me myself and i

things my brain likes Masterlist

[ladynephthyss]

words to use when writing

Appetite:

craving, demand, gluttony, greed, hunger, inclination, insatiable, longing, lust, passion, ravenousness, relish, taste, thirst, urge, voracity, weakness, willingness, yearning, ardor, dedication, desire, devotion, enthusiasm, excitement, fervor, horny, intensity, keenness, wholeheartedness, zeal

Arouse:

agitate, awaken, electrify, enliven, excite, entice, foment, goad, incite, inflame, instigate, kindle, provoke, rally, rouse, spark, stimulate, stir, thrill, waken, warm, whet, attract, charm, coax, fire up, fuel, heat up, lure, produce, stir up, tantalize, tease, tempt, thrum, torment, wind up, work up

Assault:

attack, advancing, aggressive, assailing, charging, incursion, inundated, invasion, offensive, onset, onslaught, overwhelmed, ruinous, tempestuous, strike, violation, ambush, assail, barrage, bombard, bombardment, crackdown, wound

Beautiful: 

admirable, alluring, angelic, appealing, bewitching, charming, dazzling, delicate, delightful, divine, elegant, enticing, exquisite, fascinating, gorgeous, graceful, grand, magnificent, marvelous, pleasing, radiant, ravishing, resplendent, splendid, stunning, sublime, attractive, beguiling, captivating, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, eye-catching, fetching, fine, fine-looking, good-looking, handsome, inviting, lovely, mesmeric, mesmerizing, pretty, rakish, refined, striking, tantalizing, tempting

Brutal:

atrocious, barbarous, bloodthirsty, callous, cruel, feral, ferocious, hard, harsh, heartless, inhuman, merciless, murderous, pitiless, remorseless, rough, rude, ruthless, savage, severe, terrible, unmerciful, vicious, bestial, brute, brutish, cold-blooded, fierce, gory, nasty, rancorous, sadistic, uncompromising, unfeeling, unforgiving, unpitying, violent, wild

Burly:

able-bodied, athletic, beefy, big, brawny, broad-shouldered, bulky, dense, enormous, great, hard, hardy, hearty, heavily built, heavy, hefty, huge, husky, immense, large, massive, muscular, mighty, outsized, oversized, powerful, powerfully built, prodigious, robust, solid, stalwart, stocky, stout, strapping, strong, strongly built, sturdy, thick, thickset, tough, well-built, well-developed

Carnal:

animalistic, bodily, impure, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libidinous, licentious, lustful, physical, prurient, salacious, sensuous, voluptuous, vulgar, wanton, , coarse, crude, dirty, raunchy, rough, unclean

Dangerous:

alarming, critical, fatal, formidable, impending, malignant, menacing, mortal, nasty, perilous, precarious, pressing, serious, terrible, threatening, treacherous, urgent, vulnerable, wicked, acute, damaging, deadly, death-defying, deathly, destructive, detrimental, explosive, grave, harmful, hazardous, injurious, lethal, life-threatening, noxious, poisonous, risky, severe, terrifying, toxic, unsafe, unstable, venomous

Dark:

atrocious, corrupt, forbidding, foul, infernal, midnight, morbid, ominous, sinful, sinister, somber, threatening, twilight, vile, wicked, abject, alarming, appalling, baleful, bizarre, bleak, bloodcurdling, boding evil, chilling, cold, condemned, creepy, damned, daunting, demented, desolate, dire, dismal, disturbing, doomed, dour, dread, dreary, dusk, eerie, fear, fearsome, frightening, ghastly, ghostly, ghoulish, gloom, gloomy, grave, grim, grisly, gruesome, hair-raising, haunted, hideous, hopeless, horrendous, horrible, horrid, horrific, horrifying, horror, ill-fated, ill-omened, ill-starred, inauspicious, inhospitable, looming, lost, macabre, malice, malignant, menacing, murky, mysterious, night, panic, pessimistic, petrifying, scary, shadows, shadowy, shade, shady, shocking, soul-destroying, sour, spine-chilling, spine-tingling, strange, terrifying, uncanny, unearthly, unlucky, unnatural, unnerving, weird, wretched

Delicious:

enticing, exquisite, luscious, lush, rich, savory, sweet, tasty, tempting, appetizing, delectable, flavorsome, full of flavor, juicy, lip-smacking, mouth-watering, piquant, relish, ripe, salty, spicy, scrummy, scrumptious, succulent, tangy, tart, tasty, yummy, zesty

Ecstasy:

delectation, delirium, elation, euphoria, fervor, frenzy, joy, rapture, transport, bliss, excitement, happiness, heaven, high, paradise, rhapsody, thrill, blissful, delighted, elated, extremely happy, in raptures (of delight), in seventh heaven, jubilant, on cloud nine, overexcited, overjoyed, rapturous, thrilled

Ecstatic:

delirious, enraptured, euphoric, fervent, frenzied, joyous, transported, wild

Erotic:

amatory, amorous, aphrodisiac, carnal, earthy, erogenous, fervid, filthy, hot, impassioned, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, raw, romantic, rousing, salacious, seductive, sensual, sexual, spicy, steamy, stimulating, suggestive, titillating, voluptuous, tantalizing

Gasp:

catch of breath, choke, gulp, heave, inhale, pant, puff, snort, wheeze, huff, rasp, sharp intake of air, short of breath, struggle for breath, swallow, winded 

Heated:

ardent, avid, excited, fervent, fervid, fierce, fiery, frenzied, furious, impassioned, intense, passionate, raging, scalding, scorched, stormy, tempestuous, vehement, violent, ablaze, aflame, all-consuming, blazing, blistering, burning, crazed, explosive, febrile, feverish, fired up, flaming, flushed, frantic, hot, hot-blooded, impatient, incensed, maddening, obsessed, possessed, randy, searing, sizzling, smoldering, sweltering, torrid, turbulent, volatile, worked up, zealous

Hunger:

appetite, ache, craving, gluttony, greed, longing, lust, mania, mouth-watering, ravenous, voracious, want, yearning, thirst

Hungry:

avid, carnivorous, covetous, craving, eager, greedy, hungered, rapacious, ravenous, starved, unsatisfied, voracious, avaricious, desirous, famished, grasping, insatiable, keen, longing, predatory, ravening, starving, thirsty, wanting

Intense:

forceful, severe, passionate, acute, agonizing, ardent, anxious, biting, bitter, burning, close, consuming, cutting, deep, eager, earnest, excessive, exquisite, extreme, fervent, fervid, fierce, forcible, great, harsh, impassioned, keen, marked, piercing, powerful, profound, severe, sharp, strong, vehement, violent, vivid, vigorous

Liquid:

damp, cream, creamy, dripping, ichorous, juicy, moist, luscious, melted, moist, pulpy, sappy, soaking, solvent, sopping, succulent, viscous, wet / aqueous, broth, elixir, extract, flux, juice, liquor, nectar, sap, sauce, secretion, solution, vitae, awash, moisture, boggy, dewy, drenched, drip, drop, droplet, drowning, flood, flooded, flowing, fountain, jewel, leaky, milky, overflowing, saturated, slick, slippery, soaked, sodden, soggy, stream, swamp, tear, teardrop, torrent, waterlogged, watery, weeping

Lithe:

agile, lean, pliant, slight, spare, sinewy, slender, supple, deft, fit, flexible, lanky, leggy, limber, lissom, lissome, nimble, sinuous, skinny, sleek, slender, slim, svelte, trim, thin, willowy, wiry

Moan:

beef, cry, gripe, grouse, grumble, lament, lamentation, plaint, sob, wail, whine, bemoan, bewail, carp, deplore, grieve, gripe, grouse, grumble, keen, lament, sigh, sob, wail, whine, mewl

Moving:

(exciting,) affecting, effective  arousing, awakening, breathless, dynamic, eloquent, emotional, emotive, expressive, fecund, far-out, felt in gut, grabbed by, gripping, heartbreaking, heartrending, impelling, impressive, inspirational, meaningful, mind-bending, mind-blowing, motivating, persuasive, poignant, propelling, provoking, quickening, rallying, rousing, significant, stimulating, simulative, stirring, stunning, touching, awe-inspiring, energizing, exhilarating, fascinating, heart pounding, heart stopping, inspiring, riveting, thrilling

Need:

compulsion, demand, desperate, devoir, extremity, impatient longing, must, urge, urgency / desire, appetite, avid, burn, craving, eagerness, fascination, greed, hunger, insatiable, longing, lust, taste, thirst, voracious, want, yearning, ache, addiction, aspiration, desire, fever, fixation, hankering, hope, impulse, inclination, infatuation, itch, obsession, passion, pining, wish, yen

Pain: 

ache, afflict, affliction, agony, agonize, anguish, bite, burn, chafe, distress, fever, grief, hurt, inflame, laceration, misery, pang, punish, sting, suffering, tenderness, throb, throe, torment, torture, smart

Painful:

aching, agonizing, arduous, awful, biting, burning, caustic, dire, distressing, dreadful, excruciating, extreme, grievous, inflamed, piercing, raw, sensitive, severe, sharp, tender, terrible, throbbing, tormenting, angry, bleeding, bloody, bruised, cutting, hurting, injured, irritated, prickly, skinned, smarting, sore, stinging, unbearable, uncomfortable, upsetting, wounded

Perverted: 

aberrant, abnormal, corrupt, debased, debauched, defiling, depraved, deviant, monstrous, tainted, twisted, vicious, warped, wicked, abhorrent, base, decadent, degenerate, degrading, dirty, disgusting, dissipated, dissolute, distasteful, hedonistic, immodest, immoral, indecent, indulgent, licentious, nasty, profligate, repellent, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, shameful, shameless, sickening, sinful, smutty, sordid, unscrupulous, vile 

Pleasurable:

charming, gratifying, luscious, satisfying, savory, agreeable, delicious, delightful, enjoyable, nice, pleasant, pleasing, soothing, succulent

Pleasure:

bliss, delight, gluttony, gratification, relish, satisfaction, thrill, adventure, amusement, buzz, contentment, delight, desire, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement, fun, happiness, harmony, heaven, joy, kick, liking, paradise, seventh heaven 

Rapacious:

avaricious, ferocious, furious, greedy, predatory, ravening, ravenous, savage, voracious, aggressive, gluttonous, grasping, insatiable, marauding, plundering

Rapture:

bliss, ecstasy, elation, exaltation, glory, gratification, passion, pleasure, floating, unbridled joy

Rigid:

adamant, austere, definite, determined, exact, firm, hard, rigorous, solid, stern, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding, concrete, fixed, harsh, immovable, inflexible, obstinate, resolute, resolved, severe, steadfast, steady, stiff, strong, strict, stubborn, taut, tense, tight, tough, unbending, unchangeable, unwavering

Sudden:

abrupt, accelerated, acute, fast, flashing, fleeting, hasty, headlong, hurried, immediate, impetuous, impulsive, quick, quickening, rapid, rash, rushing, swift, brash, brisk, brusque, instant, instantaneous, out of the blue, reckless, rushed, sharp, spontaneous, urgent, without warning

Thrust:

(forward) advance, drive, forge, impetus, impulsion, lunge, momentum, onslaught, poke, pressure, prod, propulsion, punch, push, shove, power, proceed, progress, propel

(push hard) assail, assault, attack, bear down, buck, drive, force, heave, impale, impel, jab, lunge, plunge, press, pound, prod, ram, shove, stab, transfix, urge, bang, burrow, cram, gouge, jam, pierce, punch, slam, spear, spike, stick

Thunder-struck:

amazed, astonished, aghast, astounded, awestruck, confounded, dazed, dazed, dismayed, overwhelmed, shocked, staggered, startled, stunned, gob-smacked, bewildered, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, horrified, incredulous, surprised, taken aback 

Torment:

agony, anguish, hurt, misery, pain, punishment, suffering, afflict, angst, conflict, distress, grief, heartache, misfortune, nightmare, persecute, plague, sorrow, strife, tease, test, trial, tribulation, torture, turmoil, vex, woe

Touch:

