every time you see him. Fortunately, you somehow at least manage to overcome the trials and tribulations of being a woman who chose to separate from the man she loves so much.
By midday, you were sitting on the main platform of your hut, the basket of fibers in your lap serving as a distraction while Maytel sat cross-legged opposite you. He was at it again, his fingers weaving river-grass and glossy feather-like fibers into an intricate hair crown. It wasn't for you this time, because Maytel has always been the unofficial beautifier of the clan's young women, and right now, he was carefully crafting a piece for a girl from the lower terraces.
“I am telling you, syulang, he nearly fell out of his hammock when I walked past,” Maytel was wheezing, his tail thrashing with dramatic delight as he recounted his latest encounter with his long-armed hunter. “He tried to act so smooth, but the poor thing was blushing so hard his stripes almost turned purple!”
You let out a loud, genuine laugh, shaking your head as you tossed a cleaned fiber at him. “You are terrible, Maytel. Leave the poor man alone before you break his spirit entirely.”
“Never! A little torment keeps the blood pumping,” he grinned, his fingers flying through the weaving.
“Mama! Mama!”
Nevan’s high-pitched voice shattered the lighthearted bubble. You blinked, looking toward the main walkway, expecting to see Nira or Laika chasing after your hyperactive son.
Instead, your breath caught squarely in your throat.
Walking just a step behind Nevan, his massive frame practically shadowing over your son, was Neteyam.
He was in his full warrior gear, wearing his cummerbund, his chest knife sheat, and his heavy longbow strapped to his back, looking thoroughly prepared in case he gets attacked on his way here. He looked terrifyingly formidable, and a little out of place, too. Everyone in your clan knows of his reputation as a warrior leading the resistance with his parents, and they have always treated that as something to celebrate.
Your eyes snapped straight to his face after a quick sweep of his gear, your heart jumping to your throat at the sight of his eyes narrowed into slits. To anyone else, he just looked like the stoic, fierce commander of the Omatikaya, carrying himself with his usual rigid authority. But you? You had known him since you were children. You had held him in the dark. You knew every subtle twitch of his ears, every micro-expression of his jaw.
There's your angry man.
He was staring directly at Maytel, his eyes tracking the way Maytel was sitting so comfortably close to you, sizing up his competition with a cold, calculating precision.
“Oh, Great Mother,” Maytel muttered through entirely gritted teeth, his smile freezing in place as he deliberately kept his lips from moving. “Is this your view every day? If yes, how dare you leave him, syulang? If I had one of that at home, I would never think of this clan again.”
You threw Maytel a furious, warning glare. Those seem like the perfect digs, because this isn’t your view at all, you barely even see him. You also didn’t have one of that at home... Literally, because the man was rarely home. You stood up, looking at Neteyam with look of genuine confusion. Before Maytel could even speak again, Nevan reached the steps leading to the platform, throwing his little body against your legs before turning around and pointing proudly at his father.
“Papa surprised me at the ledge, Mama!”
Neteyam stepped onto the platform, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. Without a word, he bent down and effortlessly scooped Nevan up into one massive arm, propping the boy against his hip. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek as he looked down at you.
“Neteyam,” you said, your voice tilting up. “You... you weren't due to visit until next week. The patrol schedules on the tablet said you were in the western valleys... You should have sent word, I haven’t prepared anything.”
His brows raised slightly, his tail twitching in an agitated flick behind him. He adjusted his grip on Nevan, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly tone. “A word to visit my wife and my son? Do I need that now, my love?”
You blinked, completely caught off guard by the sheer pettiness dripping from the commander of the Omatikaya vanguard. A tiny, involuntary rise twitched on your brows. “N...no, of course you don’t,” you stammered slightly, trying very hard to keep your face neutral. “But what brought you here? Are the people alright?”
“The people are perfectly fine,” he answered, his eyes darting back to Maytel who was currently staring up at him with wide, completely unbothered eyes. In fact, Maytel looked like he was watching a theatrical performance, his gaze tracking Neteyam’s shoulders and the broad sweep of his chest with shameless appreciation.
You pursed yourself to stop a chuckle from escaping you at the realization that Neteyam had absolutely no idea what Maytel's true self was. To Neteyam, this was simply the man who was staying way too long talking to you, helping you, and weaving flowers into your hair.
“Neteyam,” you cleared your throat, stepping between them to cut off Neteyam's death stare before he accidentally declared a one-man war on your village. “This is Maytel. The one Nevan was telling you about.”
Neteyam shifted Nevan to his other hip, his posture locking into an intensely rigid, formal stance. He looked down at Maytel as if he were interrogating a prisoner of war. “I see,” Neteyam rumbled, his voice dripping with an absurd amount of authority. “I hear you have been a great assistance to my family, Maytel. I couldn’t thank you enough.”
Maytel blinked, a slow, highly amused smirk tugging at his lips. He stood a full head shorter than Neteyam, but showing absolutely zero fear. Instead, he let his eyes lazily trail down Neteyam's torso, before going back up to his face.
“It is no trouble at all,” Maytel purred, his voice smooth. “Your wife is my absolute favorite person to spend my days with and little Nevan here is just a joy to watch grow. You can’t take your eyes off of kids these days, they grow up so fast!”
You gritted your teeth, widening your eyes at Maytel, and having him glance at you with that confident I-can-handle-this look.
Neteyam’s ears threatened to flatten against his head. His nostrils flared as he looked at Maytel, his jaw locking hard as he absorbed the thinly veiled barb about being an absent husband and father, but the aggressive tension in his shoulder dissolved as quickly as it came. In its place emerged the smooth grin of a boy you had grown up with. Neteyam has never been one to take a slight seriously.
“Is that right?” Neteyam asked, his grin widening into something effortlessly dangerous. He patted Nevan’s back, his tail flicking behind him in slow, rhythmic moves. “Well, I can’t blame you. My wife is an excellent company, and my boy is easily the best part of anyone's day. I appreciate you keeping them entertained while I was away.”
Your lips twisted at how easily Neteyam was able to ride over that wave. Meanwhile, Maytel glanced like you, his eyes communicating ooh, the man can bite and you rolled your eyes. Neteyam caught the way Maytel glanced at you and your dear friend immediately tore his eyes off.
His plan to rattle the cage? Forget that. Neteyam looked physically capable of tossing him off the platform like a sack of dried grass, and as much as he would love to support you to the ends of the world, with the way your husband was sizing him up like a tactical competition, he decided he valued his life. It was time for a very graceful, very immediate exit.
“Oh, don't mention it. Taking care of Y/N and Nevan is the least I can do to contribute to the war efforts... Since you are too busy in it," Maytel said. You closed your eyes, shaking your head with how that once again landed like another dig!
Fortunately, a voice called out to Maytel several yards away and you saw how relieved he looked to have an excuse to get out of here. Your ears perked up, too, ready to send him away so you can finally deal with your husband.
“Oh, as much as I would like to stay...” Maytel sighed, “I think I shall leave you three to your... family time.”
“Right. Thanks, Maytel...” You said, widening your eyes at him when he sneaked in another once-over on your husband’s body.
With a theatrical swish of his tail, Maytel sauntered down the wooden ramp. Neteyam didn’t break his stare from the walkway until Maytel’s silhouette vanished into the lower terraces, but the moment he was gone, Neteyam’s golden eyes snapped down to the corner of the platform. His gaze locked onto a bundle of fibers that Maytel had carelessly left behind, a habit born from being used to coming here whenever he pleased.
“He leaves his things here,” Neteyam muttered, his tone dropping into a low growl. “Like he knows he can just walk back here anytime he pleases.”
“Maytel is harmless, Neteyam... if you’d only open your eyes to see,” you told him.You couldn’t possibly tell him what Maytel really was for that wasn't your secret to share, so you felt conflicted. You didn’t want Neteyam to think you were just allowing random men into your home.
“He is my friend. He can come back. He helps here, so he’s here almost every day.”
You saw Neteyam’s jaw tighten at the words every day and you almost groaned out loud at how you seemed to be cursed with the exact same syndrome Maytel just had: pissing off Neteyam with your choice of words.
“But that is not the point,” you quickly followed, cutting off his impending tirade before he could even start. You stepped closer, looking at the sheer exhaustion hidden beneath his rigid posture. “What’s the reason for this sudden visit?”
Neteyam looked down at Nevan, who was currently occupied with chewing on one of his father’s arm bands. Slowly, deliberately, Neteyam set the boy down on the woven mat. “Will you go inside and play for a while, son? Papa needs to speak with Mama.”
“Okay!” Nevan chirped, completely oblivious to the tension between his parents.
Once the boy was out of sight, Neteyam turned to you. The rigid, unyielding commander of the Omatikaya resistance seemed to slowly fracture, his shoulders dropping. He didn't look like he was preparing to leave. In fact, he had unbuckled his heavy longbow, setting it carefully against the weapon rack by the door, a gesture of permanence that made your heart skip a beat.
“It’s not a visit,” Neteyam said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I am staying.”
You blinked, a sudden wave of confusion washing over you. “What do you mean, you are staying? For how long? A week? Neteyam, the raids in the west—”
“I have handed the command of the western vanguard over to Lo'ak and Rey’to,” he interrupted, his voice steady. He took a step toward you, his large hand reaching out as if to touch you, before he caught himself and let it drop to his side. “I am staying here. With you. With our son. For as long as you are here. Even if it takes years.”
Your breath hitched. You stared at him, your mind frantically trying to process the words. The golden heir of Toruk Makto, the boy who had been groomed since birth to carry the weight of his people, the commander who had chosen the war over his own family... had walked away from the vanguard.
“What... What about the resistance?” you whispered.
“I left it,” he whispered, his eyes heavy on you, but for the first time in years, he looked so unburdened. “I don’t expect a pie for it, baby. I know I have a lot of things to make up for. To you, to Nevan, and to our family. There is nothing more important to me in this world but you—”
“Neteyam, y-you cannot do that. Your father, the people, they... need you. You are one of the pillars keeping the people from falling to the demons—”
“And who is keeping us from falling?” he uttered, his voice filled of a raw, desperate emotion breaking through his warrior’s facade. He stepped closer, completely invading your space, his familiar scent clouding your senses. “I spent the entire flight here realizing the hypocrisy of my own words. I told you that Maytel was not Nevan's father, and that he was not your husband... but Eywa help me, I haven't been either of those things to you in years.”
He looked at you with eyes so heavy with longing it made your throat close up with grief.
“My father told me that a leader makes sacrifices for the future,” Neteyam murmured, his hand finally defying the distance, his long, warm fingers gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw. “But if the future means I have to stand in an empty home, realizing that the woman I love, have loved my whole life, looks at me like a stranger... then the war has already taken everything worth fighting for. I am choosing you, and I didn’t think it could be that easy. Baby, I cannot lose you...”
You held his eyes as his words hung in the air, your throat working silently as your eyes mapped the familiar contours of his face. The rigid, hyper-vigilant set of his shoulders was still there, and perhaps it always will be there, but the desperate, raw vulnerability in his eyes sent an ache in your chest. The thumb on your jaw trembled just slightly, a rare display of fear from the Omatikaya’s most formidable young commander.
He was giving you everything you had spent a year aching for. He was giving up the vanguard. He was setting down his bow. He was choosing to be a husband and a father over being a war legend.
Yet, as you looked at the set of his jaw and the sharp knife strapped to his chest, a sudden grounded clarity washed over you. You couldn't help but peek past his shoulder toward the lower terraces where Maytel had just vanished. Your eyes narrowed as you stifled a knowing smile, cutting through the heavy emotional fog.
“You are a very foolish man, Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice dropping into a soft cadence that made his ears twitch in surprise. “You fly all the way across the forest, hand over your lifelong duty to your brother, and declare an end to your warrior days... and a significant part of it is because your son said something about some guy making hair decorations for me.”
Neteyam’s posture stiffened instantly. His nostrils flared, a faint, dark flush creeping beneath his cheeks. He tried to maintain his solemn, deeply romantic expression, but the telltale twitch of his ears betrayed him.
“That’s not—I did not leave the vanguard because of that,” he muttered with a defensive, stubborn scowl that reminded you of your son, melting away at your icy defenses.
“No?” You tilted your chin up, your eyes dancing with a quiet, knowing light. “You didn't look at Maytel like you wanted to feed him to your ikran? This wasn’t prompted by the thought that someone else was here, helping me with everything and teaching your son stuff while you were away in the trenches?”
Neteyam closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a long, defeated hiss through his teeth. When he opened them again, the fierce commander was entirely gone, replaced by the intensely possessive, fiercely protective man you know very well.
He sighed. “I hate imagining and seeing him here... seeing another man's things in our space, knowing he gets to hear our son’s first morning words while I am decoding scout reports... I hate it, yawne. It made me realize that while I have been busy holding up the sky for everyone else, my own world was moving on without me. I am a warrior, yes. But I am your man long before I became one. I am Nevan's father. If I have to crawl to get your forgiveness, I will. Please, just do not tell me to leave.”
The sheer honesty of his words struck deep within your chest, like a lightning bolt cracking at the frost that had settled over your heart during the year of separation. You love him very much, and you knew he could easily get you back if he showed you how regretful he was, but you didn’t want to make it completely effortless for him.
You tilted your head before slowly moving away to let his hand drop from you. Neteyam’s fingers flexed against the empty air, a pained, searching look crossing his features as he watched you move a pace away.
“You can stay, Neteyam,” you said softly, your expression turning serious. “You can stay and be a father to our son. You have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
Neteyam’s chest expanded with a deep, profound breath of relief. You didn’t mention anything about how your relationship will go from here, but that only made a determined, unyielding fire lit up in his eyes. He will work hard to earn you, to replace the time he wasted letting you carry the burden of his absence alone with the reminder that he is still very much here, and that he will never leave again.
“I will earn it back,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Every single day.”
And surprisingly, Neteyam kept his word with a relentless, quiet devotion that left no room for doubt.
For the first few weeks, you remained intentionally wary. You kept your distance. You expected the long-range communication tablet on the shelf to chime at any moment, expecting Jake’s stern voice or Neytiri’s desperate call to summon him back to the battlefield. You expected Neteyam to pace the platforms at night, staring longingly toward the mountains like a caged predator.
But the summons never came, and Neteyam never looked back.
While he still kept a strict routine of waking up before dawn to check his longbow and spending an hour on his tablet giving quiet, tactical advice to Lo'ak or coordinate defensive tactics with his father, the moment the sun broke over the mountains, he belonged entirely to his family.
Nevan, unlike you, required absolutely zero groveling. To your son, having his father home every day was a miracle straight from Eywa. The little boy practically attached himself to Neteyam’s hip from the moment he opened his eyes.
“Look, Mama! Papa taught me how to make the ikran call!” Nevan chirped one bright morning, running into the hut with his arms spread wide, letting out a surprisingly accurate, high-pitched screech that made you laugh.
Neteyam walked in right behind him, carrying a massive basket of freshly gathered jungle fruits and roots for pie. He had stripped off his heavy war gear weeks ago, now wearing only his daily clothes. His long braids were freely dancing, and his skin lacked the harsh black soot of the vanguard. He looked exactly like the boy from your dreams... unburdened and happy.
“He is an apt hunter, yawne,” Neteyam smiled, setting the heavy basket down near your cooking hearth. He paused, his golden eyes locking onto yours, admiring the way you look in the morning with that steady, intense warmth that always made your pulse quicken. “Though he still needs to work on his stealth. He gasps too much when he spots a prey.”
“I don’t, Papa!” Nevan protested, throwing his little body against Neteyam’s sturdy thigh. “I am silent like the wind! Right, Mama?”
You couldn't help the soft, genuine laugh that bubbled up from your throat. “I supposed you are, my little breeze. Now go wash your hands before breakfast.”
As Nevan scrambled toward the water basin, Neteyam stepped closer to you. He was never an impatient lover. Even when you two were younger, he had always made sure you were comfortable with the pace he was taking. It was actually you who was impatient, pushing him to his limits and challenging the rules he set for himself.
Now, he didn't exactly invade your space aggressively, but he came close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached into the basket and pulled out a single, perfectly bloomed night-glory flower, its petals glowing a vibrant, brilliant shade of blue. Without a word, he gently tucked the stem behind your ear, his knuckles brushing against your cheek just a second longer than necessary.
“Your son said this matches the pattern of your stripes,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, meant only for your ears. “He seems to have memorized your patterns like I have when I was a boy... I think every part of me loves you, baby. That includes Nevan, because he’s a part of me.”
Your face burned a sudden, dark shade of violet. You batted his hand away with a playful, frustrated sigh, though your fingers instinctively came up to touch the cool petals. “Neteyam... You are supposed to be helping with breakfast, not picking flowers and uttering pick up lines like a flustered young hunter trying to win his intended mate.”
Neteyam’s lips curved into a slow, utterly devastating grin, the exact same cocky, confident smile that had stolen your heart when you were teenagers. “Who says I am not? I am courting you, yawne. I told you I would earn my way back.”
“You are ridiculous,” you muttered, turning back to the hearth to hide the massive smile breaking across your face.
As the moons bled into one another, Neteyam’s quiet crusade to win back your heart took on a life of its own. He stayed and showed no interest in going back at all, integrating himself so deeply into your daily life that the memories of your lonely year apart began to fade like mist under the scorching sun.
Every single day seemed like an adventure with Neteyam and Nevan always making sure you were at the center of it, but today, your son had miraculously stayed behind when Neteyam went out to hunt. Both of you shared a laugh at the fact that the boy was obviously having a lazy day.
Nevan was sitting cross-legged in front of you, his tiny tail curling in a calm concentration. You had a shallow clay bowl filled with crushed, vibrant purple berries between your knees, using the thick juice as a makeshift paint.
“Like this,” you murmured softly, dipping the tip of your finger into the dark juice. You gently pulled his small hand into yours, guiding his index finger into the bowl. “Gently, my boy. We do not want to drown the wood.”
Nevan let out a soft, eager chirp, his ears pinning back in focus as you helped him press his finger onto a flat piece of smooth wood. Together, you dragged his finger down, leaving a thick streak that was meant to represent the neck of a direhorse. The moment you lifted his hand, Nevan gasped, his golden eyes going wide as a bright, toothy smile split his face.
“Pretty, Mama! Look!" he squealed, his little tail swishing frantically against your thigh.
You couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped your lips, leaning forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss right to the tip of his nose. “Aren’t you just Mama’s little artist?”
Nevan giggled, squirming happily against your legs before leaning his small head completely against your chest. He was getting bigger every day, but in moments like this, when he curled up against you and let out those tiny purring sounds, he was still just your little baby. You wrapped your arms securely around his small frame, resting your chin on the top of his head, gently rocking him side to side as you hummed a soft, ancient lullaby, your hands continuously working on the paint.
Unbeknownst to you, Neteyam was standing completely still in the threshold. He had just returned from his hunt, his muscles aching and his heart still filled with the adrenaline of it. He had been prepared to strip off his boundary gear and weapons, but the moment he stepped onto the platform and saw the two of you, the breath completely caught in his throat.
He couldn’t move, he couldn't possibly break the absolute sanctity of the scene before him. His eyes, usually so sharp and vigilant on the battlefield, softened until they were thick with a profound reverence. He watched the way your long hair fell over your shoulder, framing the gentle, fierce love on your face as you cradled his son. He watched how comfortably Nevan fit against your chest, completely protected from the harsh, violent world outside these walls.
He thought about all the days he missed, the quiet days you and Nevan spent together just like this, and a wave of emotion hit him squarely in the chest, so overwhelming and pure it made his throat tighten. Suddenly, his whole world shrank down to just this sight of you humming in the golden light, with his son safe in your arms, and a fierce, blinding clarity washed over him.
Nevan shifted, his little ear twitching as he caught the faint rustle of Neteyam’s movements. The boy's head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes lighting up. “Papa!”
You blinked, breaking out of your peaceful daze, and turned your head to see him just standing there.
Neteyam offered you a soft, utterly devastating smile, the last remnants of his exhaustion melting completely off his features. He stepped into the alcove, immediately welcomed by Nevan’s insistent chirping.
“Papa! Papa, look!” Nevan babbled, squirming in your grip so he could proudly point his purple-stained finger at the piece of wood. “Mama and me made... a pa'li! A big, big one! See the long neck? Like a real one? It eats through the big trees!”
Neteyam let out a low, rumbling chuckle before leaning back to press a kiss on Nevan’s head before his large hand came down to cup it, his thumb gently smoothing back the boy's twitching ear. “Wow, doesn’t this look fiercer than Agre, Mama? Papa has an own pa’li back in the forest... Mama and I loved going for a ride. One day soon, we’ll go see him,” he told Nevan, the little boy’s eyes perpetually twinkling. “Tell me more about this masterpiece.” Neteyam comfortably sat down near you.
“I— I... I didn't drown the wood!” Nevan continued eagerly, his hands gesturing wildly, completely unbothered by the purple juice drying on his skin. “Mama said do it gently. Like a hunter when you hunt the big yerik, Papa!”
As Nevan kept rambling, acting out the hunt with tiny, dramatic lunges of his hands, Neteyam’s gaze slowly drifted up from your son to meet yours. His hand slid from Nevan's head to rest against your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheekbone with a tender, heavy pressure. He was looking at you as if you had personally handed him the stars and the silence between you filled with a shared devotion for the beautiful, bubbly life you had created together.
You leaned into his palm, tilting your head up to press a soft kiss into the center of his hand. Neteyam’s smile widened, his heart hammering a heavy rhythm against his chest. You are his whole world. The little hands holding his braids right now holds his entire world. And he couldn’t believe he lost sight of that.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“Please come! The river is very big today, Mama!” Nevan pleaded one afternoon, tugging furiously at your hand while Neteyam stood by the doorway, holding a woven utility basket.
“I have to finish mending these, Nevan,” you replied gently, gesturing to the tangled fibers in your lap.
Before you could even protest further, Neteyam walked over and effortlessly scooped you up from the floor, basket and all, setting you firmly on your feet. He took the fibers from your hands and tossed it onto the shelf.
“These can wait,” Neteyam said, his golden eyes dancing with a mischievous spark. “The commander orders a family excursion to the falls. No exceptions.”
Your lips parted for a moment, curling into a smile of disbelief. “You cannot use your commander voice on me, Neteyam te Suli. I do not report to your vanguard.”
“No,” he whispered, leaning down so his warm breath brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine. “You are the only one I report to.”
You rolled your eyes, still smiling as you let your shrieking son drag you out of the hut, but your eyes lingered on Neteyam as you walked past, glinting with a mischievous light he hasn’t seen in over a year, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared that he decided he had just conjured it.
At the river, you waded in the shallow waters, watching Neteyam teach Nevan how to float on his back, the air cool and misted with the spray of the waterfalls cascading down the upper terraces. Your son splashed his little feet wildly, creating cute splashes that made Neteyam chuckle.
“You need to calm down, son. Make your body light... Think you can remain unmoving for a few seconds?” Neteyam asked, and you watched your son look up at his father with twinkling eyes.
“I can! Watch, Mama!” Nevan said proudly.
Neteyam slipped his large hands under Nevan’s small back, gently lifting him until the boy lay flat on the water's surface. “Relax your shoulders, Nevan. Look up at the sky, not at your feet,” Neteyam instructed, his voice low and soothing.
Nevan stiffened at first, his tail twitching underwater, causing him to sink immediately with a loud gasp and a splash. Neteyam caught him instantly, pulling him up with a warm laugh.
“Again, son. You must trust the water... and Papa. I won’t let you go.”
It took a few more tries. On the second attempt, Nevan held his breath too hard and tipped sideways. On the third, a stray splash hit his nose, making him sneeze and sink. But by the fourth try, you saw a quiet determination take over your son’s eyes, much like the one you often see in Neteyam’s eyes, as he took a deep breath and relaxed his tiny frame, letting the river hold him. Neteyam slowly lowered his hands away. Nevan was floating all on his own, his ears twitching in delight.
“I'm doing it? Mama, look!” Nevan squealed, the sudden movement breaking his balance and sending him plunging back into the water.
Your eyes widened, but he surfaced sputtering and giggling, and you couldn't help but laugh, too. Neteyam caught him, knowing he couldn’t really swim on his own yet. You waded closer to them and Nevan reached for you, his little arms wrapping around your neck. Neteyam grinned at you, his large hand cradling his son’s head.
“Let’s see you do it again, boy,” you grinned at him and Nevan splashed his hand in the water excitedly. You laughed, peering up at Neteyam, “He’s like one of those Terran toys Norm used to show us before.”
He tilted his head, “Robots?”
You chuckled, “No? Those stuff with a string you pull... And then it does something,” you said, helping your son lay flat on the water.
“Pull string toy? That one that talks?” he asked, already laughing.
You nodded, laughing with him as you turned to your son who is now relaxing his little body and letting the water carry him. You slowly let go of him, allowing him to float on his on.
“Calm down, Nevan... Mama will do it, too,” you mumbled, slowly letting yourself fall backward into the cool water, perfectly buoyant.
Neteyam grinned, dropping down right beside Nevan, his long limbs stretching out effortlessly. The three of you drifted together in the shallow waters, staring up at the canopy. Nevan let out a bright, bubbling laugh at the ticklish sensation of the water rushing past his ears, and the sound was so infectious that you and Neteyam burst out laughing too, your voices echoing alongside the waterfalls
The river soon became the site for your family’s almost daily bondings.
Nevan learned to swim in no time, but you still cautioned him against going to the river to swim on his own. Your son might be bigger than average kids his age, but he was still only two, and you worried he would run off to the river unsupervised.
Nevan splashed wildly in the shallow pools divided by smooth stones from the body of the river, chasing after the tiny, bioluminescent fish that darted beneath the surface. You sat on a smooth rock at the edge, watching him with a soft, content smile as you prepared the food for lunch. Nearby, Neteyam moved through the water with a fluid grace that vividly reminded you of his younger self, when he worked so hard to master his stealth as a hunter.
He was a good hunter, and an even better warrior.
He had been so skilled back then that he was grouped with older, more experienced warriors because he always seemed to know what to do. His parents took pride in how he outdid Jake in everything at an even younger age; there was no doubt at all that he would make a great Olo’eyktan. He was the golden heir who had bent his back to the crushing weight of his people’s expectations, carrying it all without a word of complaint.
And he had exceeded all of it, right up until the day he decided to leave everything behind to show you that he’s choosing you.
The thought settled heavily in your chest. You love him so much. Not once, even during the bitterest moons of your separation when you felt hollowed out by his neglect, had you stopped loving him. You had loved him as a wide-eyed child visiting Hometree and chasing him through the roots, you had loved him as a fiercely protective teenager, and you loved him now, as a woman who had given him a son.
But as you watched him move with a breeze of a warrior he will always be, a sudden, sharp ache of guilt pierced your heart.
You had taken him away from what he spent his whole life preparing for.
You were supposed to love every piece of him, just as he loved everything about you. Yet, when the war demanded too much of the man you loved your whole life, you had given up on the warrior entirely. You had forced him into an ultimatum between his duty to the people and his duty to his heart.
This realization plagued your mind for the days that followed. You watched him closely, searching for any flicker of resentment, any lingering gaze toward the horizon where the sky people’s metal birds still flew. But you found nothing. He looked entirely settled, his focus anchored completely on you, on Nevan, and within the confines of your family's hut.
In fact, the only thing that seemed to break his hard-earned peace was the occasional appearance of Maytel.
By midday, you were back on the platform, organizing a fresh basket of weaving fibers. Nevan and Neteyam had just climbed the ramp, returning from a short trek to gather wild spices for your recipe.
Neteyam had barely stepped onto the wood before his golden eyes laser-focused on Maytel, who was currently standing across from you, chatting about the latest village gossip. Under normal circumstances, the sheer intensity of Neteyam’s possessive glare would have made you stifle a laugh. But because you’ve spent days with the weight of your thoughts about him made the humor fade.
