pairings: neteyam sully x fem omatikaya reader
s: neteyam is shy
w.c: 1.3k
“I want to court you.”
Never did you expect Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, prince of the Omatikaya. The young man who walked the village face serious at every turn to stand before you, ears twitched back purple at the tips and tail swishing rapidly. Usually, stoic features are now sheepish. Holding out a beautiful, crafted necklace for you to take. Smiling softly, your hand brushed his, Neteyam tensed under your feather like touch.
“I accept.”
News carried fast throughout the clan, Neteyam had claimed you as his mate to be. Under the attention you noticed how Neteyam kept his mask up, never wavering under the praises or when his friends teased about him becoming a man. He would scold them telling them to behave, though the purple tint of his ears showed clearly what he was hiding.
Neteyam was respectful and sweet when it came to you. Gifts laid at you kelku every morning, after every hunt he gave you the choice cuts prepared by himself. In passing he would help you with whatever you needed, and almost every day he added new crafts to your growing collection.
As sweet Neteyam was, you also noticed certain things.
Like when you asked him to tie your necklace around your neck, he hesitated causing you to look at him confused before he complied. At dinners when you sat with him, he kept space between you two, never touching but near enough that you were aware.
Or when he would graze your hand accidentally, he would pull away, face flushing gold eyes looking anywhere but at you. Struggling to remain neutral, he would mumble a quick sorry and create more space between the two of you.
And whenever you caught him staring at you, whether it was beside you or from afar he would turn away. As if he was caught looking at something he shouldn’t have, as if you weren’t already his.
A thought circled your mind, but your suspicions weren’t confirmed until a certain communal dinner.
You sat beside Neteyam, that same space between you two as you ate the food Neteyam had given you moments prior. His gaze lingered on you longer than usual. Feeling the weight of it, you turned your head to ask what was wrong. But the question died on your tongue, as you watched Neteyam reach out thumb brush lightly against the corner of your lips, wiping away the excess grease from the meat you had eaten. Stilling under his touch, you stared at him, noticing the way his amber eyes linger on your lips.
You were silent under his attention, not wanting to scare him off. Then Neteyam realized, and yanked his hand back quickly, muttering rapid apologies and excuses to get you more water and food. His long stride carried him away from you, across the communal fire his golden gaze avoiding yours at all costs. Instead of feeling offended or overthinking the reaction you grinned to yourself.
He is shy.
You took this newfound information and ran with it.
“Teyam!” The nickname slipped from your lips easily, Neteyam straightening at the call of his name turning away from the other warriors who smirked and nudged at each other. In your hand was a meal prepared by Neytiri.
“Your mother asked me to bring this to you.” His eyes flickered to the wrapped meal before returning to you. “Thank you.” He said quietly, reaching for the meal completely missing the mischievous glint in your eyes and the bite of your bottom lip.
Quickly, your hand shot out to his bicep. Pulling him down easily, your lips meet his cheek in a lingering peck. Staying there against him you muttered a soft welcome before pulling away. Neteyam froze in shock, his friends cheered behind him while he noticed your teasing smile. Finally, he saw the mischief that radiated off you, tail swaying happily as you skipped away.
From then on you pushed his buttons trying to get him to see past his shyness.
When he created distance, you close it.
When his hand grazed your own, you were quick to take it.
Whenever he sat beside you busy, your hands would find his braids scratching his scalp softly behind dragging your hand through them. Each act caused the same reaction; his flushed ear tips—and you loved it.
It was late, the two of you were walking back after a late gathering session before heading home. Walking along the path, you noticed how Neteyam lagged just half a step behind—his protective nature.
“You know,”
Your voice filled the quiet, already having Neteyam attention from your first inhale. “You can touch me.”
Neteyam foot caught on an overgrown root, stumbling forward he was quick to catch himself. Hand tightened around the basket check the materials.
“What?”
You stopped walking facing him, hands clasped behind your back.
“You keep a distance, I notice it.”
“I am being respectful.” He stood tall still keeping a safe distance from you.
“It is really respectful if you go against my wishes?” Neteyam opened his mouth to reply.
“You like me do you not?” You cut in, taking a step closer.
“I—
“Because if you do, wouldn’t you want to be close to me.”
Neteyam mouth closed ears twitching against his braids. He mumbled something you couldn’t catch. Closing the space completely, you stood in front of him staring up, eyes telling him to speak again. Sighing he looked away from you, face growing steadily purple at your proximity.
“I do not want to be clingy.”
“What?” You chuckled in disbelief.
“I have to keep up my reputation. I can’t act on my every need to touch you.” He turned to you, golden eyes sincere and honest. “And if I did, I wouldn’t want to be rid of your presence at all.”
You giggled, forehead leaning against his chest ears catching his rapid heartbeat. “So, you refrained from touching me in general?” You said against him, feeling the way his chest stuttered as your breath fanned against his skin.
“Yes.”
Looking up, your hand moved to his neck holding him while your other moved to his free hand guiding it to your waist. His hand twitched instinctively, holding you before releasing, you kept him there, grip firm against his wrist.
“You are allowed to indulge Teyam.”
He swallowed, finally holding you more firmly, hyper focused on how it felt to have you in his hands. He wanted to toss the basket from his hip and hold you closer to his body, to feel you. Shaking his head, he attempted to clear his running thoughts.
“Even if I want this all the time?” He asked. Rolling your eyes, you got on your tip toes, planting a quick kiss to his lips sending his brain in a spiral.
“Whatever you want of me you can take.” Returning to moss floor, you noticed the bioluminescence glow of the forest burning brighter signaling how late it was. Intertwining your hand with his, you led Neteyam to the village.
“Can I have another?”
“Another what?” You tease, the urge to toy with him seemed to never go away. “You have to be clear Teyam.” He groaned, squeezing your hand.
“You know what I want.”
Giggling, you replied, “Did I not say you can take whatever you want of me?” Neteyam grinned, tail wagged behind him without control, excited for the endless things he could ask of.
—
“Come on bro, don’t you want to go out or something?” Lo’ak groaned standing at the entrance of your kelku.
Neteyam sighed against your shoulder. He sat in his usual place behind you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, chest pressed against your back. Strong arms encircled around your waist drawing shapes against your skin, while you worked on repairing his armband that had been worn down over the past few months.
“No, I do not. Now, leave me to be with my mate skxwang.”
Shaking his head, Lo’ak muttered under his breath something about Neteyam being clingy, he ignored it completely. Body relaxing against you, his tail now wrapped securely around your thigh.
🎂ྀི⋆˙⟡ synopsis: after surprising neteyam with a human birthday tradition, he makes it clear that the only gift he’s interested in is you.
🎂ྀི⋆˙⟡ content warnings: cheeky!neteyam, human traditions, kissing, neck kissing, suggestive, playful banter, lowercase intended, not proofread
🎂ྀི⋆˙⟡ author's note: that photo of neteyam will forever fry me. i hate him so bad lmfaooo. but on a serious note, this was so last minute, i did not know his birthday was may 11th. so please excuse if he's very out of character. i haven't wrote him in a hot minute. hbd dead boy <33 luv u
you had been planning this for weeks, ever since jake told you about the concept of a "birthday," a human tradition that felt strange and wonderful. apparently, on the day you are born, your people shower you with gifts and sweet food, a celebration of your existence that jake was determined to keep alive for his children. you had pestered him for hours, soaking up every detail about earth traditions, and even went as far as negotiating with the wind traders for a recipe of the colorful cake the sarentu were known for.
now, you were currently stumbling through the underbrush, your hands pressed firmly over neteyam’s golden-hued eyes as you guided him toward a secluded clearing. he was much taller than you, his long tail twitching behind him in a mix of curiosity and playfulness, his skin warm beneath your palms.
"you are going to lead me right off a cliff, stiwi (little mischief)," neteyam teased, his voice a low, rumble that made your ears twitch. he didn't resist your guidance, though he was clearly fighting a grin. "is this a new form of warrior training? navigating the forest while blind? because i think my sempul (dad) would approve, even if my shins don't."
you huffed, trying to keep your voice stern despite the giggle threatening to burst out of you. "hush! you are the mighty forest warrior, are you not? surely you can handle a few roots without your eyes. and stop moving so fast, you’re going to make us both fall."
neteyam laughed, a bright, clear sound that echoed through the trees. "i am trying to follow the sounds of your footsteps, but you are moving like a yerik (hexapede) on ice. are we there yet? i can smell something sweet, and it does not smell like the usual fruit. it smells... different."
"no questions! and definitely no sniffing!" you barked playfully, adjusting your grip as he purposely leaned his weight back against you. "you are being a difficult birthday boy. just a few more steps."
"birthday boy," he repeated, the human words sounding strange but smooth coming from him. "it is a curious name. sempul says back on earth, they put fire on their food and then blow it out. the sawtute (humans) are very strange creatures to play with their food in such a way."
"it is not playing, it is a ritual," you corrected, finally reaching the small cove you had decorated with glowing spirit-blossoms and the centerpiece—the sarentu cake. you came to a stop, pulling him into the center of the glow. "okay, stay right here. do not move. and keep your eyes closed! if you peek, the great mother will know your lack of patience."
neteyam let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his thick arms over his chest, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut, a mischievous smirk still playing on his lips. "i am a master of patience. i can wait until the sun dies, if that is what you wish."
you moved quickly, your fingers trembling slightly as you used a small fire-striker to light a single, thin candle jake had fashioned for you out of beeswax. the tiny flame flickered to life, casting a warm, dancing orange light against the blue bioluminescence of the clearing. the colorful layers of the cake looked vibrant, and for a moment, you felt a surge of pride.
"okay," you whispered, your heart jumping. "open your eyes, neteyam."
he opened them slowly, his long lashes fluttering before his gaze landed on the flickering flame and the strange, colorful stack of food in front of him. he let out a short, startled laugh, his ears pinning back in surprise before they perked forward again. you couldn't help but giggle at his expression, the serious warrior looking utterly baffled by a small piece of burning wax.
"what is all of this?" he asked, his eyes wide as he looked from the cake to your glowing face. "you went through all this trouble for a sawtute tradition?"
you stepped closer, your hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of your loincloth. "it is your birthday, ‘teyam. i learned from jake that it is a day to celebrate you being here. i didn't want you to miss out on it just because we aren't on earth."
neteyam’s expression softened, his earnest \ eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. the playful smirk was gone, replaced by a look of such genuine warmth that you felt yourself blushing under your stripes. he looked at the cake again, then back at you, a soft smile spreading across his lips. "it is... beautiful. i see you, ma yawntu (my beloved). thank you."
the silence between you grew heavy, the kind of quiet that felt like it was humming with everything you weren't saying. you cleared your throat, snapping out of the trance. "well, don't just stare at it! you have to blow out the candle, but jake says you have to make a wish first."
"a wish?" he tilted his head, looking inquisitive. "i simply ask the air for what i want?"
"sort of," you explained. "you think of something you want very much, and if you blow out the flame in one go, it might come true. but you can't tell anyone!"
neteyam moved closer to you, his tall frame looming over the small setup. he closed his eyes, his face becoming very serious for a long second. he seemed to be contemplating deeply, his tail becoming still behind him. after a moment, he opened his eyes and looked at you, his gaze lingering on your lips before meeting your eyes again. "i have it. i have my wish."
he took a breath, his chest expanding, and he leaned in as if to tell you. you let out a little shriek, putting your hands up to cover his mouth. "no! do not tell me! if you say it out loud, the magic is gone and it won't come true!"
neteyam laughed against your palms, his eyes crinkling as he rolled them at your superstition. he stepped back, closed his eyes again, and with one powerful huff, the tiny flame vanished into a thin wisp of smoke.
you started clapping, jumping slightly in excitement. "happy birthday, neteyam! was it a good wish? did it feel like it worked?"
he snickered, watching your enthusiasm with an amused expression. "i cannot tell you, remember? then it will not come true."
you shook your head stubbornly, moving into his space. "i'm your best friend! i can help make it come true, i promise. just a tiny hint? please?"
neteyam’s laughter died down, and he became quiet and serious all of a sudden. he reached out, his large, three-fingered hands gently taking yours. his grip was firm and warm, grounding you. "come closer," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, velvety tone.
you obliged, stepping until your chests were almost touching, thinking he was about to whisper some wish to make lo’ak less annoying or a request for a new bow. instead, he leaned down, his face closing the distance until his nose brushed against yours.
the kiss was long and sweet, a soft pressure that felt like the world had stopped spinning. his lips were surprisingly gentle, tasting faintly of the forest air and the warmth of the sun. it wasn't a frantic kiss; it was slow exploration that made your toes curl into the soil. he shifted his grip, one hand moving to the small of your back to pull you flush against him, while the other cupped the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. you felt a spark of electricity travel from your lips to your core, your eyes fluttering shut as you melted into him, finally understanding what he had wished for.
when he finally broke the kiss, he didn't pull away far. he was snickering, a look of pure, mischievous joy on his face. "i want you for my birthday," he whispered, his eyes dancing. "and i think my wish just came true."
you stood there, utterly stunned, your cheeks flushing a violent shade of purple-blue. your tongue felt tied in knots as you tried to find words, stammering out a few incoherent sounds while he just watched you, looking incredibly pleased with himself.
neteyam finally turned his attention to the cake, breaking off a large piece with his fingers and popping it into his mouth. he chewed for a few seconds, his expression shifting from curiosity to a sudden, comical grimace. he promptly spat the bite out onto the grass, coughing slightly.
"ugh! what is in this?" he wheezed, wiping his tongue with the back of his hand. "it tastes like fermented stingbat fruit and sand. you are a terrible baker, stiwi!"
the shock finally wore off, replaced by mock indignation. you whacked him hard on his muscular arm, causing him to howl with laughter as he dodged your next swing. "it is a sarentu recipe! they said it was a delicacy!"
"then the sarentu have no taste!" he shouted, still laughing as he grabbed your wrists to stop your assault, pulling you back into his arms. his grip was firm but playful, his tail whipping behind him in broad, happy strokes that brushed against the tall grass of the clearing.
you were giggling, squealing at him to stop as he began to pepper your face in quick, ticklish kisses that landed on your cheeks, your nose, and the space between your brows. the vibration of his laughter felt like a low hum against your chest, making your heart race with a dizzying sort of affection that felt far more intoxicating than any forest fruit.
"’teyam, stop! let me go!" you managed to gasp out between laughs, squirming in his embrace even as your fingers curled into the muscles of his forearms. you looked up at him, your expression a mix of mock annoyance and genuine warmth. "i do not care if it is your birthday. this is not how you court someone! you are supposed to bring me a great kill or a rare blossom, not spit out my hard work and then tackle me like a nantang (viperwolf)."
neteyam hummed, but he didn't pull away. instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and shallow against your skin. his nose brushed against your pulse point, causing a shiver to travel down your spine as his lips found the sensitive area just below your ear.
"i will court you properly later, ma yawntu," he murmured against your skin, his voice dropping into a low, honeyed rasp that made your knees feel weak. his hands slid from your wrists down to your waist, pulling you so close that there was no air left between you. he took a slow, deep breath, as if he were trying to memorize the scent of you amidst the forest night.
"right now, i have a perfectly good birthday present in my arms that i cannot wait to devour."
i know damn well they dont celebrate birthdays in eywa LMFAOOO.
neteyam is such a good mate
cw. fluff, neteyam being a sweetie, love love love
You’d had a day like no other.
First, your brother slipped out of his duties, leaving everything on your shoulders. Then your fishing net snapped right before you set out, forcing you to spend over two frustrating hours fixing it under the heat, your fingers aching and patience wearing thin. By the time you finally got to the water, the sun was already beginning to dip. You fished until it was nearly dark, the waves quiet and heavy around you.
When you returned to the village, the fires were low and most people had already eaten. What little food remained wasn’t much. And the worst part—you had no time at all for your mate.
“Hey, love.”
Neteyam’s voice came softly, close to your ear. You hadn’t even noticed him approach. He lowered himself beside you on the sand, the ground still warm from the day’s heat. When you turned, he was already looking at you, a gentle, knowing smile on his face.
“Here, I made you something.” He placed a plate into your hands—fresh fish, still warm, and a mix of fruits arranged more carefully than necessary.
You looked at him, tired but softening immediately. “How did you know I was starving?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took the plate.
“I notice stuff,” he said simply, like it was obvious.
He reached up, brushing strands of hair away from your face. His fingers lingered for a moment, tracing lightly along your cheek, grounding you in a way nothing else had all day.
“You had a hard day, didn’t you?”
You let out a breath, shoulders dropping as the tension finally started to leave you. “You have no idea,” you murmured, leaning just slightly into his touch. “I missed you.”
His smile shifted—softer. “Missed you too. A lot.” He leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss to your forehead, warm and steady. “Eat.”
You did. Slowly at first, then with more urgency as you realized how hungry you actually were. Neteyam stayed close, one hand resting loosely beside you in the sand, the other occasionally brushing against your arm without thinking. He watched you eat. Like he was making sure you were okay now.
Neteyam started talking, filling the quiet space between you. Telling you about his day, how he’d tried to find you more than once but kept getting pulled away—someone always needing him, something always coming up. His voice carried a hint of frustration when he admitted it.
“I should’ve been there,” he said after a moment, gaze dropping briefly to the sand. “I shouldn’t have let you deal with all of that alone.”
You shook your head, swallowing before speaking. “Don’t start. That’s ridiculous. Everyone has their duties.”
He huffed softly, but didn’t argue further. Instead, his fingers found your forearm, tracing slow, absent patterns along your skin.
After a moment, he glanced back at you. “What do you think about a free day?” he asked. “Just you and me. Somewhere quiet. A remote beach… warm sun, nothing else to worry about.”
His touch grew a little more deliberate, like he was already imagining it.
“Please say yes,” he added, quieter now. “I miss you so much I think I might die.”
You let out a short laugh, rolling your eyes, though the smile on your face gave you away. “You won’t die, Teyam. But… yeah. A free day sounds nice. If they let us.”