(physical) - blow, brush, caress, collide, come together, contact, converge, crash, cuddle, embrace, feel, feel up, finger, fondle, frisk, glance, glide, graze, grope, handle, hit, hug, impact, join, junction, kiss, lick, line, manipulate, march, massage, meet, nudge, palm, partake, pat, paw, peck, pet, pinch, probe, push, reach, rub, scratch, skim, slide, smooth, strike, stroke, suck, sweep, tag, tap, taste, thumb, tickle, tip, touching, toy, bite, bump, burrow, buss, bury, circle, claw, clean, clutch, cover, creep, crush, cup, curl, delve, dig, drag, draw, ease, edge, fiddle with, flick, flit, fumble, grind, grip, grub, hold, huddle, knead, lap, lave, lay a hand on, maneuver, manhandle, mash, mold, muzzle, neck, nestle, nibble, nip, nuzzle, outline, play, polish, press, pull, rasp, ravish, ream, rim, run, scoop, scrabble, scrape, scrub, shave, shift, shunt, skate, slip, slither, smack, snake, snuggle, soothe, spank, splay, spread, squeeze, stretch, swipe, tangle, tease, thump, tongue, trace, trail, tunnel twiddle, twirl, twist, tug, work, wrap 

(mental) - communicate, examine, inspect, perception, scrutinize

Wet:

bathe, bleed, burst, cascade, course, cover, cream, damp, dampen, deluge, dip, douse, drench, dribble, drip, drizzle, drool, drop, drown, dunk, erupt, flood, flow, gush, immerse, issue, jet, leach, leak, moisten, ooze, overflow, permeate, plunge, pour, rain, rinse, run, salivate, saturate, secrete, seep, shower, shoot, slaver, slobber, slop, slosh, sluice, spill, soak, souse, spew, spit, splash, splatter, spout, spray, sprinkle, spurt, squirt, steep, stream, submerge, surge, swab, swamp, swill, swim, trickle, wash, water

Wicked:

abominable, amoral, atrocious, awful, base, barbarous, dangerous, debased, depraved, distressing, dreadful, evil, fearful, fiendish, fierce, foul, heartless, hazardous, heinous, immoral, indecent, intense, mean, nasty, naughty, nefarious, offensive, profane, scandalous, severe, shameful, shameless, sinful, terrible, unholy, vicious, vile, villainous, wayward, bad, criminal, cruel, deplorable, despicable, devious, ill-intentioned, impious, impish, iniquitous, irreverent, loathsome, Machiavellian, mad, malevolent, malicious, merciless, mischievous, monstrous, perverse, ruthless, spiteful, uncaring, unkind, unscrupulous, vindictive, virulent, wretched

Writhe: 

agonize, bend, jerk, recoil, lurch, plunge, slither, squirm, struggle, suffer, thrash, thresh, twist, wiggle, wriggle, angle, arc, bow, buck, coil, contort, convulse, curl, curve, fidget, fight, flex, go into spasm, grind, heave, jiggle, jolt, kick, rear, reel, ripple, resist, roll, lash, lash out, screw up, shake, shift, slide, spasm, stir, strain, stretch, surge, swell, swivel, thrust, turn violently, tussle, twitch, undulate, warp, worm, wrench, wrestle, yank 

[rori-ol]

honey come home the kids miss you😔😔😔😔

Honeyyyy, I'm home!!!! And I brought milk!!

Chapter Three of Between the Space Of Blood and Belonging is out!!!

[rori-ol]

The Space Between Blood and Belonging

Alpha!Neteyam x Omega!Reader

Chapter Three

Wordcount: 7.2k

Summary: Thrown into the chaos of an omaticaya celebration, reader is overwhelmed, on edge, and very much not okay—but somehow ends up anchored by Neteyam’s presence (which is… a problem). there’s tension, there’s territory being claimed without words, and there’s a quiet shift in how they start to see each other. and it all starts in the bath... and suddenly it’s not just survival instincts acting up anymore.

Warnings: Age up characters, Graphic depictions of war and violence, Trauma and PTSD, Omegaverse dynamics (A/B/O), Scent marking/scenting, Heat mentions (non-graphic), Survival situations, Emotional distress, slow burn enemies (ish) to something else, protective Neteyam, touch starvation, sensory overload/crowd anxiety, food insecurity themes, power imbalance undertones reader struggling with vulnerability, mild possessiveness/territorial behavior, grief mentions (family loss), tension so thick you could cut it ;P

Author's note: Sheeees Backkkkkk!!! sorry I've been busy with school! I haven't forgotten you guys. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter. I had so much fun writing it! More soon 😘

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The moment you step outside, the noise hits you like the weight of a mountain.

You had almost forgotten how alive the Ometicaya clan was.

Light from massive bonfires roars, just out of sight, in the central gathering space, throwing dancing shadows across dozens—no, hundreds—of Na'vi. Warriors laughed and shoved at each other, their movements loose with whatever they were drinking from carved wooden cups. Drums pounding a steady rhythm that you could feel echo in your chest. Voices raised in song—war chants, from the sound of it. Fierce and wild and celebratory.

It was completely overwhelming. Nevertheless, Neteyam was walking right towards the sounds and bright lights of the celebration, leaving you no choice but to follow behind him.

The closer he led you into the celebration, the more clear the shapes of the shadows from the bright light of the fire became. 

People were dancing to the beat and chanting of the people around them. Their bodies moving with the kind of fluid grace that came from years of practice, but there was nothing delicate about it. This was warrior dancing. All power and aggression and barely-contained violence channeled into movement.

“What’s the occasion?” You voice your question to Neteyam. Have you forgotten a holiday? Surely the clan doesn’t celebrate like this every night. 

Neteyam’s response is dry but full of pride, "Successful raid. No casualties.”

The information should make you feel proud. That here, in the Ometicaya, the Na’vi people were fighting back and were doing  so with great success, but the deep, poisoned wound that had been left on your heart from the failure of your own clan–the failure of yourself–was oozing with envy.

You try to rationalize that Neteyam wasn’t saying this to brag, that he was only answering the question you had asked him, but the honest truth he speaks feels like a calculated attack. 

All thought is casted away when a small weight is slammed into your leg–naturally a lethal sounding hiss falls from your mouth and your hand relatively reaches for your knife you had holstered only minutes ago–but when a child's laugh and a mumbled apology fills the air, you force your hand to fall to your side.

You can hear Neteyam chuckle from in front of you–which makes your tail involuntarily twitch–but he makes no move to stop and correct the child. So you have to catch back up to him in three long strides.

Children were weaving through the chaos, laughing and playing despite the apparent late hour. And it seemed you were only one of the many people inconvenienced by their rowdiness. Elders sat in groups, watching the festivities with approval but kept side eyeing the children playing tag throughout the celebration.

And everywhere—everywhere—there were people. Living, breathing, thriving people.

A couple kissing heavily in the shadows of the trees. A group of teens chatting loudly by the fire about how successful their raid was. Females giggling at attempts from the males at impressing them. An elderly mated pair, handing out food from a table nearby the fire. 

It was too much.

Too loud. Too crowded. Too alive.

You step closer to Neteyam before you can stop yourself. Close enough that the heat radiates off his body and into yours when his shoulder nearly brushes yours. Close enough that his scent helps center you in the overwhelming assault of everyone else's.

For a second you're embarrassed that you’ve just taken a big sniff of the man, but all the color drains from your face when his hand comes to rest on the small of your back.  

Ever so light and gentle. Truly a ghost of a touch, if that, as he guides your form slightly in front of him. It’s incredibly grounding and so, so comforting being in front of his massive frame and not behind him and you hate him for it. Anger sits deep in your chest as he guides you forward into the masses of bodies. You can’t stand how helpful his touch is and how much your needy body is betraying you by craving his touch.

You quickly realize however, that Neteyam's touch is the lesser of two evils.

No one else had tried to touch you, yet. Though several strong looking warriors–with even stronger glances and even some who were brave enough to move in on you– hesitate the second they catch sight of Neteyam's hand on you and his scent all over your body and divert. Hoping not to start a problem with the intimidating warrior that loomed inches behind your form. You don’t know who to thank, them for having been smart enough not to bother or Neteyam’s rank for allowing you some space from the masses; the semblance of the air your lungs were begging for. They were unknowingly giving you the gift of distance that Neteyam could not afford to give you.

The protection was obvious. Deliberate.

And it should have made you angrier. Should have made you want to shove his hand away and prove you could navigate this by yourself. But in truth, it was hard to be angry when you were so scared. 

Scared that the crowd of this many people would swallow you up and spit your weak, useless bones out.

Common sense was telling you to run, fast and far, but the warmth in the palm on your lower back pleaded you stay close.

So you listened.

You stayed close because of the intense need from your body, craving comfort, outweighed the fear you were walking into. You let him guide you. Let his presence carve a path through the chaos. Let his hand on you steady the beat of your trembling heart.

He led you to where food was laid out—massive quantities of it. Roasted meat that made your mouth water. Steamed root vegetables. Fruits. Flatbreads. Everything spread out on woven mats for the clan to share.

His touch left you then and hate spread back through your veins at the small whine that echoed in your throat. You were confused. So, very confused. It was like your body was reaching on its own. Like your brain was just along for the flight that your body was taking. 

The only indication you got from Neteyam that he had, in fact, heard your degrading whine was his slight pause and tilt of his ears as he approached the food. It was more than enough confirmation to be mortified. 

You watched in controlled silence as Neteyam grabbed a wide and thick leaf that served as a plate and began piling food onto it. He acted delicately. Loading the plate with enough food that would have fed you for a week in your home clan, his movements were efficient and purposeful.

The leaf plate looked as if it could hold no more without tearing in half, when you comment.

“Do you eat this much every night?” The disgust was evident in your tone. Just this leaf plate alone would have fed your mother and your sister for days.

He was a glutinous Tapirus pig.

He didn’t respond to your comment but did turn and hand you the full plate.

You hold back another wave of disgust as he starts to make another plate. He was greedy in your eyes, but as you take another look around the campfire you see lots of people full and happy with remnants of their meals left on abandoned leaf plates. 

How easily you forgot, that in this clan, food was not a rarity or something to be rationed. The people of the Ometicaya were a healthy and plentiful tribe that met the needs of every clan member. 

You hold the first leaf plate in shaky hands as Neteyam finishes placing food onto the second, clearly less full plate.

You motion the fuller plate back to him, thinking he just needed help holding his larger first position. As you wait for him to take back his plate, your eyes find a juicy-looking Yovo fruit, and your stomach growls again. There had been many nights where you would’ve split the palm-sized fruit for dinner with your sister, giving her the bigger half. The memory makes your mouth water. 

If he would just take his plate back you could eat the fruit for dinner.

"Eat," he said simply, interrupting your thoughts.

You stare up at him with annoyance. " I can't—take your plate back."

“That is your plate, pup.” He stares back at you with a concerning look. 

“What?” His words are as jarring as cold water on a hot day. “This is too much...”

Your voice trailed off. Guilt eating your insides. How could you be so selfish and eat all this food? The weight of the leaf plate in your hands seemed to triple. 

"You'll eat what you can." His tone left no room for argument. "Your body needs it."

With a firm hand he led your guilt-ridden body away from the food–before you could protest further–toward a less crowded area where several Na'vi sat in a loose circle. His hand never leaves your back.

"Neteyam!" A girl's voice called out. Kiri. She was seated beside a younger girl who had similar features to Neteyam—same strong build, though slightly smaller. Another sister, probably. "You're back! We didn't expect you until—"

Her eyes landed on you and widened. Flickering to Neteyam's hand on your back, then to your face, then back to Neteyam.

"Oh," Kiri speaks with calculated words after she takes you in. "Well, grandmother said you would be joining us late. She’s gone to bed now but we saved you–both of you, a spot."

The younger girl beside her—definitely a sister—smilled wide. "Neteyam! I missed you. Can you take me fishing tomorrow?—" Her eyes raked over you with open curiosity. "You’ve been gone so long. And you promised—"

"Tuk," Neteyam said flatly. "You know I will take you."

"I'm just saying, Nita ‘s brother has been taking her and I—"

"Tuk."

The younger sister held up her hands in surrender, but the grin never left her face. She had her older brother wrapped around her finger; you quickly decide. And the thought brought back memories of your own older brother going out of his way to keep you happy. The memory brings only pain, so you push it deep down inside.

Neteyam is a welcome distraction as he guides you to sit, then lowering himself beside you. Close enough that your thighs nearly touched. He sets his plate down in front of him and begins to eat.

Like a starving animal he in fact was. He moans in delight as the tender meat hits his lips and you can’t help but gawk at the juice that runs down his chin. 

Tearing your eyes away you stare at your own plate. The food smelled incredible and made your stomach cramp with hunger. But eating in front of strangers, in front of these people, in front of—

"Eat," Neteyam speaks again. Softer this time so only you can hear him.