Maytel giggled at you, “You never did tell me anything, syulang! It’s been moons! With the way your husband looks at you, I was thinking you’d be round with child but now, but, oh well! You’re too slow,” he rolled his eyes, handing you the small, securely wrapped clay dish.
“Shut up,” you whispered, watching Neteyam and Nevan approach.
“Uncle Maytel!” Nevan excitedly greeted, waving a hand and skipping excitedly.
“I brought over some berry pie I baked this morning. I know how much you like this, little boy.”
Nevan peered up at him happily, his eyes twinkling as his hands clasped. “Thank you, Uncle!”
“Thank you again, Maytel,” you said smoothly.
Maytel straightened himsef up himself gracefully, his eyes darting toward Neteyam’s rigid frame. “Well, I must be off. I have a date with a certain long-armed hunter down by the shallow banks, and if I keep him waiting, he might snap another bow string out of pure despair.”
He gave you a dramatic wink, but Neteyam’s expression remained entirely hard, calculating, and intensely territorial. He stood frozen until Maytel’s silhouette finally disappeared down the main walkway.
“Mama! Look at the big leaf I found!” Nevan babbled, showing it to you.
You examined it with great curiosity, admiring its beautiful patterns. “The patterns looks like the canopy at Hometree, son,” you smiled at him.
“Wow...” Nevan looked down at his leaf with wonder before scrambling past his father’s legs and running into the hut to add the leaf among his toys.
With the platform suddenly empty, you stood up and crossed the small distance between you and your husband. For the first time since he had arrived moons ago, you stepped directly into his space, your hands coming to rest flat against the warm skin of his chest where you immediately felt the heavy thudding of his heart beneath your palms.
Before he could speak, you slid your hands up to his shoulders, tilted your chin up, and pulled him down into a deep, lingering kiss.
Neteyam froze, his breath catching sharply in his throat. He looked utterly stunned, his ears twitching back in absolute surprise before the instinctual hunger took over. His large hands came up to grip your waist, anchoring you against him as he kissed you back with a sudden, dark intensity that sent a wave of heat straight to your core.
When you finally pulled away, your lips were tingling, and his golden eyes had darkened with something different.
You let out a dramatic, teasing sigh, a faint smile breaking through the serious fog of your mind. “They always told me my husband possessed the keen eyes of a viperwolf... but it has been moons, my love, and you still haven't caught on.”
Neteyam blinked, his forehead furrowing in confusion. “What?”
You let out a soft giggle, your fingers tracing the strong line of his collarbone. “Maytel just said he has a date with his hunter, Neteyam. He is trying to get on with a man, not with your wife.”
A sudden, staggering silence fell over him, his mouth opening slightly, his ears lifting as the pieces finally clicked together. You chuckled as you watched the fearsome commander of the resistance suddenly looked incredibly flustered, a violet flush creeping along his neck.
“He... with a hunter?” Neteyam muttered, clearing his throat roughly.
“Yes,” you laughed softly, leaning your head against his chest. "There was never any reason for you to be jealous, ‘teyam. I never looked at another while I was away from you. How can I possibly ever replace you? Even when I was trying my hardest to act like I didn't care, I would never betray you like that.”
Neteyam’s gaze softened, his large hands smoothing down your back, pressing you closer to his warmth. “I know that, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Not once did I ever doubt your faithfulness to me. It was... the men I did not trust. But... I suppose I should thank Maytel. Not just for watching over you and Nevan when I was too blind to be here, but because the mere threat of him made me straighten myself up.”
You smiled, looking at the scars on his chest. “Well... about that. Maytel was never a threat, you see. It is just... you left the vanguard for this. You left everything you worked hard for—”
“No,” Neteyam interrupted firmly, his forehead furrowing as he caught your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Do not think that. I did not leave the vanguard simply because I was jealous, I left because I was terrified of losing you completely. I have missed so much of our son’s life, yawne. I didn't even know how to make up for all the time I lost. I will carry the regret of that lost time for a very long time...”
A wave of emotion rose in your throat, making your lower lip tremble a little. “I was so hurt during those moons, Neteyam... but I wallowed so deeply in my own pain that I failed to see how hard you were struggling, too. You were keeping up with the two lives you were living, carrying the future of this world on your shoulders, and instead of being there to be the support you needed... I walked away. I left you alone, Neteyam—”
“Don't,” Neteyam commanded softly, his thumb sweeping across your cheek to cut off your words. “Don't you ever blame yourself, or think your choices were wrong. Baby, I wasn't keeping up with my lives. I was living fully as a warrior, entirely forgetting that I had a wife and a child who needed me to be a man, not just a leader. I was a terrible husband. I was a failure of a father. Do not deny that.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.
“Your decision to walk away did me a favor, baby. I was too blinded by my duty. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't put me in my place early on, if I had kept believing that everything was perfect while you were breaking in the dark?”
You stared at him, your throat tight, unable to find an argument. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Then let us settle it,” you murmured. “We both made mistakes. I should have spoken to you clearly instead of expecting you to know exactly what you were doing wrong... And you should have remembered that the war isn't the only thing worth fighting for.”
He breathed a huff of relief. “I am so scared, baby... I cannot lose you. You are half of me,” he whispered.
“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you mumbled, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.
He was quick to shake his head, looking almost angered. “I don’t want you to forgive me. I will not accept that. I want to remember this moment in our lives when I have let you and our son down. I would sacrifice and leave behind everything just to make sure this won’t happen again.”
You smiled. “Then I supposed I shouldn’t ask for forgiveness, too, for my selfishness—”
“You are not selfish and I have nothing to forgive,” he countered fiercely. “You only wanted what’s good for you and for our son, I’m glad you made that your priority. Can you imagine what younger me would have thought of me now? He would beat me up, baby, I’m willing to bet...” he pressed his forehead against yours.
Both your hands came up to hold his jaw. “We are allowed to make mistakes, my love... Both of us are still learning. What’s important is that even with what was happening between us, we were still good parents to Nevan.”
He smiled, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his son. “He’s a very resilient boy, my love... It makes me even more guilty that he just... loves me very much despite my absence.”
Your brows furrowed a little even as you smiled softly. “I guess Nevan is just a reflection of my heart. He’s a part of me, too, and every part of me loves you very much,” you caressed his jaw, pressing a soft kiss in his lips.
“I love you more. I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips, before he delivered a harder, more desperate kiss. It was a release of all the months of unspoken grief, longing, and the lingering heat that had built up between you. Neteyam groaned deep in his throat, his grip on your waist tightening until your breaths mixed into one frantic rhythm.
“Oh, Great Mother!”
The loud, dramatic gasp broke the air, making you pull away from Neteyam in an instant, breathless and flushed, only to see Maytel standing at the edge of the platform, his eyes wide with a look of pure, devious glee. He had caught you both completely red-handed, and you could practically see the chaotic, mischievous gears turning in his head.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt this moment, syulang, Neteyam... Well, I forgot my weaving shuttle... Just coming back for it...” he carefully tiptoed before getting what he came here for. “Got it!”
Maytel sneaked a smirk at you, his tail swishing with absolute triumph. Before you could hiss at him, Nevan bounded out of the hut, his little ears perking up at the sound of Maytel's voice. “Uncle Maytel! You came back?”
“I did, little star,” Maytel grinned, kneeling down to Nevan’s level while deliberately keeping his eyes locked on your flustered expression. “In fact, I am on my way up to the upper terraces to visit your grandparents. Would you like to come with me and help me pick some wild ferns?”
“Yes!” Nevan answered way too quickly. “Mama, Papa, can I go?” Nevan squealed, bouncing on his heels as he looked up at you and Neteyam.
Neteyam, still entirely dazed by the intensity of the kiss and thoroughly eager to get you back into the privacy of the hut, patted his son's head, nodded wordlessly.
Maytel giggled. “And I guess you will stay there until tomorrow, little boy...” he threw you an incredibly wicked wink. You're welcome, his eyes screamed.
“Bye, Mama! Bye, Papa!” Nevan cheered, snatching Maytel’s hand and dragging him down the ramp.
You stood on the platform, your face burning a violent shade of purple, completely aware of the heavy, dark promise in Neteyam’s gaze as he slowly turned his massive body back toward you. The platform was entirely quiet, your son was snatched away by Maytel, and the commander seemed very ready to claim a year-worth of action from you.
You bit your lip as you sensed his body turn toward you, making the air feel heavier with the thick tension you know will have you inevitably under him before the day ends. You finally turned to him when he stepped forward, his shadow falling over you, his broad chest rising and falling in deep breaths, his eyes dark as he tracked the soft features of your face, the flush your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, and the curves of your waist down to your shapely thighs.
“See you inside?” you said in a small, seductive voice, stepping backward with your eyes locked onto his while you were retreating into the hut. Neteyam followed you like a predator stalking a familiar territory. He stopped at the edge of your sleeping alcove, his tall frame blocking out the fire from the hanging firepot, casting you entirely in his shadow.
With a slow, challenging smile, your hands came up to the knot of your top, holding his unblinking gaze as your fingers untied the cords, letting the feather-like fibers slip until it pooled at your feet.
You followed it by untying your loincloth behind you, shedding it off until you stood before him entirely bare, the soft dim light catching the gentle curves of your body. You knew exactly what you looked like to him. Completely vulnerable, yet entirely in control of his sanity.
Neteyam let out a low, ragged growl through his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the wooden partition. His chest expanded, his nostrils flaring as he took in the sight of you. You looked so innocent standing in the quiet of your home, yet the mischievous, heavy heat in your eyes was pure sin.
“Do you mean to torture me, baby?“ he rasped, his voice deep and rough as his hand grabbed his crotch to give his aching hard on a squeeze.
“Torture?” you echoed innocently. “Who says you can’t touch, warrior?”
He blinked, as if it took time before he realized what you said. He stepped into the alcove, his eyes never leaving you, his hand aggressively shedding his loincloth off, as he walked toward you. You opened your mouth to tease him, but before you could do that, his large hands were already on you, his grip firm as he lifted you effortlessly and pressed you back onto the soft furs of the sleeping mat.
You reached for your kuru behind you, biting your lip when his calloused hands parted your thighs with an authoritative, heavy pressure to fit himself between them. You relished the familiar weight of him on you, the warmth and heaviness of his cock grazing your thigh. “Hello,” you mumbled, smiling as you caught his kuru that he let fall over his shoulder.
He watched you darkly, his hand prompting your hands to connect your kurus together. You gasped as the burning intensity of his emotions that surged through you, enveloping your soul with a familiar warmth you’ve never felt in almost a year. You breathlessly pulled him down for a kiss and his mouth enveloped yours right away, swallowing your breaths, kissing you hard and desperately. His arm wrapped around your frame to pull you against him until your soft mounds were squished against his chest, his large hand cupping your jaw.
You kissed and kissed, and you were reminded with just how much you loved kissing him. When you two were younger, making out with each other had been your favorite thing to do. Every lovemaking starts with what seemed like hours of making out sessions, and this moment brought you back. You licked at his lower lip and kissed him with more ferocity than you had earlier, moaning against his lips as your hands roamed the hard planes of his body.
When you pulled away to breathe, his lips found your jaw, leaving burning kisses until he reached your neck. He licked and nipped at your skin, his hand now coming down to your breast to knead and fondle, before his lips followed, filling his mouth with your flesh as he suckled on your pebbled tip.
“Oh, baby...” you cradled his head, your hand grabbing a fistful of his hair.
His kisses slid down your body, his lips kissing every inch of your skin reverently until his face reach between your leg, his hot breath brushing your slick center. You bit your lip as he kissed the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his lips wet as it sucked a bit of your flesh into his mouth before it trailed down to bury his face between your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat when his tongue swiped upward in one long stroke.
He suckled on your sensitive nub and you shrieked when he playfully nipped down on it, your hands instantly flying into his thick braids as your hips bucked violently off the mat. The sharp, electric heat hit your sensitive nub, and Neteyam hummed a low, vibrating sound of pure satisfaction against your skin as he felt you tremble. He used his tongue relentlessly, sucking and lapping at you until your breath came in ragged, broken sobs.
Desperate for the weight of him, you tilted your pelvis upward, grinding against his mouth, begging for more. Normally, he’d insert his tongue in you, and you can’t understand why he’s being greedy with his tongue now. He paused, lifting his head just enough to look up your body, his lips glistening in the dim light. He let out a low chuckle, kissing the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
“Baby, I know you love it... but I won't put my tongue in, hm? My cock will be jealous. Your best friend hasn’t been in you for a year... you see, he hadn’t known a life like that since I was seventeen.”
You groaned loudly, throwing your head back against the furs as the teasing drove you mad. You kicked his chest lightly with your heel, though it lacked any real force. “Then fuck me already! What are you waiting for?”
Neteyam caught your ankle instantly, his grip tightening as he pulled your leg over his broad shoulder. He nipped fiercely at the tender skin near your knee, making you gasp. “So bossy,” he drawled, a wicked spark returning to his eyes. “Just for that, I’d add another thirty minutes to this...”
“Neteyam, please...” you whined.
“Give me one more, baby... I am so parched,” he said dramatically, his handsome face pulling into a mock pout before his mouth came down onto your pussy again.
He didn't give you a chance to protest. He lifted your hips high off the mat, wrapping his powerful arms beneath your thighs, draping your legs completely over his broad shoulders, before burying his face deep between your legs, using the rumbling vibrations of his voice and the flat of his tongue to drive you over the edge. The pressure on your swollen, sensitive flesh was too much, that within seconds, a violent wave tore through you, making you scream his name into the empty hut as your muscles clamped tightly around his mouth.
He held you through the tremors, lapping at your release until you were thoroughly cleaned. He eased you back onto the furs, your eyes closed, completely whited out by the intensity of your recent climax. Your skin was slick with sweat, your long hair sticking to your neck, but Neteyam only seemed to burn hotter at the sight.
You felt the heavy weight of his body settle over yours, his warm mouth moving down to claim your breast, his large hand firmly pressing your knees wider.
“Eyes,” he commanded, his voice dropping into that soft, unyielding tone he only ever used on you.
“I'm so spent...” you breathed, your eyelids fluttering as you weakly pressed a hand against his muscular chest, trying to find your breath.
Neteyam chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated straight into your bones. He kissed the tight line of your jaw before capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. “You practically kept me in a cage, woman...” he drawled against your lips, his hard length pressing demandingly against your aching center. “And now, you’ve let me loose...”
Your eyes flickered completely open, staring up into the golden fire of his gaze. You pushed your lips forward, leaning into him, and you watched him hold his breath as he realized you were completely his.
“Fuck, I missed you so much, baby...” he whispered, his thumb caressing your slippery folds before he gathered your wetness.
You watched him lather your wetness on his throbbing length as its wide tip nudged your entrance, and with one heavy, agonizingly slow thrust, he slid inside you. Neteyam let out a ragged, guttural groan deep in his throat, his arm snaking behind your waist to pull you up as he buried himself to the hilt, earning a pleasured cry from you.
He froze for a second, his head burying into the crook of your neck as his entire body shuddered, absorbing the intense, tight heat of your walls clamping around him. “Fuck, you're so tight, baby...” he choked out, his breath scalding against your skin.
Before you could fully catch your breath, he lifted himself back up on his hands, his golden eyes finding yours again, refusing to let you look away. Slowly, he began to move. He pulled nearly all the way out, letting you feel every ridges of his length, before driving back in forcefully, making you whimper. Your head rolled back against the furs as your back arched.
His hand instantly came up to cup your jaw, his fingers firm but gentle as he guided your face back to his. “No, look at me,” he commanded, his breath hitching as he started moving.
You bit your lip, but your pleasured whimpers find their way out of your mouth as his large hand caged your jaw to make sure you won’t look away from him as his pace picked up. Your moans grew louder when his thrusts turned deeper and harder, striking the very center of your pleasure. Your breaths came in jagged huffs, mixing alongside your cries and his deep groans.
“Fuck, baby...” he moaned, his eyes closing for a moment.
You pressed a palm against his chest. “Open your eyes,” you commanded, pushing him back a little. “Watch yourself take me.”
He groaned, a huff of weakened and humored laugh escaping through his nose as he lifted himself on his hands, looking down at you with eyes filled of unadulterated hunger. His humor died in his throat the moment he saw the look in your eyes. He was the commander, yes, but right here, pinned beneath the weight of your gaze, he was entirely at your mercy.
“You like to play the general now, do you?” he rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous register that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.
His large hand slid from your jaw, his fingers tangling tightly into the hair at the back of your head, anchoring you firmly to the furs. With his other hand bracing his massive weight over you, he delivered a frantic, brutal, and deep pace into you. You stared up at him, your chest heaving as your breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps. You watched the way the veins in his neck strained, the way his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped, and the sheer worship bleeding from his eyes.
He was completely undone, sweating and growling like a wild creature, stripped of all his rigid discipline until there was nothing left but his love for you.
The friction was driving you insane that you were literally reduced to a moaning, crying mess under him as your hips began to meet his every thrust instinctively, the coil of heat in your lower stomach tightening to a breaking point.
“I love you so much...” he moaned.
“Oh, baby... ‘teyam, I am so close, I can't—” you wept, your hips twitching away from his relentless thrusts but you only seemed to burn even more when his hand grabbed your waist to keep you in place.
“No, stay with me,” he rasped, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to keep you grounded. He picked up the speed, his movements becoming a blur of friction as he drove himself into you so hard that the entire world shrank down to your pussy. “Look at me when you break, baby. Give it to me.”
You couldn't hold it anymore. With one final deep plunge, the dam broke in a violent, white-hot explosion of pleasure rippling through your core, your walls seizing and pulsing around his girth. You cried his name, your eyes squeezing closed as your climax tore through you. Meanwhile, the tight clench you’re holding him with was the final blow to his restraint.
Neteyam let out a low groan as he threw his head back, burying himself to the absolute hilt, pouring his heat deep inside you while his body shuddered violently against yours. He collapsed over you a moment later, his frame curling a little so he could fit himself in your smaller frame, his face buried in the valley between your breasts.
His breath scalded your skin before his mouth moved to kiss your skin. He stayed buried deep inside you, his long arms wrapping securely around your waist, holding you so close it felt like he wanted to press his very soul into yours. You cradled his head, your other hand squeezing his shoulder when he sucked on your pebbled tip hard.
You groaned, “What about rest?” you mumbled.
He lifted his head. “Rest?” he raised a brow as if that was a foreign word.
You pushed your lips forward. “See, I was... undisturbed for moons, Neteyam. I think my stamina needed practicing,” you mumbled.
He smirked. “Now might be the best time for practice.”
You bit your lip, your hand cupping his nape to kiss him. “On the side note... You’re right,” you squeezed around him. “I miss you very much.”
He smiled, his lips coming down on yours. The hours dissolved into the shadows of the hut. The clan had grown quiet as the night went on, but neither of you noticed as though the world outside your hut didn't exist. There was only the rhythmic, heavy slap of skin against skin, his low, breathless groans, and your desperate cries of his name echoing in the quiet room.
By the time the bioluminescence outside began to glow with the midnight moons, the frantic heat had finally settled into a soft, exhausted warmth. You lay on top of him, your chin sitting on his chest as his arms wrapped securely around your waist. You were tracing the smooth, familiar lines of his chest, your breathing finally matching his steady rhythm.
Suddenly, a loud, deep rumble echoed through the quiet space.
You blinked, a bit dazed and Neteyam let out a low, amused chuckle. You pouted, pushing yourself up a little, his large hand slid down to caress the soft, slightly damp skin of your flat belly.
“Fuck, I forgot dinner,” he said, his eyes widening a little.
You blinked, lazy, satisfied smile spreading across your face. “Huh... I strangely feel full.”
Neteyam’s hand paused on your stomach, his fingers rubbing a warm, slow circle over your skin as a knowing, utterly devastating chuckle escaped him. He leaned over, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips.
“I sure hope so,” he grinned, his golden eyes flashing with a playful, wicked heat. “But let’s feed you first, my love. I’m not done with you yet.” He reluctantly sit up, lifting you up a little by your waist and gently plopping you down the furs with a hard kiss on your lips. “Don’t get up.”
He came back with the dinner you had prepared earlier and Maytel’s berry pie, both of which you devoured, occasionally feeding each other small bites while sitting cross-legged on the floor, unashamed of your nakedness. The moment the last of the food was cleared, Neteyam didn't give you a chance to think about cleaning up.
He moved to clean it all away quickly. True to his word, he wasn't done with you. The lovemaking that followed was slower and sweeter, full of whispers and quiet giggling. By the time you two settled back into a soft, exhausted warmth, you lay tucked against his side, your cheek pressed flat against his muscled chest, listening to the steady thudding of his heart while his long arm wrapped around you, anchoring you to him.
You stared into the soft darkness, tracing a light circle over his chest. “What do you think about going back to High Camp?” you asked softly.
Neteyam stiffened instantly beside you, his breath hitching before his eyes snapped down to look at you, wide and suddenly laced with absolute horror. “Baby, surely you are not kicking me back to High Camp?” he asked, his voice rough and panicked. “We have just reconciled. I want to stay. I am staying. I will never leave again. Besides... what if you get pregnant and I am not here?”
The sheer dread in his tone made you stifle a smile, but a soft chuckle eventually escaped you. You shifted, resting your chin on his chest so you could look at him properly. “I will be with you. Me and Nevan... we will all go back to High Camp together. What do you think of that?”
Neteyam blinked, entirely caught off guard, his ears twitching in confusion. “I... I don't know,” he murmured softly, his hand coming up to gently smooth down your hair. “You are safer here, baby. You and Nevan. And I don’t want to be away from you ever again...”
A sudden wave of warmth made your eyes tear up. “That is why we are coming,“ you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You will never be apart from me again. From us. But... that doesn't mean you have to stop doing what you worked your entire life to prepare for,” you stared at him, “I fell in love with a warrior, Neteyam. I mated with a warrior. You are a leader to the people, and I shouldn't have made you choose between your duty to them and your duty to your heart. I meant what I said earlier, baby. We are all learning. I will always be here to support you now, and I will never leave your side. So... I think we should go back. But only if you want it.”
Neteyam stared at you, his own eyes growing misty in the dark. The crushing weight he had carried seemed to fully lift, replaced by a profound peace. Without a word, he pulled you up by your waist, bringing your lips down to his in a deep kiss that tasted of absolute gratitude and a love that grew even deeper and larger.
The next say, Maytel returned your son the moment the morning sun broke over the terraces. His teasing, knowing eyes were incredibly annoying as he took in your flushed skin and Neteyam’s completely relaxed posture, but you chose to ignore his smirks, focusing instead on your son who was as bubbly as ever, practically throwing his little body into your arms, eager to tell you everything about sleeping at his grandparents’ as if it was a vacation.
While you held Nevan, Neteyam stepped forward, his expression serious but entirely respectful. “Maytel,” he said, his voice deep. “Can we talk for a moment?”
Surprised, Maytel’s smirk faltered, his eyes darting quickly to you. You offered him a warm, reassuring nod and a smile, letting him know it was for something good. The two stepped outside onto the platform, and though you couldn't hear the words, you watched as Neteyam clasped Maytel's shoulder in a gesture of gratitude.
Once the air was fully cleared, Maytel left with a promise of more pie for your son, who had just discovered that his parents completely finished off the pie Maytel brought yesterday.
“What would you like for breakfast, my little sun?” Neteyam asked, playfully tickling Nevan’s belly.
Nevan giggled, patting it as his chest puffed proudly. “I ate many smoked fish and... and kelp soup!”
You watched Neteyam chuckle, feigning surprise for his son’s entertainment. “Oh! You already ate, huh? No wonder your belly’s so rooound.” Neteyam bent down a little to blow air into Nevan’s belly, sending your son into a fit of giggles as he threw his head back in laughter.
You leaned your cheek against your son’s small arm, looking at Neteyam as you sat down on the mats of your receiving area. “Nevan,” you smiled, smoothing his little ear back. “How would you like to go on an adventure? We are flying back to Grandma and Grandpa.”
Nevan’s eyes went completely wide, his little tail swishing frantically against your leg. “To see the big ikrans? With Papa?” he squealed, jumping straight into Neteyam’s arms and hugging his neck tightly.
Neteyam melted against his son, his eyes crinkling with absolute adoration that made your smile grow wider. Later that night, you trekked up to your parents’ hut to bring a pie you made and to discuss with them your plans to go back to High Camp. Neteyam took his time sincerely apologizing to your parents who kindly dismissed his apology, gently reminding him that your forgiveness was the only kind that mattered and it clearly seemed like you had given it.
The flight back to High Camp was long and carefully calculated. Neteyam took no chances with your and Nevan’s safety, choosing to fly his ikran yards ahead of yours, scouting the valleys first, taking a much longer, winding route to completely avoid the coordinates he knew were patrolled by the RDA.
When your ikrans finally landed on the rocky ledges of High Camp where you were welcomed back with a small, joyous celebration. Jake and Neytiri were the first to embrace you, their eyes shining with relief to see their eldest son whole again, while the council looked on with relief to have Neteyam back into the fold.
But the moons he spent just learning the rhythm of the world with you and Nevan seemed to have ingrained themselves deeper than his warrior routines. Now, he couldn’t leave the hut without sharing breakfast with you, his large hands gently guiding his son’s tiny fingers over his food to teach him how to eat on his own before heading out to the scouting decks.
Then, he would return at midday to spend the eclipse with you, helping put Nevan down for a nap before heading back out to coordinate the perimeters. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he was home for the night, stripping off his weapons and warrior gear to belong entirely to you.
He still couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. Even though you had forgiven him, insisting that you both made mistakes because you were still just learning, he believed he should have known better. Now that he was able to manage both of his lives so seamlessly, he couldn't understand how he had let the war consume him so completely before, letting years pass making you feel neglected and thinking he had chosen his duty over you, his heart.
There are nights though, where the weight of his duty still clawed at his shoulders. After an armed encounter with the RDA during his patrols, he still tried to come home as early as possible, his body rigid and vibrating with tension. You had already blew the firelight dimmed by the time he arrived from the council, his movements hurried and when he saw that Nevan was already asleep in his hammock, you saw his shoulders slumped, his face crumpling in controlled distress.
You stood up, welcoming him to help bim remove his cummerbund and weapons, hanging them on a rack. “Has he been asleep long?”
“Only because he played too much with the other kids earlier,” you told him, chuckling as your hands caressed his shoulders. “He could barely eat his dinner, his eyelids were already drooping.”
He looked down at his son, his large caressing the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, I came home late...” he mumbled.
You bit your lip. “Neteyam...” you hugged him from the side, kissing his shoulder, feeling the tension in them soften a bit. “I heard of the encounter. Tell me what happened...”
Your hands gently worked through the knots in his shoulders as he spoke, his voice dropping into that low, tense cadence. “The skirmishes have escalated, baby,” Neteyam muttered, his jaw tightening as he stared blankly at his hands. “It’s only been three moons since we came back, and the RDA patrols are pushing further into the southern valley. Earlier, they nearly pinned my scouts against the ridge. I almost called in a full air strike, but the canopy was too thick. I had to pull them back. Lo’ak thinks we should ambush their next supply line there, but... the risk is too high.”
You stopped massaging his shoulders and shifted, angling your head so he had to look at you. “You did the right thing by pulling back,” you said softly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from you in all the years I’ve known you is that you are not impulsive. You are not a warrior who wants only victory. I think... they are baiting you and they are expecting an ambush on their supply line. Eywa has given us enough to fight the demons, ‘teyam. Perhaps you could change your flight paths, lead them toward the weeping bogs where their heavy metal suits can't tread. Let the forest do the fighting for you.”
Neteyam blinked, a sudden, quiet clarity washing over his stressed features. He let out a long breath through his nose, his lips parting as a humored, thoroughly impressed smile broke through his tension. “See, this is why I’m not performing well in the moons you were not with me...” he pulled you for a kiss.