His expression shifted immediately—confidence settling in like it always did. “Oh, they will,” he said, as if it was already decided. “I’ll make sure of it.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping just a bit. “I’ll tell them I need time with you. That I miss you. That I can’t function properly without you around. That i can't have a good day without your kiss”
You groaned quietly, cringing a little at his words, even as your shoulders shook with amusement. “Teyam—”
He laughed under his breath, clearly pleased with himself.
“I’m just being honest,” he said lightly.
Then he closed the distance, catching your lips in a soft, brief kiss—warm, familiar, grounding in a way that made the entire day feel smaller.
He pulled back with an easy grin. “There,” he said. “Good day.”
aged up!neteyam x fem!omatikaya!reader — fluff ! — not requested
neteyam has never denied you of anything.
whether it was the sweetest fruit in the tallest tree, or the prettiest seashell on the ocean floor, you would have it in the palm of your hand within minutes. oh great mother, if you asked for the brightest star to be plucked from the sky itself, neteyam would build a shelf for you to display it. he would then proceed to acquire the star for you, all within the span of a few hours so he could be home in time for dinner with you.
it was well known that he has always been a man who provided for those he loved. nothing made neteyam feel more fulfilled than knowing his loved ones were taken care of. most importantly, he loved providing your needs and your wants. he could reject others if he pleased, but never you. in any and every way possible, it was clear to all that neteyam loved you most.
so yes, neteyam has never denied you of anything, but the first time it happened felt like a sign from eywa that the end of the world was near.
the end of your world, to be specific.
“wait, so what do you actually mean when you say ‘no’?”
uttering the word felt foreign on your tongue, just as it felt foreign hearing it slip from neteyam’s lips.
“what i mean is that i will not do what you ask.”
“but you have never not done what i asked before,” you accused him with a frown. you were well aware that you sounded and looked like a petulant child, but you genuinely could not recall a single time that your desires were dismissed so easily by your lover.
“that’s because you never asked me this,” neteyam replied, continuing to busy himself with washing the fruit he gathered before eclipse. you always liked to have a sweet tea after dinner, and he knew how to prepare it best.
“this is very strange,” you state plainly, looking him up and down for signs of wounds or disease. you thought that perhaps your husband being ill was the only plausible explanation for his behaviour. you were not even aware up until this moment that neteyam even knew how to say the words to refuse you.
he simply laughed in return.
“you’re being dramatic, baby.”
as you opened your mouth to rebut again, a low chittering sound interrupted you. the sudden noise stopped almost as soon as it began, but neteyam’s ears twitched and your eyes widened. with the indication that he heard it, you knew that you were very much fucked. still, you pretended to not hear anything.
“dramatic, teyam? but you know you never say ‘no’ to me!”
you had hoped neteyam would be distracted enough by your exclamation, but your mate was a skilled hunter who had a tendency to follow his killer instincts. unfortunately for you, those instincts led his narrowed eyes away from your pretty face, and towards the corner of your home.
watching his gaze, you subtly tried to step in front of it to continue your argument. unfortunately for you, the basket began to move and the chittering started again. with a few calculated steps, neteyam easily stepped around you to get closer.
another tendency that neteyam had, which you learned quite quickly since meeting him, was to create distance between you and anything he deemed as a threat. seeing him switch his grasp on the harmless fruit knife, easily turned into a warrior’s weapon, made you jump to action.
“do not even think about it! that’s the fruit knife!”
“i’ll make you a new one.”
his outstretched arms prevented you from moving around him, already having made himself a living na’vi shield. while there wasn’t a big difference in your height, he still had a broader physique due to his father’s human genes. usually his broad shoulders were a great advantage for you in many other situations, but it was clear that they were a very big disadvantage in this case. so, you settled for wrapping your arms around his middle to hold him back instead.
with the right execution, you knew it would distract him enough to lead to one of those aforementioned other situations instead. after all, he was only a simple man. well, a simple man who never denied you of anything up until now.
“i don’t want a new one! teyam, this one is perfectly fi-”
“oh, you have got to be kidding me,” neteyam’s voice cut you off.
in your struggle to prevent any casualties involving your beloved fruit knife, you failed to notice that the blanket covering the wooden basket fell, revealing its contents. at a glance, you saw he still held the weapon, though you knew there would be no need for it anymore. you nervously chuckled as you felt the tension slightly ease from neteyam’s body.
“i can explain!” you manoeuvred your body so now you were the living na’vi shield of the basket, and faced your mate with the sweetest smile you could muster. “let’s calm down!”
“baby,” neteyam remained alert, still eying the movement behind your shoulder. “why is there a prolemuris in our house?”
you began your explanation as you delicately gathered the prolemuris in question into the fallen blanket.
“tuk and i found her earlier stuck in a tree. she was crying so loud, tied up in vines,” you efficiently wrapped the animal like a baby as you spoke softly, not wanting to startle her. “then, teyam, we couldn’t find her family! and tuk said she couldn’t bring her home after what happened with the thanator cub last time…” you trailed off not knowing how to plead your case.
neteyam continued for you in exasperation, “so you brought her here.”
“so i brought her here!” you repeated in agreement.
“you do realise that tuk isn’t a child anymore, right? she’s already eighteen but she’ll be spoiled forever if you keep on babying her,” neteyam dropped the knife on the table, and gave you a pointed look to which you rolled your eyes at. it was easy to detect neteyam’s affection for his little sister seeping into his voice. though they were in their adult years already, you can tell that he still remembers how it was like to carry her in his arms. eywa, even you still remember often seeing tuk carried in his arms.
much like how you were carrying the baby prolemuris right now.
“i didn’t say i wanted to keep her with us forever, teyam,” you kept your tone gentle but didn’t look at him, continuing to coo at the animal like it was your own blood. “it’s only until we find her family.”
realisation quickly dawned on him why you were so adamant on changing his earlier ‘no’ into a ‘yes’, but you didn’t see how neteyam’s expression softened. he knew since you were both young that you had a big heart. your heart was strong too, without a doubt, but what stood out to neteyam most was how you always made space to nurture those around you. even during your adolescence, others had viewed it as a weakness, but all neteyam saw was strength.
big heart.
it is always easier to be cruel than to be kind, and you unfailingly choose to be kind every day. as the future olo’eyktan, neteyam knew from the start that there was nobody else he wanted to lead the clan with.
he watched as you settled back down on the floor with the prolemuris nuzzling her little head against your chest. the sight would send any man to his knees, but neteyam knew he had to at least attempt to stand his ground. only the great mother knew how fast you would be able to change his mind.
“but when you asked me for permission to have a pet,” he moved to sit in front of you, connecting the dots with ease. “you didn’t expect that i would say ‘no’, which is why you panicked, hm?”
you did not bother giving him a response. the baby in your arms was looking up at you with her big eyes, almost as if she was begging not to be sent away. you pouted back at her, paying no attention to neteyam.
“because you already had one hidden beside where we sleep!” he continued, pleased that he finally understood your earlier dramatics. “but i still do not want a pet, by the way.”
“it is alright, neteyam. then you may sleep elsewhere, because she is staying with me,” you snarled, your maternal instincts to protect the creature prevailing. “perhaps you can go to your parents’ kelku for a while?”
“what?”
many things were wrong with what you just said.
first, you said his full name. you only ever say his full name when you want to stop talking to him. sometimes you slip it into conversations when you’re tired, or when you don’t want to be rude and flat out say that he was annoying you. while not always a bad thing, it was definitely not looking good for neteyam right now.
second, not sleeping anywhere near you? he must have hit his head after collecting the fruit for your tea because this was surely a hallucination. neteyam racked his brain to recall the last time he ever got a full night’s sleep without you beside him. he concludes that he was probably around sixteen years old.
lastly, to send him away to his parents was the final blow. this must be a prank, or maybe you were the one that hit your head while saving your new friend. why did you have to make things more difficult for him? you even said ‘for a while’, you harsh woman. he would be lucky if his mother and tuk never heard about this, or else he’d never hear the end of it.
neteyam thought that there was no way you were being serious until he saw you completely ignore his reply, and playfully rubbed your nose against the infant’s like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.
neteyam rubbed his temples, feeling a headache starting to form.
“baby, you’re killing me here.”
“then you better start packing a bag, neteyam!” you snapped at him with ice in your eyes, then continued coddling the animal with the ferocious fondness of a mother.
the backs of his eyes were beginning to hurt. he thought he would last longer than five minutes but neteyam was going to break. the mighty warrior would be defeated by the love of his life who knew exactly how to bend him to her will.
he stood and made himself his own portion of tea before turning around and offering yours in your favourite cup. it was one of his first courting gifts for you, a simple wooden little thing with carved stars that held the perfect amount of drink. the memory of his clumsy teenage whittling was still engraved in his mind, thoughts of wanting to impress you permanently instilled in him. even now, neteyam’s chest swelled with pride every time you use it, knowing you treasured it as much as he treasured you.
he observed your ears flattening against your head, and your eyes drifting from the infant to the steaming tea. its sweet scent filled both your noses, and neteyam knew his peace offering would be accepted once you took a sip.
only you did not sip. instead, you only resumed murmuring reassurances to the baby beast in your arms. even through his confusion, he caught something that sounded much too similar to ‘cuddling’.
neteyam would be damned if you were cuddling a prolemuris tonight instead of him so with a heavy sigh and a quick prayer to the great mother, he admitted defeat.
“only until we find her family.”
neteyam watched your ears twitch, and knew you heard him. then he decided to add, “but she is not sleeping beside us.”
eventually, you placed down your sleepy companion to lay beside you. then, you faced your mate, still choosing not to speak. you were looking at him as if you were expecting more, but neteyam spotted your hands inching towards your cup of tea.
he sighed once again, glancing at the chittering lump wrapped in the blanket you wove, “and i will personally make a bed for her.”
before he had even finished his sentence, you already launched yourself to hug him across the low table. with all your limbs tangled together, neteyam knew he finally said the right thing.
“thank you, teyam! she’ll be so good! thank you!”
hearing you happily squeal was enough to make neteyam grin and nuzzle his face into you neck, but hearing his nickname come from your lips was a sweeter victory.
you soon removed your arms from around his neck and took a sip of the cold tea, savouring it like it was still hot, and gave him a peck on the cheek. at the sight of his exaggerated frown, you decided to kiss his pout away, thinking it was the least that neteyam deserved after what you put him through.
“i can’t kiss you any more, teyam, we have company.”
later that evening, after many stolen kisses from his end, neteyam comfortably laid beside you in your shared hammock. just as he began to fall asleep, he felt your body shift and a slight dip in your side. he was about to protest, knowing exactly where the added weight came from, but neteyam heard you softly whisper in the dark and stopped himself.
“he’s sweet, isn’t he, ‘evi? i told you he never says ‘no’ to me.”
oh, you and your big heart might end up being the death of him, but neteyam knew he could never deny you of anything ever again.
~~~~~
a/n: if you made it this far, thank you for reading my first little piece of writing! a bit of crack and self-indulging fluff never hurt anyone, right? pls let me know your thoughts & check out my pinned ! <3
𑣲⋆｡˚ synopsis: neteyam loves the thrill loves of being the perfect olo'eyktan-in-waiting while secretly teasing and flustering you under everyone's noses.
𑣲⋆｡˚ content warnings: very suggestive, aged up characters, cheeky & cocky neteyam, flustered reader, secret courting, heavy flirting, detailed makeouts, dryhumping, risk of being caught
𑣲⋆｡˚ word count: 3.1k
𑣲⋆｡˚ author's note: based on this request! i was laughing the entire time writing this :,)
The mist of the Hallelujah Mountains clings to your skin, a damp shroud that smells of ozone and crushed ferns. High above the jungle floor, the air is thinner, cooler, and hums with the distant calls of mountain banshees.
You carefully navigate the narrow vine-bridge connecting two floating islands, the thick, braided vegetation swaying gently under your weight. Ahead of you, the path is blocked by a tall, lithe figure. Neteyam stands mid-bridge, his silhouette sharp against the blinding white of the clouds. He is waiting, his tail twitching with a rhythmic grace that tells you exactly who is in control of this crossing.
His golden eyes lock onto yours, shimmering with a mix of duty and a mischief so thick it’s nearly tangible. To Jake and Lo’ak, who are currently scouting the ledge just fifty meters above, Neteyam is the disciplined soldier, the perfect heir-in-waiting. To you, he is a relentless tease acting as though the Great Mother herself had already braided your lives together.
Neteyam steps forward, his large, four-toed feet silent on the damp moss of the bridge, and plants himself firmly in your way. The space between you narrows until you can feel the radiant heat of his blue skin and the earthy scent of the forest that follows him everywhere.
He tilts his head, his bioluminescent markings glowing faintly in the shadow of the mountain. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, revealing the sharp point of a fang. He crosses his muscular arms over his chest, his broad shoulders blocking the only way forward. He knows you cannot go back, and he knows you cannot pass him without making physical contact—a contact he is clearly hungry for.
Your breath hitches, the air in your lungs suddenly feeling insufficient. Every time he looks at you like it feels as though he is peeling back your skin to see the fluttering of your heart beneath. You try to step to the left, but he mirrors the movement with fluid, feline speed. You try the right, and his tail snakes out, lightly brushing against your hip, a warning and a promise all at once. The bridge lurches slightly in the wind, forcing you to reach out and grab his forearm for balance. His skin is rough and warm, the muscle beneath as hard as the stone of the mountains.
"Neteyam, move," you hiss, your voice strained with a mixture of frustration and a blossoming heat you refuse to acknowledge. "Your father is waiting. Lo’ak will start making jokes if we linger here too long."
He doesn't budge. Instead, he leans down, his face inches from yours. He is so close that you can see the intricate patterns of his iris and the way his ears flicker at the sound of Lo’ak’s distant shouting. He is playing a dangerous game, one that thrives on the thrill of nearly being caught.
"Let them wait," he whispers, his voice a low vibration that resonates in your own chest. “I see the way your pupils grow wide when I walk into the hometree. I see how you touch the bone-whistle I carved for you when you think no one is looking. Why do you hide it? Is the son of the Olo'eyktan not worthy of a confession?"
He is relentless. He reaches out, his large hand cupping the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin behind your ear. The touch sends a violent shiver down your spine. He is claiming you, weaving a web of intimacy that grows tighter with every shared glance. He wants the words. He wants to hear you admit that his pursuit hasn't been in vain, that the courting gift—a delicate necklace of obsidian and sea-glass he left on your sleeping mat—had touched more than just your curiosity.
"I am not letting you pass until I hear it," he says, his expression turning mock-serious, though the twinkle in his eyes betrays him. "Tell me you liked the gift."
From above, the sound of heavy footsteps on stone echoes. Jake’s voice carries through the mist, calling out Neteyam’s name. The urgency of the situation should make you pull away, but the way Neteyam is looking at you makes the rest of the world fade into insignificance.
"Fine!" you whisper-yell, your face flushing a deep, embarrassed purple. "It was nice, alright? The necklace... the way you carved it... it was beautiful."
The transformation in his expression is instantaneous. The smirk breaks into a triumphant, radiant grin that lights up his entire face. He doesn't let you pass yet. He surges forward, his hands framing your face as he pulls you into a sudden, resounding smooch. It is loud, messy, and tastes of victory. His lips are firm and warm against yours, a bold seal on your confession that leaves your head spinning.
Just as he pulls back, his tail giving a delighted flick, the heavy thud of feet hitting the vine-bridge signals the arrival of the others. Lo’ak swings down from a higher vine, landing a few paces behind Neteyam with his usual lack of grace, followed closely by the steady, imposing presence of Jake.
Neteyam doesn't miss a beat. He immediately assumes a posture of perfect, military readiness, his hands dropping to his sides as he turns to face his father. Only the slight heaving of his chest and the way his eyes dart back to you for a fraction of a second hint at the disarray he just caused you.
"Everything clear ahead, Neteyam?" Jake asks, his eyes scanning the horizon, oblivious to the fact that his eldest son just spent the last five minutes trapping you in a romantic deadlock.
"Perfectly clear, sir," Neteyam responds, his voice steady and devoid of the rasp that had been there moments ago.
Lo’ak, however, narrows his eyes, looking between your flushed face and Neteyam’s suspicious grin. "You look like you just ate a hexapede, bro. What’s with the face?"
Neteyam simply claps a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder, shoving him forward with a laugh. "Just enjoying the view, little brother. Move out."
You are pressed back against the rough, cork-like bark of a massive podocarpus, the ridges of the tree digging into your shoulder blades as Neteyam crowds into your personal space. His feet are braced on either side of yours, grounding him as he leans his full weight forward, trapping you in the small alcove of roots and shadows. Above, the canopy is a riot of shifting greens and deep purples, but your entire world has narrowed down to him.
Neteyam tilts his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face that reveals the sharp, ivory glint of his fangs. He doesn't wait for permission, he never does lately. He reaches out, his hand cupping your jaw, his thumb dragging firmly across your lower lip to pull it down, exposing the pink dampness of your mouth. When he leans in, his nose brushes against yours, his warm breath fanning over your face.
The first kiss is a possessive claim. He presses his lips against yours with a firm, rhythmic pressure, savoring the way you gasp into his mouth. It is deep and exploratory, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before sliding inside to tangle with yours. You let out a soft, involuntary whine, your fingers curling into the leather of his loincloth as you try to pull him closer. He responds by deepening the contact, his other hand sliding down to grip your waist, his fingers slogging into your hip with enough force to leave a faint bruise.
"Neteyam, report," Neytiri’s voice crackles suddenly through the comm-link fastened to Neteyam’s ear. The sound is jarringly professional, cutting through the haze of desire like a blade.
Neteyam doesn't pull away. Instead, he shifts his angle, his lips sliding toward the sensitive corner of your mouth as he reaches up with one hand to press the activation stud on the device. His eyes remain locked on yours, dancing with a wicked, unyielding mischief. He looks entirely unbothered, his breathing steady even as he continues to feast on your skin.