It’s like his words are the answer to an unprompted question for permission to eat. The next thing you know you're diving into your leaf plate with a calculated precision, hoping it keeps people from looking at you while you eat. Keeps him from looking at you while you eat.

You pick up a piece of meat. Bring it to your mouth. And much like Neteyam–moan as the first bite explodes with flavor onto your toung—seasoned and cooked perfectly and you have to remind yourself it’s real. Real food after days–years– of nothing.

The moment you swallow, the pain you had learned to ignore in your stomach starts to dissipate. 

You forced yourself to take another bite. Then another. Refusing to acknowledge the two women sitting next to you. Refusing to look at Neteyam.

Your body needed this. Needs to fuel itself and you had little care about anything else in the whole world besides the pile of food sitting in your lap. 

Besides the mumble of conversation from Kiri and Neteyam’s younger sister, Tuk, you found yourself focusinging in on the sounds coming from Neteyam as he ate. Slurping and swallowing sounds were making it hard not to look over at him to see what exactly was on his plate that tasted so good. 

It was almost becoming unbearable to listen, your body was reacting without your consent again. His noises were causing an emotion akin to jealousy to settle into your body. You wanted to be the reason those noises were coming from him–

Wait.

No.

No, no, no. 

Kiri, bless her, seemed to sense your internal discomfort.

"Ignore him," she said, shooting her brother a glare. "He has no manners." She turned to you with a kind smile. "How are you feeling? I tried to bring you some food last night and this morning but you were out cold.

"Wait," you managed around a mouthful of food. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About a full day. You feeling okay?”

You hope your face doesn’t give away how sick you feel. A whole day? You thought you had been asleep for a few hours, not an entire day. All the food you’d just eaten threatens to come back up as you choke out an “I’m fine.”

"She's lying," Neteyam says calmly. "She hasn't eaten in days, flew for days straight, and passed out the moment she felt safe."

You shoot him a glare that he returns with a less-than-impressed smile and takes another bite of his food.

Kiri's expression softened. "Well, you're here now. You're safe. And tomorrow we can start getting you settled."

"Settled?"

"Into clan life," Kiri explains. "There are daily activities, tasks everyone contributes to. You'll probably be assigned to one of the groups—gathering, perhaps, or—"

"I'm a warrior," you interrupt. "I fight. That's what I do."

Silence fell around the semi-circle.

Tuk's hairless brows shoot up. Kiri's expression turns into an uncertain and concerned frown. 

"Omegas don't typically fight," Kiri says carefully. "Not in battle. They—"

"I've killed plenty of sky-people," you state with passion. "I'm not going to spend my days gathering while there's a war happening."

"That's not how we—" Kiri started.

"She'll train with the warriors," Neteyam cuts in.

All eyes turned to him.

"Brother," Kiri said slowly. "Father's not going to—"

"Father isn't here." Neteyam's voice was calm. Firm. "And when he gets back, I'll explain. She asked for Uturu. She's under our protection. That doesn't mean we clip her wings."

He looked at you, and something in his expression made your breath catch.

"She wants to fight? She fights."

The approval in his tone made something in your chest warm. And something in your mind turn dirty. Based on his words alone, it seemed the deal was official. A deal you had almost forgotten about too quickly. A traitorous purr starts in your chest. His confidence in you made you want things you had no business wanting. Like more of his approval. 

You forced yourself to take another bite of food before you could do something stupid and let the purr fall out of your mouth. Or thank him. Or smile.

Kiri was watching you both with a strange expression. Like she was seeing something that concerned her. Or maybe fascinated her.

"Well then," she said finally. "I suppose training starts tomorrow."

The meal continued with lighter conversation. Kiri asked careful questions about your journey—nothing too probing, nothing about your clan. You appreciated the restraint. Tuk made jokes that earned her several eyerolls from her sister. 

Through it all, Neteyam stayed close. His thigh ghosting against yours when either of you shifted too much. His scent wrapped around you like a shield against the overwhelming presence of the clan.

You hated how much you needed it.

Hated how much you wanted it.

When your plate was almost empty—when you couldn't force down another bite despite Neteyam's encouraging looks—he stood. Offering you his hand.

You ignore his outstretched fingers and stand on your own.

That fucking smile appears on his lips again. Like he'd expected exactly that from you.

"Come on," he said. "I need to wash this paint off before bed and you..."

He looks you over in thought.

Humiliation and insecurity roast your face with heat. When was the last time you had taken a bath? Washed dirt, grime, and blood off your skin? Washed your hair? The reality of how you must look—how you must smell—crashes over you with mortifying clarity. Days of flight. Dried sweat. War paint cracked and fading. Dirt crusted under your nails and in the creases of your joints.

You can feel yourself shrink under his gaze. Your ears pin back against your skull. Your tail drops, curling slightly inward in shame and embarrassment.

"OOO," Tuk's voice is high pitched as she begs, materializing beside you with the enthusiasm only a child could maintain this late. "Please Neteyam! Can I rebraid her hair? Pretty please! Kiri's hair isn't as long as hers—"

"Enough, Tuk." Neteyam speaks to his youngest sister with little care of how agitated his tone sounds.

The little girl's face falls, ears drooping. She looks between you and her brother with confusion—clearly unused to being dismissed by him so curtly.

"Bed," Neteyam says, softer this time. He reaches out to ruffle her braids. "You can pester our guest tomorrow. She's had a long journey."

"But—"

"Tuktirey."

The firmness in his voice—not quite an alpha command, but close—makes the child huff and retreat. But not before she shoots you one last curious, eager look.

"Your hair is really long though," she whispers with longing before scampering off.

The moment she's gone, Neteyam's attention returns to you. That assessing gaze that makes you feel stripped bare.

"The bathing pools aren't far," he says quietly. "Come."

It's not a request. 

The walk through camp is mercifully short, but every step feels like a march to execution.

The clan is still celebrating. Still drinking and laughing and living their unburdened lives. Their eyes track your movement—track Neteyam's hand that hovers near your lower back without quite touching, guiding you through the crowds.

More whispers follow in your wake.

Look at how he stays close to her. 

Already taking her to bathe. Bold. 

What’s so special about her anyways?

Your jaw clenches hard and your tongue rubs against the backs of your teeth in an effort to fight back the hiss that begs to be released at the strangers comments towards you.

The bathing area is separated from the main camp by thick curtains of woven vines and bioluminescent plants that cast everything in soft blue-green light. The sound of running water grows louder as you approach—a small waterfall feeding into a series of natural pools carved into stone.

Steam rises from the largest pool.

You can hear voices. Laughter. The splash of water. Several Na'vi are already bathing in the communal pools—their silhouettes visible through the vine curtains.

Your steps falter.

Every instinct screams danger. Vulnerability. Too many people. Too exposed.

Neteyam notices immediately. Of course he does.

"The communal pools are that way," he says, nodding toward where the voices are coming from. His tone is carefully neutral. "But there are private pools further up. For families. Mated pairs."

The implication sits heavy between you.

You want to argue. Want to snap that you're not his mate, that this whole charade is temporary, that he doesn't get to make decisions for you.

But the thought of stripping down in front of strangers—of being vulnerable and exposed while other Na'vi watched and judged and scented you—makes your skin crawl.

"Private is better," you bite out.

Something flickers across his expression. Satisfaction, maybe. Or approval.

He continues walking without another word, leading you past the communal area. The path winds upward, following the waterfall's flow. The sounds of other bathers fade behind you until there's nothing but rushing water and night sounds.

The private pool is smaller. More intimate. Fed by a thin stream of the waterfall that splashes over smooth rocks before settling into calm, steaming water. The bioluminescent plants here are denser, their glow reflecting off the water's surface in rippling patterns.

It's beautiful.

You hate that you notice.

You hate more that you're here. Alone. With him.

Neteyam moves to the edge of the pool, begins unlacing what remains of his battle gear with practiced efficiency. "I'll be quick," he says without looking at you. "You can wait over there until I'm done."

He gestures to a flat rock on the far side of the pool, giving you distance. Giving you space.

You should feel relieved.

Instead, something ugly and vulnerable twists in your chest. The thought of standing there alone—even just on the other side of the pool—while he bathes makes your throat tight. The thought of him leaving you, even for a moment, even just out of sight around the waterfall's curve, makes that same omega hindbrain that got you into this mess start screaming.

Alone. Vulnerable. Unprotected. Abandoned.

You shove the feeling down violently.

"Together," you hear yourself say.

The word comes out harder than intended. Aggressive. Like a challenge rather than a request.

Neteyam's hands still on his gear. He turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

Your face burns but you force yourself to continue. "If we're supposed to be—" You can't say the word. Can't voice the lie. "If the clan thinks... if someone sees us bathing separately, they'll talk. It defeats the purpose."

It's a logical argument. Strategic, even.

It's also transparent as fuck, and you both know it.

The truth—the truth you barely want to admit to yourself—is that the thought of being alone right now, even for the length of a bath, makes your chest tight with panic. The thought of him leaving, even just to the other side of a vine curtain, makes something in your omega hindbrain scream abandonment.

You've been alone for days. You've lost everyone. And despite everything—despite the bargain and the awkwardness and the way he makes your body react in ways you don't want—Neteyam feels like the only solid thing in a world that won't stop spinning.

His eyes search your face. You glare back, daring him to call you on the lie. Daring him to acknowledge the pathetic omega who can't handle being alone for ten minutes.

"Alright," he says finally. His voice has dropped lower. Careful. Like he's approaching a spooked animal. "Together. But rules."

"What rules?" The suspicion in your tone is sharp.

"You stay on that side of the pool." He points to the far edge. "I stay on this side. We wash. We don't talk. We don't look. We don't—" He gestures vaguely between you both. "We keep this practical. Understand?"

"I wasn't planning on—" Indignation flares hot in your chest. "I don't want—"

"I know." He cuts you off, but there's something strained in his expression now. "But you smell like—" He stops. Jaw clenching. "Your scent is loud right now. And I've been fighting for three days straight and I'm trying very hard to be respectful, but I—"

He cuts himself off again. Takes a breath.

"Rules," he repeats firmly. "For both our sakes."

Oh.

Oh.

He's affected. By you. By your scent.

The realization sends a complicated thrill through your body—part satisfaction, part fear, part something you refuse to name.

"Fine," you manage. "Rules."

The clinical nature of it all should be relieving.

Instead it feels like rejection, which is stupid because you don't want him, you just want—

What? What do you want?

That infuriating smile tugs at his lips. "Good."

You both undress with your backs to each other.

It should be practical. Efficient. You've removed your weapons and armor dozens of times before.

But your hands are shaking.

The weapons come off easily enough. Knife belt. Arm guards. Each piece you set aside with more care than necessary, hyperaware of every sound Neteyam makes behind you.

The soft rustle of leather. The quiet thud of his weapons being placed on stone. His breathing, steady and even.

Then you reach for your brother's necklace.

Your fingers freeze on the clasp.

It's just a bath. Just water. The necklace won't be hurt. You'll put it right back on after.

But the thought of taking it off—of being without its weight against your chest even for a moment—makes your throat close up.

Behind you, you hear Neteyam enter the water. The soft splash. A quiet hiss as the heat hits his skin, followed by a low groan of relief.

The sound does something to your omega biology that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

You force your fingers to work. Undo the necklace clasp with trembling hands. The weight lifts from your neck and it feels like losing him all over again.

Your brother. His hands tying this same necklace around his own neck every morning. His laugh. His stupid jokes. His fierce pride in becoming a warrior.

His body, broken and bleeding, painted with mourning white.

You set the necklace down with excessive care. Then your mother's chest band. Your sister's armband. Your father's sheath—now holding the bone blade you'd crafted from his killer's remains.

Each piece removed feels like shedding skin. Like exposing raw flesh to air.

By the time you're down to just your tewng, you're barely breathing. A steady stream of tears flowing down your face. 

"You planning to stand there all night?" Neteyam's voice carries across the pool. Not mocking. Just... present. A reminder you're not alone.

You hate that it helps.

"I'm coming," you mutter.

You undo your tewng with jerky movements. Let it fall. And before you can second-guess yourself, you stride into the water.

The heat is shocking.

It steals your breath. Makes your muscles seize for a moment before they begin to melt. The temperature is perfect—hot enough to burn away the chill that's lived in your bones for days, heated by some volcanic source beneath the stone.

You sink down until the water reaches your shoulders and can't stop the involuntary sound that escapes your throat.