You smiled, “And that’s completely my fault, I think,” you whispered. “Mind if I make up for it?”
His eyes narrowed a little as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him. His breath hitched in his throat, his hands coming down to rest heavily on your shoulders as your hand moved to his loincloth to palm his hard on, biting your lips when you found him already hard, responding to your show in an instant. You stroke it for a moment before moving the fabric aside to let the thick, throbbing length spring free.
You wrapped your hand around the base of his girth, sliding your palm up to feel the heavy ridges snaking along his length, looking straight up into his eyes, you leaned forward and opened your mouth, sliding your lips over the wide head of his cock. Neteyam let out a low, ragged groan, his knuckles turning white as he gripped on the nearest rack.
You kept an unbroken, intense eye contact as you took him deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate his impressive length, pumping your hand at the base while your mouth worked relentlessly, sucking the sensitive head before sliding all the way down until your nose pressed into his pelvic, the heat of his cock filling your mouth.
“Fuck, baby...” he choked out, his head tossing back for a second before your firm gaze anchored him right back to you.
His large hand came down, caging your jaw to keep your face tilted up toward his. His eyes darkened as he began to move his hips, delivering restrained thrusts straight down your throat. You took every inch of him, your eyes watering slightly from the depth, but you never broke your stare. You sucked harder, swirling your tongue around the ridges, driving him absolutely mad with the tight, wet friction of your mouth.
His breathing turned into frantic, ragged huffs as his thrusts became faster, deeper, completely losing his hard-earned discipline warmth of your mouth. “Fuck, you're so good to me...”
The veins in his neck strained, his jaw clenching as he reached his limit. He delivered three deep plunges into your mouth before his whole body stiffened, his thick, hot release pulsing down your throat. You swallowed every drop of his heavy warmth, your throat moving refusing to pull away even as he pulled you back.
When you slowly slid your mouth off his length with a squelching sound, he shivered, thinking it was over but when you dragged your tongue up to lick him entirely clean from base to tip, your eyes still locked onto his blown-out gaze, his knees buckled.
Neteyam looked entirely undone, his chest heaving as he stared down at you in pure, reverent worship. You licked your lips, smiling at him, while his hands lifted you up effortlessly. His arm wrapped around you, his lips crashing down on your lips at the same time your body landed on the hard planes of his. He groaning as silently against your mouth, his large hand groping your chest down to your waist and hips until it wrapped around the back of your thighs.
He lifted it up and knowing what he wanted, you hooked your arms around his shoulders before wrapping your other leg around him. His hard length was already hardening again against your thigh, and with a swift wipe aside of your loincloth, he drove into you, fucking you with a ferocity that made you feel exactly the tension that was engulfing him the whole day.
You pursed your lips to and buried your face face against the crook of his neck to muffle your pleasured sounds as his fingers dug into your hips, relentlessly moving your over his cock.
“I love you,” he groaned, way louder than he should.
“Neteyam!” you whisper-shouted, your fingers on his scratching.
He chuckled, his head angling to press his lips against your cheek, groaning as muffled as possible, but still letting you know how good he's feeling as your warmth enveloped him tightly. You let out a pleasured huff when he shivered against you, spilling his warm seed inside you, and triggering your own release.
He groaned again, but as silent as he could now, his hand working on the ties of your loincloth behind you, shedding it off you without removing himself from you. He lowered you down on the soft furs, his cock slipping out a little when he removed his own loincloth. He spread your legs wider to slip it back in though, lowering himself to kiss you softly.
Hours later, the frantic heat had settled into a soft, exhausted warmth. You lay tangled together on the messy furs, your head resting on his chest while his arm was around your waist.
“Thank you, my love,” Neteyam murmured into the dark, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your arm.
You let out a soft, sleepy giggle, pressing a light kiss against his bare chest, listening to the steady, peaceful rhythm of his heart. “Someone has to keep the commander grounded.”
The peace in the weeks that followed was a precious, yet stolen gift, because with the encounters along the borders growing increasingly volatile, you knew it would soon reach a tipping point. What began as scattered, desperate shootouts quickly spiraled out of control, and Jake found it better to lead an offensive attack before the demons pushed deeper and harder against the resistance.
So, when Toruk Makto took to the sky once more, High Camp emptied. Neteyam kissed your lips until they were bruised and held Nevan so tightly the boy let out a confused whimper, before taking to the sky on his ikran, his jaw set with the determination of a man fighting to make sure that his children would never know the shadow of a gunship.
While the sky in the distant horizons burned with the smoke of explosions, you remained in the deep caverns of High Camp, sitting among the circle of women, your fingers tightly interwoven with Kiri’s, while Mo’at led the low, rhythmic chanting, praying to the Great Mother for the battle’s success.
Every breath you took felt heavy, not just from the fear for your husband, but from the secret you had yet to tell him. You had known for a few weeks now. You were pregnant.
You chose not to tell him at the height of the planning the offense, wanting him focused entirely on staying alive, but Nevan had practically been manifesting it. Ever since one of his playmates’ mothers had given birth to a tiny, squirming infant, your son had been absolutely obsessed with the concept.
Just days before the warriors marched, Nevan had sat on the mats, badgering you both with endless demands. “Want one of those at home, Mama! To play with!”
Neteyam had just laughed, sweeping the boy up into his powerful arms to cradling him against his broad chest like an infant to distract him. “But you are still our baby, my boy,” Neteyam had teased, his voice thick with affection as he brushed the tip of his nose against Nevan's. “You are always Mama and Papa’s baby.” Nevan had thrown his head back, giggling frantically, completely forgetting about the talk.
Now, clutching your flat stomach in the dim light, you whispered a prayer to Great Mother Eywa to bring that doting their father back to you. Whole and safe. You didn’t realize how much of a pressure it would be to be his wife during a major battle. Even in your distress, you needed to put on a calm facade and show the other women the tranquility that should belong to a wife of a warrior.
Fortunately, even before night fell, Eywa answered your prayers in the thunderous, victorious roars of ikrans echoing through the mountains.
The people had won. The clans Toruk Makto had united once again cleansed Eywa’eveng of the evil the sky people brought upon your world. Tuk roamed around chirping about reports on how the war party blew up Bridgehead, crushing the RDA’s main stronghold and ensuring they won’t bounce back as quickly as they usually should, with Jake leading the talks to force them back to the sky.
High Camp exploded into a frenzy of celebratory flutes and drums as the warriors touched down, their wives and children welcoming them with tears. Through the crowd, you spotted him. Neteyam leaped off his ikran, covered in soot and paint, his braids wild. The moment his eyes found yours through the throng, his fearsome warrior mask completely shattered, walking faster to get to you.
“Papa!” Nevan sprinted toward him and Neteyam caught the boy in his arms, before colliding into you with a force that lifted you off your feet, his massive arms wrapped around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent, desperate to replace the stench of burning metal.
“I'm back, baby,” he choked out, his voice rough against your skin.
You held his face, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kissed him desperately. Nevan was already pulling at his father's braids, forcing him away from you, making both of you laugh. Neteyam pressed fierce kisses all over the boy’s face, and you did the same, making Nevan giggle, his neck scrunching in ticklishness.
The celebration for the victory began as night fell, all the torches and firepots were lit, glowing brighter than it ever had before. Even the moons cast down a glow different than the ones you’ve had in the past years, as if they were breathing more peacefully, too.
As the drums beat steadily in the background, Neteyam sat with you at the edge of the gathering, his arm anchoring you to his side while a thoroughly exhausted Nevan curled up asleep against his thigh. Neteyam looked down at his son, a soft, content smile resting on his lips, before his eyes drifted back to you, brimming with an unburdened, quiet adoration.
“We can build anything now,” Neteyam whispered, his large hand lifting to cup your nape, massaging a little. “A real future. Just you, me, and our boy.”
You smiled, your heart hammering a joyful rhythm against your ribs. You took his large hand, slowly guiding it away from yours and placing his wide palm flat against your lower stomach.
Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hand on your belly, then back up at your face. He froze, his ears twitching as he caught the blooming, emotional heat in your eyes.
“Baby...?"” he breathed, his voice suddenly trembling, the fierce commander completely replaced by the image of a stunned, hopeful boy you had grown up with.
“I can’t believe you’re surprised,“ you playfully widened your eyes at him.
He chuckled, and even through that, you saw a tear slipped down his cheek. “Right. Like I wasn’t actively aiming for that.”
You huffed a chuckle through your nose. “Nevan is going to get his wish,” you whispered, “You are going to have to practice cradling another baby very soon, Neteyam.”
A breathless, ecstatic laugh erupted from his chest. He didn't care who was watching; he leaned forward and captured your mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, his large hand trembling where it rested over the new life you were carrying.
“I will be here now. Always. To hear her first laughs, first words, and to watch her first steps...” he mumbled against your lips.
notes reader is neteyam’s wife, workaholic neteyam, temporary separation, their son is the cutest toddler on pandora, groveling (if you squint), smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis a year ago, you made the painful choice to walk away from neteyam after he proved time and again that his duties to the war party came before you and his son. you knew he was only trying to be the dutiful soldier everyone expected him to be, and that he would have kept going that way... until your son unwittingly reminded his father of everything he was throwing away for the sake of duty and war.
word count 16.8k
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Your hand on your mount’s reins tightened as the sight of the clouded Hallelujah Mountains loomed closer and closer with each beat of your ikran’s wings. The flight from your home clan to the Omatikaya was over an hour long, but you were glad that the weather was nice enough for you to travel. Your other arm renewed its hold on the woven wrap strapped securely to your body, holding your son, his small hands gripping at your woven knife sheath, his large amber eyes wide with excitement.
He was two years old today. Two years since he came into the world, his cries echoing in the vast canopy of a home that no longer existed. His birth was closely followed by the return of the sky people who tore the sky open, burned your forests, forced the people to face a seemingly endless war, and took your husband from you.
“Mama! Look! Look!” Nevan chirped, his tail whipping excitedly against your hip inside the wrap. He pointed a chubby finger at the swarm of flying fkios. “Fkios flying so fast! Like me!”
You smiled, “Yes, sweet boy,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “They are going home, I suppose, just like us.”
He giggled when you tickled his ear with your nose. “Visit Papa?” he asked.
You clamped your mouth shut, pulling his body closer as if he wasn’t literally tied to you at the moment. “Ah, yes... Visiting Papa,” you murmured, but his attention was already back on the flying fkios, his dangling feet wiggling excitedly.
When your ikran glided down onto the landing ledges of the High Camp, the crisp smell of distant rain from high above yielded to the smell of heavy mountain air and some smoke from the resistance’s machinery. You dislodged your kuru from your ikran’s, trying not to look at the man standing at the edge of the platform.
He wasn’t wearing his warrior gear for once, only his chest knife sheath, but he still looked every bit the commander he had become since the sky people’s return. The role he allowed to step over his roles as a husband and a father, you thought cynically, but you immediately tried to quell it. What’s the use of thinking of it when it has already happened before your very eyes and it already ruined everything?
He was standing tall, almost like the pillar that he is to the clan, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his rigid posture faltered, but you tore your eyes off him when your son wriggled furiously in the wrap.
“Alright, alright, sweet boy,” you chuckled, dismounting your ikran and carefully unbuckling the woven wrap.
From your peripheral vision, you could see Neteyam walking toward you two, but as soon as you’d freed him, Nevan immediately scrambled down, his little feet pattering furiously across the ground as he ran toward his father. Neteyam dropped to his knees, his massive arms catching the boy, lifting him high into the air, making Nevan let out a high-pitched, joyful screech.
You watched Neteyam press his forehead against his son’s, closing his eyes as a fierce, protective rumble vibrated in his chest. But even as he held the boy, his eyes flew up, looking past Nevan’s shoulder, his gaze locking onto yours with a look that is so heavy, suffocatingly dense with a longing so profound it felt like a physical weight in the air between you. It was the look of a starving man staring at a feast he wasn't allowed to touch.
His eyes traced the curve of your jaw and the softness of your features, desperate to find even just a sliver of hint that you’re feeling what he’s feeling. But you didn't give him one. Carefully, you looked away, focusing instead on your son’s little kicking legs and on the way Neteyam’s large hands held him safely. You chose to see him only as a father, completely shutting out the man who used to hold you the exact same way.
It hadn't always been like this. That was the cruelest part.
Your marriage hadn't been a political arrangement or a hasty union, it had been a lifetime in the making. Your parents were part of Jake and Neytiri’s inner circle since before the first war against the sky people. Through the many times your parents would bring you to visit the Omatikaya, you had witnessed Neteyam grow from a lanky boy into the man he is now.
And he had known you were for him since you were children. Neteyam was never one to waste time or play games, so he had always stake a claim on you, and the moment you both came of age, he courted you with a fierce, unwavering devotion that made even your parents sigh. You were sweethearts as teenagers, inseparable and fiercely protective of one another. When he mated with you before his and your people, his eyes had held nothing but a future filled with you.
And, your pregnancy had been a dream. Neteyam was a doting, almost ridiculously attentive husband. He would spend hours rubbing soothing oils on your aching back, pressing his ear to your growing belly to whisper stories of the forest and your childhood escapades to his unborn child. He never left your side. You had no doubt, not a single one, that you were the center of his universe.
Then, the sky people returned.
And the man you loved was swallowed whole by the war. Suddenly, he wasn't just Neteyam. He was the firstborn of the resistance leaders, the commander, and one of the unyielding pillars that kept the people from being completely overcome by the RDA. He began leaving before the first light of dawn and returning long after you and the baby had fallen asleep.
For over a year, you lived as a ghost in your own home. You sat alone in the dark, rocking a crying infant, praying to the Great Mother that the next body brought back on a stretcher wouldn’t be his. You begged him, you cried, you pleaded for just one evening. “Just for a day, Neteyam. Stay. Be with me, be with our son...”
But his face would harden, that stubborn, unyielding Jake-Sully look taking over. “I am doing this for our future, my love. If I do not fight, our children will have no world to inherit.”
And then it all just crumbled on your son’s first birthday.
It was a simple thing, really. You had spent days gathering sweet fruits, weaving small toys, hoping against hope that Neteyam would remember. You waited until midnight. When he finally walked into the kelku, covered in war paint and soot, he didn't even look at the small, untouched feast on the woven mat. He just muttered about a successful raid on an RDA supply train and collapsed into sleep.
He had completely forgotten.
And you were hit with the realization that the man you loved was dead, replaced by a warrior who had no room left in his heart for anything but strategy and casualties. You had cried all your tears by then. The well was dry. You were just so profoundly, deeply tired. So, you talked to him about going back home, citing the safety your clan’s territory could provide for you and Nevan to make him agree.
“Baby, this is your home now...” he had told you then, his arms tight around you as he fit his head in the crook of your neck.
“I know, Neteyam. But the explosion was too close yesterday. I am afraid for Nevan. This is not a place where he can safely run around and... be a child. I do not want to lose him, too...”
“Too?” he had asked, his hands maneuvering you so you’d face him but you didn’t budge. “Baby, you didn’t lose me—”
“All evidence to the contrary, Neteyam. I haven’t shared a meal with you in so long, you weren’t there when Nevan first laughed or when Nevan first uttered the word Papa, you weren’t there when he took his first steps. I am a ghost in this home. It would make no difference if we are away, because you had been acting like you had no family to come home to.”
His arms tightened around you, his nose burying in your neck. “It would make all the difference. I am coming home to my wife and child safe and sound, and that was my solace—”
You struggled to remove his arms around you, but his arms were iron tight. Your heart throbbed with pain but you couldn’t even cry. “So, then let me go home. Nevan and I will be completely safe there, if that’s what you truly care about.”
“I can’t be away from you, yawne, you’re practically asking me to stop breathing. I cannot not see you and Nevan—”
“When was the last time you’d seen your son, Neteyam? You leave before he wakes up and comes back long after he’d fallen asleep. I think you can, Neteyam, you can stand not seeing us. As I said, it would make no difference if we were here, or we were back home.”
That was that beginning of you leaving him to his war. He hadn’t known it would be a full-blown separation... But he had long before set that distance between himself and you. You’d just gotten the memo late.
“Watch, Mama! My big splash!”
Nevan’s high-pitched voice snapped you back to the present. You sat on a smooth, sun-warmed rock by the riverbank, your hand propped on the soft woven mat laid beautifully on the grass. Around you were various food, pies, and fruits Neteyam had prepared. You could barely eat it without your throat closing at the grief of this not being a permanent thing.
You’d told him Nevan wanted to celebrate his birthday here, that he misses Jake and Neytiri, and he promised you it would be different this time. You told him not to promise you anything, and just show it to his son. So far, he had kept his promise. He had cleared his entire day, which is probably an unthinkable feat for the commander of the resistance. He had brought a mountain of gifts for his boy. Beautifully carved wooden toys that he probably spent the past moons making, a small bow, and a woven arm band.
Now, he was knee-deep in the crystal-clear water, his loincloth soaked, laughing as Nevan furiously slapped the water, sending a pathetic little wave toward his father’s shins. Neteyam exaggerated his reaction, falling backward into the water with a loud splash, making Nevan howl with glee.
For a moment, the illusion was perfect. You looked like a little family. Neteyam would look up at you from the water, a soft, hopeful smile playing on his lips, trying to pull you into the warmth of the moment. You would smile back politely, a distant curve of your lips that never reached your eyes. You were here for Nevan. Only Nevan.
Nevan waddled out of the water, dripping wet, and proudly held up a crudely constructed object from the pack you brought from home. It was a woven sheath of colorful leaves, bound tightly with vines, holding a cluster of bright purple orchids. You shook your head with a smile as you fixed the pack, wiping the puddle of water he left behind.
“Look, Papa!” Nevan beamed, shoving the wet flowers directly into Neteyam’s face. “A flower sheath! Uncle Maytel taught me how... how to twist the vines. They don't break!”
You searched for a dry towel in your pack, smiling as you watched your son speak, his little body trembling in excitement.
“Uncle... Maytel?” Neteyam echoed. The playful, warm tone in his voice vanished instantly, replaced by a low, measured cadence.
You blinked, your eyes snapping to him. Suddenly, you had become aware of how ugly that sounded in the ears of people who didn’t know. You froze for a moment, the air in your lungs suddenly feeling like liquid lead as you watched Neteyam momentarily narrow his eyes, the look of a formidable hunter spotting a prey. Or a predator sensing blood might be the better description.
“Yes!” Nevan replied excitedly, entirely oblivious to the sudden, deadly shift in the atmosphere. He had just opened a cage containing a predator, and he thought he was playing with a puppy. “Uncle Maytel... He makes the best ones! He is Mama’s friend... They talk all the time. See... This is pretty. Right, Papa? Look at Mama's hair. See? I can make that, too, Papa. I will teach you!”
Nevan pointed a chubby finger at you. You had indeed used a beautiful hair decoration to pin back your hair in a half ponytail, letting the rest of your wavy locks flow loose behind you, having no idea at all how the sight of you earlier today literally stole the breath from Neteyam’s lungs. You are so beautiful, always have been, but it hits him particularly hard now that he doesn't see you as often.
He has never been used to being away from you for so long. This is probably the longest he has gone without you, such that every time he sees you now, his heart starts doing the thing it did when he first realized he loved you: flipping inside his chest and then melting into a puddle.
You kept your face as blank as stone, waiting for Neteyam to look at youjust as his son instructed. Neteyam was standing up now, but he wasn't looking at the decorations on your hair. He was staring directly at you, and the look he gave you almost choked the air right out of your throat. He didn’t look mad, it also wasn’t the detached look of a commander. It was that intensely familiar, deeply possessive, primal look he used to give you when another hunter talked to you for a second too long during his youth. His eyes darkened, his lips tightening into a straight line as his gaze finally dropped to the decorations in your hair before snapping back to your eyes immediately.
“Is that so, my boy?” Neteyam said softly, his voice dropping an octave, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Yes! He says Mama is... is very beautiful!” Nevan cheered, completely ruining any chance of a graceful exit.
So for the rest of the afternoon, you made it your absolute mission in life to never, ever be left alone with Neteyam.
When you returned to the camp, you practically shadowed Jake and Neytiri. When Neytiri pulled Nevan onto her lap to feed him sweet fruit, you sat right beside her, suddenly intensely interested in what she has to say. When Jake took Nevan to show him the ikran roost, you walked right behind them, using your son as a shield as Neteyam followed like a shadow.
He stayed a respectful distance though, answering his son's hundred questions about the beasts, even the imaginary ones, coming up with the perfect answers for it. For a moment, you were back to being a teenager, annoying the golden heir of Toruk Makto with your silly questions and having him answer you with complete seriousness, as though he really thought about your silly questions like they were points for further research.
His eyes were a constant, burning pressure on your skin the entire time, and every time you glanced up with a neutral expression, he was watching you. Eventually, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purple. Neytiri, seeing how exhausted the toddler was, scooped Nevan up.
“He will sleep with us tonight,” Neytiri said softly, giving you a knowing, gentle look that made your stomach twist. She thought she was doing you a favor, giving you and Neteyam a night of privacy. “Go. Rest.”
“Oh, I can take him—” you started quickly, reaching for your son.
“No, no,” Jake chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Let his grandparents spoil him for one night. Go on.”
You stood there, watching Neytiri walked away, your son already fast asleep against her shoulder. Oh, boy. You watched the rest of the camp clear out as the rest of the people retreated to their homes. You didn’t turn to Neteyam, turning instead toward the guest tents, your pace brisk, but you didn't even make it halfway before a large hand gently but firmly gripped your forearm.
It wasn’t a harsh pull, but his grip was unyielding. “Our home’s here,” he reminded you.
You glared at him through your lashes. “I haven’t forgotten,” you said in a clipped tone, walking straight into the shadows of your old home, and seeing that nothing much had changed, only that he’d put up photos on the wall.
And from where you were standing, you’ve seen one from his unilatron many years ago. With him painted in swirling marks of white and you, standing beside him with a huge smile. Another, at your mating ceremony, and another, a photo of you heavily pregnant. The last one was a photo of the three of you, with Nevan as a newborn, cradled in your arm, both of your faces adorned with brilliant smiles.
Grief seized your heart and you had to physical turn away from it, your hands balling into fist.
“You've been avoiding me all day,” Neteyam stated, standing between you and the flap entrance, his large frame casting a long shadow over you.
“I was spending time with our son's grandparents, Neteyam. It's his birthday,” you replied, keeping your voice entirely light and normal. You walked over to the sleeping mats, untying your travel pack and organizing your things with practiced nonchalance.
“Who is Maytel?”
The question was sharp and direct, like always. Neteyam had never liked beating around the bush. You took a deep breath, turning around with a calm, casual smile. “A childhood friend from my clan,” you said.
“A childhood friend,” Neteyam repeated, his voice low, a dangerous rumble vibrating in his throat. He took a slow step toward you, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him. “Never heard of him before.”
“I have many friends back home, Neteyam,” you said. “There was no reason to bring him up. He's just a friend. He helps at home, and he’s good with Nevan. My friends have all been a huge help to me since I moved back.”
Neteyam stopped just inches from you. He was so close you could smell the familiar mint-y scent of him. All your senses were melting. It knew the smell so well, had even associated it with home and safety, and it tore at your chest, a cruel reminder of the husband you had lost. He leaned down slightly, and though he didn’t touch you, you were forced to look into his heavy, shadowed eyes. The possessive fire in them hadn't died down, if anything, it was burning hotter, fueled by the agonizing restraint he was forcing upon himself.
“He makes ornaments for your hair,” Neteyam murmured, his eyes dropping to the flowers on your soft hair. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and rip it from your hair, but he kept his fist clenched at his side. “He talks to you all the time—”
“To help. All my friends help me, Neteyam, you’ve seen Laika and Nira helping me last time," you countered smoothly, your eyes locking onto his, refusing to back down. “I am a single mother raising a little boy. I needed all the help I can get. Nothing more.”
His head reared back a little as if you’d hit him. The words single mother hit him squarely like a slap and you saw the visible flinch in his jaw, the way his chest heaved as he swallowed the bitter taste of his own failures.
He stared at you for a long, suffocating moment. He knew you were telling the truth about Maytel being just a friend. He knows you, he knows the woman he married, he knows that you would never violate the bonds of marriage, even a broken one. But that didn't stop the sickening, agonizing jealousy from clawing at his throat. Another man was filling his space. Another man was teaching his son how to weave. Another man was making his wife smile.
“You are not single. I am still very much here,” he said.
“I don’t want to argue about what here actually means,” you replied, tearing your eyes away and removing the decorations on your hair to free it from its bounds.
He watched you, choosing not to press further, but as he stepped back, his eyes remained devastatingly heavy on you. “He is a friend,” he whispered, his voice thick with an unspoken, desperate plea. “But he is not my son’s father. And he is not your husband.”
As he uttered those words, the reality of his hypocrisy came crashing back down on him. Maytel, indeed, was not Nevan’s father, nor was he your husband... But could he honestly say he was both of those things to you and Nevan? He visited the two of you as much as he was capable, but that didn’t mean anything. He was an absent father, and an even more absent husband, and he wondered completely how his son still held excitement and affection for him instead of distance.
And how the boy knew everything he was doing for the people. He knew that, even in your current indifference, you had thoroughly made the boy understand that his father had sacrifices to make for the benefit of Eywa’eveng. He watched you lay down on the sleeping mat, pulling a woven blanket up to your shoulders and turning your back to him. He sat down on the opposite side of the yurt.
He wouldn’t lie down, and you had noticed he never did once the two of you were alone in a space. Whenever he visited back home, he would do the same thing, sitting down far away from you, his heavy, burning gaze fixed on your back, mourning a home he had lost to a war he was still fighting.
The morning arrived with a crisp chill you hadn't felt in so long. The altitude of the floating mountain made the sun feel unreal. You shared a meal with Neytiri and Jake. Your son, having already bathed, wore a new loincloth with fine weaving, and you put a hand over your mouth as you laughing at him proudly showing it to everyone.
“Grandma made this, Mama!” he told you, munching on a sweet fruit as his little body leaned into Neteyam.
Neteyam held his wrist gently, kissing the side of his head. “No sweet fruit yet without a real meal, little boy...” Neteyam mumbled, replacing the fruit with a bite-sized piece of meat.
“Okay, Papa... But Grandpa said I can eat? I don’t eat this at home... Right, Mama?“ Your son turned to you, now munching on the meat Neteyam had given him.
You smiled softly. “I try not to let him eat too many sweets unless necessary to regulate his body,” you explained. “But Papa is right, Nevan. You must eat your food first before the sweet fruit.”
Neteyam glanced at you, his soft eyes smiling even as he tried to look serious for Nevan who nodded without a fight, even picking some vegetables off his leaf and eating happily.
Neytiri smiled at you. “He is a good child, Y/N. You are doing such a great job with him,“ she said, her eyes a little misty.
You smiled, caressing your son’s head. “Neteyam is, too, Mother. Despite the grueling demands of the war, he makes sure to find time for Nevan,” you said. You couldn't possibly leave him out, not when you knew he was trying his best.
After the meal, the peace you were feeling had dissolved and was replaced by the reality that you had a hazardous flight ahead of you. Outside the yurt, the camp was already buzzing with the low, mechanical drone of the resistance. You stood beside your ikran, adjusting the heavy leather straps of the riding harness, checking every buckle with meticulous care. Nevan was already strapped securely to your body in his woven wrap. He was heavy, but his warmth was comforting, his little hands clutching a newly carved wooden ikran that Neteyam had given him.
A shadow fell over you and you didn't need to look up to know it was Neteyam. He double-checked your ikran’s saddle, his movements deliberate and sharp, before he checked the saddle of his own mount, preparing to take flight alongside you. You stopped tightening the cinch of your saddle, your hand resting flat against the leather. You swallowed the dryness in your throat and turned your head toward him.
“Neteyam,” you called out, your voice quiet but steady. He paused instantly, his ears twitching forward as he turned his head to look at you, his golden eyes wide and alert, catching every syllable. “I think... It wouldn’t be safe if you come with us.”