"Perimeter is clear, Mother," Neteyam says, his voice coming out smooth and crystalline, devoid of any hint that he is currently pinning his future mate against a tree. He punctuates the sentence by nipping hard at your bottom lip, a sharp tug that earns another muffled sound of protest from you. He snickers quietly against your skin, the vibration of his laughter rumbling through your own chest.
"The tracks we found earlier were just a stray sturmbeast. Nothing to worry about. I’ll keep sweeping toward the eastern ridge."
You glare at him, your face flushed a vivid, embarrassed shade of violet, but he only rolls his eyes. He lets go of the comm-link and immediately captures your mouth again, this time with more urgency. The kiss becomes a frantic exchange of heat and friction. He sucks on your tongue, the wet, sliding sounds of the embrace echoing in the quiet pocket of the forest. He is relentless, his teeth grazing your lips as he groans low in his throat.
"Yo, big bro, you there?" Lo’ak’s voice bursts through the radio, loud and annoying. "I found some weird fruit over by the creek. Is this the stuff Dad said not to touch, or can I eat it?"
Neteyam lets out a huff of amusement, pulling back just an inch, his lips glistening with your shared saliva. He watches the way your chest heaves, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He seems to take a sadistic delight in how much more affected you are than he is. He reaches out, tracing the line of your collarbone with his index finger, his touch light but lingering.
"Don't eat it, skxawng (idiot)," Neteyam replies into the comm, his tone perfectly flat and brotherly, though he is currently sliding his hand up your thigh, his palm hot against your skin. "Dad said those cause a rash that lasts for three sun-cycles. Unless you want to spend the next week itching like a viperwolf with mange, put it down and get back to your post."
"Ugh, fine. You're so boring," Lo’ak grumbles before the line goes dead.
Neteyam drops his hand from the comm and leans his forehead against yours, his ears twitching with satisfaction. He treats you as though you are already his, a settled fact in his mind. He leans down again, this time burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.
"You make such sweet sounds when you're frustrated," he whispers against your pulse point, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He begins to trail wet, hot kisses up the length of your throat, his tongue flickering out to taste the salt on your skin. He finds the soft spot just behind your ear and bites down gently, sending a bolt of electricity straight to your core. "Do you want me to stop? I could go join Lo'ak. I could leave you here all alone with your thoughts."
You shake your head frantically, your hands moving up to clasp behind his neck, pulling his head back down to yours. You are desperate for the contact, your body humming with a restless, frantic energy that he has spent the last hour cultivating. He laughs, a soft, triumphant sound, and gives you one last, lingering kiss—a deep, soul-searing pressure that leaves your head spinning and your lips swollen.
"Tìmweypey (patience)," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "The sun will set soon, and then we won't have to listen to my brother's voice at all."
He steps back, his posture instantly shifting back into his disciplined, untouchable sona of his. He begins to move away, blending into the shadows of the forest with the grace of a ghost, leaving you leaning against the tree, trembling and breathless, while he whistles a casual, airy tune.
The air at this secluded rock pool was heavy, clinging to your skin with the scent of damp earth, crushed mint, and the sharp, musky heat radiating from Neteyam’s body. He had you backed against a smooth, submerged shelf of stone, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive, grounding strength that anchored you against the gentle lap of the lake.
Your legs were locked tightly around his waist, your ankles crossing behind the small of his back, while your arms draped over his broad, blue shoulders. Every time he shifted, the friction of his skin against yours sent a jolt of lightning through your nerves, yet you couldn't stop the melodic, breathless giggles bubbling up from your chest.
"You are trouble," Neteyam rasped, his voice low, vibrating against the sensitive skin of your neck. He pressed forward, his weight pinning you more firmly against the stone as he moved with a slow, rhythmic persistence. "I heard you. In the communal circle. You told your mother that your heart was still 'as open as the sea' and that no one was currently seeking your hand."
You threw your head back, a loud, taunting laugh escaping you as his tail gave a sharp, agitated flick in the water. "Did I? I must have forgotten. My memory is so short these days, Neteyam. Perhaps it is because the 'perfect heir' is so subtle that I haven't even noticed his efforts".
He let out a sharp, indignant huff, his golden eyes narrowing with a mix of genuine frustration and the playful, cheeky spark that he rarely showed anyone else. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his breath hot and smelling of the sweet fruit he’d shared with you earlier.
"Subtle?" he countered, his hands sliding up to frame your face, his thumbs dragging across your cheekbones with enough pressure to make your breath hitch. "I left a necklace of obsidian and sea-glass on your mat. I have brought you the choice cuts of every hunt for three sun-cycles. I have practically breathed for you".
"It was a very nice necklace," you teased, nipping playfully at his lower lip before pulling away just out of reach. "But until I see a formal declaration before the Tsahik, I am technically a free woman. This? This is just payback for trapping me on that vine-bridge last week".
Neteyam groaned, the sound raw and phonetic as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing the tendon there in a warning nip. He continued the steady, agonizing rhythm of his body against yours.
"You think this is a game," he muttered against your skin, his hands moving down to squeeze your thighs, pulling you even tighter into his heat. "I am the future leader of this clan, and you are making me look like a fool who cannot even claim his own mate."
"Then maybe you should try harder," you challenged, your voice dropping to an outrageous whisper. "Because honestly, Neteyam, I heard Lo'ak saying he might start bringing me weaving fibers soon. He’s much more direct than his 'perfect' older brother."
The lie was so absurd, so blatantly designed to rile him up, that Neteyam’s entire body went rigid for a fraction of a second. He pulled back, his expression a mask of mock-outrage, his ears pinned back against his head.
"Lo'ak?" he echoed, a sharp, disbelieving bark of a laugh escaping him. "That skxawng wouldn't know a courting ritual if it bit him on the tail. You are mine. You know it, I know it, and the Great Mother herself knows it".
Before you could retort with another jab about his brother, Neteyam lunged forward, his mouth crashing onto yours to effectively silence you. The kiss was messy and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongue that tasted of victory and salt. You melted instantly, your fingers tangling into the braids at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you.
The silence of the grotto was suddenly broken by the running feet on the soft loam nearby, accompanied by the bright, unmistakable sound of Kiri’s melodic laughter and Spider’s raspy voice.
Neteyam’s ears flicked toward the sound instantly. With the fluid, feline speed of a warrior, he broke the kiss. Before you could even draw a breath to ask what was happening, his large hand landed firmly on top of your head. With a sudden, forceful shove, he plunged you beneath the surface of the lake.
The water was cool and dark, bubbles dancing past your eyes as you sat on the submerged stone shelf, your lungs burning with the suddenness of it. Above you, you could see the distorted, blue silhouette of Neteyam standing tall, his posture shifting in a heartbeat from a lover’s embrace to a casual, bored stance.
Kiri and Spider burst through the ferns, both of them looking disheveled, their skin flushed a deep, embarrassed purple. Spider was rubbing the back of his neck, and Kiri was pointedly adjusting a necklace that wasn't out of place.
Neteyam quirked a single, judgmental eyebrow at them, his arms crossing over his broad chest. "You two look like you’ve been chased by a thanator," he said, his voice smooth and steady, betraying none of the heat that had just been radiating from him. "What are you doing this far from the village?"
Kiri jumped, her eyes darting around the pool before settling on her brother. "We... we were just scouting! For rare moss. For grandmother!"
Spider nodded vigorously, his dreadlocks swaying. "Yeah. Moss. Very important moss. What are you doing out here, Neteyam? Alone?"
Neteyam didn't miss a beat. He gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, his expression unreadable and calm. Beneath the water, you felt his toes lightly brush against your submerged knee, a silent command to stay still.
"Just enjoying the peace," Neteyam replied, a faint, teasing smirk touching his lips as he looked at the two of them—clearly aware they had been caught in their own secret moment. "It’s a shared secret, isn't it? The best spots in the forest are always the ones people don't know you're visiting."
Kiri narrowed her eyes, looking at the ripples in the water, but Neteyam simply stared her down with the practiced authority of the eldest brother until she huffed and turned away, dragging a red-faced Spider back into the trees.
Only when the sound of their footsteps faded did Neteyam reach down, his fingers hooking under your arms to haul you back into the air. You emerged sputtering, wiping water from your eyes and glaring at him with pure murder in your gaze.
"You drowned me!" you hissed, though you couldn't hide the smile tugging at your mouth.
Neteyam just laughed, pulling you back into his arms, his forehead resting against yours. "I saved your reputation. Now, where were we? Something about Lo'ak and weaving fibers?"
you guys literally have me in neteyam purgatory. the way i write him cannot be that good.
aged up!neteyam x fem!omatikaya!reader — fluff — requested :)
neteyam knew he only ever felt love for lo’ak, despite the many times in his life that he thought he hated his younger brother.
when they were children, neteyam thought he hated lo’ak when he broke his favourite toy. it was a carved figurine of their mother’s ikran, and he cherished the gift with all his heart. when his little brother crashed it into a rock and it broke, neteyam’s heart shattered with it. almost immediately after the accident happened, lo’ak gave up his own toy of their father’s toruk. it was a kind of sacrifice only a child would know to make, and lo’ak did not hesitate to hand it over to him. neteyam realised, as he held his brother’s favourite toy, he could not hate lo’ak.
when they were teenagers, neteyam thought he hated lo’ak during the times that he did not listen to their father’s orders. once, neteyam paid the price of lo’ak’s actions with a bullet through his chest. in the middle of a warzone, he listened to his brother’s weeping apologies and felt his warm hands putting pressure on the wound. again, neteyam realised back then that he did not hate lo’ak. he fully understood that the younger boy only wanted to prove himself to their father, just as neteyam often did.
as the years passed by, neteyam and lo’ak formed a closer bond than ever before. they learned to speak their mind without fear of being misunderstood by the other. they became stronger together by trusting each other, and by trusting their blood.
however, now that they were both adults, neteyam was absolutely certain this time that he truly did hate lo’ak.
“do you really have to go?”
even as he asked you the question, neteyam came to the conclusion that this whole conversation could have been avoided if lo’ak was never born.
“i’ll be back before you know it, teyam,” you laughed, and he frowned in return.
it all leads back to when the whole sully family was discussing over dinner that sky people traditions were very odd compared to the na’vi. it was not even an unfamiliar topic, with neteyam’s father having many stories of his life as a human, and even jake could not argue that human traditions were strange.
when they were picking out different examples, jake mentioned a tradition from decades ago that humans used to do. he told them that it was only popular before the planet was ruined by their own actions, and he only ever heard about it through old books. by the time that jake left earth, it was such a thing of the past that it was rarely seen anymore.
the tradition was that before marriage, which jake explained was basically the same as mating before eywa, the friends and family of two lovers will separate them for a few days before the real occasion. a bachelorette party for women, and a bachelor party for the men. it was a way to have two intimate celebrations with their closest loved ones before the couple’s official wedding ceremony.
neteyam even remembers kiri asking, “why do they need to be apart for a few days?”
“it was common that married couples would be so caught up in each other in the time after the wedding that they would neglect their friends,” jake had clarified.
another tradition that was part of the marriage process was called a honeymoon. jake told them that the couple would go on to celebrate their union on their own to celebrate without any others. from his father’s knowledge on the history of earth, before it became overrun by metal, the planet was beautiful like pandora. many people wanted to travel to different places around the world, and they were often able to do it on their honeymoon with their partners.
when lo’ak heard the idea, he was all for it. he always felt insecure and ashamed of his heritage, but not since meeting tsireya when they were merely fourteen. she made him feel seen as lo’ak, not some half-breed demon, and she even enjoyed learning about earth and the good kind of sky people.
in his mind, it made sense for a couple to spend time separately before mating, and thought that tsireya would enjoy spending time with her girl friends before being stuck with him forever. it was not that he would stop her from doing so after being mated, but lo’ak understood the sky people’s sentiment. now, before they were even mated, he knew that he can be a bit greedy over tsireya’s time.
this tradition was unusual by na’vi standards but it was still a heartfelt practice. he was sure that tsireya would be excited to do it, so lo’ak planned to see it through for his future mate.
that is why he recruited you to help him. neteyam only got dragged into helping his younger brother because he had issues with denying you of things you wanted.
“i can’t believe you’re actually leaving,” neteyam was appalled. he knew that this day was fast approaching, but it did not mean it was any easier for him to accept the fact.
at first, neteyam honestly felt honoured to help with the planning process. he never felt happier to know that his little brother found love with tsireya, and he wanted lo’ak to have the best bachelor party.
in a way, he also understood the sky people’s sentiment behind the celebrations. neteyam thought that you probably would have liked a bachelorette party with your friends and family too, before mating with him. you were one of the most friendly people in the whole clan and naturally, you had many friends. when he asked you before if you were only helping lo’ak to fill that void of not having a separate celebration with them, you only kissed him and told him he was ‘too cute’. it was not really the answer neteyam was looking for, but he soon let it go after you convinced him without using words that being his mate was more than enough for you.
you had no need for a big party, you just wanted neteyam.
“it’s tsireya, of course i will go for her,” you tilted your head at him. “and you will be with lo’ak and the men! you will be fine!”
you knew that your mate was a clingy person, despite what the public eye sees, but this was a new side of neteyam. it was dawn and he was currently sitting on your hammock as you were pacing around your home, preparing the last few things you needed to bring with you for your journey to awa’atlu. it was the first time you saw neteyam actually look like he was in physical pain at the thought of you leaving his side.
you finally stopped packing your bag to give him your full attention, and he straightened his body when your eyes landed on him.
“but what does a girls trip even entail?” at this point neteyam was running out of things to say to stall you from leaving. “and i hunt with lo’ak and the men all the time! i don’t even need to go.”
“we will spend time together doing things that tsireya might miss when she is too busy for us,” you said. “you understand she will soon be tsahik, and she will have little time for such affairs.”
“i just don’t understand why you need to go all the way to awa’atlu,” he complained. “why don’t i just come with you?”
“neteyam!” you gasped. “you cannot! i am not a child!”
“i will not bother you women, i promise. i will not even hover!”
the man was desperate at this point.
“we both knew of this for weeks, teyam. we cannot change the plans now!”
he knew you would only be a five hour flight away and you would be safe, but it did not mean he was not dismayed. neteyam just wanted to spend more time with you after you were both busy for the last couple of weeks. you barely had time for each other.
aside from helping lo’ak and tsireya, you both had your own duties in your clan. his father was starting to feel older by the day and had recently begun bringing up the subject of neteyam becoming the next olo’eyktan. neytiri, as tsahik, had been training kiri as her tsakarem, but you had been present for most of her lessons over the last few weeks as well, by the older woman’s request.
you knew that kiri was more than capable of being the next tsahik, with the girl being a real daughter of eywa, but her connection to the great mother was different. it held much more weight on the girl than just becoming the next tsahik. another thing to add on was that everyone knew of rotxo courting her, and kiri was drawn to the sea just as much as she was drawn to the earth.
thus, neytiri officially took you under her wing when neteyam’s name was thrown around as the omatikaya’s next chief.
before being mated to neteyam, you already knew your duty to the omatikaya, which is why you were adamant on being so invested in all the inner workings of the clan. growing up closely with the sully children, you were always present and actively involved with your people. your big heart and friendly spirit have never been for show, and everyone knew you truly cared for them without needing any of the fancy titles.
when you and neteyam fell in love and became officially mated, the whole clan was more than thrilled. to everyone, it was a perfect match made by eywa for the good of the omatikaya.
even now, he knew you were both doing right by the family, but neteyam wanted to be selfish for once and keep you to himself.
“but baby! i d-” the man wanted to justify his reasons for coming with you. he was almost sure that he could persuade you, but at the sight of your raised brows, neteyam settled for defeat.
instead, he asked, “are you sure you have everything with you?”
“i do, teyam, and even if i did not, i know you will bring it to me,” you spoke softly. you were touched by his sweetness and loved his attentiveness, but neteyam was a worrier through and through. to remind him that your time apart was short and that he had nothing to worry about, you continued.
“you will bring it in two days time, when you and the other men come to awa’atlu.”
“i will bring you everything you forget,” neteyam tried to give you a small smile but he knew it probably was not convincing. he knew he was being unreasonable, and so neteyam would never admit what he truly wanted to say.
your mate was so used to putting everyone else first that he often put himself last.
“you know,” you began. “two days isn’t the longest we’ve been apart.”
neteyam shrugged in response, but he was avoiding looking at you. you don’t think he realised that there was actually a slight pout on his face. though it was adorable beyond belief, seeing it made a wave of guilt wash over you. you knew your time has been split between many people over recent weeks, and you missed him just as much. you were tempted to lay beside him and hide away in your kelku for days.
with a glance outside, you could see it was still early, and you did not want to leave neteyam with such a look on his face. kiri and tuk would come to get you when they were ready anyways.
you walked over and crouched right in front of the pouting man.
“i’ll miss you.”
neteyam’s ears perked up and he turned to face you instantly. he did not expect you to say the exact words he was trying to keep hidden from you. the tenderness in your voice pierced through his heart, and neteyam knew would never get tired of being on the receiving end of hearing it. you were holding out your arms, and your pretty, wide eyes looked at him with so much love that neteyam thought he could die by simply being in your presence.
you were giving him the space to choose. hug you, or turn away.
obviously, because neteyam was not stupid, he reached down without a second thought and gathered you in his arms. he easily lifted you up and settled you on his lap so you were straddling him. neteyam’s arms found their place around your waist, and your whole body was engulfed by the man. you have always known that there was no other feeling that could make you feel safer and more secure than the warmth of his body. if there was a way to crawl into your skin, you were sure neteyam probably would have found a way by now.
still, this was close enough for you in the meantime.
even though your aim was to actually comfort neteyam, he was the kind of man who gave without wanting anything in return. it should not have surprised you that you suddenly felt light kisses in the space where your neck and shoulder meet.
“i’m going to miss you more, baby,” neteyam breathed out as he continued his delicate kisses.
neteyam missed you already and you have not even left yet. you were sitting on top of him, and the only thing he could think of was praying to the great mother to give the strength to last two days without you near.