Relief. Pure physical relief.

Across the pool, Neteyam makes a choked noise.

Your eyes snap open. He's turned away, shoulders tense, one hand gripping the edge of the pool with enough force that his knuckles have gone pale.

"Sorry," you bite out.

"Don't." His voice sounds strained. "Just... it’s alright."

Right. Alpha. Omega sounds. You keep forgetting that your biology broadcasts things you don't intend.

Silence falls.

You stay on your side of the pool as agreed. He stays on his. The only sounds are water and your own breathing and the distant celebration still happening in camp.

You should start washing. That's why you're here.

But the warmth is soaking into muscles you didn't realize were knotted. The heat is reaching places that have been cold and tight for so long you forgot what relaxation felt like.

You close your eyes. Let yourself float in a rare suspended second of peace; if even for just a moment.

"You doing okay over there? You’ve gone quiet."

Neteyam's voice makes you jolt. You'd almost forgotten he was there.

“Yeah, ‘m fine.”

When you look, he's still facing away. His war paint is already half-gone—purple and yellow running in faded streaks down his back. The scars visible on his skin stand out even more without the paint. His stripes are clear and stark against the lighter blue skin, even in the faint glow from the bioluminescent plants.

You force yourself to move–to stop ogling his tone and sculpted back and arms–grabbing the soap left on the pool's edge. The soap is made of some kind of herb mixture that smells clean and fresh.

The first pass over your skin turns the water around you murky.

You scrub harder. Watching days of grime and dried blood and evidence of your journey literally wash away. The water grows grey around you for a second before dispersing in the flow of the water. 

Your bullet wound scar pulls when you stretch wrong. The raised tissue above your hip protests the movement. You wince and suck in a deep breath.

"Are you hurt?" Neteyam's voice is sharp now. Alert from the sound of your pain.

"How many times do I have to say I'm fine." You growl out at him. He was being quite annoying. 

"I suppose I’m just imagining things, then." He retorts.

“Suppose so,” you mumble out knowing he can still hear your whispering tone from his stop across the pool.

It’s quiet for a moment longer until he whispers back. His voice is so soft you almost don’t catch his words.

“What hurts?” 

"Old wound." You don't look at him. Can't. "It pulls sometimes. It's nothing."

Silence.

Then another whisper, "How old?"

"Does it matter?"

"How. Old."

The command in his tone makes your spine straighten. Makes your omega biology want to obey even as you grit your teeth against it.

"A year," you bite out. "Give or take. Bullet grazed me."

More silence. You can feel his attention on you like a physical weight.

"You're lucky it was just a graze."

"I know."

"Human weapons are deadly—"

"I know," you snap. Louder. Harsher. "I was there. I bled. I survived. I don't need you to tell me how lucky I am."

Lucky. What a word. Lucky to have a scar. Lucky to have survived when so many others didn't. Lucky to be here, alone, the last of your clan.

So fucking lucky.

The water ripples. You tense, but Neteyam hasn't moved closer. He's still on his side of the pool.

Just... turned now. Watching you with those too-intelligent eyes from over the bulking mass of his shoulder.

"I wasn't trying to—" He stops, pausing, then starts again. "You're right. I'm sorry."

The apology catches you off guard.

You didn’t have much personal experience with alphas, but you were sure they wouldn't apologize. As much as you could remember being told they command, they take, they demand obedience and offer protection in return, but apologies?

Those are a weakness.

"Whatever," you mutter.

You turn your attention to your hair and immediately regret it.

It's a disaster.

Mats and tangles and what feels like half the forest woven into the strands. Your fingers catch on a knot immediately, and when you try to pull through it, pain lances across your scalp.

"Pxasìk," you hiss.

You try again. Same result. The mats are too tight, too close to your skull, and your arms are already shaking from exhaustion. Maybe you shouldn't've been so shocked at how long you had slept for. 

Your eyes burn.

This is stupid. It's just hair. It doesn't matter.

Except it does.

Because your mother used to braid your hair. Would sit with you for hours, patient and gentle, working through tangles while humming old songs. Your sister would watch, eager to learn, her small hands attempting to copy the patterns.

Both of them are dead now.

And you can't even wash your fucking hair without falling apart.

"Let me help."

Neteyam's voice is quiet. Careful.

"No." The word comes out too fast. Too defensive.

"You're about to rip half of it out."

"I can handle it."

"I can see your hands shaking from here."

Rage and humiliation war in your chest. "I said no."

"Please, I just want to help," He still hasn't moved. Still giving you space. "I won't touch anything else. Just your hair. That's it."

"Why do you even care?"

The question bursts out before you can stop it. Raw. Genuine.

Why does he care? You're nothing to him. A stranger. A burden his grandmother forced on him. An omega who attacked him in his own tent and then demanded his protection.

He owes you nothing.

Neteyam's expression shifts. Something complicated flickers across his face.

"Because you asked for Uturu," he says finally. Simply. "That makes you my responsibility. My clan's responsibility. And we don't let our people suffer when we can help."

Our people.

The words shouldn't hit as hard as they do.

You're not his people. Not really. This is temporary. A means to an end. You'll get your revenge and then you'll leave and none of this will matter.

But something in your chest still clenches at the phrase.

"Fine," you hear yourself say. Your voice comes out smaller than intended. "But just the hair. Nothing else."

"Just the hair," he agrees.

Neteyam moves through the water slowly. Deliberately. Giving you time to change your mind. To tell him to stop.

You don't.

He settles behind you. Close enough that you can feel his breath hit your shoulders. Close enough that his scent—woodsy and leather and alpha—wraps around you.

Close enough that every omega instinct you possess starts purring.

You shove those instincts down viciously.

"This is going to take a while," he says quietly. "The tangles are... bad."

"I know."

"Just... try to relax. I'll be as gentle as I can."

The first touch of his fingers in your hair makes your entire body go rigid.

"Easy," he murmurs, "I've got you." His breathy words send shivers down your spine.

He starts at the very end. Works up slowly, carefully, separating strands with a patience you didn't expect from a warrior. When he hits a particularly bad tangle, he doesn't yank. Doesn't force it. Just works at it gently, persistently, until it releases.

It's methodical.

Completely impersonal.

You don't know whether to feel relieved or insulted.

Minutes pass. The only sounds are water and your breathing and the quiet whisper of his fingers working through your hair.

Your shoulders begin to relax incrementally. The tension dissipates despite your best efforts to hold onto it.

"Who taught you this?" The question escapes before you can stop it.

"My mother," Neteyam says. "She used to do this for Kiri, my brother and me. Our hair would get matted after swimming or flying. Mom would spend hours working through it." A pause. "Kiri hated sitting still that long–which is why she keeps her hair so short– but I'd volunteer to help just to give Mom a break when it was longer."

You try to picture it. This lethal warrior prince patiently detangling his sister's hair while she squirmed.

The image doesn't quite fit with the male who threatened to teach you where to cut to make death slow.

"You're good at it," you admit grudgingly.

"I've had practice."

He's moved to the middle section now. Working upward with steady, careful progress. When his fingers brush against your scalp accidentally, you can't quite suppress the shiver that runs down your spine.

His hands still for a fraction of a second.

Then continue like nothing happened.

"Lean back," he instructs quietly. "Need to wet it more."

You hesitate only a moment before obeying.

The water closes over your head. His hand supports your neck—just your neck, nothing else—keeping your face above water while letting your hair float free.

When you sit back up, his hand withdraws immediately. You want to moan in displeasure. 

"Better," he says. "The water helped loosen some of the tangles."

He returns to his work. Applies soap this time—the same herb mixture you used on your skin. It smells fresh. Clean. Makes you feel like a new person, not the person who had been fighting for her just a few days ago. 

His fingers work it through your scalp in small, firm circles.

And oh.

Oh.

It feels so, so good...

You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to suppress the sound building in your throat. Trying not to lean into the pleasure of his fingers and their pressure on your scalp. Trying not to show how good it feels to be touched with gentleness instead of violence.

How long has it been since someone touched you like this? With care? With softness?

Sadness overtakes your body when you realize you can't remember.

"Almost done," Neteyam murmurs.

Is it your imagination, or does his voice sound rougher?

He works through the last section near your face. His fingers brush your cheek accidentally and you both freeze.

The touch burns.

Not with pain. With something else. Something you refuse to name.

You hear his deep inhale next to your ear, the sound making the muscles in your ear twitch. You can almost hear him processing the information he’s getting from your scent. Then you feel his exhale; his breath hits your face and neck, sending another wave of shivers down your spine.

"Sorry," he says quietly. His hand withdraws.

The loss of contact turns the water cold.

"It's alright," you manage.

"Rinse," he says finally, patting your head before moving back across the water.

You lean back again. Let the water wash away the soap and the last of the tangles and the careful, competent touch of his hands.

Distance reestablished. Boundaries restored.

You should feel relieved.

The hollowness in your chest suggests otherwise.

"Thank you," you force yourself to say.

"It was no problem."

More silence. Awkward now.

You both finish washing in quiet. The intimacy of the moment before dissolving into something stilted and uncomfortable.

By the time you're both clean—truly clean for the first time in days—the heavy weight of sleep is pulling your eyelids down.

"We should go," Neteyam says. He's not looking at you. "It's late. You need rest."

Right. Rest. In his tent. In his bed.

Fuck.

The reality of the situation hit you like cold water.

The tent. His tent. Where you'd slept before, yes, but that was different. That was collapsing from exhaustion, unaware of whose space you'd invaded.

This was walking back knowingly. With him. With the warrior whose scent just got scrubbed off of you, whose protection you were hiding behind, whose bed you'd already slept in.

The reality of sleeping beside an alpha who just touched you with more gentleness than you've felt in years.

Double fuck.

Neteyam moves first. Pulls himself out of the water in one smooth motion, muscles flexing as he lifts his weight. Water sluices down his back, following the lines of his spine, the curve of his—

You look away sharply.

Not fast enough.

Because now the image is burned into your brain. The breadth of his shoulders. The taper of his waist. The way water droplets cling to blue skin and trace paths down, down, down to—

Stop.

You stare determinedly at the far wall of the pool. At the bioluminescent plants. At anything that isn't Neteyam's body as he reaches for dry clothes left on the rocks.

The sound of fabric moving over wet skin makes your jaw clench.

This is ridiculous. He's just a body. Just a male. You've seen plenty of warriors undressed before—training, bathing, tending wounds. It means nothing.

Except your heart is beating too fast.

Except you can still feel the ghost of his fingers in your hair.

Except some traitorous part of your omega biology is paying very close attention to every sound he makes and wants desperately to turn around and look.

You crush that urge with vicious determination.

"You can get out now," Neteyam says. His voice sounds strained. "I'm... decent."

Decent. Right.

You haul yourself out of the water with significantly less grace than he'd managed. Your arms shake. Your legs feel like water themselves—weak and unsteady after days of abuse and the heat of the bath.

You nearly slip on the wet rock.

From the new angle, you can see the V-shape that disappears beneath the fabric. Neteyam catches you staring--you expect the smirk to appear back on his face, but instead his face looks tinted purple, and his ears look warm as the twitch. You don't have long to stare at the new look on his face because he quickly clears his throat and turns away. Giving you privacy.

Your mouth goes dry with the weird taste of disappointment.

Stop staring.

You pull yourself up and out of the water with a newfound speed.

You grab your own tewng with more force than necessary. Wrap it around yourself, acutely aware of how exposed you are as you start to tie it closed. Not caring that the water on your body is soaking through the thin material.

You try to focus on the task at hand- getting redressed- but now that the two of you are clean, Neteyam's scent is stronger and clearer than ever.

How his scent is stronger now. Cleaner. Without the war paint and grime masking it, the alpha pheromones are almost overwhelming.

Like warmer, heavier—like the forest air just before a storm breaks. The clean earth and sun-warmed bark deepen into something richer, touched with sharp salt and heat, while that faint sweetness grows more noticeable, almost intoxicating, and impossible to ignore.

Something clicks in your brain. Neteyam was aroused. How did you know that...

Why did you know that? You try to brush it off, but the thought lingers like an annoying bug.

You try to dismiss it as just your senses being overwhelmed—like your body is cataloguing things it never had to before, sorting through too much information in too little time. It’s the quiet of the pool, the lingering heat of his touch still ghosting in your hair, that makes everything feel sharper, too vivid, too hard to ignore.

And worse—you can feel it. Not just smell it. The awareness of him sits heavy between you both now, like something neither of you are acknowledging but both of you are absolutely aware of.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t—

You look.