A subtle, pained stillness took over his features. His chest expanded with a sharp breath, his fingers tightening against his mount's reins. “The skies are not safe, yawne. The gunships have shifted their patrol grids closer to the western border. I am accompanying you home.”
“Neteyam, I would like that, too.” you said, stepping closer so your voice wouldn't carry to where Jake and Neytiri were standing a few paces away. You gestured faintly to the sky, then down to the boy against your chest. “But the tension with the sky people is worse this moon. They know your ikran, Neteyam. They know you. You are the commander of the vanguard; your presence draws the kind of attention I cannot risk when I have our son with me.“
The words seemed to render him weak. Neteyam looked at you with eyes so deeply pained, so utterly crushed, it felt like a blow to the chest. He looked down at his own hands, then at his son's chubby legs dangling from the wrap, as if he couldn't fully comprehend the reality that his very existence, the fierce, formidable identity he had built to protect his people, was now a liability to the safety of his own family.
Nevan, completely unaware of the reason of the heavy silence, looked up at his father with wide eyes. He held up his wooden toy, making a little whistling sound through his teeth. “He’ll fly with us, Papa!”
Neteyam’s heart tightened so visibly you could see the muscle in his jaw clench as he forced a small, strained smile for the boy. He reached out, his large thumb gently tracing Nevan’s round cheek, but his eyes kept flickering back to you, searching your expression for any sign of hesitation. There was none.
Behind him, Jake and Neytiri exchanged a quiet, heavy look. Jake stepped forward, his hand coming down firmly on his eldest son's shoulder.
“She’s right, son,” Jake said softly. “The RDA has scout ships tracking your specific signature. If they spot you flying with your wife and child, we don’t know what they could do.”
Neteyam’s shoulders sank, the breath leaving him in a low, defeated hiss. He knew the logic was flawless. He knew it was the right tactical decision. But the soldier in him was currently losing a brutal war against the husband and father who desperately wanted to prolong his hold on both of you.
“I will send two warriors,” Neteyam muttered, his voice thick as he stepped back from his mount. "They will fly low behind you, out of sight. They will ensure you reach home safely.”
You nodded. “Thank you,” you said softly, genuinely relieved.
Neteyam stepped closer to the side of your ikran, his large body aching to simply reach out, to wrap his iron-strong arms around both of you and never let go. He leaned in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the top of Nevan’s head, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of his son one last time.
As he began to pull away, Nevan’s small fingers suddenly shot out, grabbing Neteyam’s long braids with a stubborn, toddler grip. He yanked, preventing his father from moving back.
“Papa kiss Mama!” Nevan ordered with a bright, demanding grin, his tail swishing behind him in a mischievous flick. “Good bye!”
Neteyam froze, his head tilted downward by the boy's grip. Slowly, his eyes lifted from Nevan’s face to yours. They were completely stripped of the commander's armor, now earnest, dark, and filled with a raw longing that made your breath hitch in your throat. He waited, silently asking for permission.
You looked at his lips, then at the desperate hope in his eyes, and felt the old, stubborn walls in your chest crack just a fraction. Slowly, you tilted your chin up, offering your lips to him.
The tension in Neteyam’s shoulders died instantly. A soft, ragged sigh escaped his nose just before his large, warm hand came up to cup your neck, his thumb on your jaw. He leaned down and closed the distance. You were expecting a brief, polite kiss of departure, but you should have known by the way he held you that it wouldn’t be like that.
The moment his lips touched yours, he held you there with the fierce, unyielding eagerness of a man who had been starving for a year. His lips were warm, firm, and thoroughly possessive, parting slightly as he kissed you, reminding your body of exactly who he was to you. A sudden, stupid heat flared in your stomach, your pulse spiking as your lips instinctively softened against his, responding to the familiar, intoxicating rhythm of his kiss.
He groaned softly against your mouth, his thumb caressing your jaw, pulling you just a fraction closer, trying to collapse the entire year of separation into a breathless second. But a sharp, high-pitched giggle broke the air. Nevan was squirming between you, his small hands clapping.
The sound snapped you back to reality. You pulled away, your breath coming a little faster, your cheeks flushed dark with a sudden surge of heat. Neteyam’s hand lingered on your jaw for a second too long, a low, deep rumble of impatience vibrating in his chest at the interruption, his eyes dark and heavy as he stared at your parted lips.
“Fly safely, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough.
You couldn't even form words. You simply nodded, mounted your ikran, and took to the sky, your mind in an absolute daze as the wind rushed past your face.
The flight back home felt like a blur. Even after you had safely landed on the soft, mossy platforms of your home clan and unbuckled an exhausted Nevan from the wrap, your lips still felt strangely warm, tingling with the ghost of Neteyam's mouth.
“My bestest friend in the world! You are back!”
The cheerful voice of Maytel broke your reverie as he walked down the wooden ramp, followed closely by Laika and Nira. The three of them had been your lifeline this past moons, always ready to help with the daily chores and Nevan.
Maytel practically bounded over to you, his face painted with a mischievous, gossiping energy. He didn't even wait for you to greet them before he leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me everything! How was the High Camp? My weekend went just as good! Do you remember that hunter from the clan nearby that I was eyeing? The one with the long arms? I swear, yesterday, we were together—”
“Maytel!” you hissed, your eyes widening significantly as you pointed them sharply down at your son who was rubbing his eyes but listening intently.
Nevan was an incredibly smart boy and his ears picked up on village gossip faster than a direhorse on the run.
Maytel immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, grinning apologetically. “Oh! Right. Hello there, little Neteyam. How was your visit to your Papa?”
Nevan’s ears instantly perked up, his fatigue temporarily forgotten as his eyes lit up with excitement. “We played a lot!” he chirped before holding his small arms out as wide as they could go. “Papa made big splash in the river! And gave me many toys! You’ll see, Uncle!”
Nevan eagerly held up the wooden ikran, bouncing on his heels as he babbled to Nira and Laika about the sweet fruits, the big mountain camp, and how his Grandpa let him touch a real ikran's snout. The three of them doted on him, laughing at his wild gestures until the boy's eyelids grew too heavy to fight.
You carried him down on his soft, woven cot, watching him with a doting smile as his tail curled peacefully. Even in sleep, his small forehead furrowed slightly in a way that looked identical to his father. It was a constant wonder to you how your boy could look so much like Neteyam, even with his soft baby features.
When you walked back out to the main platform, Maytel was sitting on a woven mat, repairing a fishing net. He looked up, a theatrical sigh escaping his lips.
“Now,” Maytel smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “What happened with the dear husband?”
You rolled your eyes, sitting down across from him and pulling a basket of fibers towards you to clean. “Nothing.”
Maytel groaned loudly, tossing a piece of twine into the air. “I do not know how you could do it, syulang! How you can resist all of... that! The last time he came to visit you here, oh, I couldn't even come near the house even if I tried. The air was so heavy! He is so large... taller than all the men in our village! And so handsome, too... Ah, those thighs... One could only imagine the beast he has inside that loincloth—”
“Maytel!” you shouted, your face burning as a sudden, vivid image of Neteyam’s muscular frame hovering over you flashed unbidden into your mind. Your stomach did a treacherous little flip. Oh, indeed, it was a beast. You cleared your throat quickly, trying to suppress the heat in your neck. “Perhaps you should have visited when he was here. Just yesterday by the river, Nevan mentioned your name to him, and it sounded so terrible. Neteyam thought you were my boytoy.”
Maytel’s eyes widened to the size of stones, his hands dropping the net completely. “What?!”
You rolled your eyes at his dramatic reaction. “Yeah. I should introduce you sometime, just so he stops looking like he wants to hunt something down.”
A slow, terribly mischievous smile spread across Maytel’s face. His amber eyes danced with glee. “Was he jealous, syulang?”
You shrugged, trying to appear completely indifferent. “Neteyam has always been very possessive. It is just his nature.”
“Of course he is!” Maytel grinned, leaning in close, his voice dripping with dramatic flair. “The way that man looks at you... Oh, he looks like a predator completely ready to pounce! Only that you’ve put him inside a cage.” He shivered, rubbing his arms. “We should rattle the cage, syulang.”
Your eyes narrowed instantly into a dangerous glare. “What are you talking about?”
He smirked, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, let’s see what happens if he keeps thinking I actually want you. You know? A little competition...'”
“No,” you said firmly, your voice dropping into a serious, unyielding tone that left no room for argument. “We will not play with my husband like that. He is currently in the vanguard, fighting a war for all of us. He has enough weight on his shoulders without us playing petty games with his mind.”
Maytel pouted, rolling his eyes as he picked his fishing net back up. “You are such a killjoy!”
When night finally came, the village fell into a quiet rhythm, the bioluminescent flora providing light in brilliant shades of cyan and deep magenta.
Inside your quiet hut, the small tablet you used for long-range communication emitted a low chime. Neteyam called almost every day when he wasn't able to visit, a routine he had stubbornly kept since the day you left.
You picked up the device, pressing the connect button and Neteyam’s face appeared on the small screen, the blue light of the monitor reflecting his sharp features, sitting in the dark of your yurt, looking exhausted.
“Papa!” Nevan’s voice cut through the quiet as the boy scrambled from his cot, his small hands immediately snatching the tablet from you.
You let him take it, stepping back. The memory of the kiss from this morning was still burning in your chest, and the ridiculous things Maytel had said earlier kept echoing in your mind. Hearing the deep, gravelly texture of Neteyam’s voice through the speaker seemed to tickle something deep within you, sending a slow, persistent heat crawling up your neck.
You watched from a distance as Nevan babbled to the screen, showing his father the toy again, telling him about the fish he saw in the river. Neteyam listened with an intensity that made your heart ache, his expression soft and full of a quiet, reverence for the boy.
“Go to sleep now, son,” Neteyam’s voice softened as Nevan yawned heavily, his little eyes fluttering shut as he rested his head against the mat, the tablet propped up beside him. “Good night, Nevan.”
“Night, Papa...” the boy murmured, completely out.
The screen shifted slightly as Neteyam adjusted his hold on his end. He knew you were still in the room. Even though he couldn't see you in the dim light of the hut, his voice dropped into a low, intimate frequency that felt like a warm hand sliding up your spine.
“Good night, my love,” he whispered into the quiet. “I love you so much.”
The line went dead with a soft beep.
You stood there in the dark for a long time, the silence of the room suddenly feeling incredibly loud. Your skin felt hypersensitive, your heart drumming a strange rhythm against your ribs as you carried the tablet back to the shelf and finally lay down on your own sleeping mat beside your son.
When sleep finally took you, it didn't bring the peaceful, dreamless rest.
It was a dream that seemed familiar to you. It was real... More like a memory haunting you. You were under a canopy in a forest that was so green and vibrantly alive. Your vision focused and you saw Neteyam in fromt of you. He looked so young, entirely devoid of the rigid exhaustion the war brought. He was grinning, a look that made your heart jump.
He had you pinned against the smooth bark of a giant root, his large hands mapping the curves of your body with a desperate fervor. You were both shivering, caught in the reckless, consuming heat of youthful desire. His fingers were knuckles-deep inside you, the slick, wet heat of you coating him as he moved frantically in and out, stretching you beyond relief. It was a tight, intense friction, but even in the haze of the dream, you found yourself thinking that it was a far gentler stretch than the thick, heavy length of his cock, which your hands were currently fisted around. You pumped him in tandem with his rhythm, his weight leaning heavily into you as a ragged groan escaped his throat.
“I missed you, my baby...” he mumbled against your skin, his lips trailing a path of burning kisses from your collarbone up to your jaw before crashing onto your mouth, tasting of pure adoration. His fingers moved faster, driving you closer and closer to a cliff you wanted to fall off of.
You let out a soft, breathless chuckle against his lips, your fingers tightening around his length. “Missed me? We are always together, ‘teyam...”
But the moment the words left your mouth, you watched his face fall, a profound sadness washing over his golden eyes. “Not really, no...” he whispered, his voice cracking with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “You are so far away from me right now...”
Panic seized your heart, sharp and sudden like an arrow to the ribs. “What...?” you gasped, reaching for his face, but his image was already dissolving like smoke in the wind. “Neteyam—”
You woke up with a violent gasp, your eyes flying open to the quiet, dark interior of your hut.
Your heart was hammering a frantic, echoing rhythm against your ribs, and your breath came in ragged bursts. The cool night air swept over your bare skin. Between your thighs, the phantom ache of his fingers was still vividly there, a throbbing warmth that slowly turned cold as the reality settled in. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to force the image of his younger, unburdened smile back into the dark.
You missed him so much.
This wasn't the first time. You had dreamed of him many times in the past moons. But they were never dreams that hasn’t happened, they were always memories, beautifully cruel and vibrant, haunting you even in your sleep. Your dreams weren’t showing you what could be, it was torturing you with what used to be, a reminder that while you had successfully run away from the war, you had never truly managed to run away from him.
The lingering mix of heat and longing from the dream stayed with you for days, but lately, only the heat seemed to have stuck. And it’s annoying. You were glad you didn’t have to see him for the time being, because it often happens every time you see him. Fortunately, you somehow at least manage to overcome the trials and tribulations of being a woman who chose to separate from the man she loves so much.
By midday, you were sitting on the main platform of your hut, the basket of fibers in your lap serving as a distraction while Maytel sat cross-legged opposite you. He was at it again, his fingers weaving river-grass and glossy feather-like fibers into an intricate hair crown. It wasn't for you this time, because Maytel has always been the unofficial beautifier of the clan's young women, and right now, he was carefully crafting a piece for a girl from the lower terraces.
“I am telling you, syulang, he nearly fell out of his hammock when I walked past,” Maytel was wheezing, his tail thrashing with dramatic delight as he recounted his latest encounter with his long-armed hunter. “He tried to act so smooth, but the poor thing was blushing so hard his stripes almost turned purple!”
You let out a loud, genuine laugh, shaking your head as you tossed a cleaned fiber at him. “You are terrible, Maytel. Leave the poor man alone before you break his spirit entirely.”
“Never! A little torment keeps the blood pumping,” he grinned, his fingers flying through the weaving.
“Mama! Mama!”
Nevan’s high-pitched voice shattered the lighthearted bubble. You blinked, looking toward the main walkway, expecting to see Nira or Laika chasing after your hyperactive son.
Instead, your breath caught squarely in your throat.
Walking just a step behind Nevan, his massive frame practically shadowing over your son, was Neteyam.
He was in his full warrior gear, wearing his cummerbund, his chest knife sheat, and his heavy longbow strapped to his back, looking thoroughly prepared in case he gets attacked on his way here. He looked terrifyingly formidable, and a little out of place, too. Everyone in your clan knows of his reputation as a warrior leading the resistance with his parents, and they have always treated that as something to celebrate.
Your eyes snapped straight to his face after a quick sweep of his gear, your heart jumping to your throat at the sight of his eyes narrowed into slits. To anyone else, he just looked like the stoic, fierce commander of the Omatikaya, carrying himself with his usual rigid authority. But you? You had known him since you were children. You had held him in the dark. You knew every subtle twitch of his ears, every micro-expression of his jaw.
There's your angry man.
He was staring directly at Maytel, his eyes tracking the way Maytel was sitting so comfortably close to you, sizing up his competition with a cold, calculating precision.
“Oh, Great Mother,” Maytel muttered through entirely gritted teeth, his smile freezing in place as he deliberately kept his lips from moving. “Is this your view every day? If yes, how dare you leave him, syulang? If I had one of that at home, I would never think of this clan again.”
You threw Maytel a furious, warning glare. Those seem like the perfect digs, because this isn’t your view at all, you barely even see him. You also didn’t have one of that at home... Literally, because the man was rarely home. You stood up, looking at Neteyam with look of genuine confusion. Before Maytel could even speak again, Nevan reached the steps leading to the platform, throwing his little body against your legs before turning around and pointing proudly at his father.
“Papa surprised me at the ledge, Mama!”
Neteyam stepped onto the platform, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. Without a word, he bent down and effortlessly scooped Nevan up into one massive arm, propping the boy against his hip. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek as he looked down at you.
“Neteyam,” you said, your voice tilting up. “You... you weren't due to visit until next week. The patrol schedules on the tablet said you were in the western valleys... You should have sent word, I haven’t prepared anything.”
His brows raised slightly, his tail twitching in an agitated flick behind him. He adjusted his grip on Nevan, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly tone. “A word to visit my wife and my son? Do I need that now, my love?”
You blinked, completely caught off guard by the sheer pettiness dripping from the commander of the Omatikaya vanguard. A tiny, involuntary rise twitched on your brows. “N...no, of course you don’t,” you stammered slightly, trying very hard to keep your face neutral. “But what brought you here? Are the people alright?”
“The people are perfectly fine,” he answered, his eyes darting back to Maytel who was currently staring up at him with wide, completely unbothered eyes. In fact, Maytel looked like he was watching a theatrical performance, his gaze tracking Neteyam’s shoulders and the broad sweep of his chest with shameless appreciation.
You pursed yourself to stop a chuckle from escaping you at the realization that Neteyam had absolutely no idea what Maytel's true self was. To Neteyam, this was simply the man who was staying way too long talking to you, helping you, and weaving flowers into your hair.
“Neteyam,” you cleared your throat, stepping between them to cut off Neteyam's death stare before he accidentally declared a one-man war on your village. “This is Maytel. The one Nevan was telling you about.”
Neteyam shifted Nevan to his other hip, his posture locking into an intensely rigid, formal stance. He looked down at Maytel as if he were interrogating a prisoner of war. “I see,” Neteyam rumbled, his voice dripping with an absurd amount of authority. “I hear you have been a great assistance to my family, Maytel. I couldn’t thank you enough.”
Maytel blinked, a slow, highly amused smirk tugging at his lips. He stood a full head shorter than Neteyam, but showing absolutely zero fear. Instead, he let his eyes lazily trail down Neteyam's torso, before going back up to his face.
“It is no trouble at all,” Maytel purred, his voice smooth. “Your wife is my absolute favorite person to spend my days with and little Nevan here is just a joy to watch grow. You can’t take your eyes off of kids these days, they grow up so fast!”
You gritted your teeth, widening your eyes at Maytel, and having him glance at you with that confident I-can-handle-this look.
Neteyam’s ears threatened to flatten against his head. His nostrils flared as he looked at Maytel, his jaw locking hard as he absorbed the thinly veiled barb about being an absent husband and father, but the aggressive tension in his shoulder dissolved as quickly as it came. In its place emerged the smooth grin of a boy you had grown up with. Neteyam has never been one to take a slight seriously.
“Is that right?” Neteyam asked, his grin widening into something effortlessly dangerous. He patted Nevan’s back, his tail flicking behind him in slow, rhythmic moves. “Well, I can’t blame you. My wife is an excellent company, and my boy is easily the best part of anyone's day. I appreciate you keeping them entertained while I was away.”
Your lips twisted at how easily Neteyam was able to ride over that wave. Meanwhile, Maytel glanced like you, his eyes communicating ooh, the man can bite and you rolled your eyes. Neteyam caught the way Maytel glanced at you and your dear friend immediately tore his eyes off.
His plan to rattle the cage? Forget that. Neteyam looked physically capable of tossing him off the platform like a sack of dried grass, and as much as he would love to support you to the ends of the world, with the way your husband was sizing him up like a tactical competition, he decided he valued his life. It was time for a very graceful, very immediate exit.
“Oh, don't mention it. Taking care of Y/N and Nevan is the least I can do to contribute to the war efforts... Since you are too busy in it," Maytel said. You closed your eyes, shaking your head with how that once again landed like another dig!
Fortunately, a voice called out to Maytel several yards away and you saw how relieved he looked to have an excuse to get out of here. Your ears perked up, too, ready to send him away so you can finally deal with your husband.
“Oh, as much as I would like to stay...” Maytel sighed, “I think I shall leave you three to your... family time.”
“Right. Thanks, Maytel...” You said, widening your eyes at him when he sneaked in another once-over on your husband’s body.
With a theatrical swish of his tail, Maytel sauntered down the wooden ramp. Neteyam didn’t break his stare from the walkway until Maytel’s silhouette vanished into the lower terraces, but the moment he was gone, Neteyam’s golden eyes snapped down to the corner of the platform. His gaze locked onto a bundle of fibers that Maytel had carelessly left behind, a habit born from being used to coming here whenever he pleased.
“He leaves his things here,” Neteyam muttered, his tone dropping into a low growl. “Like he knows he can just walk back here anytime he pleases.”
“Maytel is harmless, Neteyam... if you’d only open your eyes to see,” you told him.You couldn’t possibly tell him what Maytel really was for that wasn't your secret to share, so you felt conflicted. You didn’t want Neteyam to think you were just allowing random men into your home.
“He is my friend. He can come back. He helps here, so he’s here almost every day.”
You saw Neteyam’s jaw tighten at the words every day and you almost groaned out loud at how you seemed to be cursed with the exact same syndrome Maytel just had: pissing off Neteyam with your choice of words.
“But that is not the point,” you quickly followed, cutting off his impending tirade before he could even start. You stepped closer, looking at the sheer exhaustion hidden beneath his rigid posture. “What’s the reason for this sudden visit?”
Neteyam looked down at Nevan, who was currently occupied with chewing on one of his father’s arm bands. Slowly, deliberately, Neteyam set the boy down on the woven mat. “Will you go inside and play for a while, son? Papa needs to speak with Mama.”
“Okay!” Nevan chirped, completely oblivious to the tension between his parents.
Once the boy was out of sight, Neteyam turned to you. The rigid, unyielding commander of the Omatikaya resistance seemed to slowly fracture, his shoulders dropping. He didn't look like he was preparing to leave. In fact, he had unbuckled his heavy longbow, setting it carefully against the weapon rack by the door, a gesture of permanence that made your heart skip a beat.
“It’s not a visit,” Neteyam said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I am staying.”
You blinked, a sudden wave of confusion washing over you. “What do you mean, you are staying? For how long? A week? Neteyam, the raids in the west—”
“I have handed the command of the western vanguard over to Lo'ak and Rey’to,” he interrupted, his voice steady. He took a step toward you, his large hand reaching out as if to touch you, before he caught himself and let it drop to his side. “I am staying here. With you. With our son. For as long as you are here. Even if it takes years.”
Your breath hitched. You stared at him, your mind frantically trying to process the words. The golden heir of Toruk Makto, the boy who had been groomed since birth to carry the weight of his people, the commander who had chosen the war over his own family... had walked away from the vanguard.
“What... What about the resistance?” you whispered.
“I left it,” he whispered, his eyes heavy on you, but for the first time in years, he looked so unburdened. “I don’t expect a pie for it, baby. I know I have a lot of things to make up for. To you, to Nevan, and to our family. There is nothing more important to me in this world but you—”
“Neteyam, y-you cannot do that. Your father, the people, they... need you. You are one of the pillars keeping the people from falling to the demons—”
“And who is keeping us from falling?” he uttered, his voice filled of a raw, desperate emotion breaking through his warrior’s facade. He stepped closer, completely invading your space, his familiar scent clouding your senses. “I spent the entire flight here realizing the hypocrisy of my own words. I told you that Maytel was not Nevan's father, and that he was not your husband... but Eywa help me, I haven't been either of those things to you in years.”
He looked at you with eyes so heavy with longing it made your throat close up with grief.
“My father told me that a leader makes sacrifices for the future,” Neteyam murmured, his hand finally defying the distance, his long, warm fingers gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw. “But if the future means I have to stand in an empty home, realizing that the woman I love, have loved my whole life, looks at me like a stranger... then the war has already taken everything worth fighting for. I am choosing you, and I didn’t think it could be that easy. Baby, I cannot lose you...”
You held his eyes as his words hung in the air, your throat working silently as your eyes mapped the familiar contours of his face. The rigid, hyper-vigilant set of his shoulders was still there, and perhaps it always will be there, but the desperate, raw vulnerability in his eyes sent an ache in your chest. The thumb on your jaw trembled just slightly, a rare display of fear from the Omatikaya’s most formidable young commander.
He was giving you everything you had spent a year aching for. He was giving up the vanguard. He was setting down his bow. He was choosing to be a husband and a father over being a war legend.
Yet, as you looked at the set of his jaw and the sharp knife strapped to his chest, a sudden grounded clarity washed over you. You couldn't help but peek past his shoulder toward the lower terraces where Maytel had just vanished. Your eyes narrowed as you stifled a knowing smile, cutting through the heavy emotional fog.
“You are a very foolish man, Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice dropping into a soft cadence that made his ears twitch in surprise. “You fly all the way across the forest, hand over your lifelong duty to your brother, and declare an end to your warrior days... and a significant part of it is because your son said something about some guy making hair decorations for me.”
Neteyam’s posture stiffened instantly. His nostrils flared, a faint, dark flush creeping beneath his cheeks. He tried to maintain his solemn, deeply romantic expression, but the telltale twitch of his ears betrayed him.
“That’s not—I did not leave the vanguard because of that,” he muttered with a defensive, stubborn scowl that reminded you of your son, melting away at your icy defenses.
“No?” You tilted your chin up, your eyes dancing with a quiet, knowing light. “You didn't look at Maytel like you wanted to feed him to your ikran? This wasn’t prompted by the thought that someone else was here, helping me with everything and teaching your son stuff while you were away in the trenches?”
Neteyam closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a long, defeated hiss through his teeth. When he opened them again, the fierce commander was entirely gone, replaced by the intensely possessive, fiercely protective man you know very well.
He sighed. “I hate imagining and seeing him here... seeing another man's things in our space, knowing he gets to hear our son’s first morning words while I am decoding scout reports... I hate it, yawne. It made me realize that while I have been busy holding up the sky for everyone else, my own world was moving on without me. I am a warrior, yes. But I am your man long before I became one. I am Nevan's father. If I have to crawl to get your forgiveness, I will. Please, just do not tell me to leave.”
The sheer honesty of his words struck deep within your chest, like a lightning bolt cracking at the frost that had settled over your heart during the year of separation. You love him very much, and you knew he could easily get you back if he showed you how regretful he was, but you didn’t want to make it completely effortless for him.
You tilted your head before slowly moving away to let his hand drop from you. Neteyam’s fingers flexed against the empty air, a pained, searching look crossing his features as he watched you move a pace away.
“You can stay, Neteyam,” you said softly, your expression turning serious. “You can stay and be a father to our son. You have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
Neteyam’s chest expanded with a deep, profound breath of relief. You didn’t mention anything about how your relationship will go from here, but that only made a determined, unyielding fire lit up in his eyes. He will work hard to earn you, to replace the time he wasted letting you carry the burden of his absence alone with the reminder that he is still very much here, and that he will never leave again.
“I will earn it back,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Every single day.”
And surprisingly, Neteyam kept his word with a relentless, quiet devotion that left no room for doubt.
For the first few weeks, you remained intentionally wary. You kept your distance. You expected the long-range communication tablet on the shelf to chime at any moment, expecting Jake’s stern voice or Neytiri’s desperate call to summon him back to the battlefield. You expected Neteyam to pace the platforms at night, staring longingly toward the mountains like a caged predator.
But the summons never came, and Neteyam never looked back.
While he still kept a strict routine of waking up before dawn to check his longbow and spending an hour on his tablet giving quiet, tactical advice to Lo'ak or coordinate defensive tactics with his father, the moment the sun broke over the mountains, he belonged entirely to his family.
Nevan, unlike you, required absolutely zero groveling. To your son, having his father home every day was a miracle straight from Eywa. The little boy practically attached himself to Neteyam’s hip from the moment he opened his eyes.
“Look, Mama! Papa taught me how to make the ikran call!” Nevan chirped one bright morning, running into the hut with his arms spread wide, letting out a surprisingly accurate, high-pitched screech that made you laugh.