“oh, teyam, i’m so sorry,” you heavily sighed, with your chin on his head. you tightened your arms around his neck and your lips brushed against his temples, returning his soft kisses. “i know i have been busy in recent weeks, and i have not given you ti-”
“why are you sorry?” he was confused by your apology. in his mind, there was nothing to be sorry about. he knew that the amount of time you have was not in your control. neteyam had his own fair share of moments where he neglected you because of duty. every time he apologised then, you told him there was nothing to be sorry about. “there is nothing to forgive, baby.”
you leaned back to meet neteyam’s eyes. you brushed a stray braid out of his face and tucked it behind his ear, wanting him to feel your complete attention was truly on him for the first time in weeks. the skin under your fingertips warmed at your affection, and your eyes never left his. you held his face in your hands and effortlessly, your tail intertwined with his.
you leaned in slowly, and neteyam was left defenceless.
the first thing neteyam noticed was that your kiss was sweet. it was not only sweet in the way your favourite fruit tea lingered on your lips, but because you were gentle. your movements were graceful, intentional. your hands on his cheeks held his face like you wanted to commit the planes of his features to your memory.
the second thing neteyam noticed was that it was unhurried. there was no sense of urgency, no rushing, no force. it felt as if you wanted to tell him that you would give all your time to him if he asked you nicely. there was a sureness in your movement that told him it was your way of repeating what you said earlier.
i’ll miss you.
you felt neteyam grinning against your lips, and you were positive that he would have done more than just grin if you did not abruptly pull away. you squeaked in surprise, and would have fallen from his lap if his hands weren’t fastened to your waist.
“i’m gonna have to wash my eyes, bro!”
“you guys are gross.”
“can we leave already?”
you were not sure who said which, but you could easily guess.
both you and neteyam turned to find that lo’ak had his hands covering his eyes like a terrified child, kiri looked both disgusted and disturbed, and tuk was scowling in impatience.
the other three sully siblings were stood inside your home like it was their own. to be fair to them, it might as well have been. you all often spent time together here, it was like a second home aside from their parents’ kelku. usually you did not mind them showing up unannounced or barging in without permission, but you could tell your mate definitely minded it this time.
“get out,” neteyam practically growled. “now.”
“we’ll be out in a minute,” you assured through chuckles.
neteyam was going to shoot lo’ak on their hunt later, he was sure of it. there could be no bachelor party if there was no bachelor. kiri and tuk, on the other hand, were two darlings in your eyes who could never do wrong so he was sure that they would receive no punishment from you. even when you two were only best friends to each other, you already saw his siblings as your own. no matter how much they may lack respect for your privacy.
“you’re the boss,” lo’ak saluted, before all three scrambled out.
neteyam relaxed against your chest again before muttering out a complaint, “they’re so annoying.”
“they’re our family, teyam,” you laughed again. “come on, let’s not keep them waiting.”
as you were about to peel yourself off of him, neteyam quickly stole another kiss from you. it was quick and chaste, but reaffirmed to you that he accepted your earlier apology. when he broke away from your lips, neteyam left more light kisses all over your neck, shoulders, and chest. you were ticklish under his touch, but you let him get out all his playful agressions before patting his shoulder for him to stop.
breathless from your giggles, you tilted your head at him and hummed, “i’m guessing you won’t miss me as much now?”
“i’ll be missing you every day of my life, baby.”
~~~~~
a/n: as always this is not edited or proofread i trust that you guys can read between the lines and understand my mistakes thank YAAAAA jealousy is quiet on neteyam in this situation, he knows you need time to yourself and he can’t be hovering all the time BUT WHY i kind of imagine him as the emoji turning into ashes gif too lmao also lore dump i actually never had my first kiss and im turning 23 in a month let’s all laugh before i cry bc idk how to write about kisses so sorry if it’s a bit awks like i genuinely don’t KNOW pls let me know your thoughts & check out my pinned ! <3
Summary: What starts as a secret quickly turns into the least subtle situation in the history of the Metkayina clan.
Aonung panics, Lo’ak enjoys every second of it, and Jake Sully is about to become a grandfather whether he likes it or not.
The secret was getting harder and harder to hide.
Not just because your loincloth was starting to feel tighter around your stomach, but because of the energy. That strange tension in the air when two people think they’re being subtle… but really, everyone can tell.
And Aonung?
Aonung was making it worse.
The future Olo’eyktan of the Metkayina, who was usually confident and a little too sure of himself, had completely fallen apart. Every time Jake Sully got even a little close, Aonung would stand up straight so fast it looked painful.
“Why are you staring at the reef like that?” Tonowari asked him during a meeting, clearly confused.
“Me? Nothing, Father,” Aonung said quickly. “I was just looking at the… structure of the walkways. Very strong. Very good for… families.”
From a distance, you covered your face with your hands.
So subtle.
The disaster arrived, as disasters often do, during a celebration.
The return of the Tulkun had the entire clan gathered, fires flickering against the night, laughter echoing over the water. You sat beside your mother, trying very hard to focus on Lo’ak’s wildly exaggerated hunting story.
Unfortunately, your stomach had declared war.
The smell of grilled fish was no longer appealing. It was a threat.
Next to you, Neytiri’s ears flicked once.
A small movement, but not unnoticeable.
Her gaze shifted, briefly, toward your untouched food, then to your posture, then to your stomach.
Slow. Observant.
Knowing.
She said nothing.
Which, somehow, was worse.
Aonung, who was supposed to remain with the warriors, kept drifting toward you in slow, suspicious increments, like a predator that had abruptly forgotten how legs functioned.
From across the circle, Neteyam noticed first.
His eyes narrowed slightly, watching Aonung orbit you like a lost fish.
“I think I understand what’s happening,” he whispered.
Kiri glanced at him.
“No, you don’t.”
“I definitely do,” Spider insisted, then immediately looked away like he absolutely did not want to be part of whatever emotional storm was forming.
“Eat this,” Aonung whispered, sliding a portion of nutrient-rich liver into your bowl. “It’s good for your… general health. Very general. Extremely internal.”
Kiri, sitting nearby, went completely still.
Her head tilted slightly.
Then slowly, very slowly, she turned to look at you.
“Oh,” she breathed under her breath.
“Oh, that explains… everything.”
Spider blinked.
“Wait. What do you see. I don’t like that you all understand things at the same time.”
“Aonung,” you muttered under your breath, not even looking at him, “go away. My father is right there.”
“He cannot see us,” Aonung insisted, lowering his voice as if that made him invisible. “I am blending into the shadows.”
He was not.
Ronal, seated not far from Neytiri, had already noticed.
Her sharp gaze moved from you, to Aonung, to the careful way he hovered, the way he watched you.
Then to your stomach.
Her expression did not change much, but there was a flicker of recognition.
Understanding.
And then, very faintly, approval.
The shadows had just gained a very large, very intimidating outline.
Jake Sully stood directly behind him.
Silently.
Watching.
For a full minute, he said nothing.
He simply observed.
His daughter, attempting to hide a very obvious bump behind a leaf that had absolutely no business being that small.
And the chief’s son, hovering like a nervous reef fish, looking at her with a mix of devotion and pure survival panic.
Neteyam straightened slightly.
“…oh no.”
Kiri covered her mouth.
Lo’ak leaned forward, eyes lighting up like this was the best moment of his life.
“So,” Jake finally said, his voice low and steady in a way that felt far more dangerous than shouting, “Aonung.”
Aonung went rigid.
“You seem very interested in my daughter’s diet.”
“Sir!” Aonung snapped upright so fast he nearly fell into the fire. “Yes, sir! Nutrition is vital for members of the clan who are… busy… building organs. It’s a biological marathon.”
Lo’ak lost it.
He choked on his food, coughing and laughing at the same time.
“Oh, he’s dead. He’s actually dead.”
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam hissed, grabbing his arm.
Jake’s gaze shifted slowly downward.
Then back up.
“Building… what?”
There was a pause.
A long, terrible pause.
Kiri closed her eyes.
Neytiri exhaled slowly through her nose, like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Ronal watched in complete silence, arms crossed, calm and unmoving as stone.
“A baby!” Aonung blurted, the words escaping like they had been physically forced out of him. “It is a baby, sir! A very respectful baby! I am certain it already has the Sully ears!”
Neteyam dropped his head into his hand.
Lo’ak made a strangled noise that was half laughter, half disbelief.
Kiri whispered, “He really said that out loud…”
You covered your face instantly.
Around you, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Jake did not yell.
Which was worse.
Neytiri’s head turned slowly toward you.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Just intensely focused.
Then, very slightly, she smiled.
Proud. Sharp. Dangerous.
Ronal’s gaze flicked toward Neytiri, catching that expression, and returned it with the smallest nod.
A silent agreement between mothers.
Jake reached calmly for his bow, checking the string with terrifying precision, before looking back at Aonung with quiet, lethal focus.
“Aonung,” he said softly, “you have three seconds to start swimming.”
Aonung did not argue.
“Run, you idiot!” you shouted, half laughing, half horrified.
He was already moving, but just before diving, he turned for half a second, voice breaking with urgency:
“We were blessed by Eywa!”
And then he vanished into the water.
There was a beat of silence.
Jake stared at the spot where he disappeared.
Slow blink.
Behind him, Lo’ak folded in half laughing. Spider made a choking noise, half shock, half pure disbelief.
“Oh, that’s not going to help him,” Spider muttered.
Tuk tugged on Kiri’s arm, eyes wide.
“…what does that mean?” she whispered.
Kiri opened her mouth.
Closed it.
“…I’ll explain later.”
Tuk nodded very seriously, then looked back toward the water.
“…is Aonung in trouble?”
“Yes,” Lo’ak wheezed between laughs. “A lot of trouble.”
Jake exhaled once, long and controlled, then shook his head slightly.
“Eywa,” he repeated flatly.
A pause.
Then, under his breath but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear:
“Yeah. Eywa, my ass.”
At the same moment, Lo’ak jumped up, pointing toward the water.
“GO FASTER!”
“Sit down!” Neteyam pulled him back.
Jake, ignoring Neytiri’s very entertained attempt to hold him back, called for his skimwing.
Kiri leaned closer to you.
“…are you okay?” she whispered, eyes wide but gentle.
Before you could answer, Neytiri placed a hand softly on your arm.
Grounding. Steady.
“I see you,” she said quietly.
Simple.
Certain.
Ronal rose to her feet and looked once more toward the water where Aonung had disappeared.
Then back at you.
“He runs,” she said calmly. “Good. He should.”
A pause.
“But he will return.”
The night that was meant for celebration turned into something else entirely.
Across the water, Jake’s voice carried:
“You cannot hide for nine months, Aonung! We are discussing your long-term survival plan!”
Behind you, Lo’ak was still laughing.
Neteyam was still processing.
Kiri had not let go of your hand.
Neytiri stood beside you, silent and watchful, already thinking ahead.
And Ronal simply looked out at the ocean.
Waiting.
A few days later, the two families met.
It was supposed to be a calm discussion.
It wasn’t.
Jake and Tonowari sat facing each other. Tonowari looked tired. Jake looked like he was trying very hard not to lose control.
Aonung stood between them.
Wet.
Again.
“So,” Tonowari began, rubbing his temples, “my son has secretly mated with your daughter.”
“Yes,” Jake replied flatly.
“In a cave.”
“Yes.”
“And now there is a child.”
Jake’s grip tightened slightly around the knife he was sharpening.
“Our grandchild,” he corrected. “A Sully grandchild. Which means this situation is now my problem.”
Aonung swallowed.
“I am taking responsibility,” he said quickly. “I am preparing a bigger place for her. And for the baby. And I will take care of them.”
Jake looked at him carefully.
Then at Tonowari.
“Can I hit him?” Jake asked.
Tonowari sighed.
“Not today.”
Aonung looked at you for help.
You just smiled, one hand resting on your stomach.
“Do not look at me,” you said sweetly. “You’re the one who told him the baby had his ears.”
꩜ summary ━━ the topic of ‘mate’ came into frame and you’re afraid that you might just fuck up your friendship with neteyam.
꩜ disclaimers ━━ best friends to lovers, angst, hurt & comfort, sevin = pretty, maybe ooc neteyam?
꩜ a/n ━━ my BABYYYY ☹️☹️ i miss him so much i hope you guys like this <3 i wasn’t really sure how to end this so sorry for the abrupt ending!
as always comments are very deeply appreciated ♡
masterlist | navi | buy me kofi <3
Neteyam has had a hard day.
His dad has been making them run drills, showing him how to be faster, sneakier, smarter and all he wanted to do was rest.
All he wanted to do was to see you.
The sun was going down, the breeze was nicer to the skin and the stars are glowing in the sky.
Your hut was filled with laughter as Tuk and Kiri accompany your silent place.
“So… how is it going with Neteyam?” Kiri suddenly tease, her eyebrows raise.
You choke at your own saliva, hands briefly freezing.
“Nothing is going on with me and Neteyam.” you chuckle, cheeks going warm.
Tuk poke at your side, “You’re lying! You get all giggly when he’s around.” her sweet laughs makes a fond smile grow on your face.
You scrunch your nose, “I do not.”
“Do to!”
“Do not!” you pinch her nose.
“You so do.” Kiri jumps in.
“And my big bro looks at you a lot.” Tuk continue, sighing blissfully as if she’s seeing a romantic film brought to life.
Your heart flutters, “He doesn’t.” scoffing as you shake your head.
“Does!”
“Nope!”
“What are you girls bickering about?”
Your stomach drops, the familiar deep voice sending shivers down your spine.
Kiri and Tuk giggles fills the room. “Oh, we were just talking about how obsessed—“
You send a kick to her thigh, “Nothing!” he raises his eyebrows at your sudden movement, “They’re just being weird. Are all Sully kids like this?”
He chuckles, his voice gruff and grounding making your tail unconsciously twitch, “Just them. I promise.”
Kiri notice and pulls your tail making you flinch and slap her arm.
Neteyam sits next to you, looking at the cloth, beads, threads sprawled out. “What are you making?”
“A neck piece.” you answer, pulling on the thread.
He hums, his warm body moving closer to yours. You don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or not.
“Want me to help?”
You softly smile at him, “It’s okay. You can just stay here and entertain me with your stories.”
Neteyam’s head ducks for a second, with the eye contact. Your cheeks are soft, your eyes are bright and so so pretty, it’s hard for him to concentrate.
“I can do that.”
Tuk and Kiri share knowing smiles at the look you are sending each other. Taking the hint, they both stood up, half-assing their excuse. “I think I just heard mom call us. You guys have fun!”
You chuckle at their antics, the soft atmosphere now charged with energy that you believed was all in your head.
It’s not.
Cause Neteyam feels it too.
He let out a deep breath, shoulders relaxing, his soft eyes now trained all over your face. His long fingers grazing the materials in front of you absentmindedly.
“Stop.”
His eyes widened. “Stop what?”
“Looking at me.”
The corner of his lips turned upwards, his ears twitching, “Sorry.”
The silence that falls is comforting, cozy, easy. It’s always like that with him. He smells of salt in the sea, trees from the forest and something that is just so entirely him.
It makes you dizzy.
“Can I play with your hair?” he shyly whispers.
You nod, “Mhm.” adjusting your posture, making room for him.
He’s hesitant for a few quiet moments. Staring at your figure from the back in this new light that he doesn’t know when it occurred to him.
You have always been a constant factor in his life. His best friend. His partner in crime (aside from Lo’ak). It was always you. Always have, always will be.
The thought sends sensations all throughout his body, his tail moving to lay on top of yours.
“Teyam? Where did you go?” You teased.
His heart flutters at the nickname, tail swishing around unconsciously, “I’m here. I’m here.” you can hear the smile forming on his lips.
He starts slow, his fingers are rough compared to your soft hair. But his movements show care, patience, love.
You suck in a sharp breath. Nope. No.
The both of you fell into a harmonious rhythm, the bubble soft and fragile. He starts talking about his day, his dad, his siblings, the flowers that he saw at the forest which he says ‘reminded me of you.’
“Can I ask you something?” Neteyam asks in a quiet voice.
“'course.”
He blinks for a few seconds to focus, “Have you ever… you know… thought about— um—“
Your eyebrows furrow together at this stutter, slightly looking over your shoulder, "About what?"
A silence passes.
"Having a mate?"
Your body freezes, fingers stopping their repetitive movement you were making, "Uh—“ you nervously chuckle, "What brought this on?"
Neteyam shrugs, you can't see him, but you feel it. The air moves around him like it always does, "My dad gave me the talk."
You gasp, turning around, smiling so wide your cheeks were starting to hurt, "You got the talk?"
He squinted his eyes at your excitement, "I do not know why you're so happy."
You shook your head, giggles flowing through your lips, "It's just funny! It means you're old. You're basically a grandpa now."
He raises his eyebrow, and flick your forehead, "We're the same age."
Your nose scrunches, and Neteyam has to hold himself back from biting your cheeks. Eywa help me. She's too cute for her own good.
Suddenly, your thoughts linked itself together, your smile dropping no matter how hard you try to not make it obvious; it is. Especially to Neteyam, "Wait, does this mean you chose already?"
His cheeks turn pink, eyes flickering everywhere but at you. You, who look like the living embodiment beauty of the forest.
"No, no." he shakes his head, "He did say some names, but I-"
Your stomach drops. His does too.
He clears his throat, "Doesn't matter. Um- I asked, because I heard some boys have taken interest in... you." his jaw clenches, voice going deeper.
You furrow your eyebrows, "What? That's impossible."
"Nope. Heard it with my own ears."
"Oh."
Yeah, oh. Neteyam thought.
"Have you thought about anyone?" he say softly, eyes dropping all over your face.
You meet his eyes, the air growing with the tension brewing around you both.
He's so beautiful. It should be illegal.
By some gravitational force of nature, you both started to lean into each other, his eyes trailing all over your face until it stops at your lips.
No.
This can't happen.
Neteyam's face drops and your heart stops.
Fuck, you said it out loud didn't you.
He tenses his shoulders back and starts to stand up.
"Wait— I didn't mean it like that." you plead, hands ghosting over his chest, blocking the way.
"Then how else did you mean it?" his voice gruff, eyes fierce. This is a different Neteyam now. Warrior Neteyam. Guards up Neteyam. His ears turns downwards and your heart sinks.