Just a glance. Just for a second.

But it's enough to catch the curve of his ass as he bends to retrieve his cumberbund. The way the muscles shift beneath blue skin. The strength evident in every line of him.

Heat floods your face.

You snap your gaze away so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, heart hammering against your ribs.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

This is just biology. Just your omega hindbrain responding to an alpha in close proximity. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything.

You're here for revenge. For justice. Not to ogle the heir to the Ometicaya like some heat-addled—

"You alright?"

Neteyam's voice makes you jump.

"Fine," you bite out. Too sharp. Too defensive.

When you risk a glance at him, he's watching you with that unreadable expression. Like he can see right through your aggressive deflection to the confusion underneath.

Like he knows exactly what you were just looking at.

Your face burns hotter.

"I'm just tired," you add, hating how the excuse sounds.

"Right." Is that amusement in his tone? "Tired."

Fuck him.

You turn your attention back to getting dressed, hyper-aware of his presence behind you. Of the fact that he's probably watching you the same way you'd just been watching him.

The thought makes your hands fumble with the ties of your chest band.

Your mother's chest band. The one she'd crafted for you after your iknimaya. The leather is soft from years of wear, molded to your body.

Putting it back on feels like putting on armor.

Piece by piece, you rebuild your defenses. The chest band. Your brother's necklace—the weight settling against your neck like an anchor. Your sister's armband. Your father's sheath.

Each item returned to its place makes you feel more like yourself. Less like the vulnerable creature who'd just let an alpha wash her hair.

Less like the omega who'd been staring at his ass.

When you're fully dressed, weapons included, you finally turn around.

Neteyam is waiting. Also fully dressed and armed. His war paint is gone—his face bare for the first time since you'd met him. Without it, he looks younger. Softer around the edges, though no less dangerous.

His eyes are very golden in the bioluminescent light.

"Ready?" he asks.

No. Not even close.

"Yes," you lie. And manage a total of three steps back towards the camp before your feet grow roots. You can't believe you'd gotten this far without thinking about what would happen after the bath.

"Wait," you start. "I can't—"

"You can." He already knows you're about to protest before you can fully vocalize your concern. He’s all too willing to comfort you.  "And you will. Unless you'd prefer to sleep outside where any alpha with more balls than brains might decide to test grandmother's protection?"

Your jaw clenches. "I can defend myself."

"I know you can." His voice is maddeningly calm despite the heaviness in the air. "But you shouldn't have to. Not here. Not when you can be safe. In my tent."

He had a point. You hated that he had a point.

Hiiii hope everyone enjoyed!!! Here's the new and updated tag list!!! Let me know how you liked it!!

Tag list: @sweetiecherrypie15 @purple-ninja26 @jellyfrogz @saltedcoffeescotch @xoxogospgirl @stillhere197 @neteyamneteyam @shadow-man82 @sunshxne @aizawasprimarybabymama @bluevelveta @dumpster-heroin @blackityblackwoman @meowmeeps @snore-3 @cookietartz1 @readreceiptoff @ilove-nsfw @motersp0rt @queenmizuki @stillhere197 @hanatsuki-hime @white-olive @solmanel @halfbloodwriter @lover-of-fanfics2016 @sleepilysworld @buckybluebarnes @iliacnavi @retiredpieceofshits @yaya6765 @makingdovescry @shadow-man82

[rori-ol]

this is an insane thing to ask since you just put out chapter 2 but do you know what ur update schedule looks like for more chapters?

Hi, sooo in complete honesty, there isn't exactly a schedule. I am in my last semester of college and am writing this in my spare time...

THAT BEING SAID: I am trying to put out a chapter once a week!! I'm just as excited for you to read it as I am to write it, so I will try to be consistent <3

[rori-ol]

The Space Between Blood and Belonging

Alpha!Neteyam x Omega!Reader

Chapter Two

Wordcount: 5.9k

Summary: Waking to a presence in the tent, the reader's warrior's survival instincts take over—she attacks first, pinning the intruder with a knife to his throat. What follows is a charged confrontation where power, biology, and desperation collide. When she reveals her thirst for revenge against the RDA, Neteyam offers her a bargain: he'll give her the blood she craves and teach her how to make the sky-people suffer, but in exchange, she plays his mate to appease his grandmother.

Warnings: Age up characters, Graphic depictions of war and violence, Trauma and PTSD, Blood and injury descriptions, Omegaverse dynamics (A/B/O), Scent marking/scenting, Heat mentions (non-graphic), Survival situations, Emotional distress/mental health struggles. I think that's all for this chapter, please let me know if I forgot something!

Author's note: HIIII, miss you guys, sorry I've been busy with school! I haven't forgotten you guys. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter. I had so much fun writing it!

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Danger.

The thought pierced through sleep like an arrow, sharp and sudden and absolute.

Your body reacted before your mind fully woke. Years of sleeping with one eye open, of waking to attacks, of learning that hesitation meant death—all of it compressed into pure instinct.

Someone was in the tent.

Someone was close.

Your hand found the bone knife at your hip in the same breath you moved. No thought. No consideration. Just the fluid motion of a predator striking—rolling, twisting, using momentum to drive your weight forward.

The figure beside the bed barely had time to register your movement before you were on them.

You slammed into them hard, using your shoulder to drive the intruder backward. They went down with a grunt of surprise, and you followed, knees pinning their arms to the woven mat floor, thighs bracketing their torso. Your blade found their throat in the span of a heartbeat, sharp edge kissing the vulnerable skin just above their collarbone.

One slice. That's all it would take. Sever the artery and watch them bleed out. Quick. Efficient.

Better to kill first and ask questions later than fall victim to death.

Your hand tensed, ready to drag the blade across—

A growl ripped through the air.

Not a sound of pain or fear. A warning. Low and deep and resonating from the chest of the person beneath you with enough force that you felt it vibrate through your knees, up your thighs, into your very bones.

Alpha.

The sound hit your omega biology like a physical force. Your hand froze. Your body went rigid. Every instinct screamed contradictions—fight, submit, flee, obey.

The growl rumbled again, and this time you heard it. Not a threat. Not quite. Something else. Something that made your hindbrain pay attention in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

You finally looked—or tried to look—at who you had pinned. The light from earlier had shifted into darkness and save from some glowing lanterns in the tent, the room was covered in shadows.

Na'vi. Male. Warrior.

Even pinned beneath you, even with your blade at his throat, there was no mistaking what he was. This wasn't some scout or inexperienced fighter. This was a true warrior. The kind your clan elders used to speak of with reverence. The kind of warrior who had died in the first years of the war in your clan. 

He was big even in the dark you could tell that much. Broad shoulders that your knees just barely managed to pin. Muscled arms currently trapped under your legs, biceps seemingly thicker than your thighs. His chest rose and fell with steady, smooth breaths beneath your weight, and you could feel the coiled strength in him. Like a viper. Still, but only because he was choosing to be.

Scars decorated his body. Not the desperate, defensive scars of someone barely surviving; like the ones that littered your body. No. These were victory marks. Clean lines from blades. A puckered mark from a bullet on his chest that looked like it should have been fatal, but clearly hadn't killed him, only made him stronger.

You could just make out his war paint; purple and yellow in hick lines made their way across his chest and up his shoulders to his neck and face, covering some of his darker blue striped skin. The colors were smeared and faded on the tops of his cheeks and made the gold in his irises shimmer with life. 

And the scent. His scent. 

The same faded scent that had lulled you to sleep. Woodsy. Leather. High-altitude winds. Alpha. It was strong now. Almost burning your nose with every sharp inhale you make. 

You connect the dots too slowly for your liking. 

This was his tent. His bed. His territory.

And you'd just attacked him in it.

Your hand trembled slightly, the blade still pressed against his skin. You should move it. Should get off him. Should apologize or explain or—

But he hadn't moved.

That realization cut through the panic like ice water.

His arms stayed pinned beneath your legs. His body remained still. He could have thrown you off the moment you'd lunged for him—you could feel the strength in him, could see it in the way his muscles shifted subtly beneath blue skin. Could sense it in the way he held himself with the perfect stillness of a predator deciding whether to strike or not.

Your mind goes dark with possibilities.

He could have stopped you. Could have caught your wrist. Could have reversed your positions and pinned you instead, could have done whatever the fuck he wanted with the unmated omega who'd stumbled into his space.

And yet.

His arms stayed pinned. His body stayed still.

And a smug smile sat on his face.

Not fear. Not anger. Amusement.

Like this was funny.

Your eyes snapped to his face properly for the first time, and—

Fuck.

He was handsome and the shadows from the night only made his features stand out more. Stupidly, unfairly handsome. Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Amber eyes that tracked every micro-movement with an intelligence that made your skin prickle. His bioluminescent syuratan dot his face in a beautiful pattern, despite some being hidden by the paint on his face. Braids adorned with beads that caught the dim light coming from the seam of the tent flap. He was devastatingly attractive. The kind of face that probably had omegas tripping over themselves for his attention.

And he was smiling at you. Like you were entertaining. Like having a knife to his throat was the most interesting thing that had happened to him all day.

Your grip tightened on the bone blade. You pulled it back from his skin—not sheathing it, but pointed at him, still straddling his chest and keeping his arms pinned. A clear threat. A promise that you could strike again if needed.

"You think this is funny?" Your voice came out rougher than intended. Sleep-hoarse and sharp with adrenaline.

His smile widened. Showing his very sharp fangs and pearly white teeth. "Little bit, yeah."

His voice was deep. Smooth. Accented differently than yours but not unpleasant. And completely, infuriatingly calm.

Your jaw clenches as you grit out your next words. "I could kill you."

"Could have tried." Still smiling. Still watching you with those too-intelligent, golden eyes. "Would've been interesting to see, pup."

The arrogance of it made your blood boil. You shifted your weight, pressing your knees harder against his arms. Reasserting your position. Your dominance in this moment, even though everything about him screamed that he was allowing this.

"I am not a pup," you bite out. 

"Alright." He actually laughed. The sound rumbled up from his chest, rich and genuine. "What would you like me to use then? Syulang?"

"I am a warrior—" You leaned forward slightly, blade angling toward his throat again. "A Syulang?" You can’t help but scoff in his face. Nothing about yourself had been soft or flower-like in years. “Would you like me to show you how soft and petal like my blade is, hmm?”

Your words matched your actions as you bring the tip of the blade back down to kiss the spot on his neck where his artery sat throbbing and thumping. 

His eyes flickered—just for a moment—down your body. As if he just now cared to observe your position over him. Your weapons. Your armor. Possibly even the mourning paint still visible on your skin. The scars.

When his gaze returned to yours, something in his expression had shifted. Still amused, but... considering. 

The man beneath you takes a deep inhale and his eyes flutter shut. The edges of his nose twitch, so softly if you hadn’t been so close to his face, you might have missed the movement in the dark lit room. His eyes stay closed for a second longer, however when they open again you can’t help but notice how his pupils are blown wider. 

Confusion sets in as you watch the smile come back to his face, only this time it's more of a smirk. A smirk that suggests he knows more about you now, than before. Heat burns in your chest once you realise what he’s done. 

He just scented you. 

Your walls were down, so whatever he smelt– even micro emotions– were now his to use against you. Disgust pools in your stomach.

You hated how their clan still operated, like the trueborn pack creatures of the forest were designed to, using their smell to keep clan bonds tight –like Viperwolves– to sense each member's emotions and henceforth their next bodily reaction. You hated how your sense of smell was used for surviving and not a social norm you had ever experienced. You were out of your league in the Ometicaya; you were weak and stupid when it came to using your senses in that way and this man was exploiting that advantage. 

A growl rumbles from deep in your throat. So Weak. So useless. Your own biology was giving you away and you didn’t know how to stop it. 

The man below you doesn’t react to your growl. Doesn’t even flinch. He just watches you–eyes glued to your face–as he observes you processing your emotions. 

"You're the one who asked for Uturu," he states. Frustration bubbles up again in your chest, clearly he does know more about you, than you do about him. 

"What's it to you?" You dislike the insecurity in your voice when you answer. 

"This is my tent." He says it simply. Factually. Like it explained everything.

Your stomach drops. "They put me in an occupied tent?"

"Technically it's not occupied. I've been on a raid." That fucking smile never leaves his face. "But yeah. This is mine. Has been for years."