Neteyam walked in right behind him, carrying a massive basket of freshly gathered jungle fruits and roots for pie. He had stripped off his heavy war gear weeks ago, now wearing only his daily clothes. His long braids were freely dancing, and his skin lacked the harsh black soot of the vanguard. He looked exactly like the boy from your dreams... unburdened and happy.
“He is an apt hunter, yawne,” Neteyam smiled, setting the heavy basket down near your cooking hearth. He paused, his golden eyes locking onto yours, admiring the way you look in the morning with that steady, intense warmth that always made your pulse quicken. “Though he still needs to work on his stealth. He gasps too much when he spots a prey.”
“I don’t, Papa!” Nevan protested, throwing his little body against Neteyam’s sturdy thigh. “I am silent like the wind! Right, Mama?”
You couldn't help the soft, genuine laugh that bubbled up from your throat. “I supposed you are, my little breeze. Now go wash your hands before breakfast.”
As Nevan scrambled toward the water basin, Neteyam stepped closer to you. He was never an impatient lover. Even when you two were younger, he had always made sure you were comfortable with the pace he was taking. It was actually you who was impatient, pushing him to his limits and challenging the rules he set for himself.
Now, he didn't exactly invade your space aggressively, but he came close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached into the basket and pulled out a single, perfectly bloomed night-glory flower, its petals glowing a vibrant, brilliant shade of blue. Without a word, he gently tucked the stem behind your ear, his knuckles brushing against your cheek just a second longer than necessary.
“Your son said this matches the pattern of your stripes,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, meant only for your ears. “He seems to have memorized your patterns like I have when I was a boy... I think every part of me loves you, baby. That includes Nevan, because he’s a part of me.”
Your face burned a sudden, dark shade of violet. You batted his hand away with a playful, frustrated sigh, though your fingers instinctively came up to touch the cool petals. “Neteyam... You are supposed to be helping with breakfast, not picking flowers and uttering pick up lines like a flustered young hunter trying to win his intended mate.”
Neteyam’s lips curved into a slow, utterly devastating grin, the exact same cocky, confident smile that had stolen your heart when you were teenagers. “Who says I am not? I am courting you, yawne. I told you I would earn my way back.”
“You are ridiculous,” you muttered, turning back to the hearth to hide the massive smile breaking across your face.
As the moons bled into one another, Neteyam’s quiet crusade to win back your heart took on a life of its own. He stayed and showed no interest in going back at all, integrating himself so deeply into your daily life that the memories of your lonely year apart began to fade like mist under the scorching sun.
Every single day seemed like an adventure with Neteyam and Nevan always making sure you were at the center of it, but today, your son had miraculously stayed behind when Neteyam went out to hunt. Both of you shared a laugh at the fact that the boy was obviously having a lazy day.
Nevan was sitting cross-legged in front of you, his tiny tail curling in a calm concentration. You had a shallow clay bowl filled with crushed, vibrant purple berries between your knees, using the thick juice as a makeshift paint.
“Like this,” you murmured softly, dipping the tip of your finger into the dark juice. You gently pulled his small hand into yours, guiding his index finger into the bowl. “Gently, my boy. We do not want to drown the wood.”
Nevan let out a soft, eager chirp, his ears pinning back in focus as you helped him press his finger onto a flat piece of smooth wood. Together, you dragged his finger down, leaving a thick streak that was meant to represent the neck of a direhorse. The moment you lifted his hand, Nevan gasped, his golden eyes going wide as a bright, toothy smile split his face.
“Pretty, Mama! Look!" he squealed, his little tail swishing frantically against your thigh.
You couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped your lips, leaning forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss right to the tip of his nose. “Aren’t you just Mama’s little artist?”
Nevan giggled, squirming happily against your legs before leaning his small head completely against your chest. He was getting bigger every day, but in moments like this, when he curled up against you and let out those tiny purring sounds, he was still just your little baby. You wrapped your arms securely around his small frame, resting your chin on the top of his head, gently rocking him side to side as you hummed a soft, ancient lullaby, your hands continuously working on the paint.
Unbeknownst to you, Neteyam was standing completely still in the threshold. He had just returned from his hunt, his muscles aching and his heart still filled with the adrenaline of it. He had been prepared to strip off his boundary gear and weapons, but the moment he stepped onto the platform and saw the two of you, the breath completely caught in his throat.
He couldn’t move, he couldn't possibly break the absolute sanctity of the scene before him. His eyes, usually so sharp and vigilant on the battlefield, softened until they were thick with a profound reverence. He watched the way your long hair fell over your shoulder, framing the gentle, fierce love on your face as you cradled his son. He watched how comfortably Nevan fit against your chest, completely protected from the harsh, violent world outside these walls.
He thought about all the days he missed, the quiet days you and Nevan spent together just like this, and a wave of emotion hit him squarely in the chest, so overwhelming and pure it made his throat tighten. Suddenly, his whole world shrank down to just this sight of you humming in the golden light, with his son safe in your arms, and a fierce, blinding clarity washed over him.
Nevan shifted, his little ear twitching as he caught the faint rustle of Neteyam’s movements. The boy's head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes lighting up. “Papa!”
You blinked, breaking out of your peaceful daze, and turned your head to see him just standing there.
Neteyam offered you a soft, utterly devastating smile, the last remnants of his exhaustion melting completely off his features. He stepped into the alcove, immediately welcomed by Nevan’s insistent chirping.
“Papa! Papa, look!” Nevan babbled, squirming in your grip so he could proudly point his purple-stained finger at the piece of wood. “Mama and me made... a pa'li! A big, big one! See the long neck? Like a real one? It eats through the big trees!”
Neteyam let out a low, rumbling chuckle before leaning back to press a kiss on Nevan’s head before his large hand came down to cup it, his thumb gently smoothing back the boy's twitching ear. “Wow, doesn’t this look fiercer than Agre, Mama? Papa has an own pa’li back in the forest... Mama and I loved going for a ride. One day soon, we’ll go see him,” he told Nevan, the little boy’s eyes perpetually twinkling. “Tell me more about this masterpiece.” Neteyam comfortably sat down near you.
“I— I... I didn't drown the wood!” Nevan continued eagerly, his hands gesturing wildly, completely unbothered by the purple juice drying on his skin. “Mama said do it gently. Like a hunter when you hunt the big yerik, Papa!”
As Nevan kept rambling, acting out the hunt with tiny, dramatic lunges of his hands, Neteyam’s gaze slowly drifted up from your son to meet yours. His hand slid from Nevan's head to rest against your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheekbone with a tender, heavy pressure. He was looking at you as if you had personally handed him the stars and the silence between you filled with a shared devotion for the beautiful, bubbly life you had created together.
You leaned into his palm, tilting your head up to press a soft kiss into the center of his hand. Neteyam’s smile widened, his heart hammering a heavy rhythm against his chest. You are his whole world. The little hands holding his braids right now holds his entire world. And he couldn’t believe he lost sight of that.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“Please come! The river is very big today, Mama!” Nevan pleaded one afternoon, tugging furiously at your hand while Neteyam stood by the doorway, holding a woven utility basket.
“I have to finish mending these, Nevan,” you replied gently, gesturing to the tangled fibers in your lap.
Before you could even protest further, Neteyam walked over and effortlessly scooped you up from the floor, basket and all, setting you firmly on your feet. He took the fibers from your hands and tossed it onto the shelf.
“These can wait,” Neteyam said, his golden eyes dancing with a mischievous spark. “The commander orders a family excursion to the falls. No exceptions.”
Your lips parted for a moment, curling into a smile of disbelief. “You cannot use your commander voice on me, Neteyam te Suli. I do not report to your vanguard.”
“No,” he whispered, leaning down so his warm breath brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine. “You are the only one I report to.”
You rolled your eyes, still smiling as you let your shrieking son drag you out of the hut, but your eyes lingered on Neteyam as you walked past, glinting with a mischievous light he hasn’t seen in over a year, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared that he decided he had just conjured it.
At the river, you waded in the shallow waters, watching Neteyam teach Nevan how to float on his back, the air cool and misted with the spray of the waterfalls cascading down the upper terraces. Your son splashed his little feet wildly, creating cute splashes that made Neteyam chuckle.
“You need to calm down, son. Make your body light... Think you can remain unmoving for a few seconds?” Neteyam asked, and you watched your son look up at his father with twinkling eyes.
“I can! Watch, Mama!” Nevan said proudly.
Neteyam slipped his large hands under Nevan’s small back, gently lifting him until the boy lay flat on the water's surface. “Relax your shoulders, Nevan. Look up at the sky, not at your feet,” Neteyam instructed, his voice low and soothing.
Nevan stiffened at first, his tail twitching underwater, causing him to sink immediately with a loud gasp and a splash. Neteyam caught him instantly, pulling him up with a warm laugh.
“Again, son. You must trust the water... and Papa. I won’t let you go.”
It took a few more tries. On the second attempt, Nevan held his breath too hard and tipped sideways. On the third, a stray splash hit his nose, making him sneeze and sink. But by the fourth try, you saw a quiet determination take over your son’s eyes, much like the one you often see in Neteyam’s eyes, as he took a deep breath and relaxed his tiny frame, letting the river hold him. Neteyam slowly lowered his hands away. Nevan was floating all on his own, his ears twitching in delight.
“I'm doing it? Mama, look!” Nevan squealed, the sudden movement breaking his balance and sending him plunging back into the water.
Your eyes widened, but he surfaced sputtering and giggling, and you couldn't help but laugh, too. Neteyam caught him, knowing he couldn’t really swim on his own yet. You waded closer to them and Nevan reached for you, his little arms wrapping around your neck. Neteyam grinned at you, his large hand cradling his son’s head.
“Let’s see you do it again, boy,” you grinned at him and Nevan splashed his hand in the water excitedly. You laughed, peering up at Neteyam, “He’s like one of those Terran toys Norm used to show us before.”
He tilted his head, “Robots?”
You chuckled, “No? Those stuff with a string you pull... And then it does something,” you said, helping your son lay flat on the water.
“Pull string toy? That one that talks?” he asked, already laughing.
You nodded, laughing with him as you turned to your son who is now relaxing his little body and letting the water carry him. You slowly let go of him, allowing him to float on his on.
“Calm down, Nevan... Mama will do it, too,” you mumbled, slowly letting yourself fall backward into the cool water, perfectly buoyant.
Neteyam grinned, dropping down right beside Nevan, his long limbs stretching out effortlessly. The three of you drifted together in the shallow waters, staring up at the canopy. Nevan let out a bright, bubbling laugh at the ticklish sensation of the water rushing past his ears, and the sound was so infectious that you and Neteyam burst out laughing too, your voices echoing alongside the waterfalls
The river soon became the site for your family’s almost daily bondings.
Nevan learned to swim in no time, but you still cautioned him against going to the river to swim on his own. Your son might be bigger than average kids his age, but he was still only two, and you worried he would run off to the river unsupervised.
Nevan splashed wildly in the shallow pools divided by smooth stones from the body of the river, chasing after the tiny, bioluminescent fish that darted beneath the surface. You sat on a smooth rock at the edge, watching him with a soft, content smile as you prepared the food for lunch. Nearby, Neteyam moved through the water with a fluid grace that vividly reminded you of his younger self, when he worked so hard to master his stealth as a hunter.
He was a good hunter, and an even better warrior.
He had been so skilled back then that he was grouped with older, more experienced warriors because he always seemed to know what to do. His parents took pride in how he outdid Jake in everything at an even younger age; there was no doubt at all that he would make a great Olo’eyktan. He was the golden heir who had bent his back to the crushing weight of his people’s expectations, carrying it all without a word of complaint.
And he had exceeded all of it, right up until the day he decided to leave everything behind to show you that he’s choosing you.
The thought settled heavily in your chest. You love him so much. Not once, even during the bitterest moons of your separation when you felt hollowed out by his neglect, had you stopped loving him. You had loved him as a wide-eyed child visiting Hometree and chasing him through the roots, you had loved him as a fiercely protective teenager, and you loved him now, as a woman who had given him a son.
But as you watched him move with a breeze of a warrior he will always be, a sudden, sharp ache of guilt pierced your heart.
You had taken him away from what he spent his whole life preparing for.
You were supposed to love every piece of him, just as he loved everything about you. Yet, when the war demanded too much of the man you loved your whole life, you had given up on the warrior entirely. You had forced him into an ultimatum between his duty to the people and his duty to his heart.
This realization plagued your mind for the days that followed. You watched him closely, searching for any flicker of resentment, any lingering gaze toward the horizon where the sky people’s metal birds still flew. But you found nothing. He looked entirely settled, his focus anchored completely on you, on Nevan, and within the confines of your family's hut.
In fact, the only thing that seemed to break his hard-earned peace was the occasional appearance of Maytel.
By midday, you were back on the platform, organizing a fresh basket of weaving fibers. Nevan and Neteyam had just climbed the ramp, returning from a short trek to gather wild spices for your recipe.
Neteyam had barely stepped onto the wood before his golden eyes laser-focused on Maytel, who was currently standing across from you, chatting about the latest village gossip. Under normal circumstances, the sheer intensity of Neteyam’s possessive glare would have made you stifle a laugh. But because you’ve spent days with the weight of your thoughts about him made the humor fade.
Maytel giggled at you, “You never did tell me anything, syulang! It’s been moons! With the way your husband looks at you, I was thinking you’d be round with child but now, but, oh well! You’re too slow,” he rolled his eyes, handing you the small, securely wrapped clay dish.
“Shut up,” you whispered, watching Neteyam and Nevan approach.
“Uncle Maytel!” Nevan excitedly greeted, waving a hand and skipping excitedly.
“I brought over some berry pie I baked this morning. I know how much you like this, little boy.”
Nevan peered up at him happily, his eyes twinkling as his hands clasped. “Thank you, Uncle!”
“Thank you again, Maytel,” you said smoothly.
Maytel straightened himsef up himself gracefully, his eyes darting toward Neteyam’s rigid frame. “Well, I must be off. I have a date with a certain long-armed hunter down by the shallow banks, and if I keep him waiting, he might snap another bow string out of pure despair.”
He gave you a dramatic wink, but Neteyam’s expression remained entirely hard, calculating, and intensely territorial. He stood frozen until Maytel’s silhouette finally disappeared down the main walkway.
“Mama! Look at the big leaf I found!” Nevan babbled, showing it to you.
You examined it with great curiosity, admiring its beautiful patterns. “The patterns looks like the canopy at Hometree, son,” you smiled at him.
“Wow...” Nevan looked down at his leaf with wonder before scrambling past his father’s legs and running into the hut to add the leaf among his toys.
With the platform suddenly empty, you stood up and crossed the small distance between you and your husband. For the first time since he had arrived moons ago, you stepped directly into his space, your hands coming to rest flat against the warm skin of his chest where you immediately felt the heavy thudding of his heart beneath your palms.
Before he could speak, you slid your hands up to his shoulders, tilted your chin up, and pulled him down into a deep, lingering kiss.
Neteyam froze, his breath catching sharply in his throat. He looked utterly stunned, his ears twitching back in absolute surprise before the instinctual hunger took over. His large hands came up to grip your waist, anchoring you against him as he kissed you back with a sudden, dark intensity that sent a wave of heat straight to your core.
When you finally pulled away, your lips were tingling, and his golden eyes had darkened with something different.
You let out a dramatic, teasing sigh, a faint smile breaking through the serious fog of your mind. “They always told me my husband possessed the keen eyes of a viperwolf... but it has been moons, my love, and you still haven't caught on.”
Neteyam blinked, his forehead furrowing in confusion. “What?”
You let out a soft giggle, your fingers tracing the strong line of his collarbone. “Maytel just said he has a date with his hunter, Neteyam. He is trying to get on with a man, not with your wife.”
A sudden, staggering silence fell over him, his mouth opening slightly, his ears lifting as the pieces finally clicked together. You chuckled as you watched the fearsome commander of the resistance suddenly looked incredibly flustered, a violet flush creeping along his neck.
“He... with a hunter?” Neteyam muttered, clearing his throat roughly.
“Yes,” you laughed softly, leaning your head against his chest. "There was never any reason for you to be jealous, ‘teyam. I never looked at another while I was away from you. How can I possibly ever replace you? Even when I was trying my hardest to act like I didn't care, I would never betray you like that.”
Neteyam’s gaze softened, his large hands smoothing down your back, pressing you closer to his warmth. “I know that, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Not once did I ever doubt your faithfulness to me. It was... the men I did not trust. But... I suppose I should thank Maytel. Not just for watching over you and Nevan when I was too blind to be here, but because the mere threat of him made me straighten myself up.”
You smiled, looking at the scars on his chest. “Well... about that. Maytel was never a threat, you see. It is just... you left the vanguard for this. You left everything you worked hard for—”
“No,” Neteyam interrupted firmly, his forehead furrowing as he caught your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Do not think that. I did not leave the vanguard simply because I was jealous, I left because I was terrified of losing you completely. I have missed so much of our son’s life, yawne. I didn't even know how to make up for all the time I lost. I will carry the regret of that lost time for a very long time...”
A wave of emotion rose in your throat, making your lower lip tremble a little. “I was so hurt during those moons, Neteyam... but I wallowed so deeply in my own pain that I failed to see how hard you were struggling, too. You were keeping up with the two lives you were living, carrying the future of this world on your shoulders, and instead of being there to be the support you needed... I walked away. I left you alone, Neteyam—”
“Don't,” Neteyam commanded softly, his thumb sweeping across your cheek to cut off your words. “Don't you ever blame yourself, or think your choices were wrong. Baby, I wasn't keeping up with my lives. I was living fully as a warrior, entirely forgetting that I had a wife and a child who needed me to be a man, not just a leader. I was a terrible husband. I was a failure of a father. Do not deny that.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.
“Your decision to walk away did me a favor, baby. I was too blinded by my duty. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't put me in my place early on, if I had kept believing that everything was perfect while you were breaking in the dark?”
You stared at him, your throat tight, unable to find an argument. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Then let us settle it,” you murmured. “We both made mistakes. I should have spoken to you clearly instead of expecting you to know exactly what you were doing wrong... And you should have remembered that the war isn't the only thing worth fighting for.”
He breathed a huff of relief. “I am so scared, baby... I cannot lose you. You are half of me,” he whispered.
“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you mumbled, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.
He was quick to shake his head, looking almost angered. “I don’t want you to forgive me. I will not accept that. I want to remember this moment in our lives when I have let you and our son down. I would sacrifice and leave behind everything just to make sure this won’t happen again.”
You smiled. “Then I supposed I shouldn’t ask for forgiveness, too, for my selfishness—”
“You are not selfish and I have nothing to forgive,” he countered fiercely. “You only wanted what’s good for you and for our son, I’m glad you made that your priority. Can you imagine what younger me would have thought of me now? He would beat me up, baby, I’m willing to bet...” he pressed his forehead against yours.
Both your hands came up to hold his jaw. “We are allowed to make mistakes, my love... Both of us are still learning. What’s important is that even with what was happening between us, we were still good parents to Nevan.”
He smiled, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his son. “He’s a very resilient boy, my love... It makes me even more guilty that he just... loves me very much despite my absence.”
Your brows furrowed a little even as you smiled softly. “I guess Nevan is just a reflection of my heart. He’s a part of me, too, and every part of me loves you very much,” you caressed his jaw, pressing a soft kiss in his lips.
“I love you more. I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips, before he delivered a harder, more desperate kiss. It was a release of all the months of unspoken grief, longing, and the lingering heat that had built up between you. Neteyam groaned deep in his throat, his grip on your waist tightening until your breaths mixed into one frantic rhythm.
“Oh, Great Mother!”
The loud, dramatic gasp broke the air, making you pull away from Neteyam in an instant, breathless and flushed, only to see Maytel standing at the edge of the platform, his eyes wide with a look of pure, devious glee. He had caught you both completely red-handed, and you could practically see the chaotic, mischievous gears turning in his head.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt this moment, syulang, Neteyam... Well, I forgot my weaving shuttle... Just coming back for it...” he carefully tiptoed before getting what he came here for. “Got it!”
Maytel sneaked a smirk at you, his tail swishing with absolute triumph. Before you could hiss at him, Nevan bounded out of the hut, his little ears perking up at the sound of Maytel's voice. “Uncle Maytel! You came back?”
“I did, little star,” Maytel grinned, kneeling down to Nevan’s level while deliberately keeping his eyes locked on your flustered expression. “In fact, I am on my way up to the upper terraces to visit your grandparents. Would you like to come with me and help me pick some wild ferns?”
“Yes!” Nevan answered way too quickly. “Mama, Papa, can I go?” Nevan squealed, bouncing on his heels as he looked up at you and Neteyam.
Neteyam, still entirely dazed by the intensity of the kiss and thoroughly eager to get you back into the privacy of the hut, patted his son's head, nodded wordlessly.
Maytel giggled. “And I guess you will stay there until tomorrow, little boy...” he threw you an incredibly wicked wink. You're welcome, his eyes screamed.
“Bye, Mama! Bye, Papa!” Nevan cheered, snatching Maytel’s hand and dragging him down the ramp.
You stood on the platform, your face burning a violent shade of purple, completely aware of the heavy, dark promise in Neteyam’s gaze as he slowly turned his massive body back toward you. The platform was entirely quiet, your son was snatched away by Maytel, and the commander seemed very ready to claim a year-worth of action from you.
You bit your lip as you sensed his body turn toward you, making the air feel heavier with the thick tension you know will have you inevitably under him before the day ends. You finally turned to him when he stepped forward, his shadow falling over you, his broad chest rising and falling in deep breaths, his eyes dark as he tracked the soft features of your face, the flush your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, and the curves of your waist down to your shapely thighs.
“See you inside?” you said in a small, seductive voice, stepping backward with your eyes locked onto his while you were retreating into the hut. Neteyam followed you like a predator stalking a familiar territory. He stopped at the edge of your sleeping alcove, his tall frame blocking out the fire from the hanging firepot, casting you entirely in his shadow.
With a slow, challenging smile, your hands came up to the knot of your top, holding his unblinking gaze as your fingers untied the cords, letting the feather-like fibers slip until it pooled at your feet.
You followed it by untying your loincloth behind you, shedding it off until you stood before him entirely bare, the soft dim light catching the gentle curves of your body. You knew exactly what you looked like to him. Completely vulnerable, yet entirely in control of his sanity.
Neteyam let out a low, ragged growl through his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the wooden partition. His chest expanded, his nostrils flaring as he took in the sight of you. You looked so innocent standing in the quiet of your home, yet the mischievous, heavy heat in your eyes was pure sin.
“Do you mean to torture me, baby?“ he rasped, his voice deep and rough as his hand grabbed his crotch to give his aching hard on a squeeze.
“Torture?” you echoed innocently. “Who says you can’t touch, warrior?”
He blinked, as if it took time before he realized what you said. He stepped into the alcove, his eyes never leaving you, his hand aggressively shedding his loincloth off, as he walked toward you. You opened your mouth to tease him, but before you could do that, his large hands were already on you, his grip firm as he lifted you effortlessly and pressed you back onto the soft furs of the sleeping mat.
You reached for your kuru behind you, biting your lip when his calloused hands parted your thighs with an authoritative, heavy pressure to fit himself between them. You relished the familiar weight of him on you, the warmth and heaviness of his cock grazing your thigh. “Hello,” you mumbled, smiling as you caught his kuru that he let fall over his shoulder.
He watched you darkly, his hand prompting your hands to connect your kurus together. You gasped as the burning intensity of his emotions that surged through you, enveloping your soul with a familiar warmth you’ve never felt in almost a year. You breathlessly pulled him down for a kiss and his mouth enveloped yours right away, swallowing your breaths, kissing you hard and desperately. His arm wrapped around your frame to pull you against him until your soft mounds were squished against his chest, his large hand cupping your jaw.
You kissed and kissed, and you were reminded with just how much you loved kissing him. When you two were younger, making out with each other had been your favorite thing to do. Every lovemaking starts with what seemed like hours of making out sessions, and this moment brought you back. You licked at his lower lip and kissed him with more ferocity than you had earlier, moaning against his lips as your hands roamed the hard planes of his body.
When you pulled away to breathe, his lips found your jaw, leaving burning kisses until he reached your neck. He licked and nipped at your skin, his hand now coming down to your breast to knead and fondle, before his lips followed, filling his mouth with your flesh as he suckled on your pebbled tip.
“Oh, baby...” you cradled his head, your hand grabbing a fistful of his hair.
His kisses slid down your body, his lips kissing every inch of your skin reverently until his face reach between your leg, his hot breath brushing your slick center. You bit your lip as he kissed the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his lips wet as it sucked a bit of your flesh into his mouth before it trailed down to bury his face between your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat when his tongue swiped upward in one long stroke.
He suckled on your sensitive nub and you shrieked when he playfully nipped down on it, your hands instantly flying into his thick braids as your hips bucked violently off the mat. The sharp, electric heat hit your sensitive nub, and Neteyam hummed a low, vibrating sound of pure satisfaction against your skin as he felt you tremble. He used his tongue relentlessly, sucking and lapping at you until your breath came in ragged, broken sobs.
Desperate for the weight of him, you tilted your pelvis upward, grinding against his mouth, begging for more. Normally, he’d insert his tongue in you, and you can’t understand why he’s being greedy with his tongue now. He paused, lifting his head just enough to look up your body, his lips glistening in the dim light. He let out a low chuckle, kissing the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
“Baby, I know you love it... but I won't put my tongue in, hm? My cock will be jealous. Your best friend hasn’t been in you for a year... you see, he hadn’t known a life like that since I was seventeen.”
You groaned loudly, throwing your head back against the furs as the teasing drove you mad. You kicked his chest lightly with your heel, though it lacked any real force. “Then fuck me already! What are you waiting for?”
Neteyam caught your ankle instantly, his grip tightening as he pulled your leg over his broad shoulder. He nipped fiercely at the tender skin near your knee, making you gasp. “So bossy,” he drawled, a wicked spark returning to his eyes. “Just for that, I’d add another thirty minutes to this...”
“Neteyam, please...” you whined.
“Give me one more, baby... I am so parched,” he said dramatically, his handsome face pulling into a mock pout before his mouth came down onto your pussy again.
He didn't give you a chance to protest. He lifted your hips high off the mat, wrapping his powerful arms beneath your thighs, draping your legs completely over his broad shoulders, before burying his face deep between your legs, using the rumbling vibrations of his voice and the flat of his tongue to drive you over the edge. The pressure on your swollen, sensitive flesh was too much, that within seconds, a violent wave tore through you, making you scream his name into the empty hut as your muscles clamped tightly around his mouth.
He held you through the tremors, lapping at your release until you were thoroughly cleaned. He eased you back onto the furs, your eyes closed, completely whited out by the intensity of your recent climax. Your skin was slick with sweat, your long hair sticking to your neck, but Neteyam only seemed to burn hotter at the sight.
You felt the heavy weight of his body settle over yours, his warm mouth moving down to claim your breast, his large hand firmly pressing your knees wider.
“Eyes,” he commanded, his voice dropping into that soft, unyielding tone he only ever used on you.
“I'm so spent...” you breathed, your eyelids fluttering as you weakly pressed a hand against his muscular chest, trying to find your breath.
Neteyam chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated straight into your bones. He kissed the tight line of your jaw before capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. “You practically kept me in a cage, woman...” he drawled against your lips, his hard length pressing demandingly against your aching center. “And now, you’ve let me loose...”
Your eyes flickered completely open, staring up into the golden fire of his gaze. You pushed your lips forward, leaning into him, and you watched him hold his breath as he realized you were completely his.
“Fuck, I missed you so much, baby...” he whispered, his thumb caressing your slippery folds before he gathered your wetness.
You watched him lather your wetness on his throbbing length as its wide tip nudged your entrance, and with one heavy, agonizingly slow thrust, he slid inside you. Neteyam let out a ragged, guttural groan deep in his throat, his arm snaking behind your waist to pull you up as he buried himself to the hilt, earning a pleasured cry from you.