You sighed, "I just-"
The heavy atmosphere was broken by Lo'ak's voice, "Bro? Dad's calling. Family meeting." his head peaks into your place. Eyes flickering between you two, "Uh.. everything okay?"
Neteyam straightens his back, stepping beside as he makes his way out, "’m fine. Let's go."
You let out a deep breath as the flap shuts close.
His scent still lingers in the air, you can still feel the light touch on your hair. Your chest clenching at his absence.
You need to fix this.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The day after was awful.
You haven’t spoken to Neteyam since the incident and every time you see him, he disappears seconds after.
“Lo!” the boy turns at the sound of his name, “Do you know where Neteyam is?”
Lo’ak shrugs and looks around, “He was just here a second ago.”
You nod. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” you pat his shoulder.
He stops you, “Are you guys okay? He has been pissy all morning.”
Mouth opening and closing, you try to come up with an easy answer, “I— uh, have no idea.”
Lo’ak wasn’t convinced in the slightest, “Sure.” you turned around, “It’s just that…”
You tilt your head and stare at him, urging him on, “What is it?”
“You know he really likes you, right?”
Your give him a look, “No he doesn’t.”
The boy furrows his eyebrows, “Are you crazy? He’s obsessed with you.”
“That’s a strong word.”
“It’s true.” he smiles.
A cough takes your attention away, your body stiffens unconsciously. You know it’s him.
“There he is.” Lo’ak smiles, patting his brother on the back, “I’ll leave you to it.”
It was you two again. Amongst a sea of Na’vis. The night sky illuminates your skin in the most angelic way possible. The music and chatter of the other forest people blending in the background.
Neteyam clears his throat, you turn your body to face him. He’s much closer than you anticipated, your head titling up to meet his eyes.
“Hi.” you whisper.
“Hey.”
“You have been avoiding me.”
He can’t deny it. It was true, he has.
“Sorry. I just had to clear my head.”
Your eyes soften, “I get it.”
An awkward silence blankets over you two.
“So—“
“Did you—“
You both chuckle and the tense environment becomes familiar again.
Nudging your head forward, “Can I go first?” you ask, nervously smiling up at him.
He has to force himself not to pass out, “Yeah, of course.” anything you want. He thought.
You take a deep breath, “I didn’t mean that I don’t want us to happen, I do! Believe me—“
“You do?” his jaw drops, eyes glinting in the moonlight.
“Yeah, but I am just scared. You can have any choice, anyone you want in this whole place—“
“Wait—“
“And I just feel like I’m not want you need, and I—“
“Hold on a second.” his warm hands cup the sides of your face, halting your rambling as your mouth forms a pout. A fond smile on his face, as his eyes trails all over your pretty face, “You want to mate?”
Your cheeks turn aflame, “I mean not now!”
He stutters, “Yeah, yeah. I am not-“ he stops when you cover your mouth, trying to contain your chuckle, his chest swelling at the sight.
Your tail intertwines itself around his, as he stands closer, one hand still holding your face within his large palm, while the other hesitantly rests itself on your waist.
“Sevin,” he mutters, grazing his fingers across your hair, “You are exactly what I need.”
Pushing his chest softly, you huff, “Flirt.” trying to stop your pounding heartbeat in your chest.
“Yeah, yeah,” he shyly smiles, “Do you want to dance?” eyes wrinkling with his ears twitching in excitement as he points to the building crowd.
“Come on.” you intertwine your fingers together, pulling him to the centre. He cannot stop smiling, his whole body buzzing with joy that he can't explain.
a/n | hi!! i'm so so grateful for all the support i've been getting recently. like i would never imagine people would actually read my avatar works so wifjefweijf 😭 i've also gotten a few requests and i'm so excited to work on those aswell!! also, neteyam is kinda ooc in this, but i think he's rlly funny in this so :,)
synopsis | neteyam says sky people kiss their close friends. you don’t understand it, but you let him show you. you don’t know what it means yet, only that you want more.
The wind sifted through the canopy above, weaving restless fingers through the vines that draped lazily from the thick limbs of the trees. Sunlight filtered in narrow golden columns, slipping across Neteyam’s shoulders as he crouched beside you, his braids falling forward, a shadow of amusement curled in the corner of his mouth. His eyes gleamed like the jungle after rain; bright, sharp, and watching you with an intensity that should’ve burned. You were busy weaving, fingers threaded with fine strips of bark, tongue pressed between your teeth in concentration, completely unaware of how long he'd been watching you. He wasn’t subtle, but you’d never looked up in time to catch the grin twisting on his lips, or the way his gaze softened when your brow furrowed just a little in thought.
“Why do you always sit like that when you work?” he asked, voice low, teasing, with the kind of lazy inflection that meant he was trying to get under your skin. His tail swayed behind him, betraying his amusement.
You blinked up, frowning. “Like what?”
He leaned closer, his arm brushing yours, heat trailing over your skin. “Like your whole life depends on what your fingers are doing. Like if you make one mistake, the forest might fall apart.”
You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. “Because I do not want to make a fool of myself. You know that.”
“You could never be a fool.” He said it with ease, like a truth that needed no argument, but the way he looked at you—head tilted, eyes lidded—was a look akin to what mates give each other.
You missed it completely.
“I’m serious,” you huffed, scowling at the strand that slipped from your braid-in-progress. “This is supposed to be for Tuktirey. I want it to be perfect.”
Neteyam made a soft sound, barely a hum, and sat beside you. His thigh pressed against yours, warm and solid, his skin smelling faintly of crushed leaves and sweat. “She will love it,” he said. “Even if you tie all the pieces backwards. It is from you.”
Your fingers stilled. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
It came without hesitation. Like he was already certain of every word you hadn’t yet said. Like he’d spent moons learning the rhythm of your voice, the exact pitch of it when you doubted yourself. There were so many things he knew about you. How you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The way your tail curled around your ankle when you were cold. That you never called him by his full name when you were truly angry with him.
But still, somehow, you didn’t notice when he flirted.
He shifted closer, the curve of his mouth sharpening. “Do you want to know a secret?”
You turned to him slowly, wary but curious. “What kind of secret?”
His eyes glinted with mischief, teeth catching in the brief grin that flashed across his face. “One from the sky people. My father told me. It is something they do when they are… very close.”
You tilted your head, shoulders tense, unsure if you were meant to feel wary or honored. “Close? Like mated?”
“No,” he said, voice dropping, “not always. Sometimes just… very good friends.”
“Friends do this?”
He nodded solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “Yes. It is called… kissing.”
Your brow furrowed. “Kissing?”
He leaned in. “You press your lips to another’s lips. Soft. Maybe warm. It is not about touching bodies. It is… how they show trust. Care. It is not like the Na’vi ways. But it means something.”
You considered him carefully. “You say they do this with friends?”
“Very close friends,” he repeated, his voice dropping even lower, smoky, touched with a sweetness that curled in your chest like the first flickers of a fire. “Friends who mean… very much to one another.”
He saw the hesitation in your eyes and reached for your hand slowly, reverently, like he was handling a wounded bird. His thumb swept the back of your knuckles. “We are close, are we not?”
You blinked. “Of course we are.”
Neteyam’s smile widened just a breath, but there was no cruelty in it, only the soft swell of affection, fond and burning. “I have always known your heart. I see you. And I know you trust me.”
You nodded. “With everything.”
The moment hung there, suspended between heartbeats. The wind didn’t move. The forest seemed to hush, holding its breath. Your pulse beat heavy in your ears, not from fear, but from the strange warmth beginning to unfurl behind your ribs. You hadn’t known Neteyam could look at you like that. Like you were more than bark-woven necklaces and careful hands. Like you were more than a friend.
Still, you asked, quiet but unflinching: “Why do you want to do it?”
He didn’t flinch either. His gaze didn’t wander. “Because you are important to me. I want to… show you. Not just say it.”
You stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly, trying to gauge if this was another game, another soft trick of his tongue, like when he teased you about your clumsy knots or your wild braids in the morning. But he was still, the kind of still that felt sacred, like he was baring something raw and rare.
“Alright,” you said, finally. Your voice didn’t shake. “I trust you.”
Neteyam’s laugh was quiet, breathy, a sound that tasted like joy. He squeezed your hand, then guided you down until you both sat cross-legged, knees pressed together, your palms still joined. His hands were large, warm, and gentle, holding you with a care you hadn’t noticed before, or maybe hadn’t wanted to.
He brought his other hand to your jaw, fingertips brushing the skin just below your ear, and your breath hitched. His touch wasn’t demanding. It was reverent. Careful. Like he was asking permission every step of the way.
“You just… close your eyes,” he murmured. “Let it happen.”
Your heart stumbled, but you obeyed. Your lashes lowered. The forest behind your eyelids seemed brighter, painted in strange colors. You could feel every inch of him. His warmth, his breath, the slow rhythm of his thumb against your cheek.
When his lips met yours, it was soft, curious, like a question. His mouth was warm, and the press of it was light, but sure. You felt the world tilt, just slightly, like the ground beneath your legs had shifted.
He didn’t move fast, didn’t deepen it. He stayed there, close, his lips grazing yours like a whisper, like a vow. You exhaled through your nose, instinctively leaning into him, and the smallest, trembling sound escaped you—half a sigh, half a question.
Neteyam pulled back only a breath, his lips still barely touching yours. “Did you feel that?” he whispered.
You nodded.
“That is how sky people show their hearts.”
Your eyes stayed locked on his mouth, the fullness of his lower lip, the way it glistened faintly where it had just touched yours. His breath fanned across your skin and you didn’t lean back, didn’t blink, barely remembered to breathe. The world around you had not changed, but it felt newly born, as if the trees stood taller and the light had melted gold across every leaf. It was your heartbeat that filled your ears, your pulse that echoed, a thrum against your ribs like distant drums. There was a strange pull in your chest, an ache both exhilarating and unknown, as though your body recognized something before your mind had named it.
His fingers tightened around your hand, with a firm kind of intimacy that grounded you like a vine anchoring into earth. Your breath fled your lungs in a stuttering exhale, and the small, involuntary giggle that escaped your mouth was light as air, startled and soft.
“So…” you tilted your head, eyes closing just slightly, your voice touched with curiosity, “…your father did this with all his close sky friends?”
Neteyam’s expression fractured in real time. First, his brows lifted, the color visibly draining from his face in a rush of disbelief and horror, his mouth parting as if he meant to answer but hadn’t yet found the words. The silence between you stretched taut, and for a moment, he only blinked, as if caught by a dart to the chest. But then his shoulders shook once, and he let out a shaky, unconvincing laugh.
“Y—yes,” he managed, barely above a whisper. “All of them.”
You gave a solemn nod, like you were weighing this new custom with the same reverence you gave the sacred rites of Eywa. “I see,” you said. “I think I understand now… why they do it.”
He gave a sound, half-strangled in his throat, and his eyes searched yours, frantic and unguarded. The lie hung between you like smoke, transparent but cloying, and he must’ve known how little you believed it. But your tone held no accusation, only a quiet, curious honesty, warm as the hand still nestled in his.
“Would you…” he began, voice hushed. “Would you want to do it again?”
The humming sound you made was quiet but clear, the vibration of it rising from your chest with the ease of certainty. He exhaled, a breath that seemed to unspool all the tension from his spine, and without needing to be told, he moved.
He lifted his hand to your face, palm gentle against your cheek, fingertips tracing just beneath your eye with the caution of someone brushing pollen from a flower. You hadn’t expected him to touch you like that, with a reverence usually reserved for prayer. His thumb rested against your jaw, and your lips parted slightly at the feel of it, a soft intake of breath betraying how much it affected you. He leaned in closer, until your noses brushed. The contact was tender, barely there, a subtle rub of bone against bone, warm and close and achingly gentle.
“Ma’ yawne,” he whispered against your mouth, the words trembling on the edge of sound, caught between truth and confession. His voice was velvet, low and hoarse, shaped by the weight of something he hadn’t dared to say before. You didn’t ask what it meant. You only smiled, mouth curling beneath his, your breath warm as you leaned into the kiss he gave you.
This one was not shy.
Where the first had been a question, this was an answer—full and certain. His lips pressed to yours with a quiet urgency, deeper, fuller, hungry in a way he’d tried to hide. His hand slipped from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, holding you in place as he tilted his head, guiding the kiss into uncharted territory. Your breath caught in your throat, and your hands, once limp between you, rose on instinct to clutch at his shoulders, fingers curling into his skin like vines wrapping around stone.
Your bodies tilted inward, the space between you vanishing until his chest pressed to yours, his thighs bracketed against your knees. The heat of him soaked through every layer of skin, and your pulse drummed wildly where your heart met his, your stomach tightening with a deep, curling ache. He kissed you like he needed you to understand what his words couldn’t say yet, like every press of his mouth was a piece of language, building a story only you could read.
When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, his mouth still brushing yours. His voice came ragged, his words shaped against your lips like a spell.
“Relax.”
Your whole body shuddered with the weight of that word. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d drawn yourself inward, how every muscle had gone taut with the effort of not dissolving. The way he said it. Soft, coaxing, protective, cut through your defenses. Your exhale was slow, trembling, and you melted beneath his hands, your weight pressing into him more fully. The kiss that followed was less urgent, but no less intense. There was trust in it now, not just curiosity, not just wonder, but a sense of giving in.
Neteyam made a sound in his throat, deep and low, like he hadn’t expected the way you melted into him. His hand slid down your back, just enough to steady you as you shifted, your thighs sliding over his, bodies drawn together like branches in a storm.
“I did not think you would let me,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours as his breath fanned over your mouth. His eyes were still closed, lips still parted.
“Why would you think that?” you asked softly, barely more than a breath, your voice threading between you. “We are friends.”
He didn’t answer with words. His silence wasn’t awkward, wasn’t heavy with guilt or uncertainty. His silence was controlled only by the last, fraying edge of restraint. He leaned forward, erasing the space you’d left him, lips closing over yours with a suddenness that stole your breath. This kiss was not shy. It was quiet, but insistent. A low-burning ember set against the skin, smoldering hotter than before. His breath came harder through his nose, warmer now, and the tremor that passed through his body wasn’t subtle.
Your hand moved without thinking, splaying over his chest, your palm landing just above his heart. His skin was hot beneath your touch, his muscles taut, breathing ragged and uneven. He made a sound that was sharp, surprised, almost a growl, shook through his throat and into your mouth, and your body reacted before your mind could make sense of it. Your gasp was soft but clear, lips parting, and in that instant, he surged forward, tongue sliding against yours in a motion so smooth and shameless you whined into the kiss without meaning to.
Neteyam did not wait. His hands slid down your sides, fingers pressing into your waist as he pulled you fully into his lap, positioning you over his thighs with a possessiveness you had never seen from him before. His body was hot, his pulse thudding beneath your hand like a drumline, and when your hips settled against his, the moan he swallowed into your mouth vibrated through every inch of him. His hands moved freely now, no longer hesitant—one gripping your lower back, the other slipping up your spine, fingers brushing the knots of your necklace, the dip of your waist, the curve of your ribs. The noise that left him was low, pathetic, as if he couldn’t contain the sensation of having you so close, so pliant, so willing.
Your tails flicked between you, brushing, curling, twisting in the chaotic rhythm of your bodies. His moved like it was alive with its own hunger, wrapping and twitching, a mirror of his building tension. Yours betrayed every spike of surprise, each involuntary thrill that coursed through you with every glide of his tongue against yours, every possessive pull of your body closer. Your breathing grew unsteady, helpless against the way his touch mapped you like a newly discovered land, like he wanted to learn every inch of you through fingertips and lips alone.
Neteyam’s hand slid up, into your hair, searching with purpose. His fingers caught the thick braid that lay over your shoulder, and he gave it a firm tug, sharp enough to jolt your attention. Your lips parted from his with a wet gasp, eyes wide, lips damp and swollen. You blinked up at him in dazed confusion, a sound barely escaping you. You didn’t speak, but your expression asked everything: What is it?
He stared at you, lips parted, chest rising in quick, uneven heaves, his golden eyes darkened and wild. His mouth opened, the beginning of a thought taking form on his tongue, the truth curling just behind his teeth.
But before he could speak, the branches overhead rustled.
Not in the distant way of wildlife. Not in the idle, lazy way wind tousles the leaves. This was footsteps.
Neteyam froze.
The tension in his body snapped taut, like a bowstring drawn too far, and his entire frame locked beneath you. His hands went still. His eyes widened in alarm, lips still hovering close to yours, his breath caught like a trapped animal.
Neytiri’s silhouette slipped through the canopy.
The sight of her; tall, radiant, fierce, descended like cold water over hot stone, hissing through the air. Her presence was quiet but impossible to ignore, a gaze sharp enough to pierce bark and bone alike. She said nothing at first. She only stood, eyes moving slowly between you and her eldest son, face confused.
Neteyam reacted fast. Too fast.
His hands gripped your waist and lifted you off him in one fluid, practiced motion, depositing you onto the soft ground beside him as though your body had burned him. His posture straightened, jaw clenched, tail tucked tight around his thigh, ears snapping back flat in alarm. He looked every bit the warrior-in-training again, despite the rapid flush of color that still stained his cheeks, and the unmistakable wet shine on his lips.
Neytiri stared at you both, her brow arched, arms crossing over her chest. “What is this?”
You blinked at her. A beat passed. Neteyam looked one gust of wind away from fainting, and your own heart thudded high in your throat.
You smiled.
Sweet. Innocent. Like the question was about gathering berries or collecting beads.
“Kissing,” you announced brightly, tilting your head. “We were kissing!”
Neteyam made a noise—a strangled, horrified groan—as his hands flew to his face, dragging down across his features in sheer disbelief.
LMFAOOOOOO i struggle with writing him so much but like i said he is such a funny character. just lying abt what his dad said.. ik what u r neteyam.
summary: neteyam keeps coming to your tent; first with wounds, then excuses, then nothing at all. teasing and care turn to trust and unspoken feelings. it isn't until he returns with a serious injury that the truth finally unfolds.
warnings: pure yearning. mostly fluffy and a bit of pining, but there is also some angst.
word count: 1.9k
tsakarem - tsahìk-in-training.
paysyul flower - water lily.