Horror and rage war in your chest. Mo'at had known. Kiri had known. They'd put you here deliberately. You had trusted them so easily, so stupidly, and they had betrayed you. An unmated omega in an alpha warrior's personal space was begging for trouble. And now—

Now here he was –trouble– and you were straddling him, and you could feel every inch of his toned body beneath yours, and your omega biology was screaming that this was an alpha, a strong alpha, a good alpha, and you needed to—

No.

No.

You refuse to let your mind be distracted by his pheromones; his body. You needed space to think. To focus. You started to pull back, to get off him, to put distance between your body and his, before your instincts could betray you further.

His hands move fast and smooth, confirming he's every bit the predator he looks like. 

You'd released his arms from beneath your knees when you'd pulled the knife back to distance yourself from the alpha warrior, and he used the freedom to catch your hips. Grabbing but not restraining. Just... steadying. Keeping you from scrambling off him in a graceless panic.

The touch sent electricity up your spine. His hands were strong and warm against the skin of your hips. You could feel the calluses from years of fighting and training as his grip slid down a fraction to find a better grip on you. To keep you close to him. You pray that from his viewpoint he can’t see the twitching, wag in your tail.

"Easy," he speaks softly. His voice dropping lower to be more soothing. The kind of tone that you’ve used on spooked animals. "I’m just as confused as you are… Came home from three days of fighting the RDA to find my tent smelling like—"

"What—" You hiss, body going unwillingly rigid on top of him at the mention of the RDA. 

From the looks of it, the man below you must think you're concerned about the obvious power exchange happening at the mention of this being his tent. But you’ve got bigger worries in mind than this being his tent. How close were the air breathers? If he had been gone for days–

The terror that overtakes your body is all consuming; like a rock sinking into the depths of the sea, never to be seen again. Breathing is suddenly harder, you have to focus on something… anything else.

His grip tightens on you and makes you focus back on the warrior beneath you. The warmth in his palms is like biting into fresh Yovo fruit on a hot day, cooling and relaxing. You fall into the distraction.

You finetune your body–your thoughts– to him. If he thinks you're worried about his tent then play into it, you think to yourself.

“Why,” you question. “Why place me there then?”

"Because," he responds gently to your question, "your one of my many grandmother's attempts at procuring a mate for her grandson. And putting a new omega in the future Olo'eyktan's bed sends a certain signal to the whole clan." 

Oh, well that’s not what you were expecting him to say–

Wait. Future Olo'eyktan? The words seep into you slowly. 

Future Olo'eyktan.

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes widened. Your brain scrambled to piece together information. Toruk Makto's clan. His sons were out fighting is what Mo’at has said. This tent—its luxuries, filled with trophies, positioned prominently in the camp. The way Kiri had reacted when Mo'at assigned it. The scent that had made your omega biology purr with safety.

"You're—"

"Neteyam," he offered, and the smugness is back in full force. "Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan. Eldest son of Toruk Makto."

He paused, and his smile turns absolutely wicked upon seeing the fear of recognition in your eyes.

"And you just pinned the heir to the Ometicaya to the floor and threatened to slit his throat with a knife."

His hands were heavy on your hips, now. Still steadying. Still touching you with a casualness that suggested he had no intention of moving them. And then his thumb started to brush up and down; up and over the ties of your tweng and the sensitive skin around it. Involuntary shivers crawl up your spine at the motion.

"So," he continued, eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker, something that made your pulse spike, "you gonna tell me your name? Or should I just keep calling you 'Syulang’?"

Your heart was hammering against your ribs. Too fast. Too hard. The kind of panic that came from being caught off-guard, from losing control of a situation, from being vulnerable.

And he knew it.

You watched his nostrils flare slightly. Scenting the air. Scenting you again. Your fear. Your anger. Your—

His thumbs shifted again. They were now doing small circles just above the top of your tweng. Gentle. Soothing. Except his touch shouldn’t be any of those things.

The tension in your shoulders eased fractionally before you could stop it.

What the fuck.

His expression shifted. Softened just slightly around the edges, though the amusement never quite left his eyes. "Breathe," he said quietly. Not a command. Not quite. But your lungs obeyed anyway, pulling in a deeper breath. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."

You mentally scoff at his words. There wasn’t much left in you to be hurt. Nevertheless, your body still obeys by taking in another breath. Deeper this time. And then three more, until your pulse slows enough for your brain to start working right.

You hated this. Hated that his touch was calming you. Hated that his voice was soothing something instinctive and pure animal in your omega hindbrain. Hated that you couldn't understand why it was working when you'd spent years learning to ignore your biology.

"Stop that," you snap, jerking back from his touch.

Except you were still straddling him. Still too close. Still drowning in his scent and the warmth of his body beneath yours.

His hands lifted from your hips immediately, palms up in a gesture of peace. But that knowing look never leaves his face. Like he understood exactly what was happening to you. Like he could read every shift in your scent, every micro-expression, every traitorous response your body was having before you could realise that your own body was betraying your thoughts, yet again. 

What was it with this man?

"Stop what?" The innocence in his tone was absolutely infuriating.

"Whatever—" You gestured sharply at him, at yourself, at the space between you. "—that is. Whatever you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything." Still that calm, reasonable tone. Still that slight smile. "You're just—"

"Don't." Your voice came out harder. Sharper. The blade in your hand angled toward him again. You couldn’t bear to hear him call you an omega. Not when you were so, so much more than that. "Don't treat me like some stupid girl who doesn't know when she's being manipulated."

Something flickered across his face. Respect, maybe. Or interest. "Fair enough."

You needed distance now. Needed to think. Needed to get off him and figure out what the fuck was happening and why Mo'at had put you in this specific tent. This needed to be handled fast, so you could focus on the reason you truly came. You had no time to be a toy this clan could play with.

You shifted your weight to stand, and he let you go. Didn't try to hold you. Didn't reach for you again. Just watched as you climbed off him and backed up several steps, knife still in hand.

He sat up slowly, deliberately. Non-threatening. His movements were fluid, controlled. Every inch the trained warrior he was seemingly bred to be. He stayed seated on the floor, making no move to stand. Keeping himself physically lower than you.

A calculated choice to appear less threatening.

Which somehow made you trust him less.

"Why?" The word came out harsh. Demanding. "Why did they put me here if this is your tent? If you live here?"

Neteyam's expression sobered slightly. He regarded you for a long moment, and you could practically see him choosing his words. Calculating how much to tell you.

"The Ometicaya have rules," he said finally. "Old rules. Traditions that have kept us strong."

"Your traditions mean shit to me. Answer the question honestly."

His jaw tightened fractionally. He didn’t seem to like the insinuation he was lying. The first sign of irritation you'd seen from him. Good. You preferred him annoyed over amused.

"Unmated omegas are fair game," he speaks bluntly. "Any alpha can attempt to claim them. Challenge for them. Take them."

The words hit you like a physical blow.

Take them.

Your fingers tightened on the bone knife, keeping it positioned in front of your body. "Willing or unwilling?"

"Historically?" His eyes never leave yours. "Both."

Ice flooded your veins. Horror and rage and a sick understanding crash over you in waves.

"The warriors I saw staring at me," you said slowly. "When I arrived. They weren't just curious."

"No. Most likely not."

"They were deciding—" You force your voice steady, but can’t help the crack in your tone. "They were deciding if I was worth the trouble of claiming."

"Some of them, yeah." He said it so calmly. Like it was normal. Like it was just another fact of life in the Ometicaya.

Your vision swims with red. "And you let this happen? You let your warriors just—just take omegas who don't—"

"I didn't say I agreed with it," Neteyam interrupted sharply. The first real edge in his voice. "I said it was tradition. The old way. My father has been working to change it, but change takes time. Especially with the elders."

"That's not good enough." You were shaking now. With a new rage. With a new fear. With the realization of just how much danger you'd willingly walked into. "I came here for sanctuary. For help. Not to be—"

"You're safe," he cut in, and his voice had dropped to that soothing tone again. But this time there was steel underneath. Certainty. "You're safe because you're here. In this tent."

You stared at him. "What does that mean?" The words come out coated in detestment.

"You asked why grandmother put you here." He gestured at the space around you. At his weapons. His trophies. His territory. "Traditionaly the most eligible alpha gets first claim to new ‘mega’s. Your here because of who and what I am to this clan. My rank. My title. My claim to..."

You could feel the words he was leaving unsaid. My official claim to you.

"I don't understand." And you truly didn’t. How could you asking for uturu possibly mean that you would have to willingly put up with this hierarchical bullshit. You wanted bloody, crimson revenge not to fall into rank with this clan. The Ometicaya were supposed to be your salvation and now it is starting to seem more like it’s own type of personal Hell to you. 

Neteyam shifted to a crouching position, his weight shifting to his toes. The new position did little to calm you. He looks even more massive in this new position, light casking onto his silhouette–highlighting his physique that now looked posed to strike–to chase.

"It means," he said carefully, "that by putting you here, grandmother made it very clear that you're under my protection. Any alpha who wants to challenge for you would have to go through me first."

The implication settled over you like a heavy cloak.

"And they won't," you said slowly. "Because you're the heir. Because you're—"

"Because I'm the most dangerous warrior in this clan after my father," he finished. Not bragging. Just stating a fact. His causal tone irked every bone in your body. "Because I've killed more sky-people than anyone except Toruk Makto himself. Because challenging me would be suicide, and everyone knows it."

He was protecting you. Mo'at had placed you in the one location where no other alpha would dare touch you.

But that meant—

"I slept in your bed," you said, and your voice sounded distant to your own ears. "I'm covered in your scent. The whole clan is going to think—"

"Yeah." He scratches the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. "That's... going to be a thing."

Horror and humiliation war in your chest. "They're going to think you're claiming me. That I'm yours."

"For the time being, yes."

"And you're just—okay with that?"

"I'm okay with you being alive," he said flatly. "I'm okay with you not being dragged off by some alpha twice your size who doesn't give a shit about consent. I'm okay with grandmother using my reputation to keep you safe." He pauses only for a second, as if the weight of his next words were just something else for him to carry. "I am the next Olo'eyktan, I care deeply about the protection of my people. That includes you now. So regardless if I have to kill the sky-people or protect you from egotistical alphas, then so be it. I’ll always get the job done."

You wanted to scream; wanted to rage. Wanted to reject all of this, the protection and the implications and the sheer arrogance of him deciding you needed saving.

"When you asked for Uturu," Neteyam continued, and his tone had gentled again but still cared an edge to it, "you agreed to follow our rules. Our laws. Grandmother took it upon herself to assign you to me, partly because of tradition, but also because she is insistent on me finding a mate. Until you find a mate you actually want, you're with me."

The words triggered something violent in your chest.

"I don't need a keeper," you snarled, and you were moving before you thought about it. Closing the distance between the two of you. Blade angled at his throat again. "I don't need you to protect me. I've been surviving just fine on my own."

He didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just looked up at you with those too-knowing golden eyes.

"I don't want a mate," you continued, and your voice was shaking with fury. "I don't want protection. I don't want any of this. I want revenge. I want the sky-people who killed my family to burn. I want to watch them bleed and scream and die, and I want to be the one holding the knife when it happens."

The silence in the tent was loud after you finished your rant. You could feel the weight in the room shift as Neteyam regarded you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.

Not the smug smile from before. Something sharper. More feral. Understanding.

"Finally," he said softly. "Something we agree on."

Your blade wavered. "What?"

"You want revenge?" He tilted his head slightly, baring his throat to your knife in a gesture that should have been submissive but somehow wasn't. "Good. So do I. So does every warrior in this clan. That's what we do. We hunt the sky-people. We make them pay for every inch of our land they've tried to steal. For every Na'vi they've killed."

He leaned forward slightly, finger tips gently resting on the ground, and his eyes were blazing now–something familiar. Golden and intense and full of the same rage that burned in your chest.

"You want to watch them burn? I'll hand you the torch. You want to make them scream? I'll teach you exactly where to cut to make it last. You want revenge?"

His smile widened, showing sharp teeth.

"Welcome to the Ometicaya, sevin. We specialize in it."

The words sent a thrill down your spine that had nothing to do with fear.

Everything to do with something else entirely.

Your breath caught. Heat flooded through your body—sharp and sudden and wrong because this wasn't the time, wasn't the place, wasn't—

But the image his words painted was intoxicating. The promise of revenge. Of justice. Of finally, finally making the sky-people pay for every loss, every death, every moment of suffering they'd inflicted.

The thought of it made something deep in your core throb with anticipation.

With need.