He froze for a second, his head burying into the crook of your neck as his entire body shuddered, absorbing the intense, tight heat of your walls clamping around him. “Fuck, you're so tight, baby...” he choked out, his breath scalding against your skin.
Before you could fully catch your breath, he lifted himself back up on his hands, his golden eyes finding yours again, refusing to let you look away. Slowly, he began to move. He pulled nearly all the way out, letting you feel every ridges of his length, before driving back in forcefully, making you whimper. Your head rolled back against the furs as your back arched.
His hand instantly came up to cup your jaw, his fingers firm but gentle as he guided your face back to his. “No, look at me,” he commanded, his breath hitching as he started moving.
You bit your lip, but your pleasured whimpers find their way out of your mouth as his large hand caged your jaw to make sure you won’t look away from him as his pace picked up. Your moans grew louder when his thrusts turned deeper and harder, striking the very center of your pleasure. Your breaths came in jagged huffs, mixing alongside your cries and his deep groans.
“Fuck, baby...” he moaned, his eyes closing for a moment.
You pressed a palm against his chest. “Open your eyes,” you commanded, pushing him back a little. “Watch yourself take me.”
He groaned, a huff of weakened and humored laugh escaping through his nose as he lifted himself on his hands, looking down at you with eyes filled of unadulterated hunger. His humor died in his throat the moment he saw the look in your eyes. He was the commander, yes, but right here, pinned beneath the weight of your gaze, he was entirely at your mercy.
“You like to play the general now, do you?” he rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous register that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.
His large hand slid from your jaw, his fingers tangling tightly into the hair at the back of your head, anchoring you firmly to the furs. With his other hand bracing his massive weight over you, he delivered a frantic, brutal, and deep pace into you. You stared up at him, your chest heaving as your breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps. You watched the way the veins in his neck strained, the way his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped, and the sheer worship bleeding from his eyes.
He was completely undone, sweating and growling like a wild creature, stripped of all his rigid discipline until there was nothing left but his love for you.
The friction was driving you insane that you were literally reduced to a moaning, crying mess under him as your hips began to meet his every thrust instinctively, the coil of heat in your lower stomach tightening to a breaking point.
“I love you so much...” he moaned.
“Oh, baby... ‘teyam, I am so close, I can't—” you wept, your hips twitching away from his relentless thrusts but you only seemed to burn even more when his hand grabbed your waist to keep you in place.
“No, stay with me,” he rasped, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to keep you grounded. He picked up the speed, his movements becoming a blur of friction as he drove himself into you so hard that the entire world shrank down to your pussy. “Look at me when you break, baby. Give it to me.”
You couldn't hold it anymore. With one final deep plunge, the dam broke in a violent, white-hot explosion of pleasure rippling through your core, your walls seizing and pulsing around his girth. You cried his name, your eyes squeezing closed as your climax tore through you. Meanwhile, the tight clench you’re holding him with was the final blow to his restraint.
Neteyam let out a low groan as he threw his head back, burying himself to the absolute hilt, pouring his heat deep inside you while his body shuddered violently against yours. He collapsed over you a moment later, his frame curling a little so he could fit himself in your smaller frame, his face buried in the valley between your breasts.
His breath scalded your skin before his mouth moved to kiss your skin. He stayed buried deep inside you, his long arms wrapping securely around your waist, holding you so close it felt like he wanted to press his very soul into yours. You cradled his head, your other hand squeezing his shoulder when he sucked on your pebbled tip hard.
You groaned, “What about rest?” you mumbled.
He lifted his head. “Rest?” he raised a brow as if that was a foreign word.
You pushed your lips forward. “See, I was... undisturbed for moons, Neteyam. I think my stamina needed practicing,” you mumbled.
He smirked. “Now might be the best time for practice.”
You bit your lip, your hand cupping his nape to kiss him. “On the side note... You’re right,” you squeezed around him. “I miss you very much.”
He smiled, his lips coming down on yours. The hours dissolved into the shadows of the hut. The clan had grown quiet as the night went on, but neither of you noticed as though the world outside your hut didn't exist. There was only the rhythmic, heavy slap of skin against skin, his low, breathless groans, and your desperate cries of his name echoing in the quiet room.
By the time the bioluminescence outside began to glow with the midnight moons, the frantic heat had finally settled into a soft, exhausted warmth. You lay on top of him, your chin sitting on his chest as his arms wrapped securely around your waist. You were tracing the smooth, familiar lines of his chest, your breathing finally matching his steady rhythm.
Suddenly, a loud, deep rumble echoed through the quiet space.
You blinked, a bit dazed and Neteyam let out a low, amused chuckle. You pouted, pushing yourself up a little, his large hand slid down to caress the soft, slightly damp skin of your flat belly.
“Fuck, I forgot dinner,” he said, his eyes widening a little.
You blinked, lazy, satisfied smile spreading across your face. “Huh... I strangely feel full.”
Neteyam’s hand paused on your stomach, his fingers rubbing a warm, slow circle over your skin as a knowing, utterly devastating chuckle escaped him. He leaned over, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips.
“I sure hope so,” he grinned, his golden eyes flashing with a playful, wicked heat. “But let’s feed you first, my love. I’m not done with you yet.” He reluctantly sit up, lifting you up a little by your waist and gently plopping you down the furs with a hard kiss on your lips. “Don’t get up.”
He came back with the dinner you had prepared earlier and Maytel’s berry pie, both of which you devoured, occasionally feeding each other small bites while sitting cross-legged on the floor, unashamed of your nakedness. The moment the last of the food was cleared, Neteyam didn't give you a chance to think about cleaning up.
He moved to clean it all away quickly. True to his word, he wasn't done with you. The lovemaking that followed was slower and sweeter, full of whispers and quiet giggling. By the time you two settled back into a soft, exhausted warmth, you lay tucked against his side, your cheek pressed flat against his muscled chest, listening to the steady thudding of his heart while his long arm wrapped around you, anchoring you to him.
You stared into the soft darkness, tracing a light circle over his chest. “What do you think about going back to High Camp?” you asked softly.
Neteyam stiffened instantly beside you, his breath hitching before his eyes snapped down to look at you, wide and suddenly laced with absolute horror. “Baby, surely you are not kicking me back to High Camp?” he asked, his voice rough and panicked. “We have just reconciled. I want to stay. I am staying. I will never leave again. Besides... what if you get pregnant and I am not here?”
The sheer dread in his tone made you stifle a smile, but a soft chuckle eventually escaped you. You shifted, resting your chin on his chest so you could look at him properly. “I will be with you. Me and Nevan... we will all go back to High Camp together. What do you think of that?”
Neteyam blinked, entirely caught off guard, his ears twitching in confusion. “I... I don't know,” he murmured softly, his hand coming up to gently smooth down your hair. “You are safer here, baby. You and Nevan. And I don’t want to be away from you ever again...”
A sudden wave of warmth made your eyes tear up. “That is why we are coming,“ you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You will never be apart from me again. From us. But... that doesn't mean you have to stop doing what you worked your entire life to prepare for,” you stared at him, “I fell in love with a warrior, Neteyam. I mated with a warrior. You are a leader to the people, and I shouldn't have made you choose between your duty to them and your duty to your heart. I meant what I said earlier, baby. We are all learning. I will always be here to support you now, and I will never leave your side. So... I think we should go back. But only if you want it.”
Neteyam stared at you, his own eyes growing misty in the dark. The crushing weight he had carried seemed to fully lift, replaced by a profound peace. Without a word, he pulled you up by your waist, bringing your lips down to his in a deep kiss that tasted of absolute gratitude and a love that grew even deeper and larger.
The next say, Maytel returned your son the moment the morning sun broke over the terraces. His teasing, knowing eyes were incredibly annoying as he took in your flushed skin and Neteyam’s completely relaxed posture, but you chose to ignore his smirks, focusing instead on your son who was as bubbly as ever, practically throwing his little body into your arms, eager to tell you everything about sleeping at his grandparents’ as if it was a vacation.
While you held Nevan, Neteyam stepped forward, his expression serious but entirely respectful. “Maytel,” he said, his voice deep. “Can we talk for a moment?”
Surprised, Maytel’s smirk faltered, his eyes darting quickly to you. You offered him a warm, reassuring nod and a smile, letting him know it was for something good. The two stepped outside onto the platform, and though you couldn't hear the words, you watched as Neteyam clasped Maytel's shoulder in a gesture of gratitude.
Once the air was fully cleared, Maytel left with a promise of more pie for your son, who had just discovered that his parents completely finished off the pie Maytel brought yesterday.
“What would you like for breakfast, my little sun?” Neteyam asked, playfully tickling Nevan’s belly.
Nevan giggled, patting it as his chest puffed proudly. “I ate many smoked fish and... and kelp soup!”
You watched Neteyam chuckle, feigning surprise for his son’s entertainment. “Oh! You already ate, huh? No wonder your belly’s so rooound.” Neteyam bent down a little to blow air into Nevan’s belly, sending your son into a fit of giggles as he threw his head back in laughter.
You leaned your cheek against your son’s small arm, looking at Neteyam as you sat down on the mats of your receiving area. “Nevan,” you smiled, smoothing his little ear back. “How would you like to go on an adventure? We are flying back to Grandma and Grandpa.”
Nevan’s eyes went completely wide, his little tail swishing frantically against your leg. “To see the big ikrans? With Papa?” he squealed, jumping straight into Neteyam’s arms and hugging his neck tightly.
Neteyam melted against his son, his eyes crinkling with absolute adoration that made your smile grow wider. Later that night, you trekked up to your parents’ hut to bring a pie you made and to discuss with them your plans to go back to High Camp. Neteyam took his time sincerely apologizing to your parents who kindly dismissed his apology, gently reminding him that your forgiveness was the only kind that mattered and it clearly seemed like you had given it.
The flight back to High Camp was long and carefully calculated. Neteyam took no chances with your and Nevan’s safety, choosing to fly his ikran yards ahead of yours, scouting the valleys first, taking a much longer, winding route to completely avoid the coordinates he knew were patrolled by the RDA.
When your ikrans finally landed on the rocky ledges of High Camp where you were welcomed back with a small, joyous celebration. Jake and Neytiri were the first to embrace you, their eyes shining with relief to see their eldest son whole again, while the council looked on with relief to have Neteyam back into the fold.
But the moons he spent just learning the rhythm of the world with you and Nevan seemed to have ingrained themselves deeper than his warrior routines. Now, he couldn’t leave the hut without sharing breakfast with you, his large hands gently guiding his son’s tiny fingers over his food to teach him how to eat on his own before heading out to the scouting decks.
Then, he would return at midday to spend the eclipse with you, helping put Nevan down for a nap before heading back out to coordinate the perimeters. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he was home for the night, stripping off his weapons and warrior gear to belong entirely to you.
He still couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. Even though you had forgiven him, insisting that you both made mistakes because you were still just learning, he believed he should have known better. Now that he was able to manage both of his lives so seamlessly, he couldn't understand how he had let the war consume him so completely before, letting years pass making you feel neglected and thinking he had chosen his duty over you, his heart.
There are nights though, where the weight of his duty still clawed at his shoulders. After an armed encounter with the RDA during his patrols, he still tried to come home as early as possible, his body rigid and vibrating with tension. You had already blew the firelight dimmed by the time he arrived from the council, his movements hurried and when he saw that Nevan was already asleep in his hammock, you saw his shoulders slumped, his face crumpling in controlled distress.
You stood up, welcoming him to help bim remove his cummerbund and weapons, hanging them on a rack. “Has he been asleep long?”
“Only because he played too much with the other kids earlier,” you told him, chuckling as your hands caressed his shoulders. “He could barely eat his dinner, his eyelids were already drooping.”
He looked down at his son, his large caressing the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, I came home late...” he mumbled.
You bit your lip. “Neteyam...” you hugged him from the side, kissing his shoulder, feeling the tension in them soften a bit. “I heard of the encounter. Tell me what happened...”
Your hands gently worked through the knots in his shoulders as he spoke, his voice dropping into that low, tense cadence. “The skirmishes have escalated, baby,” Neteyam muttered, his jaw tightening as he stared blankly at his hands. “It’s only been three moons since we came back, and the RDA patrols are pushing further into the southern valley. Earlier, they nearly pinned my scouts against the ridge. I almost called in a full air strike, but the canopy was too thick. I had to pull them back. Lo’ak thinks we should ambush their next supply line there, but... the risk is too high.”
You stopped massaging his shoulders and shifted, angling your head so he had to look at you. “You did the right thing by pulling back,” you said softly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from you in all the years I’ve known you is that you are not impulsive. You are not a warrior who wants only victory. I think... they are baiting you and they are expecting an ambush on their supply line. Eywa has given us enough to fight the demons, ‘teyam. Perhaps you could change your flight paths, lead them toward the weeping bogs where their heavy metal suits can't tread. Let the forest do the fighting for you.”
Neteyam blinked, a sudden, quiet clarity washing over his stressed features. He let out a long breath through his nose, his lips parting as a humored, thoroughly impressed smile broke through his tension. “See, this is why I’m not performing well in the moons you were not with me...” he pulled you for a kiss.
You smiled, “And that’s completely my fault, I think,” you whispered. “Mind if I make up for it?”
His eyes narrowed a little as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him. His breath hitched in his throat, his hands coming down to rest heavily on your shoulders as your hand moved to his loincloth to palm his hard on, biting your lips when you found him already hard, responding to your show in an instant. You stroke it for a moment before moving the fabric aside to let the thick, throbbing length spring free.
You wrapped your hand around the base of his girth, sliding your palm up to feel the heavy ridges snaking along his length, looking straight up into his eyes, you leaned forward and opened your mouth, sliding your lips over the wide head of his cock. Neteyam let out a low, ragged groan, his knuckles turning white as he gripped on the nearest rack.
You kept an unbroken, intense eye contact as you took him deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate his impressive length, pumping your hand at the base while your mouth worked relentlessly, sucking the sensitive head before sliding all the way down until your nose pressed into his pelvic, the heat of his cock filling your mouth.
“Fuck, baby...” he choked out, his head tossing back for a second before your firm gaze anchored him right back to you.
His large hand came down, caging your jaw to keep your face tilted up toward his. His eyes darkened as he began to move his hips, delivering restrained thrusts straight down your throat. You took every inch of him, your eyes watering slightly from the depth, but you never broke your stare. You sucked harder, swirling your tongue around the ridges, driving him absolutely mad with the tight, wet friction of your mouth.
His breathing turned into frantic, ragged huffs as his thrusts became faster, deeper, completely losing his hard-earned discipline warmth of your mouth. “Fuck, you're so good to me...”
The veins in his neck strained, his jaw clenching as he reached his limit. He delivered three deep plunges into your mouth before his whole body stiffened, his thick, hot release pulsing down your throat. You swallowed every drop of his heavy warmth, your throat moving refusing to pull away even as he pulled you back.
When you slowly slid your mouth off his length with a squelching sound, he shivered, thinking it was over but when you dragged your tongue up to lick him entirely clean from base to tip, your eyes still locked onto his blown-out gaze, his knees buckled.
Neteyam looked entirely undone, his chest heaving as he stared down at you in pure, reverent worship. You licked your lips, smiling at him, while his hands lifted you up effortlessly. His arm wrapped around you, his lips crashing down on your lips at the same time your body landed on the hard planes of his. He groaning as silently against your mouth, his large hand groping your chest down to your waist and hips until it wrapped around the back of your thighs.
He lifted it up and knowing what he wanted, you hooked your arms around his shoulders before wrapping your other leg around him. His hard length was already hardening again against your thigh, and with a swift wipe aside of your loincloth, he drove into you, fucking you with a ferocity that made you feel exactly the tension that was engulfing him the whole day.
You pursed your lips to and buried your face face against the crook of his neck to muffle your pleasured sounds as his fingers dug into your hips, relentlessly moving your over his cock.
“I love you,” he groaned, way louder than he should.
“Neteyam!” you whisper-shouted, your fingers on his scratching.
He chuckled, his head angling to press his lips against your cheek, groaning as muffled as possible, but still letting you know how good he's feeling as your warmth enveloped him tightly. You let out a pleasured huff when he shivered against you, spilling his warm seed inside you, and triggering your own release.
He groaned again, but as silent as he could now, his hand working on the ties of your loincloth behind you, shedding it off you without removing himself from you. He lowered you down on the soft furs, his cock slipping out a little when he removed his own loincloth. He spread your legs wider to slip it back in though, lowering himself to kiss you softly.
Hours later, the frantic heat had settled into a soft, exhausted warmth. You lay tangled together on the messy furs, your head resting on his chest while his arm was around your waist.
“Thank you, my love,” Neteyam murmured into the dark, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your arm.
You let out a soft, sleepy giggle, pressing a light kiss against his bare chest, listening to the steady, peaceful rhythm of his heart. “Someone has to keep the commander grounded.”
The peace in the weeks that followed was a precious, yet stolen gift, because with the encounters along the borders growing increasingly volatile, you knew it would soon reach a tipping point. What began as scattered, desperate shootouts quickly spiraled out of control, and Jake found it better to lead an offensive attack before the demons pushed deeper and harder against the resistance.
So, when Toruk Makto took to the sky once more, High Camp emptied. Neteyam kissed your lips until they were bruised and held Nevan so tightly the boy let out a confused whimper, before taking to the sky on his ikran, his jaw set with the determination of a man fighting to make sure that his children would never know the shadow of a gunship.
While the sky in the distant horizons burned with the smoke of explosions, you remained in the deep caverns of High Camp, sitting among the circle of women, your fingers tightly interwoven with Kiri’s, while Mo’at led the low, rhythmic chanting, praying to the Great Mother for the battle’s success.
Every breath you took felt heavy, not just from the fear for your husband, but from the secret you had yet to tell him. You had known for a few weeks now. You were pregnant.
You chose not to tell him at the height of the planning the offense, wanting him focused entirely on staying alive, but Nevan had practically been manifesting it. Ever since one of his playmates’ mothers had given birth to a tiny, squirming infant, your son had been absolutely obsessed with the concept.
Just days before the warriors marched, Nevan had sat on the mats, badgering you both with endless demands. “Want one of those at home, Mama! To play with!”
Neteyam had just laughed, sweeping the boy up into his powerful arms to cradling him against his broad chest like an infant to distract him. “But you are still our baby, my boy,” Neteyam had teased, his voice thick with affection as he brushed the tip of his nose against Nevan's. “You are always Mama and Papa’s baby.” Nevan had thrown his head back, giggling frantically, completely forgetting about the talk.
Now, clutching your flat stomach in the dim light, you whispered a prayer to Great Mother Eywa to bring that doting their father back to you. Whole and safe. You didn’t realize how much of a pressure it would be to be his wife during a major battle. Even in your distress, you needed to put on a calm facade and show the other women the tranquility that should belong to a wife of a warrior.
Fortunately, even before night fell, Eywa answered your prayers in the thunderous, victorious roars of ikrans echoing through the mountains.
The people had won. The clans Toruk Makto had united once again cleansed Eywa’eveng of the evil the sky people brought upon your world. Tuk roamed around chirping about reports on how the war party blew up Bridgehead, crushing the RDA’s main stronghold and ensuring they won’t bounce back as quickly as they usually should, with Jake leading the talks to force them back to the sky.
High Camp exploded into a frenzy of celebratory flutes and drums as the warriors touched down, their wives and children welcoming them with tears. Through the crowd, you spotted him. Neteyam leaped off his ikran, covered in soot and paint, his braids wild. The moment his eyes found yours through the throng, his fearsome warrior mask completely shattered, walking faster to get to you.
“Papa!” Nevan sprinted toward him and Neteyam caught the boy in his arms, before colliding into you with a force that lifted you off your feet, his massive arms wrapped around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent, desperate to replace the stench of burning metal.
“I'm back, baby,” he choked out, his voice rough against your skin.
You held his face, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kissed him desperately. Nevan was already pulling at his father's braids, forcing him away from you, making both of you laugh. Neteyam pressed fierce kisses all over the boy’s face, and you did the same, making Nevan giggle, his neck scrunching in ticklishness.
The celebration for the victory began as night fell, all the torches and firepots were lit, glowing brighter than it ever had before. Even the moons cast down a glow different than the ones you’ve had in the past years, as if they were breathing more peacefully, too.
As the drums beat steadily in the background, Neteyam sat with you at the edge of the gathering, his arm anchoring you to his side while a thoroughly exhausted Nevan curled up asleep against his thigh. Neteyam looked down at his son, a soft, content smile resting on his lips, before his eyes drifted back to you, brimming with an unburdened, quiet adoration.
“We can build anything now,” Neteyam whispered, his large hand lifting to cup your nape, massaging a little. “A real future. Just you, me, and our boy.”
You smiled, your heart hammering a joyful rhythm against your ribs. You took his large hand, slowly guiding it away from yours and placing his wide palm flat against your lower stomach.
Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hand on your belly, then back up at your face. He froze, his ears twitching as he caught the blooming, emotional heat in your eyes.
“Baby...?"” he breathed, his voice suddenly trembling, the fierce commander completely replaced by the image of a stunned, hopeful boy you had grown up with.
“I can’t believe you’re surprised,“ you playfully widened your eyes at him.
He chuckled, and even through that, you saw a tear slipped down his cheek. “Right. Like I wasn’t actively aiming for that.”
You huffed a chuckle through your nose. “Nevan is going to get his wish,” you whispered, “You are going to have to practice cradling another baby very soon, Neteyam.”
A breathless, ecstatic laugh erupted from his chest. He didn't care who was watching; he leaned forward and captured your mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, his large hand trembling where it rested over the new life you were carrying.
“I will be here now. Always. To hear her first laughs, first words, and to watch her first steps...” he mumbled against your lips.
Neteyam is the nicest mate until it comes to fucking you
Neteyam is a great father and protector. Everyone in the clan sees it.
The evening fire crackled warmly in the center of the village as Neteyam moved among the clan with a calm, steady presence everyone relied on.
He listened patiently to an elder’s concerns about the next hunt, his hand resting reassuringly on the old man’s shoulder while he offered quiet but firm guidance that settled the matter without raising his voice.
Then he crouched down to help two young warriors adjust the straps on their new bows, his big fingers carefully tightening the leather while he gave them encouraging words that made their chests puff out with pride.
Everyone saw the same thing: the mature, responsible future olo’eyktan who always put the people first.
Later, back at your kelku, the scene was softer.
Your fifteen year old son wrestled playfully with his younger siblings on the woven mats, laughing loud as the little ones tried to pin him down.
Neteyam sat cross legged nearby, your youngest daughter curled in his lap. His large hands moved so gently as he braided a bright bead into her hair, twisting each strand with care while she giggled and tugged at his braids.
His voice was low and warm as he told them a story, pausing every few sentences to kiss the top of her head or ruffle the boys’ hair when they interrupted with questions.
“Dad, tell the part where you saved Mom again!” one of the younger ones begged, climbing into his lap too.
Neteyam chuckled softly, golden eyes flicking over to you with a private little smile full of love. “Maybe later, little ones. Remember what I said this morning about how tonight your mother and I are going for a walk. You’re in charge, ma’itan,” he told your eldest, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s braids with obvious pride and affection. “Keep them safe. We trust you completely.”
Your son grinned wide, already pulling the younger kids toward their sleeping mats. “We know the routine, Dad. Go have your ‘date.’ Just don’t stay out too late this time.”
Neteyam stood tall, taking your hand in his warm, calloused one as the two of you slipped away.
but when it’s just you and him, everything changes.
“mh!”
you mewl softly as neteyam’s big hands grip your hips tight and pull you flush against him, his thick cock sliding through your soaked folds before he pushes the fat head inside you in one slow, heavy stroke.
your walls stretch around his girth, fluttering and squeezing as he sinks deeper, every thick vein and ridge dragging along your sensitive insides until his hips press right up against yours and you feel so full you can barely breathe.
“shhh, yawne…” he coos against your ear, voice low and rough just for you, one of his large hands sliding up to cover your mouth gently while the other squeezes your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds you in place.
his hips roll forward again, grinding slow and deep so his cock rubs right against that soft spot inside you over and over, making your thighs shake and your pussy leak around him. “quiet for me, baby. can’t let anyone hear how pretty you sound when i’m this deep in you.”
your eyes flutter, a broken whimper vibrating against his palm as he starts fucking you with these long, steady thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in so his heavy balls slap wetly against you. your juices coat his cock and drip down your thighs with every move, creamy and slick.
“neteyam—mmm—” you moan into his hand, your nails digging hard into his broad shoulders as your back arches, pressing your hard nipples tighter against his chest with every deep thrust.
“fuck, listen to how wet you are,” he pants breathily right against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he snaps his hips harder, bouncing you on his cock. “been aching for this pussy all evening… watching you smile at the clan, so sweet and patient with them. wanted to bend you over right there in front of the fire and fill you up.” his free hand slides between your bodies, thick thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, messy circles that make your hips jerk against him uncontrollably. “take it deeper, yawne—yes, just like that. squeeze me—fuck, good.”
you cry out against his palm, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he pounds into you faster, the wet, filthy sounds of your pussy sucking his thick cock filling the air between your heavy breaths. your walls flutter and clench around him, gushing more slick every time he grinds against that spot inside.
“neteyam—ahh—too deep—mmm—” you whimper shakily, tears of pleasure wetting your lashes as your pussy spasms around his throbbing length.
“i know, baby, i know,” he groans, voice breaking with how good you feel, forehead pressed to yours so you can see his golden eyes dark with lust and love.
he kisses you messily through his fingers, tongue sliding against yours while he keeps thrusting deep and greedy, hips rolling in those filthy circles that stir his cock inside you. “you feel so fucking good… my perfect mate. i love you so much. gonna cum deep inside you… then keep fucking you until you can’t walk. all night, yawne. all mine.”
Always hate when people say an artist is anywhere NEAR Michael’s level. They reduce his impact down to just sales/commercial success (which no one has even accomplished for one) and Michael’s legacy is far more than that. Michael pioneered the entire music industry over the span of FOUR decades, and did it all as a black man who was exploited from childhood until his death. He is an immortal figure who altered the course of our entire culture and is a phenomenon of human history we will never see again! So no… no one is the “next” Michael Jackson.
"Show Me & Teach Me"
You should have known better than to fall in love with your mentor...
Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya OC/reader
Status: COMPLETE
Summary:
You were an inconsequential member of the Omatikaya clan who had failed your rites of passage once already. You were born to heal, not hunt or fight. So, why had the tsahìk designated Neteyam of all people to take over your training?
What business did the future olo’eyktan have mentoring you? But it was too late now. You should have known better than to fall in love with your mentor. You had known this day would come; the day when your success would mean losing his company. You should have clung on tighter to your heart while you still had it…
Part I - Show Me & Teach Me
Part II - I Like Your Stars Better
Part III - A Heart Full to Bursting
Author's Note:
Here is the masterlist for 'Show Me & Teach Me'. Thank you so much to all of you who read & enjoyed this piece when it was still in-progress! 🥰 Your support was so very much appreciated!
I hope others who are new to this piece or new to my writing will enjoy it now too!
Bring some towels... things get VERY steamy. 😉
Comments, likes & reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated. Please help to share this if you loved my work. 😘
𝜗ৎ synopsis. neteyam returns from the RDA attack, memory wiped and his identity gone. everyone thought he was dead, the bullet wound in his chest a haunting reminder of what could've been.
"I'll follow you 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you."
𝜗ৎ a/n. ahh this is so sad but such a good request!! i was gonna make a happy ending then realised i have free will... ty to whoever requested this sorry i didnt post it to ur comment D:
ha ha ha angst angst angst no fluff for u
𝜗ৎ tags. angst no fluff, hurt no comfort , amnesia, canon violence, mentions of guns and blood
KEEP READING BELOW!
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"I want to go home."