The first time he limps into your healing tent, he’s all arrogance and sharp edges.
A gash runs down his thigh; deep enough to need stitching, shallow enough that he insists it’s nothing.
"Sit," you command, voice steady despite the way his towering frame fills the space.
He smirks, blood dripping between his fingers, but obliges. "Didn’t take you for the bossy type, tsakarem," he teases surveying your features for a reaction.
You ignore him, gathering yalna bark and spider silk. When you kneel beside him, his breath hitches, just once, as your fingers skim his skin.
"This will sting," you warn.
He leans in, voices a low rumble. "I like it when it stings."
You swallow hard.
With practiced care, you smooth the thick paste along the wound, nimble fingers gentle against his skin. Taking the thread, you begin stitching the edges closed, each careful pull precise and steady, your focus unwavering as you work to ease the pain and ensure the wound heals cleanly.
He barely moves beneath your touch, jaw clenched as he watches you from beneath his lashes. You murmur soft reassurances as you work, reminding him to breathe, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin whenever his muscles tense.
When the last stitch is tied off, you press a clean cloth over the wound, checking your work with a quiet nod, before sending him off.
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
Three eclipses later, he’s back – this time with a bruised rib.
"Fell off a branch," he mumbles, wincing as you prod the swelling.
You arch a brow suspiciously. "You? The great warrior… fell?”
His laughter is warm, and closer than necessary. "Maybe I just wanted to hear you scold me again."
Your hands hesitate over his ribs. His heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingertips. “You need to be more careful, Neteyam,” you chastise, unimpressed at his new-found clumsiness.
Your hands still, clicking your tongue. “One day I won’t be here to patch you up.”
You reach for the salve anyway, smoothing it over the bruise with gentle pressure. He hisses, then relaxes, leaning subtly into your touch as if the pain is worth it just to be here; under your careful hands and watchful gaze.
His smile falters, just a fraction, at your words. “Yeah,” he murmurs, quieter now. “But you are now.”
A soft smile tugs at your lips. You glance up at him, warmth settling in your chest as your thumb traces a soothing circle near the bruise.
“You enjoy this too much,” you mutter, face falling serious, trying to sound stern.
“Maybe,” he replies softly, eyes fixed on your face. “But I trust you.”
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
The next time, his excuse is thinner than mist. You have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes.
A shallow scratch across his palm; barely deserving of the poultice you press to it.
But when your fingers linger, he turns his hand, his touch grazing yours, almost – almost – intertwining. The contact sends a quiet jolt up your arm, unwelcome yet undeniable.
“Tell me, healer,” he murmurs, fingers brushing over your knuckles, voice low and deliberate. “Do you tend to all the warriors… or just me?”
Your pulse stutters. “Just the reckless ones,” you scoff, forcing a lightness into your tone as you dab the salve more firmly than necessary.
He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his grin widens, all trouble and fangs. “Lucky me.”
You finally look up at him then, catching the way his eyes linger – soft, searching, entirely too familiar. For a fleeting moment, neither of you moves, the air between you taut with something unspoken, before you clear your throat and tug your hand free, pretending your heart isn’t racing.
“All done.”
He gives you a knowing look, head tilting slightly. Your gaze does not meet his, and your fingers writhe gently in your lap. He rises silently uttering a careful ‘thank you’ before disappearing behind the flaps of your tent.
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
Then comes the night he arrives with no wound at all.
Just a single, perfect paysyul flower – rare, delicate, glowing softly in the dark.
"For you," he says, uncharacteristically quiet.
You stare at his outstretched hand offering you the delicate bundle of petals. Your body is enveloped by a warmth akin to the sun-soaked shallows of the forest, where the water holds heat long after the day has faded; it paints your face with a faint violet tint, and causes a familiar fluttering sensation in your chest.
His fingers brush yours as you take the flower, his touch too deliberate to be accidental. The petals glow softly between your hands, casting shimmering reflections across his face, illuminating the quiet intensity in his golden eyes.
"You… brought me this?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, and can catch the scent of earth and morning dew clinging to his skin.
"Couldn’t think of a better excuse to see you," he admits, voice rough at the edges. His thumb grazes your wrist before he adds, softer. "Missed you."
The confession lingers in the air between you, fragile as the flower’s glow.
And then –
His hand slides up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward his.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, lips hovering so near yours you can taste his breath, sweet with the nectar of the forest.
You don’t.
The moment hangs, heavy with anticipation. His thumb is tracing circles on your jaw, his gaze locked on your lips. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and just slightly desperate.
And then, from outside the camp, the sound of footsteps and a familiar voice rings through the night…
"Neteyam!"
His head snaps up, eyes flashing with irritation, before he lets out a sigh, almost annoyed. "Damn it,” he mumbles with a small huff.
"What is it?" he calls back, not taking his hand off your cheek. Your skin burns where he holds you, blush deepening into a plum hue.
A few moments later, a figure appears behind the tent flap. Lo’ak peers curiously, his gaze flicking between you and his brother for a beat. He arches a brow, taking in the sight of Neteyam’s fingers now shifted underneath your chin, before an amused smile creeps onto his face.
"What’s this?" he asks, feigning surprise. "Am I interrupting something here?"
Neteyam shoots him a warning glare. "What do you want, Lo’ak?"
Lo’ak doesn’t miss your reaction, or the way Neteyam’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb pressing into your skin like he’s silently staking a claim.
A slow, shit-eating grin spreads across Lo’ak’s face.
"Ohhh," he drawls, crossing his arms. "So this is where you’ve been sneaking off too lately." His eyes flick to you, mischief dancing in them. "Funny how you only seem to get hurt when she’s on healing duty, bro."
Neteyam’s jaw clenches – hard.
"Lo’ak," he growls, voice low and dangerous.
But his little brother just laughs, backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! Sorry to interrupt... whatever this is." He wiggles his eyebrows. "But dad wants you for something."
And with that, he ducks out of the tent, leaving behind only the sound of his fading laughter and tension thick enough to choke on.
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
Weeks pass.
Neteyam stops showing up with flimsy excuses. The playful tension between you fades into something quieter, made of lingering glances, fleeting brushes of fingers – but nothing more.
Then, one night, the tent flaps burst open.
Lo’ak stumbles in, panting, Neteyam slumped heavily against him. Blood soaks through his chest wrap, his breaths ragged. Your stomach plummets.
"What happened?" you demand, already moving, hands steady despite the panic clawing up your throat.
"Stupid ikran hunt," Lo’ak grits out, lowering him onto the mat. "Tried to show off – got clipped mid-dive."
Neteyam’s eyes flutter open, hazy with pain. But when they land on you, his lips twitch weakly. "...Missed you," he slurs, delirious.
Your hands tremble as you peel back the fabric, revealing the deep gash across his ribs.
"You idiot," you whisper, pressing a dapophet pad to the wound. "You could’ve died."
His fingers brush your wrist, barely a ghost of touch. "Worth it… to see you… scowl like that."
Lo’ak groans. "Oh my Eywa, half-dead and he’s still flirting."
You ignore him, focusing on the way Neteyam’s breath hitches when your fingers trace his skin; gentle, but firm.
"Don’t you dare bleed out on me," you murmur, voice thick.
His hand finds yours, squeezing weakly. "...Wouldn’t dream of it, baby."
Your heart pounds out a desperate rhythm as you work, trying to stay focused on the task at hand, but he keeps making it worse. Every ragged breath, every brush of skin, every stolen glance sends adrenaline surging through your veins.
Lo’ak watches quietly from the side, his amusement replaced with concern. He knows better than to distract you, but his eyes flit between you and his brother with growing curiosity.
Neteyam’s gaze is hazy, fever-bright, but still filled with an almost reverent fascination. His fingers find your wrist again, a little firmer this time. The salve stings, but Neteyam doesn’t flinch. His eyes stay locked on yours, even as sweat beads at his temples, even as his fingers twitch against the mat.
You lean closer, checking the stitching. "You’re lucky it didn’t puncture your lung," you mutter, trying to ignore the way his breath hitches when your fingers graze his bare ribs.
His hand suddenly catches yours, pressing your palm flat against his chest, right over his pounding heartbeat.
"Feel that?" he rasps.
You freeze.
"That’s you," he continues, voice rough with pain and something else entirely. "Every time you touch me – every damn time – it does that."
Your breath catches.
Lo’ak, still hovering near the entrance, makes a strangled noise. "Okay, I’m out. I’ll just– go tell Dad you’re not dead."
The tent flaps swish shut behind him, a silence following.
Neteyam’s thumb strokes your wrist. "Stay," he murmurs.
"I’m your healer," you whisper, trembling. "I have to."
He shakes his head, wincing at the movement. "Not… what I meant."
And then – weak but determined – he tugs you down until your forehead rests against his, his breath mingling with yours.
"Stay after," he clarifies, voice raw. "When I’m not just… another wound to fix."
Your pulse thrums where your skin meets his.
Outside, the wind rustles the leaves. Inside, something fragile and long-avoided finally snaps.
You let out a breath shakily, his words settling deep within you. He had stumbled his way into your tent – your life – and had made a home out of your heart.
"I could never leave you," you begin. "You know that. I've always been here– waiting." You take another breath, letting it fill your lungs before you continue, "I will always be with you.” Another breath.
“I see you.”
His grip tightens around your hand, desperate and reverent, words feeling as though they are caught in his throat.
“Say it again," he breathes, voice cracking.
You don’t hesitate.
“I see you.”
A shudder runs through him – half pain, half relief –before he tugs you even closer, your lips hovering just above his, sharing the same air, the same heartbeat.
"Took you long enough," he rasps, but there’s no bite to it, just warmth; just yours. “I see you.”
And when his eyes finally flutter shut from exhaustion, his fingers stay tangled with yours.
summary: you and neteyam navigate distance and unspoken feelings as his responsibilities as future olo'eyktan grow. one quiet night in the forest, with a bit of teasing, and honest conversation, finally brings you together, proving your connection was always meant to be.
warnings: literally a dollop of angst lol, other wise super cute and fluffy. a tad bit spicy I suppose?
The forest was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the hum of distant creatures. You’re perched on a low-hanging branch, sharpening the tip of your knife. As you run the fine-grained rock along the blade's edge with carefully forged precision, your mind wanders astray. When you had befriended the young warrior you were well aware of his destined path as future olo'eyktan, yet the innocence of your blossoming friendship could not have foretold the future challenges the title would hold. You couldn't be upset, not really. Never have you met a boy so gentle and kind.
The arrows he shoots are clean and merciful, crafted with the promise of being wielded by a mighty tsamsiyu. He is dutiful, following his fathers orders with a precision and care that you admire greatly. The love he holds for his family is evident, shining through whenever he burdens the blame for Lo'ak's youthful antics, or when he promises to help Tuk with finding materials for her crafts, despite not really having the time. He is what you could call the clans golden boy and his family's pride and joy, yet he does not wear the attention like a badge.
Maybe it was only inevitable that you would fall for him.
Each time his calloused yet gentle fingers graze yours as he quietly lifts a woven basket of fresh herbs from your hands, insisting on carrying it himself, butterflies bloom in your stomach. A soft violet warmth colours your cheeks when his touch lingers at the small of your back, guiding you carefully through the crowd, or when his features soften and golden eyes find yours across the firelight during a shared meal. The elders called you kindred spirits; you insisted he was far too good for you, yet you could never deny that you were cut from the same cloth, two halves of a single whole. Still, the suggestion makes your heart flutter.
So his confusion at your recent hesitance was understandable: a carefully planned retreat here, a practiced indifference there. Even you could admit you had grown distant. Yet as his responsibilities mounted, his absence cut deeper than you expected. Caught between his fleeting touches and a silence you had not yet learned to endure, it became impossible to quiet the relentless thoughts gnawing at your mind.
The snap of a twig pulls you from your trance. You glance up as Neteyam approaches, his face lit with a mix of curiosity and concern.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he states simply, moving to settle beside you.
You give him a quick glance, eyes shying away with a soft huff before returning to your task at hand.
“I’m not avoiding you,” you whisper after a moment, the tension tightening the air between you. He raises a brow at that. You feel his eyes linger, cautious and searching, as though he is trying to unravel what has driven your behaviour these past few weeks. Neteyam turns his body towards you, shifting his weight, and studies you silently. You can practically feel the thoughts swirling through his brain as he processes your words.
After what feels like an eternity, he lets out a breath, the sound a mixture of frustration and resignation. "You think I wouldn't notice?" He asks, the tone of his voice gruff yet somehow tender.
You let his words settle into the silence, accompanied by the cooling breeze of the nearing eclipse. Because of course you knew he’d notice. He always did.
You notice his movements as he leans back against the tree, the muscles in his arms flexing lightly. He's quiet, watching you, reading your every move like an open book.
After a moment, he lets out a sigh, his golden eyes never leaving your face. "Why are you pulling away like this, huh? Talk to me, paskalin."
You sigh softly, mentally debating how to tell him that you really weren't avoiding him, that instead you were trying to reason with your feelings and his absence.
He notices your sigh, the way your shoulders slump slightly. It's clear something is on your mind but he remains quiet, letting you find the right words. His gaze never wavers from you however, his expression a mix of concern and anticipation. He's waiting for you to talk, to explain why the distance between you feels more like a chasm.
Slowly, you still the motion of your sharpening knife and set it carefully against the lush floor of the canopy. You will yourself to look at his worried expression, feeling a deep pang in your heart for causing his distress.
"Really 'Teyam, I haven't been avoiding you on purpose. I've just needed some time."
His expression softens at your words, the concern creasing his brow smoothing out slightly. He shifts a little closer, his eyes now studying your face intently. "Time? You've never needed time before," he points out gently, his voice low and soft. "Did I do something to upset you?"
He looks genuinely confused and hurt, the thought that he might have inadvertently done something to drive you away clearly troubling him. Your heart stirs.
"No, of course not Tey," you smile at him, tilting your head in adoration. He looks like a lost puppy without having you by his side. Cute, you think. "I guess it's just hard to explain. But you've been so busy with your Olo'eyktan training, when could you have possibly had the time to upset me?" you ponder with a light giggle, bringing your hand to delicately rest upon his bicep.
He visibly relaxes at the sound of your soft laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. The simple touch of your hand against his arm is more than enough reassurance that you're not as upset as he feared.
"You have a point there," he concedes with a nod, the tension in his shoulders loosening. His fingers instinctively find yours, gently intertwining them before he continues.
"Then why the distance, yawne? Something's bothering you, I can tell."
You look at him with a small pout, unwilling to bare your affections to your long-time best friend. Still, you can’t ignore his quiet patience – or the warmth of his hand in yours, his thumb now brushing slow, reassuring circles over your knuckles.
"It's not that easy Tay," you frown.
He catches your frown and his brow furrows in response, his thumb still continuing its comforting motion over your knuckles. He squeezes your hand softly in reassurance as his gaze locks on yours.
"Try me. Maybe I can understand more than you think." His tone is gentle, almost pleading for you to share whatever burden you've been carrying. He can see the doubt in your eyes, the hesitation, and it's torture.
You giggle at his pushiness, finding it comically endearing. "Hmm, soon," you promise. "But I'm hungry, and I know you are too olo'eyktan-in-waiting," you tease the unofficial title, standing from your spot beneath the cloud pine tree while feebly pulling on his arm.
He rolls his eyes at your playful banter, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, very witty," he remarks, his words dripping with sarcasm. He allows you to pull him to his feet, standing to his full height beside you with a bemused look on his face.
As you start walking back towards the village, he slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. "You think you're real cute, huh?" he teases, his voice holding a hint of affectionate annoyance. You blush at his remark, head bowing low; his arm perched casually on your shoulder sending a tingling sensation through your body.
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
The sun has dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in a beautiful array of orange and purple as the evening slowly creeps closer. You and Kiri are currently engrossed in an animated conversation, deep into a topic that you don't quite remember how you arrived at.
As you talk, you catch sight of Neteyam in the distance, engaged in a game with his younger brother and a few of their friends. The warm light of the setting sun dances across his face, highlighting his sharp features and making him look regal and handsome.
"I thought it was really fascinating but- hey!" Kiri snaps her fingers breaking your trance "Are you listening to me?" She questions with a knowing smirk on her face.
"Yes, sorry! I'm just a bit... distracted" Your sentence trailing off as you peer over to him once more.
"Yeah, distracted for sure. That or you're ogling at my brother." She remarks, raising her eyebrow with feigned annoyance.
"Kiri!" You squeal, blushing shyly at the insinuation. Kiri laughs at your reaction, finding your embarrassed response quite amusing. She pokes your shoulder playfully, her tone slightly teasing.
"Oh come on, you make it so obvious." She grins, her eyes flickering over to her brother who's still immersed in his game with Lo'ak.
"I can see the way you look at him all the time. You've got it bad." She continues, her smirk widening as she enjoys your bashfulness.
“Is it really that bad?” you ask, nerves creeping into your voice as you suddenly become far too invested in the bowl of Kxan’epe resting in your hands. Kiri watches you for a moment, her smirk softening into a knowing smile. She leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.
“Honestly? It’s kind of sweet,” she admits. “And between you and me… I think he looks at you the same way when he thinks no one’s watching.”
Your head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise – but before you can respond, Neteyam appears beside the fire, wiping sweat from his brow after the game. His golden gaze lands right on you, lingering just a second too long before he smirks and reaches for his food.
Dinner crackles with quiet tension – and unspoken feelings hanging thick in the air like smoke from the flames.
Kiri catches the exchange and gives you a sly wink before scooting away with a quiet laugh, leaving you very much on your own.
Neteyam settles down beside you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours. He grabs a piece of roasted teylu from the fire pit with practiced ease.
“You two look real cozy over here,” he says lowly, voice laced with playful suspicion as he eyes your flushed face. “What were you talking about so secretly?”
You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touch.
“N-Nothing important,” you stammer slightly; bad move.