Not the heat-need your omega biology sometimes whispered to you in the dead of night. This was different. Darker. The need to see blood spilled. To hear screams. To watch the light leave the eyes of those who'd destroyed everything you loved. To claim victory over the oppression and horrors that had been casted onto you.

And he was offering it to you.

Neteyam's nostrils flared.

His pupils dilated.

The change in his expression was instantaneous—that once lazy amusement sharpening into something exclusively predatory. Something dangerous. His eyes tracked over you with new intensity, and you watched his jaw clench. Watched the muscles in his shoulders tense.

He'd scented it. Your excitement. Your attraction to his offer.

Fuck.

"You—" His voice came out rougher. Lower. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again there was something raw underneath the words. "You really mean it. The revenge. It's not just anger talking."

"I told you—"

"No, I know." He crawled forward on his hands and feet like an animal stocking its prey, and the movement brought him closer. Too close. Close enough that you could see the way his pupils had blown wide again. Could smell the shift in his scent—something sharper, muskier, alpha responding to omega interest. "I can smell it on you. How much you want it. How much you need it."

Your hand tightened on the bone knife as he leaned into its sharp edge. "Stop scenting me."

"Can't help it." His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. Something more intense. "You're broadcasting loud enough that half the camp probably knows you're—"

He stops abruptly and pulls back. Dragged his eyes away from you with visible effort.

But the damage was done. His pheromones had already hit your nose—thick and heady and screaming alpha, strong, dangerous, capable. Everything your omega hindbrain insisted you should want. Should need.

The urge to drop to your knees was overwhelming.

To straddle him again. To press close and take what your biology was screaming you needed. To—

No.

NO.

You needed to keep those thoughts far, far away. Needed to find something to talk about; to lighten the wave of desire that had suddenly taken over your body. 

You take a step away from him, back brushing up against the walls of his tent. You hadn’t realised just how far he had moved to follow after you; the bed was now across the room. But there he was just a breath away, crouched like he might be worshiping the ground you had just been standing on.

“A bargain.” Your voice is a shaky whisper now, but this time it has nothing to do with fear. 

“What?” Neteyam leans in ears tilting to hear you better. Eyes focusing in on your mouth.

“A deal,” you have to clear your throat to speak. Choking down the desire that is clawing up your throat in an effort to sound more certain. “We should make a deal.” 

The smirk appears back on his lips. His tail waves behind him in excitement or anticipation, at your suggestion. “What kinda deal?”

You force your shoulders to square and your spine to straighten. Based off the look on his face, you must choose your next words carefully. 

“The kind of deal that gets us what we both want.” 

His head tilts when he speaks, “And what’s that, Syulang? Blood?” He assumes and scuffs, “I don’t need anything from you to spill blood.”

“Right, but you seem annoyed by your grandmother about this mate situation.” The words fall from your lips so fast you can’t help yourself as the next words follow. You just hope he will believe them, because you don’t. “I’ll play house with you, to get her off your back.”

“Play house?” He laughs out. “What an offer from such a brave little omega. Is that what you think I want?”

“Look,” you bit out. “Clearly, I need more from you than you do from me.” The truth of the situation hangs in the air and leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You can’t believe the game you're about to play with the prince of the Ometicaya. You were going to have to admit to both Neteyam and yourself, how much you actually needed him. You were about to show him just how weak you were.

“I don’t want a mate. I want blood,” you restate the obviouse. “You can give me blood and keep the alp–” the words die on your tongue. “You can keep the others away. I don’t have much to offer you but…” You leave the sentence hanging in the air. “I can play mate and get your grandmother off your back so you can be free of her nagging.”

What else could you even offer an alpha warrior who can have whatever and whomever he wants. This deal might not even be sweet enough for the warrior prince of the Ometicaya.

The tent is silent for a long minute as the man before you observes every little thing about you. It takes genuine effort to keep you back straight and not fall to the floor in a ball and sob at the intensity of Neteyam’s gaze upon you.

“Alright,” he stands to his full height as he begins to speak. “I’ll make a deal with you. My needs are different from yours though. So don’t agree to this lightly.” 

He closes the last little bit of distance between you again and you have to look up to maintain eye contact with him. Your back fully touches the wall of the tent, and you feel like a caged animal. No, you are a caged animal and Neteyam was the one holding the key.

What little space that exists between the pair of you is now laced with the dense air of desire.

“What do you want?” The words are barely a whisper in the wind but they carry the suggestion of surrender.

His voice hits your ears like nectar to the tongue of a Direhorse .

“If you want to play house with me,” he pauses, voice full of want as his eyes fall down your body. “That means being my rut partner. I have no time to waste in this war. Handling my rut by myself isn’t proficient and hooking up with random omegas is tireless. It takes days if not a full week to get through alone but with a partner it's gone in a day or two. Would you agree to that, ‘mega?”

A gasp leaves your mouth and Neteyam breathes it in. His growl echoes in the tent. There is no doubt in your mind he already knows–smells– how you feel about that. Scared and excited. The conflicting emotions cloud your brain. 

You had never had a heat partner before; it had been so long ago that you had even experienced a heat that you were too young to even have a partner and no male had ever asked you to help them through their rut. The thought provokes something foreign in you, that you struggle to name until it becomes clear: lust. 

Between the tension in the air and the heat you can feel coming off Neteyam, the thought occurs to you at how easy it would be to fall into the trap he was setting for you. How easy it could be to let him have his way with you.  If you were any weaker you might have caved right then and there, but fear pushed the idea deep and far away into the back of your mind.

You had to focus on the bigger picture, not on the throbbing in between your thighs. If you could play your cards right–if you could manipulate Neteyam just enough to get what you wanted then leave the clan– what could be so bad about being his rut partner. 

“If I agree,” You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. This man is a stranger. “I–

Your stomach growls.

Loud and long. Completely destroying whatever moment had been building between you.

Neteyam's head snaps down to look at the source of the sound. His expression shifts immediately from a predatory intensity to something else. His eyes narrow, and he is backing away from you, creating the largest distance from him you’ve had since tackling him to the ground earlier.

"When did you last eat?" It’s not a question but a demand.

You blinked at the sudden change in conversation; in his actions. "I—what?"

"Food. When?" He was already moving, grabbing something from a pile near his sleeping furs. A woven bag. "When the fuck did you last eat?"

The anger in his voice catches you off-guard. This wasn't the amused, smug warrior from moments ago. This was something else. Something almost... concerned.

"I don't—" You tried to remember. The morning before the attack? Before your sister died? "Two days, maybe? Three?"

The sound he made was somewhere between a growl and a curse.

"Come on." He strode toward the tent entrance, then paused. Looked back at you with an expression that brooked no argument. "And stay close. Don't wander off."

It wasn't a suggestion.

You should have argued. Should have told him you didn't take orders. Should have reminded him you weren't some helpless omega who needed supervision or protection for that matter.

But something in his tone made you obey. And the previous conversation was leaving you full of doubt and confusion. Your body sure did feel like some helpless omega.

Maybe it was the alpha command. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that your stomach was currently trying to digest itself.

Yet you followed after him.

SOOOOO like what did you think? Are we vibing? I would really apricate ur feed back and engagement! Reblog, comment, and like if you can!! Let me know if you want to be tagged!!

Tag list: @sweetiecherrypie15 @purple-ninja26 @jellyfrogz @saltedcoffeescotch @xoxogospgirl @stillhere197 @neteyamneteyam @shadow-man82 @sunshxne

[rori-ol]

Just letting you know that I'm absolutely foaming at the mouth over The Space Between Blood and Belonging! Watching the slow downfall of her clan was so heartbreaking and then the juxtaposition when she first arrived at the Omatikaya Clan!! Wow!! I felt that! I can't wait to read the next chapter, if you're still planning to post it! I've been on an Avatar kick and finding an a/b/o fix in that genre is 👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

I am so glad you're eating this story up!! I plan on releasing the next chapter sometime this week... soooooo hold out just a few more days tehe? I can tag you if you want!!

[dearestnatty]

Nvm I lied put your clothes back on we are gonna watch all three of the maze runner movies and I will explain the lore in full detail

[rori-ol]

The Space Between Blood and Belonging

Alpha!Neteyam x Omega!Reader

Chapeter One

Wordcount: 4.7k

Summary: After losing everything to the RDA's relentless attacks, a battle-scarred omega warrior seeks out the legendary Toruk Makto, driven by the singular need for vengeance. But when she arrives at the thriving Ometicaya clan, she finds he's away—and that her presence as an unmated omega stirs more attention than she bargained for. Exhausted and hollow with grief, she's granted temporary sanctuary and given shelter in a tent that hasn't been occupied in quite some time.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of war and violence, Character death (family members, including children), Grief and mourning, Trauma and PTSD, Blood and injury descriptions, Child soldiers, Omegaverse dynamics (A/B/O), Scent marking/scenting, Heat mentions (non-graphic), Survival situations, Emotional distress/mental health struggles, Suicidal ideation (secondary character), Descriptions of burn injuries/fire, Mentions of bones as trophies/weapons I think that's all for this chapter, please let me know if I forgot something!

Author's note: Heyyyy, it's been a very, very long time since I last posted. I felt inclined to write a story like this because I couldn't find what I wanted to read and then suddenly remembered that I could write what I wanted to read... lol. Anyways, this will be a slow-burn story, and I have multiple chapters written, so if you like this chapter, let me know!! I can post more if you want!!

Also, I really don't like the use of y/n, so when I might give the reader a name (if it's necessary to the plot at some point)

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Since the age of thirteen, you had come to know life as painful and full of loss. The years before the return of the sky-people were hard to remember. Logically, you knew you had been content–happy even, as a child, but the years of bad memories far outnumbered the good now. 

There was a time when you had mourned the soft, younger version of yourself. Mourned the version of you that had been looking forward to the simple things. Such as the start of training. Passing your iknimaya. Celebrating your presentation with your family and friends. Finding a mate. All such simple, mundane things…

And yet, while those events had happened, they were not joyous occasions. 

No. 

The RDA had made sure that life was unbearably hard. Too hard to be happy. 

The start of your training took place earlier out of necessity. So many people were dying from the war. Children who were old enough to carry a weapon were asked to step up to help defend their home. It became essential to wield a weapon–for you, a bow and a knife–just to survive a walk in the woods. To protect your younger siblings and clan members. You had just turned fourteen then. Your muscles weak; your body thin. 

When the time came to claim your ikran, it was no longer just about becoming an official warrior, but about having the ability to flee the RDA faster, higher than they could chase you. The passing of your iknimaya was a necessity, a new requirement to survive. 

The dream of flying the skies with the same heartbeat as the mighty animal had come true. Except, the yearning for the freedom to fly to the edge of the forest–to see the ocean– had become a distant fantasy. There was nothing freeing about fleeing for your life or flying into battle, hoping–praying to Ewya, that you might live long enough to fight the next battle. Praying that you might live long enough to hug your family one last time. 

In another life, you would be embarrassed and full of shame at how good you had become at running for your life. A warrior should stand their ground and fight. But you had seen enough death to know when to give up. When to leave. You had developed an advoident style of surviving.

Together, you and your ikran, Leya, had become very good at retreting. Fast and proficient. Flying quickly and smoothly above trees, through the crevices of the flying mountains, above the clouds.

Someitmes you could almost taste the freedom, just there, on the tip of your tongue. Like a word about to be spoken. In the moments of stillness that came from flying above the clouds. Leya’s strong wing beats would level out and a loud, windy silence would settle over the two of you. There was nothing in moements like this. No commands. No explosions. No war. Just the fleeting presence of peace. 

Those moments had become rare: far and few between.

By the age of fifteen, you had become the main source of protection for your two younger siblings. The job had once been split between you and your older brother, but when he died in battle against the sky-people, the weight of his loss fell heavily on your shoulders. 

That was the first time you had painted the white kxetuve line of mourning down the center of your body. 

A body that had become a killing machine. 

You weren’t skinny and frail anymore. The years had begun hardening you. Muscles had grown where they previously hadn’t been. Your legs now taut with stamina to carry your body nimbly through the forest. Your arms and shoulders tense with lethal precision; always ready to aim for the kill. 

Killing the sky demons got easier the more you did it. Poison-coated arrow tips did most of the work; even if the hit wasn’t clean, they would eventually die. Even so, no matter how many humans you killed, they seemed to come back faster, and with their metal abominations were killing off your clan faster than you would comprehend. 

The longer the war went on, the more devastating the losses were. Death had become a friend to your clan.