Neteyam gasped out the words as he laid on the crimson-stained rock, blood seeping around him, drifting into the violence the waves carried. His eyes darted between his family and you, the teal markings on your delicate shore skin covered by tear marks as his father held his son's face in his hands. You held his large hand in yours, bringing it up to cup your face as you whispered pleas and soft reassurances- begging Eywa to not take him away.
The sea gives and the sea takes.
You had never thought about that remark, and hated it so strongly until now.
The sea had always been kind to you, the Metkayina people called you the daughter of the ocean. It would cradle you in its embrace as you gazed up at the stars which littered the night sky, pushing you through the currents as you hunted with your ilu, the underwater flora would part and bend at your very will.
It was as if the ocean was trying to repaid a debt. Favouring you to fill in the gaps that would consume you whole.
It felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest, it felt like you had been shot too. Prior to this battle, he had been warning you to stay behind him, that he would take care of everything. He held you in his embrace as you wept, your worry almost consuming you whole. He whispered to you as he gently caressed your hair, that he would be okay, he would return to you.
And you, being so trusting and unaware, believed it.
Neteyam was a strong warrior who was level headed and proud after all, trained by the best and always kept on a strict regime- it was hard not to trust his sweet words.
But you should've seen it coming. The glint from the metal deck on the demon ship, the blissful ignorance you adorned as you and Neteyam boarded the deck. You should have known there were eyes on you the second your feet left the water.
The gaping hole above his heart seemed to get larger the longer you stared at it, your ears flattening against your head as you sobbed out against the cooling skin of your lover. Blood stained the palms of your hands as you desperately tried to cover the wound, Tsireya staring at you with pity as she gently pried you off of Neteyam's body.
-
You looked away as he was buried in the water.
Golden tendrils of Eywa embraced him, welcoming him back to her as your tears bubbled to the surface. His braids flowed endlessly in the water, as if they were still alive, but you knew you would never see those sunlight eyes of his again. The bioluminescent dots that littered his body were dim, barely pulsing- fading out like a dying star.
Months of memories were washed away in an instant.
Your first ikran ride, the freedom you felt as the wind coursed through your braids, whipping at your face as you dived down with Neteyam. The view of Awa'atlu from the skies, your laughter ringing out and worries carried away by the light gale. You remember Neteyam's loving gaze on you as he thought about how good Omatikaya culture suited you.
He thought you wouldn't notice, but you always did.
The first time you said "I see you" to each other. It was a delicate moment, enveloped by the cover of the night, your bodies waist deep in the water as your souls intertwined with each other- hearts woven together. And under the gaze of the stars and Eywa, you confessed your love- a promise of a life together, one which never got to flourish.
Tsireya had held you after as you broke down in her arms, her hands bringing you a sliver of relief and comfort in replace of Neteyam. She caressed your braids as you fell asleep in her lap, her stare pitiful as she took your form in.
You had tear stains cascading down your usually bright cheeks, your eyes that were full of hope dimmed and downcast. You curled into yourself instead of sprawling out onto the mat, your tail lowered instead out bouncing around.
She sighed, thumb brushing the soft curve of your jawline. She couldn't stand seeing her bestfriend so hopeless.
-
Months had passed, and the pain and grief got lighter- but always lingered. Some nights you would awake with a gasp, your hands reaching to clutch at your heart as the painful gaze of Neteyam faded away from your memory. Phantom blood pooled in your palms, slick between your fingers as you silently cried into your hands.
Other times you would be enjoying life, the currents pulling at your ankles playfully instead of feeling distant, as if it betrayed you. The circles under your eyes got lighter, and the dimples you adorned once again became visible. Your heart would tighten as you thought about Neteyam in those moments- how he deserved to be here, experiencing the joys of life with you.
You thought you had gotten better, yet it all came crashing down when the yells of the scouters reached your ears.
They had found Neteyam.
You rushed to the scouts who carried Neteyam on their backs, pushing through na'vi as fresh tears welled in your eyes. Neteyam had died, you were sure of it- you saw Eywa take him as his eyes dulled and you cried into the coolness of his sapphire skin. You saw his body wrapped in the tender embrace of Eywa, gently lulling him to a land you had no access to.
So why was he here?
Why was he alive?
They say they found him drifting near an old wreckage, eyes blank as he scouted for memories that were lost to him. His sapphire skin was riddled with scars you did not recognise, the wound above his heart pale and puckered- clearly healed wrong. Hands attempted to heal him, ones that were not na'vi. They had stripped him bare, demon machines gripped onto him and forced life upon his lungs- a new person you did not know.
Hope surged in your heart as you repeatedly thanked Eywa in your head, your hands holding his as you stared longingly at his sleeping form. You didn't understand how he came back- but you were overjoyed at his new arrival.
Jake whispered his son's name with love- not as a commander, but a father. Neytiri openly wept, Eywa's name falling from her lips as she lightly rocked back and forth, Neteyam's head in her lap as her tears fell on his face. Tuk, Kiri and Lo'ak all huddled next to their parents, their eyes bright and crinkled as they admired their elder brother.
Neteyam awoke, his golden eyes darting around the marui pod he was in, unfamiliar faces all staring at him with an unbridled hope he was a stranger to.
The light biter scent of medicinal herbs and sea salt filled his senses as he sat up, groaning in pain at his unused limbs. His ears were pinned flat against his head as he scanned the room, his hand that rested in yours being teared away, protectively tucked behind him.
"Who are you. Why am I here." He breathed out, clearly on alert.
And in that moment, you could almost feel your heart break again. Your lover, one who was pronounced dead- had come back only to be a blank canvas. He was a wisp of who he once was, no longer unguarded but rather a stranger to you.
Stranger.
It felt wrong on your tongue as you fought to supress the dread that boiled in the pit of your stomach. He didn't remember you.
You know you shouldn't think of it, but you almost wished he was still dead.
Atleast then, you wouldn't have to deal with a second heartbreak- one that would not be so easily mended. You had once held your heart and soul in your hands, and placed it in the palm of his under the gaze of the stars- your cerulean eyes boring into his.
"Neteyam, do you not remember us? This is your family, and I- I'm your mate, Teyam." You sighed, voice sounding smaller than you wanted.
He shook his head as he cornered himself, still clearly alert and on guard.
A sob broke from your lips as you quickly raised your hand to muffle the shattered sound, his past promises surging in your mind. You hoped that this was a dream, that he was still buried under the calm waves of Awa'atlu- atleast then you would know he was at peace.
You wanted so desperately to pour all your emotions and mentions of his promises.
But promises mean nothing to a lost man.
And you knew it.
hi guys sorry for the inactivity im really busy rn!! also highkey in a writing dump... so pls forgive me if i disappear for a lil :,)
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 Neteyam and you had grown up together, had sharpened each other like two arrowheads. You thought that meant everything, until you see Ka'vina has taken your place.
Despite the high stakes, hunting always brought you a sense of peace.
There were repetitive motions that you followed for every hunt, ones that felt as familiar as breathing at this point in your life.
Every hunter must remember first scan their area, they must be familiar with the routines of the yerik packs, must be aware of where palulukan reside and hunt, must be wise to acknowledge the territory that the angtsìk claim as their own, it is also important that they be wary of the path they take home for nantang’s are known to try and steal a clean kill when the opportunity arises.
Next the hunter must track, keeping everything listed prior in mind. If the yerik tracks stray too close into palulukan territory, the hunter should retreat. If the hunter stumbles into angtsìk grounds, they must remember to show no fear.
Once the hunter has safely tracked a yerik, they should remember to watch their footing. To step lightly, and avoid sticks, leaves or other flora that can alert the yerik that something is around. It is best to find an angle that allows you to stay hidden, a clean kill from a concealed location always fills your chest with pride.
When the hunter is concealed they can then nock their arrow. A slow pull on the bowstring minimizes noise, and leads for more time to correct your aim. But a skillful hunter can nock, draw, and release an arrow before the yerik can even raise the defensive fans that sit upon their heads.
A true aim leads to a clean kill. A spoken prayer to Eywa, sending the yeriks spirit back to hers. And thanking the yerik for its sacrifice, for feeding the clan, and providing precious materials in the form of hides.
Finally the hunter must decide on if they will haul the entire yerik back to the home tree; or if they will only take the most valuable cuts of meat, and the largest spans of hide to carry back and leave the rest for other forest creatures to feast on.
You rarely chose to leave any of your catch. Years of training left you strong, you could easily haul your kills home. It did not matter if it left an ache in your shoulders, or if a twinge settled in your lower back.
As you approach hometree you begin to wonder if you should have at least taken a bit of the breast meat. You knew it was Neteyams favorite, and it would be a good way to show him not only your hunting prowess, that you are attuned to him. That you see him.
It is a nice thought. To court someone you have been pining after most of your life. But then you find yourself too close to hometree to dismount the yerik from your shoulders and you chuckle at how much your mind wandered on the way home.
You make your way through the clan, greeting people as you make your way to the carvers. They would slice the hide from the yeriks body and hang it to dry before cutting up your kill into as many satisfying, equal portions as possible to be prepared for the cookfire tonight.
Mou comes to greet you, “Thank you taronyu.” He grabs the yerik from where you’ve placed it. “Do you wish for a specific cut? Perhaps you would like some of the hide?”
It was traditional for the carvers to ask if the hunter would like a specific piece of their kill. But that would also take away the significance of offering a piece of meat as a courting display.
“I do not wish for it. You know you do not have to ask me that every time I bring you a kill, Mou.”
He laughs at you, finding your blank tone amusing, “It is tradition.”
“It is stupid. Have I ever asked you to do this for me?”
“No, but one never knows when ferocious hunters like you may grow lazy.”
Mou tosses a grin over his shoulder as he hauls your kill away and towards the group of waiting carvers. He was never one to take your brazen demeanor as rudeness, he knew you spoke your mind and let your feelings be known even in uncomfortable situations.
You scoff at him as you leave. As if you would ever become lazy. How could he have the audacity to even think of such a concept?
The clan is bustling as you shift through; children are running around with their wooden toys, singers are practicing the ancient songs, there are bigger hunting parties returning with their kills, even the weaving circle is louder than usual.
It brings a slight grin to your face, seeing the people happy makes you happy. You had more than enough time to take a quick nap, and then head to the river to wash up before dinner would be served. Maybe if you skipped the nap you could take your beloved ikran out for a flight and wash at one of the hot springs that sparsely resided in the Ayram Alusìng.
Yes.
That would be nice, it could ease the tension in your shoulders.
It is settled. Instead of heading back to your kelku, you pivot to climb up hometree. The ikrans rest at the highest level, but you’ve been climbing almost as long as you’ve been walking so you would reach it shortly.
As you arrive at the base of hometree and start to find some solid footing a call of your name comes across the clearing. Your eyes close, a sigh heaving through your lips. With a turn of your head you survey the area, you know the voice, and have heard it almost everyday since she learned how to speak.
You spot Kiri weaving her way through the clan, her hand raised in a beckoning motion. “Come search with me for some paywll.”
“They are far Kiri. We will not arrive back before the cookfire starts.”
She is face to face with you now, her tail undulates as she speaks. “You have never minded missing a bit of the cookfire.”
Your lips purse, a crease forming between your brows in mock debate.
“Please.” Kiri grasps your hand before turning around and tugging you behind her.
Laughter bubbles uncontrollably out of your chest, “Kiri – Wait! I have not said yes yet!”
“You would have said yes regardless, now come. I will carry the gourd now, you may carry it back when it is full.”
You were only supposed to be txantxewm, lingering over her shoulder to shoo predators away. Now she wants you to work too! Unbelievable.
It’s hours later when Kiri and you approach hometree again. You’ve ended up carrying not only the gourd filled with medicinal liquid, but also the leaves of paywll, which are packed into a basket that rests on your hip.
You pass the cookfire on your way to the Tsa’hiks kelku. It’s lively as ever; drums are being beaten creating a tune for the singers to perform to, there's a group of clan members dancing, and the younger members have begun to section off into groups.
Kiri is half a step in front of you, excited to drop off the items her grandmother requested and finally be done with her Tsakarem training for the day. You allow your eyes to skim over the faces, searching for Neteyams, you’d like to know where you should move to after you deliver the materials to Mo’at.
It takes you a few moments to find him. He’s settled all the way across the gathering, surrounded by other young hunters, a few climbers and weavers as well. He normally sits on the edge of the group, saving space on one of his sides for you. You’re unsurprised to see he’s flanked by Fay’ru, the other male trying to get into the future Olo’eyktan’s good graces.
You’re unable to conceal your look of shock at Ka’vina sitting on Neteyams other side. She has never joined your group before, always softly tucked into the weavers circle or sitting with her sister where the singers congregate. You school your expression before someone can see you trying to dissect Ka’vina from the inside out.
Neteyam had always rejected anyone from closing him in. He would kindly redirect them towards another seat, reminding them that he had saved his closest friend the seat they had just tried to sit in.
Neteyam was a strong warrior, a strong hunter, and as his father would say he has a ‘backbone’. So there would be no reason for him to allow her to sit in your spot.
But he was of age, in his prime years.
He was strong. He filled out his body well in recent years. He gained some of his fathers unnatural width. His old armbands no longer fit, having to become bracelets or being stored away for his future children. His cummerbund also barely fit now, but he refused to part with it until it absolutely no longer fit.
He was kind. He took on responsibilities of other clan members when he could see them struggling. He helped the elders with carrying their baskets, he had even carved them walking sticks to steady them on their paths.
He was the youngest hunter to ever get a clean kill on a sturmbeest. Very few of the current hunters had prowess that rivaled his. He frequently led the younger hunters when they went out, making time to help them hone in on their skills.
Neteyam also frequented the training grounds, not for his own skills. He had been bestowed the honor of training new warriors. Of teaching them the ways of the Omatikaya, making sure they had every required skill to complete their Iknimayas.
Ka’vina was a stark opposite.
She spent most of her time around hometree, never venturing out into the forest unless accompanied by a warrior.
She weaved many things. Tewngs, chest coverings, chokers, bracelets, armbands, cummerbunds, bowstrings, baskets, hammocks, floor mats. The list could continue on and on.
She was knowledgeable of healing herbs, the best spices to use on meats at the cookfire, aware of how to properly prepare some tough to handle roots and fruits for consumption as well.
However she was naive.
You knew she did not know how to hunt. Did not know how to skin a yerik, how to aim at a herd of sturmbeest; you were not even sure she knew what animals were aggressive and which were kind.
Her hands were soft, not even calloused with the countless hours spent weaving. You didn’t think she even wielded a bow. Hardly believed that she knew a knife could be used to do anything other than chop roots. It showed how simple her life was, how different she was from Neteyam. How different she was from you.
Then it dawned on you. Neteyam must be courting her. As they say ‘opposites attract’ and her softness would be a perfect compliment to the firm hand he would come to lead with.
A piercing feeling shot into your chest.
You’ve been following Kiri silently this whole time. She had glanced back at you occasionally, mostly to make sure you were still following her, but she could tell you didn’t want to speak based on the carefully crafted expression on your face.
Mo’at greets you as you duck into the tent, on autopilot you respond.Then you’re asking her where she’d like the gourd and the basket, placing them down with a delicately crafted care before bidding your goodbyes.
“I will join you at the cookfire shortly.”
“Ah. I will be heading home.” You shake your head, the beads braided into your hair clacking with the motion. “Let me know if you require aid harvesting more herbs. Goodnight Kiri, Tsa’hik.”
With sudden, jerky motions you duck back out of the tent. You can hear Kiri protesting, trying to encourage you to at least pick up a niktsyey before heading home. It’s pleasant to know that she cares, but you don’t think you could face Neteyam so shortly after your realization.
Unfortunately you have to walk past the cookfire again to reach your kelku, it being on the opposite side of the village from the Tsa’hiks. You were a skilled hunter, a warrior when needed, and you knew how to camouflage, how to avoid being seen.
Taking a steadying breath, you head more towards the forest, where it would be easier to blend into the flora. Easier to slip past your friends. Easier to avoid the new reality you’d have to live in.
You’re only a few steps away from rockier terrain when a five fingered hand grasps your wrist. Whipping around you come face to face with Lo’ak.
He’s grinning, clearly happy to catch you and hinder you from heading home, “Come, I need your support in an argument with Vor’lan.”
He doesn’t listen before starting to drag you towards his friends. What is it with these Sullys and refusing to wait for an answer!
“Lo’ak. I am tired, I have been out all day.”
“That is fine. It will be quick, and you can have my last niktsyey as payment.”
You scoff, “No. I have not had time to wash, I do not wish to be around people.”
“My friends do not care.” He turns to face you briefly before continuing to drag you, “To be fair, they will probably still drool over you.”
“Lo’ak!” An incredulous gasp tears from your throat.
A boyish laugh leaves him, “It is true! So do not worry about the smell, just back me up okay?”
In reality you could dig your heels into the dirt and yank your wrist free of his grasp. You were still stronger than him, your muscles more taut, more prepared to fight back than his. But the soft spot in your heart reserved for the Sully kids aches. So you allow him to drag you to where his friends reside at the cookfire.
You allow him to shove the niktsyey into your palm, along with a carved up filled with something that he definitely should not be drinking. The food and drink loosen you up, allow you to relax a little bit, to find a way to enjoy the company you’re in.
When Lo’ak retells his story about the tslikllte he caught, all of his friends doubt him. No one believing he saw one of the creatures this far inland. But then he’s looking at you, “She was there, tell them! Tell Vor’lan specifically how I bested it.”
You take another swig of your drink, swishing it around your mouth as you decide how much to talk up Lo’ak. “I was not there when Lo’ak stumbled upon it.”
“Hey! You so wer -”
“Hush. When I arrived you were already wrestling the poor thing.” You gulp down a few more sips before beginning to swirl the drink around in your cup.
You’re barely helping Lo’aks case and he has to defend his honor, “I had thought it to be dead already!”
“Any skxawng should know that they can hold their breath. Nevermind that does not matter. I have never seen a grip as strong as Lo’aks.”
His friends are leaning in closer now, staring intently at you, the expressions you make, the way your eyes flit over each of them.
“The tslikllte are coated to make them slick, and yet, Lo’ak never faltered. He managed to keep it in his grasp even as he removed a hand to retrieve his knife.” You begin to rest against the log everyone had gathered around, knowing that your job was done and you can fall into a nice limbo until you retire for the night, “The taste was like nothing I have experienced before, I couldn’t be happier to have tried it.”
Their conversation flows freely after that. They talk about climbing tomorrow, which mountains are best, where they can get the best views, or the best ones to try tricks on their ikrans around. It then flows to why they chose the colors that decorate their arrows. It ebbs briefly into relationships, and who’d they’d like to court after completing their dream hunts. It takes a turn into how some of them would rather mess around with many people before settling and that brings a chuckle to your tongue.
The conversation had been settled into which piece of a sturmbeest was best when it suddenly goes quiet. All eyes are focused behind where you and Lo’ak sit and would make you nervous if you weren’t such a strong warrior; scratch that, it would make you nervous if you did not have so much of the fermented drink settled in your belly.
You’re about to open your mouth and ask what has everyone staring when there's abruptly hands on your shoulders. The voice that follows sends a shiver of rigidity down your spine.
“What are we talking about, hm?”
One of Lo’aks friends speaks up, “The best part of a sturmbeest.”
“Ah, it is easily the thigh.” Neteyams hands begin to lightly massage your shoulders, feeling the tension that formed, “You do not mind if I steal her, right?”
It was a rhetorical question, and everyone knew it. You may have loved Lo’ak, willing to do almost anything he had asked. But you were still Neteyams closest friend, it was a no brainer that you would hightail it out of there as soon as you were asked. Still out of respect, they shook their heads, bidding you a goodbye.
“I am exhausted Neteyam, it would be best if I head back to my kelku now.” You’ve stood to make your point. Turning around to face Neteyam, hoping he did not see the cracks in your composure.
“I will be quick,” He smiles at you, one of the genuine ones that shows his true inner happiness, “ there is someone I want you to meet.”
Oh. You absolutely could not go over there. The stories you knew of Ka’vina were enough to satiate your need to ever meet her.
Neteyam begins to tug you by your hand, as both his siblings had earlier. These damn Sullys and not taking a hint!
This time you dig your feet, you don’t let him drag you towards that woman. Your reaction would ruin your reputation in the clan.
“I really am tired, Neteyam,” You turn to Lo’ak, “Did I not say the same to you before you dragged me here?”
Lo’ak nods, remembering how you had complained hours earlier. He doesn’t understand why you’re denying Neteyam though, he doesn’t think you’ve done that in all his years of knowing you.
“Then I will walk you home.”
He turns in the direction of your kelku, seemingly pleased to just be in your presence after not seeing you all day. You let him drag you a few steps, just far enough that you’re sure his brother and his friends can no longer hear you.
“I wish to walk alone.”
Neteyams tail slows to a still in front of you, his ears flick forward to catch any and everything you say, “...But I have not seen you all day.”
What are you supposed to say? ‘I know, I’ve lived this day as well?’ or better yet, ‘I have seen you, but chosen to not acknowledge your presence as it makes me sick.’ Neither option feels right so you stay silent.
“I wish to walk you home so we can talk.”
“I do not have energy for conversation.”
“You had energy when entertaining Lo’ak’s friends.” Irritation is obvious in his tone, and his tail begins to whip back and forth harshly.
“I was not saying much, just sitting in their presence.” You finally meet his eyes, trying to drive home your point, “Just let me walk by myself tonight, please.”
The disappointment settles heavily on Neteyams features as he comes to terms with the fact that you will not allow him to do this, he grunts some noncommittal reply before heading back towards his friends who remain at the cookfire.
You should have left after that, stomped your way to your kelku, grabbed a nice warm pelt, and tucked into your hammock. Instead you watch Neteyam through the crowd, eyes following as his figure settles back onto the log, and he allows Ka’vina to settle into his side a bit more than is considered friendly.
The stabbing pain settles back in your chest. It pulses a bit the longer you watch but it does not matter anymore. You would have to fall into a new routine in the morning, sure that Ka’vina would not want you close to Neteyam as they start courting.
Before you know it four eclipses have passed and you’ve successfully avoided Neteyam for all of them. You hunt early in the mornings, leaving before most of the hunting parties have even woken up for the day. You return with your kills lighter than normal, taking enough meat to satiate yourself until the next day.
When you complete your duties you take to flying. Not the usual routes that the hunters would take, or the ones that the warriors would patrol around, just drifting with the wind patterns. Your face ends up windburnt from how much time you’ve been spending up there.
If your head isn’t literally in the clouds, you take to climbing. The hobby wasn’t your favorite, and that’s what made it the perfect diversion. You could head back out to the forest, finding a good tree to observe Eywas beauty from. Sometimes, you’d just climb hometree, heading all the way to the top to give your ikran some special treatment.
Regardless of how, you strayed from your normal paths. If you avoided them, Neteyam shouldn’t be able to track you down. And hopefully he would get the point, would understand that your paths were unwinding from each other, that they were branching off in different directions for the first time.
It hurts to avoid him. But it was better than facing him. Better than seeing him with Ka’vina. Better than watching their love flourish, and hearing the gossip spread about what a perfect pair they make.
The fifth day starts like the rest. You wake, change your tewng and chest piece, eat some fruit you had foraged the day before, slide on your knife holster and knife, and toss your bow across your back.
As you emerge from your kelku a sense of loneliness sits in your chest. You missed hunting with your friends. Missed fooling around with them at the cookfire. Missed accompanying Kiri on her foraging. Missed doing stupid shit with Lo’ak under the guise of being a responsible figure. You really missed Neteyam.
Missed flying with him. Missed hunting with him. Missed training with him. Missed indulging Tuk with him. Hell you even missed rebraiding his hair.
But your heart can only take so much. The images of him with Ka’vina flow freely into your head, reminding you of why you needed the distance, of why you needed to become a ghost in your own home.
A shout of your name halts you in your tracks. The Olo’eyktan has one of the most noticeable voices in the whole clan. You take a deep breath before turning to face him
“Good Morning, Olo’eyktan.” You raise your hand in the traditional greeting, “What can I do for you?”
Jake greets you back, “None of that formal shit kid,” then he’s yanking you into a hug. Your arms wrap sheepishly around his back, uncomfortable with the gesture due to the state of your and Neteyams relationship.
“You can say no, but Neteyams a little tied up at the moment so I was hoping you could train the young ones for a little while?”
As if you could say no to the Olo’eyktan. Jealousy claws at your heart, Ka’vina has Neteyam so busy with his courting that he can’t even tend to his duties?
“Of course, I will head there now.”
This would be good. Your friends would probably be there, and it could solve your loneliness problem, maybe you could even get a few good spars in and disguise them as ‘training demonstrations’. A skip finds your step on your way to the training grounds and for the first time in many eclipses you feel excited.
A small part of you hopes that Lo’ak would be there, that he’d force you to go on an adventure with him after training. And you could ask to bring Kiri along, satiating most of your need to hang out with the Sully kids.
You can’t think about the Sully kids without including Neteyam. You want to reminisce about happy memories, want to think about all the future good memories to come, but then Ka’vina inches her way into your mind. The image of them together at the cookfire, sitting too close for comfort.
But you won’t see them, they’ll be too busy taking strolls through the forest. Or maybe they’re flying their ikrans in spirals around each other. Perhaps they were climbing through the ayram alusìng, going higher and higher until they reached the alluring hot springs.
It’d be preferable to not think about the way Ka’vina would undress.
Would she save her modesty and undress after submerging, hoping that her loincloth and chest covering would dry before they emerged again? Or would she make a show of it, slowly unclipping her chest covering, slowly dragging it down to reveal her breast. Would she move onto the loincloth and make a show of that too?
And Neteyam. Would he watch, become so enticed with the show that he couldn’t avert his eyes? Or would he be the gentleman he was raised to be, letting Ka’vina undress and submerge in the warm water, allowing the steam time to curl over her body before finally turning around and entering the spring himself.
Oh Eywa, you were going to be sick. Why would you torment yourself with such thoughts?
A few steadying breaths flow into your lungs. The nausea is still present, but you know once you start teaching that it will subside for good.
You see the familiar shape of Tal’kren. He is performing on the archery targets, taking them from odd angles and showing off to the young ones before their lesson begins. You nock an arrow and wait, deciding when the best moment would be to make your presence known.
Tal’kren takes aim and you eye his stance to figure out which target he is aiming at. You determine it must be the target woven between many trees, the one nearly 100 meters away, farther than any of the young hunters could even dream about reaching.
You let your arrow soar just milliseconds after his does. From the angle everyone is watching from they cannot see your arrow trailing his. Tal’kren’s arrow sinks into the bullseye of the target with a satisfying thump.
Your arrow splits his a millisecond later with a much more satisfying crack. Fifteen heads start turning, searching for who released the arrow.
“Pxi kan, taronyutsyìp,” Tal’krens voice rings out. Finding you much before the trainees did.
You smile, laughing, “I am not little, just taronyu is fine.”
Tal’kren claps a hand on your shoulder before bringing you in for a hug. As you pull back, he keeps the hand on your shoulder “I assume you are my partner for today?”
“I am,” You want to show camaraderie, and encourage the trainees to cultivate similar relationships so you make no move to remove his hand from your shoulder. “The Olo’eyktan has asked me to step in for the foreseeable future.”
The young trainees murmur excitedly; your name is one that is usually spoken in soft whispers so for you to join in on their sessions for a while seemed like a blessing from Eywa. They could complain, wishing it was you and Neteyam training them, that they could have both of the best future warriors teaching them.
But they normally had Neteyam, had spent months learning from him and Tal’kren. Now they could learn your ways, and they could learn how to make their own unique style based on the two of you.
Days pass like this. The trainees soaking up your knowledge. Letting you adjust their stances, pull their strings more taught, sharpen the arrowheads that dulled from constant use.
Today you’re standing face to face with Opani when you hear the familiar timber of Neteyams voice. Your ears flick in annoyance, because of course Neteyam had to show up, but then you’re focusing on the young warrior in front of you.