He turns his full attention to you now, one eyebrow arched in that infuriatingly attractive way. “Hmm. You only stutter like that when you’re lying… or nervous.” His voice drops an octave. “Which is it, yawne?”
A soft breeze rustles through the leaves above as everyone else laughs and sings around the fire; but in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you beneath a sky beginning to sparkle with stars.
And then… he leans in just slightly closer.
You force a shrug, lips tugging into a nervous smile as you mumble, “Just Kiri teasing me – she likes stirring trouble more than the stew.”
He freezes for half a heartbeat, just long enough for you to realize you’ve said it out loud.
Then that slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face; the kind that makes your stomach flip and your pulse jump. He turns fully toward you, one arm now draping over your shoulder like he owns it.
"Baby," he murmurs, voice velvet and warm as firelight, "you don't gotta whisper things like that to yourself."
Your breath catches.
His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw as his golden eyes lock onto yours. "Say it again."
You can't move. Can't speak. All you do is stare up at him, heart hammering under the weight of his gaze... and suddenly all the pretending feels stupid.
Kiri was right.
You've got it so bad.
And worse?
He knows.
Mustering the last of your courage, you hum softly, letting your gaze meet his through fluttering eyelashes. Okay, I'll bite, you think. "I said," you begin, your hand drifting up to rest lightly on the arm draped over your shoulder, "It's hard not to look when you look like that”
The smile on his face changes from something teasing into something almost... soft. Warm. Possessive. He shifts again and then... he's suddenly right against you, thigh brushing yours, his thumb still tracing gentle circles along your jawline.
"That right? You like me all sweaty and out of breath?" he purrs, a hint of self-satisfaction in his voice. "Like seeing me playing with the boys like that? Working up a sweat and showing off… does it make you feel all hot and bothered, baby?"
"Mhm" you nod, suddenly at a loss for words.
He lets out a low, satisfied hum, almost like a growl, deep in his chest. The sound alone makes your spine tingle.
“Then why’ve you been running?” he murmurs, lips close to your ear again. His breath is warm, sending shivers down your neck. “You think I haven’t noticed? Every time I get close… you flinch. You look away.”
His hand slides from your shoulder down to your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, enough that you can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes.
“You’re not the only one who feels it,” he whispers, voice rough now with something raw and real. “I lie awake at night thinking about how soft you are… how sweet you taste when I kiss ya in my dreams.”
Your breath hitches.
He whispers your name so tenderly this time it almost hurts "you don’t gotta hide from me."
A beat of silence.
Then.
“You want me?”
He doesn’t need an answer, he already knows. He waits anyway.
“Of course I want you- how could I not?” you admit softly. “It’s just been hard, with all the weight of your new responsibilities.”
"I never see you anymore" you frown.
His expression softens, the teasing falling away to a look of understanding. One corner of his mouth twitches up into a wry smile. "You think I like it any more?" he asks, fingers toying with the soft fabric at your waist. "Being the future olo'eyktan... It's been nonstop training. And don't even get me started on dad's expectations."
He lets out an exasperated sigh, frustration clear in his voice. "I'm lucky if I get a couple hours of sleep each night, and even then dad has me working again in the morning."
“And I appreciate that - truly. I can’t imagine how heavy that expectation must be,” you say, pausing before adding more quietly, “I only meant that I miss you.”
His whole body stills at your words.
Then, slowly, he turns to face you fully, his hand sliding from your waist to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb brushing over the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing it.
“Miss me?” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “You think I don’t miss you, baby?” A low chuckle escapes him – warm but laced with pain. “I dream about you every night and wake up aching.”
He leans in until his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling in the small space between.
“You’re not just some girl I flirt with,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re my paskalin… my heart.” He pauses. "And I hate that duty keeps stealing me from you."
A beat.
Then, with a smirk tugging at his lips, “So maybe… we stop letting it.”
You close your eyes, heart fluttering at the weight of his words. “Yeah? You mean it?” you ask, voice laced with hope. His thumb drifts from your jaw to skim across your parted lips, his gaze locked onto the spot in a possessive way that makes your knees weak. He leans in closer still, closing what little distance was left.
"Oh Paskalin," he murmurs huskily, lips practically brushing yours now.
"I do."
The intensity in his eyes, the rough quality of his voice, it's overwhelming. The only thing keeping you from sinking into a puddle is his firm grip on your hip.
"You're mine," he says, low and possessive. "And I'm yours."
His words linger.
“Okay, can you two get a room? Ew.” Kiri’s voice cuts through the moment, making both of you jump apart, hands still brushing. Her tone of mock disgust doesn’t match the cunning smirk and mischievous twinkle in her eye as she flicks her gaze between you and Neteyam. Neteyam lets out a low curse, his grip on you tightening instinctively.
"Damn it, Kiri," he mutters, shooting a glare at his sister, his face dusted a light shade of purple. "Can't even get one moment without you interrupting."
He's clearly irked, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice too. He knows Kiri's been playing matchmaker for years.
Kiri simply laughs, her hands thrown up in mock surrender. "Hey, don't get mad at me for speaking the truth."
Neteyam shoots a final, half-hearted scowling stare at his sister before heaving a sigh of resignation. He's about to say something when Lo'ak saunters up, an amused grin plastered across his face.
"So... you guys finally pull your heads outta your asses?" he quips, glancing back and forth between you and Neteyam.
Kiri lets out a laugh, leaning against her brother with a knowing smirk. "About damn time, huh?"
Lo'ak chuckles heartily, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Damn straight. I was tired of Neteyam moaning every day about how he 'pined for his sweet berry,'" he mimics in a high-pitched voice.
Neteyam shoots him a scathing look, clearly mortified at the revelation that he actually was that obvious. "Oh, shut up Lo'ak. Like you'd know anything about relationships."
You giggle at the sight of the two brothers bickering, but beneath the amusement, a quiet thread of contempt stirs in your chest. You and Neteyam – this night, this near kiss – it really had always felt inevitable.
Neteyam turns back to you, his expression softening instantly. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.
"Yeah," he says simply, voice low and sure. "We were just gonna go get a room."
Kiri raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
"Mmhm," Neteyam smirks, standing and pulling you up with him, smooth as ever. "Gotta make up for lost time... baby."
You flush hard at the word, heart skipping, and before anyone can say another joke or tease, he leads you away from the firelight, toward the quiet path that winds through the trees.
Behind you, Lo'ak mutters, "Fucking finally."
And Kiri whispers with a grin, "Took them long enough."
But you don’t look back.
Because for the first time in weeks… maybe months… there’s no distance between you at all.
Just warmth.
And promise.
And him.
It's been so long! with the release of the new avatar movie and the influx of fics, i felt compelled to write a little something. hopefully I'll be sticking around a bit longer this time!
synopsis: Driven by a fierce jealousy he can no longer hide, Neteyam risks his life on a grueling quest to claim the legendary Tosli orchid—a pulsing flower that represents the ultimate declaration of love.
contents: neteyam x fem! omatikaya! reader. part two to platonic horror!
enjoy! reblog if you guys like it! also check out my avatar x av frontiers of pandora ff (neteyam x f!reader, solek x gender fluid sarentu)
The bioluminescence of the High Camp usually brought Neteyam a sense of peace, but tonight, the soft pulse of the woods felt like a ticking clock. While his brothers and sisters lay tangled in sleep, Neteyam sat hunched over a flickering glow-lamp, his eyes scanning the delicate, weathered fibers of the ancient weaving-scrolls.
These weren't just maps of the stars or lineages of the Olo’eyktan; these were the private observations of the Tsahìk, his grandmother. He moved aside a heavy record of medicinal mosses, his fingers trembling slightly from a cocktail of exhaustion and adrenaline, until he found it.
A sketch, faint and shimmering with silver-ink: The Tosli.
The description was written in a formal, archaic dialect that felt more like poetry than botany. It was a phantom of the Hallelujah Mountains, a flower that thrived in the "Mist of the First Ancestors"—the treacherous, gravity-defying crevices where the floating mountains wept waterfalls into the void.
According to legend, the Tosli didn't just grow; it chose its moment. It was said to be sensitive to the energy of the forest, blooming only when the air was thick with the promise of a soul-binding connection. Its deep crimson petals didn't just glow—they surged. Each rhythmic flash of light was timed to a steady, seventy-beat-per-minute thrum, mimicking the resting heart of a Na’vi.
To the Omaticaya, bringing a Tosli back was more than a gesture. It was a testament of survival and singular focus. To traverse the "U’tìl" (the jagged underside of the floating islands) where the Shadow-Stalkers prowled, just to pluck a single bloom, was the ultimate declaration. It said, I have walked the edge of the world to bring you the rhythm of my life.
Neteyam traced the drawing of the orchid’s spiraled stem. He could almost hear the teasing lilt in Y/n’s voice from earlier, the way she had looked at Hárim as if she were considering a life without Neteyam at the center of it. The thought was a cold splash of water to his soul.
He closed the scroll with a decisive thud. He didn't need sleep. He needed to prove that while Hárim could offer her the comfort of the river, Neteyam would offer her the very heart of Pandora. He stood, checking the tension on his bowstring, his golden eyes fixed on the distant, floating shadows of the mountains. He wasn't just going for a flower; he was going to reclaim his future.
The sky was a canvas of deep violet and shimmering teal, the first light of Pandora creeping over the horizon like a secret. Neteyam moved through the High Camp with a sharp, restless energy. Every strap of his leather gear was pulled tighter than necessary, his knife sheathed with a definitive click. He looked like a warrior prepared for a Great Hunt, but his mind was focused on a single, fragile bloom.
Then, he saw them.
Near the dying embers of the communal hearth, Y/n was adjusting the strap of her quiver. The morning mist clung to her skin, making the bioluminescent patterns on her shoulders glow with a soft, ethereal light. She looked devastating. Standing far too close was Hárim, leaning in with a smile that made Neteyam’s blood simmer.
"The water is calmest at this hour," Hárim was saying, his voice a smooth, low murmur that felt like an insult to Neteyam’s ears. "The river lilies are opening, Y/n. They only show that specific shade of blue for a few minutes after dawn. I’d like to show you."
Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped into their space, his presence looming like a storm cloud. He didn't just walk over; he occupied the air between them.
"I am heading out," Neteyam announced. His voice was deeper than usual, carrying the practiced weight of a future Olo’eyktan.
Y/n looked up, her eyes sparking with an unreadable emotion—surprise, perhaps, or a hint of the same mischief from the night before. "So early, Neteyam? The sun hasn't even cleared the canopy."
Neteyam ignored Hárim entirely, focusing solely on her. "The clan needs fresh meat for the evening feast. I intend to bring back something substantial—something a true warrior provides." He shot a pointed, jagged glance at Hárim. "Something more than just... lilies."
The insult hung in the air, sharp and heavy. Hárim stiffened, his smile faltering as he recognized the challenge in the Prince's golden eyes.
Neteyam turned back to Y/n, his posture softening just enough to let her see the raw, pleading honesty beneath his bravado. "I will be back by the time the sun is high. Wait for the feast, Y/n. The best is yet to come."
Y/n tilted her head, her gaze drifting over the scratches on his arms from the night’s training, then back to his intense, burning eyes. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "A substantial hunt, then? Don't let your ambition outpace your bow, Neteyam. Try not to come back empty-handed."
"I won't," he promised, his voice a low vow.
As he turned to stride toward the ikran cliffs, a hand clamped onto his bicep, pulling him back. He nearly spun around with his knife drawn before he saw Lo’ak’s crooked, mocking grin.
"Going after the orchid, aren't you?" Lo’ak whispered, leaning in so the others wouldn't hear. "I saw you hovering over Grandma’s scrolls last night. You’re crazy, bro. That flower grows in places even the ikran are afraid to fly."
Neteyam gripped Lo’ak’s shoulder, his fingers digging in with desperate urgency. "Lo’ak, listen to me. I need you to watch him." He jerked his chin toward Hárim, who was already trying to regain Y/n’s attention. "Do not let him take her to that river. I don't care what you have to do. Be loud, be annoying, break something—just keep her here."
Lo’ak’s eyes widened, then a slow, wicked light danced in them. This was the kind of mission he was born for. "You want me to cockblock a warrior for the future King? Say no more."
"I'm serious, Lo'ak," Neteyam hissed, his jealousy flaring as he saw Hárim laugh at something Y/n said. "If I come back and they are gone..."
"Relax, Brother," Lo’ak gave a mock salute, his grin widening. "I’ll enlist Spider and Kiri. We’ll be a nightmare. By the time you get back, Hárim will be begging for mercy, and Y/n will be so bored of his face she’ll be sprinting to meet you. Just get the flower. Don't die."
Neteyam nodded once, cast one last lingering, possessive look at Y/n, and flew toward the cliffs. He had a mountain to climb, a monster to fight, and a heart to win.
The air grew thin and frigid as Neteyam ascended. The Hallelujah Mountains were a labyrinth of floating islands and jagged archways, but he pushed his ikran, Ciraya, higher than they had ever ventured, into the "Mist of the First Ancestors." The clouds here were thick enough to swallow an Ikran whole, dampening the sound of the world below until all Neteyam could hear was his own ragged breathing and the thrumming of his heart.
He left his ikran on a narrow ledge, the beast huffing a nervous warning as Neteyam began the climb on foot.
“Do not worry, friend. I will be back.” He pressed his forehead to his ikran before releasing the bond.
The rock was slick with moss and ancient condensation, crumbling under his grip like wet sand. Twice, his foot slipped, sending a shower of stones into the bottomless white abyss below. But every time his muscles screamed or his spirit wavered, he saw Y/n’s face—the way she looked at Hárim, the way she had laughed. It was a fuel more potent than any adrenaline.
"You are not losing her," he hissed to himself, his fingers digging into a narrow crevice. "Not to him. Not to anyone."
The cave mouth was a jagged wound in the side of a massive, suspended peak. Inside, the world was silent, save for the rhythmic drip-drop of water. And then, he heard it.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
It was the Tosli. Deep in the shadows, a cluster of orchids pulsed with a crimson light so vibrant it looked like fresh blood under the skin. They were breathtaking, their petals curling like delicate fingers, glowing in a steady, seventy-beat-per-minute rhythm.
But as he stepped forward, the darkness shifted.
The Palulukan-yä-kì’—the Shadow-Stalker—emerged from the ceiling. It was a nightmare of obsidian scales and pale, milky eyes, built for the pitch-black. It didn't roar; it hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe.
The fight was a chaotic blur. Neteyam moved with the grace of a warrior, but the creature was faster in the dark. A set of claws raked across his chest, tearing through his leather harness and deep into his skin. He gasped, the metallic scent of his own blood filling his nose. He struck back with his obsidian knife, the blade singing as it sliced through the air. He managed to drive the creature back into the deeper recesses of the cave, but the effort was immense.
As he reached for the most perfect, central orchid—the one whose pulse was the strongest—the world began to tilt. The loss of blood, the lack of sleep, and the sheer physical toll of the climb finally caught up. His knees buckled. The last thing he saw was the red glow of the flower before his world went black.
In the depths of his unconsciousness, her voice was the only thing that could reach him. “Neteyam...” It wasn't a scream, but a soft, fleeting whisper that felt more like a memory of her laughter by the fire.
He jerked awake, his golden eyes snapping open to find the cave illuminated not by the gentle violet of the predawn, but by a harsh, accusing amber. The sun had already cleared the horizon.
"Skxawng!" The curse ripped from his throat, echoing off the damp, crystalline walls. Every muscle in his chest felt like it was being seared by a hot iron as he scrambled to his feet. The adrenaline masked the true depth of the gashes on his ribs, but the sight of the high sun made his heart plummet.
He was late.
He had promised to be back by midday, and the shadows on the cave floor told him he was dangerously close to losing his chance.
He didn't have time for a tactical retreat. His eyes locked onto the central Tosli. It was perfect—a deep, pulsing crimson that seemed to throb with an inner life. He snatched it, his hands shaking slightly, and wrapped it in the soft, treated leather he’d prepared. He tucked the bundle against his bare chest, feeling the faint, rhythmic heat of the flower against his skin.
Behind him, the darkness hissed. The Shadow-Stalker, sensing its prize was being stolen, let out a screech that set Neteyam’s teeth on edge. The clicking of its many-jointed limbs against the stone grew louder, faster.
Neteyam didn't look back. He sprinted toward the blinding light of the cave's mouth, his boots skidding on the slick, mossy floor. The cave didn't end in a path; it ended in a jagged drop of thousands of feet into the misty abyss. He could hear the creature’s claws raking the stone just inches behind his heels, the scent of its damp, musk-filled breath hitting his neck.
He didn't wait. He didn't calculate the trajectory. He tucked his chin, hugged the flower to his heart, and threw himself into the void waiting at the opening of the cave.
"Ciraya!"
The whistle was a jagged, desperate sound, torn from lungs filled with mountain air and blood. For three terrifying seconds, the world was nothing but a roar of wind and the biting cold of the mist. Neteyam was a stone falling through the sky, his open wounds stinging as the air whipped past them. Then, a massive shadow blotted out the sun.
Ciraya dived beneath him with a screech of her own, her wings snapping open with a thunderous crack that vibrated through Neteyam’s very bones. He slammed onto the saddle, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs, but his hands instinctively gripped the neck-strap.
Safely mounted, he let out a victory cry—a raw, primal sound that tore through the mountain peaks and scattered the smaller forest birds. He pulled the leather bundle back just enough to check his prize. In the daylight, the red glow was even more mesmerizing. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
"Fast, girl!" he urged, leaning low over Ciraya’s neck. His voice was thick with a mix of triumph and a mounting, suffocating anxiety. "Faster! The river... the date... we have to stop it!"
As they soared toward the High Camp, the reality of his appearance dawned on him. He was covered in a thick layer of grey mountain silt and dried blood; his hair was a matted mess of twigs and cave moss, and a dark stain was spreading across his midsection. He looked less like the poised prince of the Omaticaya and more like a man who had fought his way out of the mouth of a demon. He did not even have the hunt he had promised to bring.