Looking down towards the target you can see she is off, leaning more left than she should. It may be because of your proximity so you chide her gently, “Adjust to the right, if you were to take the shot now you would not hit a kill shot.”
She exhales roughly through her nose, you believe it to be from nerves and not irritation so you do not scold her. Then she shifts, leaning slightly more into your personal space. As she releases the arrow you hear Neteyam’s voice again.
This time you flick your head to angle it over your shoulder. Where was he? Why did it sound as if his voice was getting closer?
Beside you Opani releases a shout of joy, and that forces you to face front again. She's already staring at you, jumping a little from excitement. Flicking your eyes to the target you can see she hit the bullseye perfectly.
You ruffle her braids, giving her some words of encouragement before telling her to go retrieve her arrow and try again. After she runs off you redirect your attention in Neteyams direction.
You must be off your game, any skilled hunter should be able to differentiate from all current sounds around them. Yet, you somehow managed to miss Ka’vina’s voice. Seeing her renders you motionless; Your ears press against your skull, your tail falls flat, eyes drifting over every piece of her.
It takes you a few moments to notice Neteyam is in front of her, his back to you. They assume the same positions you and Opani were just in. It feels different this time though.
With you and Opani it was obvious that you were teacher and student. With Neteyam and Ka’vina it seemed as if it was a date. Instead of their movements being out of necessity, they had a sensual tone to them.
Neteyam uses his hand to raise Ka’vinas elbow higher, he watches the arrowhead carefully to make sure her aim is true. She turns towards him, saying something that you can’t hear.
You can see how he raises his fingers to grasp her chin. He tilts it back towards the target, encouraging her to always keep her eyes where her arrow is aimed.
The feeling that settles in your stomach makes you disgusted with yourself. They’re a well suited couple. Anyone with eyes could tell you that. They would make a good Olo’eyktan and Tsa’hik.
A good couple to lead the Omatikaya.
And here you were, upset at their presence. Upset that they were falling into love in the public eye. Upset that Neteyam hadn’t even told you he was considering courting Ka’vina.
You wondered which piece she wore was Neteyams courting gift. Was it the bracelet, the deep brown twine, mixed with blue and green beads that match her skin and the tones of the forest?
Or was it the choker, lined with polished river rocks lining her collarbone?
You couldn’t let your mind linger any longer. Couldn’t allow it to make you detest your closest friend.
So you find Tal’kren, alert him of some sudden illness you’ve come down with, and leave for the day. You could rest, and allow your mind to drift to other things. It would be smarter to head to the Tree of Souls. To make an honest prayer to Eywa for her to help you move on.
She would help you, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to let go yet.
You wanted to seem more alluring, something to attract attention at the clan gatherings. Not that you were actively seeking a mate, but it would be nice to see who is interested. Nice to see how many options you had, if any.
You knew you were rough around the edges. Knew that you spoke harsher than most liked. That your hands were rough from years of use. That you had nasty scars littering your body. That you had more muscle than the typical lithe Na’vi woman.
And you knew it had to make you less desirable. That the men must have wanted someone easier. Someone who thought before they spoke, and chose their words carefully so you could fall upon them like a pillow instead of a rock.
But that does not mean that everyone would dislike you, there has to be someone in the clan who sees your beneficial qualities. Someone who you could live your life with.
If there wasn’t you would prefer to know sooner rather than later. To decide if you should seek out a mate from a different clan.
So you seek our Kiri. A skilled weaver, knowledgeable in the proper herbs to stain cloths, and good company.
You had decided on a nice deep red. It was a color not typically worn by the Omatikaya as it did not blend in with the forest fauna - therefore it would draw the most attention.
“So, I have not seen you around the gatherings much.” Kiri drawls, keeping her head towards her weaving but angling her eyes to see you.
Your fingers don’t stop their meticulous patterns, “I have been there. Just last night I ate with Lo’ak.”
“Yes, but you skip at least 4 cookfires a week.”
“I tire easily, you know of my many duties.”
Kiri scoffs, but decides against responding. Her silence allows you to pick up a new bead, weaving it onto the side of where the cloth will hang. You’ve decided on white beads, and silvery polished river stones. They compliment the red well, they will also bring more attention to your waist, clacking and clashing with every step.
You decide on a symmetrical look. Two braided strands on each side. The farthest one shorter than the one that rests closest to the cloth. It will look nice.
Will it matter? Will the males of the clan really focus on the little details or only focus on what rests underneath?
You knew Neteyam would notice, that he would mention that the symmetry helped your internal equilibrium. Helped keep you centered in the rough moments. Not that you couldn’t function if your garments were asymmetrical, but he knew you were always a hair more sure of your aim.
But you were not wearing it for him. So what he thought did not matter. However this left you with a good idea on what to focus on when approached. Knew what you wanted to hear, and what you did not.
As you tie off the last bead on the tewng a sense of accomplishment falls upon you. You gaze upon your work lovingly; proud that even though your hands are rougher than the weavers, you can still produce a good piece.
It’s during your admiration that Kiri speaks again, “I require more twine.”
“The great mother has bestowed you with two legs and two arms, you can go retrieve your own twine.”
“I will fall out of rhythm, and then who knows how long it will take me to complete this piece.”
Your sharp words never phased Kiri, never shoved her away. You guessed it was good enough reason to go and retrieve more twine from the weavers circle.
As you stand and begin to pad away, you can hear Kiri shout some sort of thanks and you lift your hand in acknowledgement.
You were aware of many women in the weavers circle. Most of them are siblings to people you’ve hunted with, some girls you grew up with, others were elders who taught you how to weave at the beginning of your life.
A polite, simple greeting would do. You could say hello as you’re reaching for the twine. Exchange niceties, as you unspool the amount you guessed Kiri needed. And unsheath your knife and cut the twine before any deep conversations began to form.
You keep your head down as you reach for the twine and greet the circle. Everyone murmurs a similar greeting back and you are content to leave it as that. They know why you are here and do not need to indulge in conversation.
“Ma’numeyu, how have you been?” Rinak is speaking, drawing your eyes up from where the rest. She taught you how to weave when you were just a babe, toddling around camp looking for things to do.
“I have been well, and you Rinak?”
“I am also well numeyu, but I am disappointed that you have not eaten with me in many moons.”
You unsheath your knife, angling it safely to tear through the taught line of twine, “I am sorry. I will eat with you tonight if you will have me.”
“Of course I would.” Rinak chuckles, as if amused by the idea that she would shun your company away.
You smile back at her, pleased with how easily this has went. You have not run into Ka’vina or any of her friends, and have not had to exchange fake niceties with them. This will be counted as a win in your book.
But then you turn, ready to stand and head back to where you and Kiri have been hanging out as you weaved. And there, at the far side of the circle rests Ka’vina. Sitting knee-to-knee with her is Neteyam. He is weaving something, what you cannot tell, but Ka’vina is intently studying it.
Neteyam is looking at you though, his head tilted as if he is curious, and his hands only loosely grip his work. It is as if he is hunting; his eyes remain wide even after he blinks, not wanting to miss any movement from his prey.
You meet his eyes, frozen in place from his gaze. It would be improper to run, but it would be too awkward to walk over and say hello at this point. The tension grows around the circle, other members slowly noticing the way that the two of you are staring at each other.
The tension snaps like a bowstring when Ka’vina tugs on the piece in Neteyams hand. His eyes bolt to hers, ears flicking forward to catch every word that she says. That is your moment to move, so you run with it.
One of your hands raises as you bid everyone good weaving and goodbye. You force yourself to maintain a normal pace, not wanting Neteyam to see you run away. For him to know how openly you despise choice.
Upon returning to Kiri, you silently drop the twine, pressing a hand to her shoulder in greeting as you pass. She does not speak however, simply tying the two pieces together so she can continue working on her piece.
You’ve tucked your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them as you stew in your thoughts. Kiri must have known about Neteyams chosen one by now. Ka’vina must have been formally introduced to the Sullys, and therefore Kiri. And Kiri was the best judge of character, if she were to say Ka’vina was a good pick, you would believe it.
A whispered call of her name leaves your lips. You hope she misses it. Hope that it blends in with the pleasured yelps of the children, or the distant roars of the ikrans, even the chatter of the passing group of hunters.
But it does not, and Kiri responds much louder than you would like.
“What is it?”
“What are your thoughts on Ka'vina?” You can feel her eyes boring into the side of your head, but you refuse to look at her.
“She is a good weaver.”
This is common knowledge, Kiri must know you do not care about it. “What else?”
“If she did not wish to weave, she could easily join the singers.”
She must be egging you on. Wanting you to expose what you really feel before she says anything. You would think that a hunter as skilled as yourself would have more patience. You snap all the same, falling right into Kiris trap, “Yes. I know this. Everyone knows this. I want to know what you think about her deeply.”
“I think she is a good person. That she has many skills to help around hometree, and is known to assist the children and elders, but is unwise when it comes to other tasks.” Kiri is still staring at you even as she finishes her piece, “Why do you ask?”
You could not tell her the reason. Even if she sensed it, it would be wrong considering that Ka'vina was to be her sister. It could be worked out, where had you seen Ka'vina? Where had she piqued your interest?
“She has come around the training grounds recently and I could not think of why.” Finally you let your eyes drift to Kiris, hoping that there are no emotions swirling in your amber pools, “It makes sense with what you said. She needs to become fluent in many skills, not just a few.”
Kiri stares at you, eyes flicking over your face. Then to your ears, and briefly to your tail. Trying to assess how you feel internally from your body language. When she senses no showing of a lie a smile graces her face.
Then she's tossing the piece she crafted into your face. You grab it before it can slide and meet the dusty ground. As it rests in your palms you notice the red, white, and polished river stones that accent it.
“I made it so you could have a matching set tonight.”
At that, you gape at her. She had gone through all this trouble for you?
“Well don’t just look at me! Do you like it?”
“Yes, very much. Thank you Kiri.” You’ve stood now, crossing the small clearing to toss yourself onto her as a full body thanks.
“You skxawng get off of me!”
The two of you tousle a bit, acting like children getting into their first scuffle. But then you are off of her, and running in the direction of your kelku to get ready for the cookfire tonight.
It is almost eclipse, which means you have enough time to change slowly, put your braids up in a different style and meander your way back to the center of hometree.
On your way back Tal’kren calls for you. He must have also stopped at his kelku before heading to the cookfire.
“Hello Tal’kren, how were the trainees today?” You call back over your shoulder, refusing to stop for him, but walking at a slower pace nonetheless.
“They were fine. No more rowdy than usual. Though they listened les-” Tal’krens voice trails off, and when you turn to look at him he is already staring at you, “What are you wearing?”
You’re approaching the cookfire now, but you still choose to indulge him, “It is new, how do I look?” You give a childish spin, showing all angles of your new outfit.
You can feel more eyes than just his as you sit and wait for a response. But it is not worth searching for who is staring at you when you have a perfectly fine archer right in front of you. If you’re lucky he will say something that will make you believe he has more going on in his head besides arrows, bowstrings, and bows.
“It is very sevin,” Tal’kren gulps, a light shade of indigo coming to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, “You are sevin.”
It was not the best compliment, but you would not deny that it made something flutter in your stomach. It was nice to be seen as something other than a txantxewm taronyu.
“Thank you Tal’kren.” You begin to walk towards where you know Rinak likes to sit, “I will see you after I have eaten, yes?”
“Yes. I will be with some of our other friends over here.” He gestures in a general direction, not moving until he sees you nod in acceptance of his words.
The night moves smoothly from then. You talk with the elders, inform them of the current happenings of your life, what new herb you decided you liked on your meat. They in turn spoke about other things you may enjoy, what fruits could enhance the flavor of certain meats, special herbs only the most skilled climbers could eat.
It was nice to speak with them, to gain some wisdom, but it was even nicer sitting around with people you knew.
First it was Lo’ak. His group sat between Rinak and Kiris groups, and he had made fast work of snagging your arm as you passed by. They indulged you in more fermented juice, happy to provide whatever you desired to keep you with them.
You missed the way that Loak's young friends eyed you. Missed how their eyes traced over your chest covering. How they seemed to stop at every bead, or rock, that dimpled the pattern. He had said they ‘drooled over you,’ but in your eyes they were just children, and there was no way they’d be interested in you.
Then Kiri and her group came to join. She had said something about how it was ‘Forbidden to hide from her’ when she crafted you such a beautiful piece. Her friends eyed your new cloths with jealous eyes. The color combination was something they had not considered to be allowed.
You still ignored their gazes. Knowing they mostly wanted to know what weaving pattern Kiri used, and what herb was used to dye the clothes and twine. Not that they cared about you as a person or the body that rests underneath the cloths.
There was a good mix of people, the feeling of the group never becoming tense or uncomfortable. There was currently an exchange of the bravest, most death defying things they had gotten away with.
You had decided that was your time to go join Tal’kren. If you heard too much about what Lo’ak or Kiris friends got up to, you would feel the need to implore them to be safer. So you asked them to top off your drink before you headed off.
As you approach, only two pairs of eyes flick to you. The first being Neteyams, it would seem as if his eyes followed you the entire way from across the fire, but that would be a silly thought. Especially considering Ka’vina was still pressed closely into his side.
The next is Tal’kren. He grins widely as you get closer to where he rests on the log. Already moving to rise before you even fully reach him, “Would you like to sit?”
“It is fine, may I brace my back on your legs though?” You did not wish to have the rough bark mar your skin.
He plants his feet a bit away from the log, steadying them before nodding, “Of course.”
Their conversation is equally as lively as the other groups. Once again discussing trick shots they have taken during sturmbeest hunts.
They first discuss the ones that do not count. This only means they got scolded for it after as it did not result in a kill, was reckless, wasted resources, disrupted the formation, or all of the above.
Once the group had ran through those, they switched to ones that did count. Ones that ended in a kill, clean or not. These were much more important, as the elders would try to scold you, but they had rarely any footing because the clan was still fed.
The only person who could not produce a story was Ka’vina, and it did not bring a sense of pity to your chest. Instead it just reminded you how different she was. Even if she did participate in the hunts, would she want to engage in such activities? What did she even consider fun?
You’ve been avoiding where she and Neteyam were sitting. It was not against them, but you were unsure of how you would act, and you preferred to keep this night enjoyable.
So when someone grasps your bicep and yanks, you are shocked. Before you even have time to identify who it is you’re being tugged backwards.
“Hey-” You stumble over a rock, nearly falling to your knees before you regain your composure, “Just wait a second!”
“I will not.” Neteyams voice is gruff, like he had to force the words through clenched teeth.
You’re furiously pulling your arm now, the cookfire is glowing dimly in the distance, and you cannot believe the audacity of this man. “You will!”
With that final motion, you are able to tug your arm free. And you spin rapidly to face Neteyam, appalled at his actions.
“What was that?”
“It was necessary.”
“By Eywa, in what world was that necessary?”
Neteyam does not grant you a response. He stands in front of you, huffing a little bit with his eyes towards the ground. His ears flick at every sound, and his tail lashes aggressively behind him.
“You are a grown man, and I know your tongue has not been cut out, so speak.”
His eyes meet yours briefly before softly uttering, “They were looking at you as if you were a piece of meat.”
“I cannot understand mumbling Neteyam,” When he doesn’t make any move to speak again you turn to leave.
“I said they were looking at you as if you were a piece of meat.” The last words spit from his mouth like acid, like they physically pained him to say.
“So what if they were?”
“They should not do such things.”
“Why is that?” You come close to him. Because of the height difference you still have to peer up at him, but you hope your intimidating presence is enough to cut him down a bit, “Why should they not look at me?”
“It is unbecoming of a hunter. They should know better.”
And you laugh, right in his face. “Unbelievable. You are truly, unbelievable Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan.” Then you stalk off, rushing in the direction of your kelku, hoping you can make it in and tie the flaps shut before the tears run down your lashline.
One would think they would want to spare the feelings of someone they grew up with. That they would find a way to soften the blow, not make the impact harder.
If he found you so undesirable, why could he not find another way to say it?
The winds flow freely through your hair. You had unbraided it, wishing to wash it before braiding new beads and feathers into it.
You’re flying on your ikran, heading to one of the hot springs you’ve been aching to dip into for weeks now. Your favorite one rests inside a cave on one of the mountains.
There is just enough space for your ikran to land, truly hiding the space from anyone who doesn’t know it exists. However it also meant that you could never know who’s inside without entering yourself.
But you had left long after the clan had settled for the night. Only the embers of the cookfire remained, and you passed many sleeping members of the clan on the way up hometree. There was no doubt that you would be alone.
You step slowly into the space, admiring the bioluminescence that lit up the cave. Stripping quickly you almost dive into the water with your haste. The hot water instantly releases some tension in your shoulders.
There are natural ledges around the border of the pool, you find one and take a seat. You’ve been very busy recently and deserve the chance to relax.
Before you can get too comfortable you take to scrubbing your scalp. The goal is to remove any dirt, dust, or grime that may have gotten caught up in your tightly wound braids. But that quickly switches to giving yourself a scalp massage.
The motions are nice. They would be even better if it was someone else completing them however, you were not a complainer. You’re unsure how long you sit there for, but you’re sure enough time has passed that you can scrub away at your body now.
Any caked on grime or blood, has become soaked through with the warm water. It slides off your skin easily, showing the vibrant blue shade underneath. You begin to feel more like yourself again, as if you’re shedding your old skin and coming into a new one.
When you turn around, eager to retrieve your waterskin and change positions you're faced with another body. You must have mistaken the sounds of someone else entering the spring with the sounds of your own splashing.
You scoff, “What are you doing here?”
“It is a free hot spring.”
“Yes, but should you not be getting your beauty sleep?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
All the tension you felt leave your body came back. You had specifically came so late as to avoid any of this. Why couldn't Eywa give you a break, just this once. With a deep breath you shut your eyes tightly, and let you head fall against the border.
You would not allow Neteyam to bother you. You have waited many moons to come here, and you would leave when you were ready, not because you were forced out.
Soft ripples distract you from where you’ve let your thoughts drift. Your ears snap to attention, trying to discern if the ripples are moving closer or farther from your location.
Your eyes shoot open when you realize that Neteyam is moving closer to you. “What are you doing.”
You do not pose him a question. You speak the words like a warning, giving him the chance to turn back.
“I am coming deeper so the water may reach my shoulders.”
“Go to that side of the spring then. Do not come closer.”
For a moment you think he will continue moving towards you. That he will attempt to cage you in against the wall and himself, but he moves to where you told him to go. When he gets there you expect him to stay silent.
You have nothing to say to him, nothing nice especially after the cookfire a few nights ago. And whatever he has to say to you, you do not wish to hear.
Minutes tick by in silence. It is not comfortable, some may even say it is suffocating, most would leave. You got here first however, and you refuse to vacate when you came under such perfect conditions to be alone.
Let's be realistic, there were plenty of hot springs he could have picked, why did he come here? He could have left after seeing you already submerged! Quietly backed out, and climbed upon his ikran to find another spring.
The thought irritates you more. It makes you grind your teeth, the anger beginning to simmer in your chest.
“I wish to talk.”
Neteyam had said those same words to you forever ago, when this all began. They had meant less than they do now, but you still feel the same way.
“I do not.”
“Well, we must talk. There is no other wa-”
When you open your eyes, you find Neteyam already staring at you intently, “You cannot force me to talk with you. You are not Olo’ekytan yet, and you do not command me in hunting parties, therefore I do not take orders from you.”
He softly calls your name. If you didn’t know any better you would assume there is a quiver to it, a bit of unsureness. But that would be a silly thought, and you promptly will yourself to stop thinking it.
Suddenly Neteyam is moving closer again. Slowly but surely moving into your side of the spring. When he reaches the halfway point you raise your hand slightly, muttering a quick ‘don’t’ in warning.
That does nothing to deter him. His shoulders begin to glisten from no longer being submerged, droplets cascading down his arms and clavicles in rivulets that remind you how thirsty you had been just a few minutes ago.
Oh Eywa! What were you thinking?
As you get your thoughts back under control Neteyam shifts ever closer. His body comes to rest just a few feet in front of yours. Slowly inching closer, truly trying to cage you like an animal.
“I said to not come closer.”
“And I said we need to speak.”
He thinks you will just sit here? Allow him to force you into speaking? Believes that your nudity embarrasses you enough, that you will allow him to speak?
There is some space between the cave wall and the border of the pool, and if you angled yourself properly you could follow it the entire way back out to where your tewng and chest covering rested. And if you called for your ikran as you were dressing you could be back to hometree within the half hour.
It is decided.
You scooch backwards, using your arms to lift up onto the ledge. It is then that Neteyam finally stops.
Neteyams eyes flick over your body. Your chest, where your nipples have begun to peak in the cooler air, the water that drips down your navel, the way your hips look without the tewng covering them. He does not speak, but an indigo tint falls on his cheeks, rises up his neck, and also hits the tops of his ears.
You stand, wringing out your hair so it does not drip on you as you fly. Pointedly ignoring Neteyams presence, but when he does not continue in his harassment you turn your eyes towards him again.
He is flustered, that much you can tell. At first it makes you a little happy, knowing that you actually do have an effect on him. Then you remember Ka’vina, and the feeling leaves.
“Oh you are disgusting!”
Neteyam sputters out of his trance, “What?”
“Staring! At an undressed woman. Alone! Especially when you are courting another.”
“Oh, yes, yes, sorry.” Then he avoids his gaze, focusing on the water directly in front of him instead.
“Wait.” His eyes raise back to yours, “My courting?”
“Yes. With Ka’vina.”
A disbelieved laugh leaves his lips, “I am not courting Ka’vina.”
“There is no need to lie. I will not tell her about this.”
“I am not lying.” He rises a bit more, grabbing your hand, “Come back in and I will explain.”
You laugh at him, “I am not going back in there with you.”
Eyes flick back towards the entrance of the cave, remembering your earlier plan. The urge to execute that plan comes back. The urge to suddenly be tucked into your woven mat with pelts submerging you in warmth, stronger than anything else.
As you’re debating your escape plan Neteyam sneaks up on you. He places a hand on your thigh another on your waist, and hauls you back into the water. You hiss, smacking his chest.
“You cannot move so rashly!”
“I would like to know how you came to the belief that I was courting Ka’vina.”
You try to thrash a bit. To use the slickness of the water on your behalf, but Neteyams grasp is unrelenting. He does not let you move an inch.
When you try to at least sit down, he still does not let you move. “I will not speak until I can rest.”
“You must lean back then. It would be unpleasant to sit directly down.”
It is then that you realize you are on Neteyam's lap. A flush adorns your face now, realizing the predicament that you’re in. But his grasp still isn't letting up, so you lean back on your haunches. Carefully maneuvering to avoid any unwanted touching.
“Now explain.”
“I saw the two of you at the cookfire, a few moons ago.”
“Yes, I was integrating her into our group.”
“Because you were courting her,” Your hand raises to cover Neteyams mouth, if he wanted you to explain he would have to hear it in entirety before trying to contradict your words.
“I only realized because she had taken my spot next to you. And then the two of you at the training grounds, the way your hand lingered on her.” You move your palm from covering his lips to grasping at his chin, the same way he had done to Ka’vina.
Tossing his head to the side you continue, “Then you were with her at the weaving circle. You had allowed her to critique your work, allowed her to undo the knots and braids you had worked on. You don’t even like to weave.”
Neteyam is peering up at you, his lashes fluttering lightly, “May I speak now?”
You nod, not trusting your voice anymore.
“I was around her because she needed help completing her iknimaya, many of the other karyus have tried and she has failed many times.”
“Her iknimaya?”
“Yes, her other karyus were too rough, they did not attune to her learning style.” One of his hands begin to travel up and down your side, “I was involving her with our friends so she could have other people to lean on.”
Your eyes stray to the side, embarrassment creeping up your spine. But Neteyam keeps staring at you, “She needed help with archery for her dream hunt. And I needed help with weaving. I wanted to make something beautiful, that would last, that could withstand harsh weather, and harsher movements by the wearer.”
The hand moving up your side travels up, ghosting over the side of your breast, and lightly settles on the side of your neck.
“It was a mutual exchange of skill.”
Your embarrassment at misunderstanding makes you snap at him, “Yes, I understand that Neteyam.”
Your voice comes again, lighter and nicer this time, “You do not desire her, even slightly?”
“Not even slightly. What else would make you think that?”
“She is soft.”
Neteyam mulls over your words. Ka’vina is soft, her body is soft, her words are soft, her weaves are soft, the way she aims her bow is soft, so he agrees, “Yes, she is soft. But I do not want soft.”
“Why?”
“Because no one knows me like you. No one can anticipate my movements like you. They cannot hit flying targets as well, and they do not like to sharpen their arrows so they pierce their kills more efficiently. I have wanted it to be you since we were children, since my parents explained the concept of a mate to me.”
“That is stupid. You were too young to understand then.”
Instead of being upset at your misplaced anger, Neteyam just smiles. Then his lips curl into a smirk, “May I kiss you?”
“May you… what?”
“Kiss you.”
Instead of answering you lean forward and press your lips to his. You’re motionless, and it’s awkward. But then Neteyam begins moving his lips, opening them slightly and tilting his head to deepen it.
Before you know it your hands are pressing against his face, trying to memorize the feel of him after months of not being close. You finally pull away when you start to feel light headed. Your eyes are hazy darting across all of his features as you greedily suck in air.
You lean back in. This time Neteyam licks into your mouth, he tastes like the smokiness of the meat that was served at the cookfire tonight. It’s something you believe you could get used to.
This is something you think you could get used to.
You’d do it anywhere. Here in the hot springs, back in your kelku, in Neteyams kelku, out in the forest, hell you’d even do it at the training grounds if Neteyam wanted.
Truthfully, you’re a bit mad at yourself. How long could you have been doing this for if you had just spoken to him? How much farther could you have gone? It did not matter now, and you clearly were not the best at thinking through scenarios.
When Neteyam leans back again you nearly whine. The fact that such a noise wanted to emerge from your throat shocks you. What was this man doing to you?
“Would you like to see what I was weaving?”
You’re lightly panting, allowing your tongue to lave over your swollen lips. “What?”
“What I was weaving with Ka’vina -”
“Do not mention Ka’vina when you just had your tongue in my mouth.”
Neteyam laughs, “I will not, but she did direct me in perfecting your courting gift,” His grip lets up a bit so that he can begin caressing you softly, “It is over with my tewng. If you will still have me.”
“Of course I will still have you, do not make jokes.” You stand, grabbing Neteyams hand, and suddenly you’re tugging one of the Sully’s around. “I am excited to see what you have made for me.”
“It will fit you well.” He kisses you one more time, acting as if he would not get the chance to after he bestows the gift upon you, “And then everyone will know you are mine.”
A realization dawns on you. The other night, Neteyam had not been mad at you for crafting a new loincloth and chest covering. He was mad at your comrades, your friends, for eyeing you in such a way, “You were jealous the other day?”
“Very much so. They were just looking at you, not seeing you.” Another peck, “I see you, that is why I deserve to court you.”
You laugh. It is a soft sound, one of the only soft things you can identify about yourself. And you don’t allow the hard parts of you to bring you down. Don’t allow them to make you insecure about how you would fit with Neteyam. He likes you as you are, and that is enough.
Forehead nuzzling to his, you repeat his words, “And I see you.” Unable to resist, you kiss him one last time before making a demand, “Now let me see my gift.”
Neteyam laughs ever amused at your personality, but he does not voice any opposition. He would continue to feed into you for as long as the two of you shall live if it meant he got to see your grin. Got to see your fangs peek out over your bottom lip, and your nose scrunch up in delight.
neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4 neteyam will be back in avatar 4
This is my reaction when I find a cool fanfic but don't look at the header. And then I realise it's unfinished and the last chapter came out several years ago.
don’t cancel me but yall ever read a ff so ooc 😭 listen im not judging but it catches me off guard sometimes. like why is neteyam, nanami or peter parker calling me “ma” or “mamas” out of nowhere 😭😭
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