But as he clutched the pulsing orchid, he didn't care about his dignity. He only cared about the girl who was currently walking toward the river with another man because it took him too long to realize he wanted her.
The atmosphere at the High Camp had reached a fever pitch of coordinated desperation. Lo’ak, Spider, and Kiri had formed a human—and Na’vi—barricade around Y/n, who was dressed in her finest woven hunting leathers, her hair braided with fresh beads for her outing.
"But Y/n! The tension is all wrong! If I try to hunt with this bowstring, it’ll snap and hit me in the eye!" Lo’ak wailed, physically tugging at her arm to steer her away from the path leading to the river.
"And the bug, Y/n! It’s huge! It has like, twelve legs and it’s glowing purple!" Spider added, dancing in front of Hárim to block his view. "Kiri says it might be poisonous, or worse—it might be a sign from Eywa that we shouldn't leave the kitchen area!"
Kiri just stood by with her arms crossed, nodding solemnly. "It’s a very spiritual bug, Y/n. You really shouldn't leave until we’ve... identified its aura."
Y/n pressed her palm to her mouth, her eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter. She wasn't a fool; she knew exactly why the Sully siblings were acting like they’d lost their minds. She looked over at Hárim, who was shifting his weight from foot to foot, clutching a small basket of fruit he’d gathered for their stroll.
"Is the river... still happening?" Hárim asked tentatively, sounding like a man who was beginning to realize he’d stepped into a family circus.
Just as Y/n was about to answer, the sky seemed to split open. The heavy, rhythmic thrum-thrum of Ikran wings beat against the camp, and Ciraya came screaming in at an angle that was far too steep for a graceful landing. She skidded into the clearing, kicking up a massive cloud of red dust and scattering the younger children.
Neteyam didn't wait for her to stop. He tumbled off the saddle, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. He looked horrific. He was caked in grey mountain silt, his chest was striped with deep, jagged gashes that were still sluggishly weeping blood, and he smelled like a mix of ancient cave rot and wet moss. Most notably, his hands were empty of any game.
"Neteyam?" Lo'ak blurted out, staring at his brother’s battered state. "Where’s the... uh... the 'substantial hunt' you promised?"
Neteyam didn't even hear him. He was stumbling toward Y/n, his golden eyes blown wide and fixed entirely on her face. The relief that flooded him when he saw she was still in camp—not at the river, not with Hárim—made him nearly lightheaded.
"You're here," he panted, his voice a raspy shadow of itself. He came to a halt right in front of her, his breath coming in ragged hitches. "I... I have it. I made it back."
The silence that followed was deafening. Y/n stared at him, her eyes traveling from his matted hair down to the blood soaking his loincloth. For a moment, she looked stunned. Then, her face twisted into a mask of absolute, terrifying fury.
"Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan!"
She shrieked. She stepped forward and jabbed a sharp finger directly into the center of his chest, right between two fresh claw marks. "Look at you! You look like a snack for a Thanator! You look like you went through a meat grinder and came out the wrong side!"
Now would've been a nice time to fawn at her, but he didn't want to make it seem that her concern was being disregarded. Neteyam winced, hiding the bundle behind his back. "Y/n, wait—"
"No! What were you thinking?" she yelled, her voice echoing off the surrounding cliffs. How the table have flipped. It was now Neteyam being parented.
The older Na’vi and even the elders stopped their work to watch, hiding amused smiles behind their hands. "You are the future Olo’eyktan! You go out claiming you're going to feed the clan, and you come back empty-handed, smelling like a swamp, and half-dead? For what? A 'hunt'? Where is the meat, Neteyam? Where is the 'warrior's provision'?"
Hárim watched this explosion and slowly lowered his basket of fruit. He saw the way Y/n was looking at Neteyam—the way her hands were shaking, not with anger, but with a frantic, desperate fear for his life. It was a look she had never given him.
Hárim realized then that he was a footnote in a story that had been written long before he arrived. With a heavy sigh, he turned and faded into the crowd, leaving his river lilies behind.
"I must patch him up before he bleeds out on the dirt and embarrasses us further!" Y/n snapped at Lo’ak and Kiri. She grabbed Neteyam’s ear—hard—and began dragging him toward Mo’at’s healing hut.
"Ow—Y/n, wait, the flower—" Neteyam hissed, stumbling after her, but he was secretly grinning. She was holding him. She was worried. She was his.
The air inside Mo’at’s hut was thick with the scent of crushed mountain sage and dried yavo, a stark contrast to the mud and metallic tang of blood clinging to Neteyam. The heavy flap of the entrance fell shut, muffling the chaotic whispers of the camp outside.
Mo’at, the Tsahìk, looked up from her bowls. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, swept over Neteyam’s battered frame and the fierce, protective set of Y/n’s jaw. She didn't say a word; she simply gathered a few fresh bandages and moved into the shadows of the rear alcove, leaving the central mat to the two of them.
Y/n pushed Neteyam down onto the woven fibers. She was vibrating with a restless, angry energy, her tail lashing behind her like a whip. "You are a fool, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan," she hissed, her voice cracking under the weight of her worry. "A complete and utter skxawng!"
Neteyam didn't winced at her tone. Instead, he leaned back on his elbows, watching her with an exhausted, dazed smile that made his golden eyes shimmer. "You’re very pretty when you’re angry," he murmured, his voice raspy from the mountain chill.
Y/n’s hands, which had been reaching for a bowl of water, faltered mid-air. Her ears twitched violently, a deep, sunset pink flushing across her cheekbones. "Shut up," she whispered, though the bite was gone from her voice. "You smell like a bog and you look like you’ve been chewed on by a Palulukan. Sit still."
She began to wipe away the grime and dried blood from his chest, her touch surprisingly light despite her scolding. Every time he hissed in pain, her expression softened into one of pained empathy.
"I have something for you," Neteyam said softly. He reached into the hidden fold of his leather vest and pulled out the small, blood-stained bundle. He held it out to her like it was a piece of his own soul.
Y/n took it tentatively. As she unwrapped the leather, the hut was suddenly bathed in a rhythmic, crimson light. The Tosliorchid sat in her palm, its petals translucent and pulsing with a deep, steady glow—thump-thump, thump-thump.
She went completely still. She knew the legends. She knew that to find this flower, he had to have climbed into the Mist of the First Ancestors, a place where even the bravest hunters feared to tread. He hadn't gone on a hunt for meat; he had gone on a hunt for her.
She stared at it for a long heartbeat, her eyes welling with a sudden, overwhelming heat. Then, she reached out and plucked a thick, glowing petal.
"Wait! No!" Neteyam cried, trying to sit up, his hand reaching out to stop her. "Y/n, I almost died for that! It's for you... to wear in your hair. To show the clan."
"It is for me," Y/n said, her voice steady and low. She dropped the petal into a stone mortar and began to grind it with a pestle. The scent of sweet, sharp mint filled the air. She mixed the glowing red paste with a bit of medicinal fat, then leaned in close—so close that Neteyam could feel the warmth of her breath on his lips. "And I am using it to heal what is mine."
She took a dollop of the red cream on her fingertips and rubbed it gently over the dark bruise on his cheek. The cooling sensation was instantaneous, the throbbing pain vanishing as if it had never been there.
The silence between them was no longer tense; it was thick with everything they hadn't said for years. Y/n’s thumb lingered on his cheekbone, tracing the line of his jaw. She looked into his eyes, her gaze searching and raw.
"This flower... the legends say it heals the heart of the one who receives it," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the hearth. "My heart feels very healed, Neteyam. But if you ever risk your life like this again, I will be the one who finishes what that Shadow-Stalker started."
Neteyam leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her and the minty orchid. "Does this mean the river date is cancelled?" he asked, a hint of his usual playful arrogance returning.
Y/n let out a soft, shaky laugh, her nose brushing against his. "I think I’d rather stay here. I have a lot of scratches to tend to, and I don't think you're in any condition to go walking."
She pulled back just an inch, her eyes reflecting the soft red pulse of the remaining orchid petals. "But Neteyam?"
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow... you're staying in the camp. With me."
"As you wish, sevin," he murmured, his heart finally beating in the same slow, steady rhythm as the Tosli lying on the cloth between them.
ugghhh poor harim!! i absolutely loved writing this! I had to come up with many stuff, i hope its accurate to the world building HAHA
also if you guys have any ideas but can't write as of the moment, feel free to request!
synopsis: it only took Neteyam one time to see you smile at someone else for him to finally realize how he did not want to have to pretend having a platonic relationship with you anymore.
contents & pairing/s: neteyam x fem! omatikaya! reader.
part two to platonic horror
Geniuses. It was a heavy word, defined by an exceptional intellect or a skill that bordered on the divine. At twenty, Neteyam carried that definition like a second skin. As the heir to the Omaticaya, he was a masterpiece of expectations met, a warrior whose grace was matched only by the strategic sharpness of his mind. His grandmother, the Tsahìk, saw it. The clan felt it.
But Neteyam’s world wasn’t built solely on duty. It was built on her.
Y/n. She was the daughter of a fallen warrior—orphaned by a war she did not witness. A girl who had traded weaving needles for obsidian spears at thirteen. While other girls were learning the rhythm of the loom, Y/n was learning the rhythm of the hunt, her eyes reflecting a fierce hunger to be seen as more than a tragedy. They had grown up as mirrors of one another—two souls forged in the heat of training and the quiet of the forest.
He knew the calluses on her palms. He knew the specific way she held her breath before releasing an arrow. He had been her guardian, her spar-mate, and her confidant. He told himself he cared for her with the protective duty of a brother, yet he watched her with the soul-deep intensity of a man who had already chosen his mate, even if his mind was too stubborn to admit it.
The village was alive, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and the golden glow of a massive central bonfire. Dancers swayed in the center, their bodies painted in shimmering bioluminescence.
"That is Asïm," Or’du whispered, leaning into the circle of young warriors. "Ninat’s daughter. See how she moves? Like the river itself."
The young men leaned in, captivated. Neteyam, however, sat with his spine straight, his fingers tracing the rim of his wooden bowl. He glanced at the dancers—they were beautiful, certainly—but his eyes felt restless. They didn’t want "beautiful." They wanted home.
She would look better in those silks, Neteyam thought, his gaze drifting away from the performers. He could see it clearly: Y/n, with butterfly residue dusted across her cheekbones, her fierce eyes softened by the firelight, wearing the diadem of a lead dancer. The thought made his chest tighten with a sudden, sharp ache.
He found her in the shadows near the edge of the hall. She was laughing with Kiri and other younger girls, her head tilted back, exposing the graceful line of her throat. She looked so relaxed, so untouchable, that Neteyam felt a surge of possessive heat. He didn't just want to look at her; he wanted to be the reason she was smiling.
"Why are you staring at Y/n again?" Tsan’ti nudged him, a playful, knowing smirk on his face. "Focus, brother! There are five girls over there trying to catch the future Olo'eyktan’s eye, and you’re busy doing a head count of your sister’s friends."
"I am not staring," Neteyam lied, his voice like gravel. "I am... observing the perimeter."
"Right. And I’m a Leonopteryx," Tsan’ti laughed.
Neteyam stood to leave, needing to clear the fog of her from his brain, but he was immediately intercepted. Asïm and An’tem, two of the lead dancers, slid toward him like silk.
"Neteyam," Asïm purred, her hand sliding boldly onto his forearm, her fingers tracing the corded muscle there. "The night is young. Why leave the music behind?"
Neteyam froze. The touch felt invasive, wrong. His eyes instinctively darted across the clearing to see if Y/n was watching. She was. Her head was tilted, her expression unreadable—half-amused, half-observant.
Don’t look at me like I’m a prize they’ve won, he pleaded silently.
"Dance with us, my prince," the other girl whispered, leaning close enough that her breath fanned his neck.
Neteyam’s patience snapped. He pulled his arm back with a sharp, jarring motion. "It’s not happening," he said, his voice cold enough to cut through the humid night air. "I am not picking any of you. Find another partner."
One of the girls gasped, her lower lip trembling at the blunt rejection, but Neteyam didn't care. He turned on his heel, his eyes searching for Y/n, ready to walk over and reclaim his place by her side.
But the space beside her was no longer empty.
A young warrior named Hárim had slid into the spot Kiri had vacated. He was leaning in close—too close—whispering something into Y/n’s ear. And then, the sound that broke Neteyam’s composure: Y/n laughed. Not a polite, clan-gathering laugh, but a genuine, bright sound that belonged only to her.
Neteyam felt as though he had been struck in the solar plexus. The "brotherly" mask he wore cracked, revealing a raw, jagged jealousy that burned like acid.
"That’s Hárim," Kiri’s voice appeared at his shoulder, dripping with intentional mischief. "In case you were wondering who was making her enjoy the night."
"I wasn't wondering," Neteyam snapped, his tail lashing behind him, nearly knocking over a basket.
"And, oh, brother. He’s very romantic," Kiri continued, leaning against a post and watching her brother crumble. "He brought her a rare forest orchid earlier. I think she’s considering him. He’d be a strong mate, don't you think?"
Neteyam’s jaw tightened so hard it ached. He watched Hárim reach out and playfully nudge Y/n’s shoulder. Y/n didn’t pull away.
"She hardly knows him," Neteyam muttered, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"Oh, I don't know," Kiri hummed, adding the final spark to the flame. "Sometimes a girl just wants someone who isn't afraid to show he wants her. Maybe she's tired of waiting for someone else to open his eyes."
Neteyam didn't respond. He couldn't. His heart was drumming a war beat against his ribs. He watched Y/n smile at Hárim again, and in that moment, the "genius" prince realized he had been a fool.
He didn't want to be her guardian. He didn't want to be her brother. He wanted to walk over there, drag her away from the firelight, and make sure she never laughed at another man’s jokes for the rest of her life.
"She is mine to guard," he whispered to the shadows, his eyes locked on her.
"Then go guard her, big brother," Kiri smirked. "Before someone else takes the post."
Neteyam didn’t just walk; he prowled.
The heat of the bonfire was nothing compared to the slow burn under his skin as he watched Hárim lean closer to Y/n, his hand hovering near hers as he spoke. Every laugh that left Y/n’s lips felt like a needle pricking at Neteyam’s pride. He had spent years being the one she turned to, the one who earned those smiles. Seeing them gifted to someone else felt like a betrayal he wasn't prepared for.
"I have never seen that flower in this part of the forest," Y/n was saying, her voice soft and full of genuine interest. She was looking at a small, glowing blossom Hárim held out to her. "It’s beautiful, Hárim. You really went all the way to the high cliffs for this?"
"For you? I would have gone further," Hárim replied, his voice dropping into a tone that made Neteyam’s ears twitch.
"Y/n."
Neteyam’s voice broke through their bubble like a crack of thunder. Both of them looked up, and for a fleeting second, Neteyam felt a pang of hurt when he saw the flicker of disappointment on Y/n’s face at the interruption. She didn't look at him with her usual warmth; she looked at him like he was a stray gust of wind ruining a calm day.
"Neteyam," she said, her tone polite but distant. "I thought you were busy."
"They are gone," he said shortly, stepping into the space between them, his presence looming. He looked at Hárim, his gaze sharp and unforgiving. "The evening meal is concluding. My father requires a word with the young warriors regarding tomorrow's patrol."
It was a lie—or at least, a very loose interpretation of a command—but it worked. Hárim looked between the two of them, sensing the sudden tension radiating off the prince.
"Of course," Hárim said, standing up. He turned back to Y/n, his expression softening. "I hope to finish our conversation later, Y/n. Perhaps we can walk to the river tomorrow?"
Y/n smiled—a real, lingering smile that made Neteyam’s heart sink. "I would like that, Hárim. Thank you for the gift."
As Hárim walked away, the silence between Neteyam and Y/n grew heavy. She didn't look at him. She flicked the petals of the flower Hárim had given her, a small, thoughtful hum vibrating in her throat.
"You're being quiet," she noted, finally glancing up at him. "And you look like you’ve been eating sour berries. What is it, Neteyam?"
"You like him," Neteyam said, the words tasting like ash. He couldn't hide the hurt in his voice anymore. The "perfect heir" was gone, replaced by a boy who felt like his world was tilting on its axis. "You actually like him."
Y/n stood up, brushing the dirt from her legs. "He is kind. Fine. He listens. And he doesn't treat me like someone he has to lecture or a soldier he has to train. It's... nice, Neteyam. To be looked at differently."
Neteyam flinched. The jealousy that had been roaring in him suddenly quieted into something much more painful: realization. He had spent so much time being her "guardian" that he had forgotten to be her heart.
"I don't look at you like a sister," he whispered, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. The bravado was gone. His tail was low, and his eyes were wide, searching hers with a desperate sort of honesty. "I never have. I was just... too afraid of losing what we had to ask for what I actually wanted."
Y/n went still, her fingers pausing on the flower. "And what do you want, Neteyam?"
He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was feather-light, a silent plea.
"I want to be the one who brings you flowers," he murmured, dipping his head sideways ad his voice cracking with a sudden, overwhelming sweetness. "I want to be the one you laugh with. I want to... I want to court you, Y/n. Properly. If you’ll let me."
The air between them changed. The sounds of the feast faded into the background. Y/n looked down at the flower in her hand, then back up at him. A small, shy dimple appeared in her cheek—the one that only showed when she was truly happy.
"The high cliffs are a long walk, Neteyam," she whispered, her voice teasing but soft, her eyes shining with a hidden invitation. "And those orchids only bloom at dawn."
She didn't say yes directly, but she didn't walk away. Instead, she reached out and briefly, tentatively, let her fingers brush against his wrist—the same spot where the other girls had tried to grab him, but her touch felt like a blessing.
"I’ll be awake at dawn," she added, her voice a soft promise. "I suppose I could see what kind of gift a prince brings before I make up my mind about the river."
Neteyam felt the breath rush back into his lungs, his heart doing a frantic, happy dance. He watched her walk away toward her own tent, her steps light, leaving him standing there in the cooling embers of the fire, finally knowing exactly where he belonged.
This is super clichè lol. Tell me if you guys want a part 2!!
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