Bones rattled against themselves, hung in patterns on new garments. Some even had them braided into their kuru’s. The warriors around you wore the human bones with pride. It was an honor to wear so many; to have killed so many. You might have participated in the trend; however, your mother demanded you never adorn the alien ones. 

And you obayed her wishes for a while.

By the next year, you had lost your father and youngest sibling. You didn’t even have time to truly mourn them. No, wave after wave of the aliens came, bringing death and destruction with them. The RDA had begun burning the forest around your clan in an effort to force your clan from their home. From your home. 

The white paint had become as familiar as the yellow and purple war paint. In fact, the white paint had become a second skin. A layer of emotional armor to coincide with your physical armor. 

Just like your paint your armor also hardly left your body.

A traditional necklace of muted teal and bone-toned river stones—once belonging to your older brother—rested heavy against your slender neck. A leather chest band, crafted by your mother after your iknimaya, crossed your torso, doubling as a sheath and resting atop a green, beaded chest covering that echoed the earthy tones of the leather loincloth at your hips. Soft purple riding leggings clung to your legs, their surface marked by wear. Your younger sister had made you an armband as well, adorned with two feathers—one deep violet and one pale yellow—to mirror the colors of your war paint and ikran. You treasured every gift they had given you, but your favorite piece of armor was the sheath you kept after your father’s death.

You took great pride in replacing his knife with a bone balde you had spent weeks crafting out of the remains of the human who had killed him. That had been the first time you had dragged the killing out for your own pleasure. 

If your mother had been displeased at the alien bone you wore daily, she never mentioned it.

By the age of sixteen, the size of your clan had been cut in half in just two years time. 

Traditional celebrations were slipping through the cracks. Effort and time could no longer be wasted on pretty weaving and dancing. Everyone was making sacrifices in hopes that the aliens would give up or die out.

Your presentation was not a clan-wide celebration, like it once should have been, but a quaint meal with your two surviving family members in your family’s hut. 

You hadn’t even been excited when you had presented as an omega. 

At one point, the clan would have called you a gift from Eywa. Your second gender was considered a sacred honor; Eywa’s promise of the next generation secured in your body.

Now survival meant lasting the day, not the procreation of the next generation. 

During war being an omega was less than ideal. 

Your first heat was a war in itself. The pain was unbearable. Heat and sweat coated your body. Your senses shifted. The smell of the people around you shifted; their pheromones appeared louder, sharper than before. The change was an assault to your nose. Shifts in vocal tone had made your body have a physical reaction that only the angry tone of your deceased father could have elicited. Obedience. 

Maybe in some other life, you could have lived out the delicate tradition of going through your first heat with a potential mate. Spent days alone together, feeling out the new changes in your body with soft embraces. But that was not reality. 

No, reality was sudden and rough and all consuming. War waited for no one; granted no reprieve from its constant drumbeat. You fought your way through bodies of pink skins while your biology fought its way through you. 

The years following your presentation were harder. Stress had caused your body to stop going into heat. Which you were glad about; in war, there was no time to be incapacitated with throbbing pain and aching need. There was no need for your body to bring you more pain when the pink skins flourished in their afflicting torment.

By your twentieth year, there were almost as many scars on your body as stripes. Some small injuries, from training too hard or scraping your body against the rough bark of the forest trees when bolting from unwinnable battles. Others, like the one on your left side just above your hip bone, were bigger and deeper. You had been nicked by a bullet and had almost lost your life from the blood loss. The wound had resulted in a raised scar that you preferred to keep hidden under the ties of your green, leather tewng. 

You had developed a true hatred for the metal machines they used to slaughter your people. If it weren’t for the seemingly endless bullet rounds the pink skins had and their metal flying birds, you were sure they wouldn’t have even lasted this long. If they fought like real warriors, with skill and knives instead of cowering in their metal skins and their skin walker suits, they wouldn’t last very long on Pandora. That much you were sure of. 

Humans fight dirty and kill dirty too. They never went for a clean kill. Never spoke to Eywa for guidance. No, they killed for no reason and cared little about how their actions affected the forest. How they had they affected you. 

The kxetuve mourning line hadn’t left your body in all that time. Every time it faded, there seemed to be a new reason to repaint it on your body. Loss was felt each time you had to apply fresh paint…it was hard to keep track of when one friend's death was repainted over by the loss of a fellow warrior. 

And now you had another reason to freshen up the pigment.

A fresh wave of tears was seemingly never-ending despite the wind’s effort to instantly dry them. 

You had been crying for days now. The most recent attack from the sky-people had been devastating. They had attacked while your camp was sleeping. There had been no time to prepare or to defend. 

The cries of your mother echoed loudly in your head. 

You had awoken to her screams.

To your little sister's last breath. 

To the sounds of skin walkers raiding and killing off the last of your people. 

You had begged, pleaded, and implored your mother to flee with you. But she was more than broken; she was lost. After so much grief–the death of her first son, then her husband, then her most recent child, and now her youngest daughter lay dead in her arms–she could take no more. Her eyes, once bright and golden, had been turned dull. Between her screams, she whispered for you to go–to flee; to leave her to die and finally be with the rest of her family. 

You had felt like a child. Not the warrior you were. You were a coward and left sprinting–and soon flying– as fast as you could instead of fighting like you should have. 

That had been nearly two days ago. Leya was begging for rest through the bond; she was tired from the endless flying. You were sore from sitting for so long and wanted to stop just like her, but you were scared to stop. 

You needed to find toruk makto.

You need revenge. 

The thought was the only thing keeping you going. The thirst for blood–for justice–was all-consuming. It outweighed the hunger in your belly and the pain from the windburn on your face. You craved senseless, brutal, savage violence. 

The younger, softer version of you would be terrified of the monster you were willing to become. 

You would have to kill off the last little pieces of her that still lived in you. And if you had lost that soft, innocent version of you for the justice of your younger siblings who would never reach the age of sixteen; for your older brother who you had aged past; for your father who died protecting your clan; for your mother who had given her children to a senseless war; then you would kill off every soft and weak verson of yourself. You would become harsh, rigid, and lethal to avenge their lives. 

You lost count of the different types of terrain you had flown over.

You couldn’t remember when the forest had turned to water, but now the shoreline before you had shifted into another woodland jungle without much time to register the abrupt change in landscape.

Your body ached, protesting every shift in position as Leya descended lower.

The blue ocean that had stretched endlessly before you, its waters darker than you had imagined in all your childhood fantasies, was now a green sea of trees taller and brighter than you had expected. 

Just a little further, you told yourself, though exhaustion made your vision blur at the edges. Just a little more.

The Ometicaya clan came into view gradually—first the massive Hometree rising like an ancient sentinel, then the movement of Na'vi below. So many Na'vi. The sheer number of them made your chest tighten. You hadn't seen this many people alive in one place in years.

Their lives continued. Training. Laughing. Living. Like the war was something distant. Manageable.

The sight of it twisted something violent in your gut.

Leya's landing was far from graceful. Her legs nearly buckled as her feet touched the ground, and you dismounted more like falling than descending. Your own legs shook, muscles screaming from days of sitting astride her back.

The moment your feet hit earth, the noise hit you like a physical force.

Voices—so many voices—shouting, laughing, calling to one another. The clash of weapons from sparring warriors. The thud of bodies hitting dirt. Somewhere, someone was singing a war chant, deep and rhythmic, and others joined in with aggressive harmonies that made your skin prickle.

The Na'vi around you didn't just stop their tasks to stare. They turned. Warriors mid-spar froze with weapons raised. Hunters with fresh kills slung over their shoulders pivoted to track your movement. Even the children stopped their games, wide eyes fixed on you.

You must have looked feral to them. War paint faded and smeared. Mourning line stark against your blue skin. Eyes red-rimmed and wild. Covered in days of grime and dried sweat and blood that wasn't all yours.

Your hand instinctively went to the knife at your hip—the bone blade made from your father's killer was more comforting than you might care to admit—fingers wrapping around the handle.

A low murmur rippled through the crowd. You caught fragments of words. Omega. Alone. Look at her war paint. Is she one of ours? 

The weight of their stares made your shoulders hunch. Made you want to bare your teeth. These people were whole. Their clan was thriving. Their warriors were strong and unbroken and looked at you like you were something strange. Something other.

Everything about them screamed what you weren't. What you'd failed to be.

Your clan was dead. Your family was dead. And you had run.

Survivor. Failure. Coward.

"I need to speak to Toruk Makto." The words came out harsher than intended, your voice hoarse from disuse and crying. Your accent was different from theirs, shaped by a different forest, a different way of speaking. "Now."

An older woman approached, her movements slow and deliberate. She carried herself with the kind of authority that didn't need to be announced—power that radiated from her very bones.

This clan’s Tsahìk you assumed. The title fit her like a second skin. Behind her, a younger woman followed as if she were the older woman's shadow. 

But it was the crowd pressing closer that made your pulse spike. Too many bodies. Too much noise. The scent of so many Na'vi—alphas, betas, omegas, all mixing together in a cacophony that assaulted your nose after days of nothing but wind and Leya's familiar musk.

Your fingers tightened on your knife.

"I am Mo'at, Tsahìk of the Ometicaya," the elder woman said, her eyes sharp as they cataloged every detail of your appearance. Every scar. Every weapon. The mourning paint. Her gaze seemed to pass right through you. Like she was looking into your soul. "This is Kiri, my granddaughter. Toruk Makto is not here.” 

Of course he wasn't here.

Of course.

You had flown for days. Days. Pushed Leya past exhaustion. Fled your mother's corpse and your sister's cooling body and the ashes of your home. And he wasn't even here.

The laugh that escaped your throat was sharp and broken. Several warriors shifted, hands moving toward weapons. You couldn’t care.

"When will he return? Who leads in his absence?" The desperation in your voice made you sound young. Weak. You hated it.

"When Eywa wills it," Mo'at replied, her tone giving nothing away. "What is it you seek, child? His son speaks for him in his absence.”

“I must speak with him then.” You can’t help but growl out in frustration. Child. The word scraped against your pride like a blade. You hadn’t felt or been innocent like a child in many, many years.

“He and his brother fight the sky-people as we speak." Her voice never wavers in tone as she answers your questions.

"And when will they return?” You demand.

The Tsahìk doesn’t answer right away. She tilts her head and, with a hum, begins to circle around you like a predator. 

You straightened your spine despite the trembling in your limbs. Despite the way your vision swam. Despite the crowd pressing closer with their whispers and their stares and their wholeness.

She was assessing you. Decided if you were even worth giving any information to. Only once she's completed a full circle around your weak, shaky form does she speak.

“They will be home by tomorrow evening.” She holds eye contact with you for what feels like a lifetime before you realise she wants an exchange of information. 

The disappointment and frustration of the situation tasted bitter on your tongue. You had flown for days with the singular focus of finding him. Toruk Makto. Jake Sully. The warrior who had done the impossible—tamed Toruk, the great leonopteryx that hadn't been ridden in four generations. The alien who had traded his life to become Na'vi rather than stay with the sky-people he had arrived to pandora with.

Stories of him had reached your clan even in the darkest days of the war. Whispered around fires. Passed between warriors. Legends that felt too grand to be real, and yet the evidence of his existence was undeniable.

He had united the clans. United them. Something no one had accomplished in living memory. Rode a beast of pure fury and death itself into battle against the sky-people and won. Drove them from Pandora with nothing but the will of Eywa and the strength of the people behind him.

Your older brother had spoken of him with reverence before he died. Had said that if anyone could save the Na'vi, it would be Toruk Makto. That he was a lethal legend—a warrior unmatched, tactical and brutal in equal measure. He didn't just fight; he destroyed those who threatened his people.

You had clung to that hope. Through every loss. Every death. Every moment you thought you might break. The thought that somewhere, Toruk Makto was still fighting—still winning—had kept you going.

And now you were here, and he was gone. Off fighting while you stood hollow and broken before his Tsahìk, surrounded by his strong, living, thriving people.

People who looked at you like you were a ghost.

Maybe you were.

"I seek Uturu." Your voice came out flat. Empty. "My clan is gone. I am all that remains."

The murmuring around you grew louder. You caught more fragments now. She seeks uturu? Sole survivor? Her whole clan? 

The girl Tsahìk called Kiri shifted beside her. Her expression shifted to something soft. Sympathetic. It made your skin crawl. You didn't want sympathy. You wanted revenge. You wanted the sky-people to burn the way your home had burned. You wanted them to scream the way your mother had screamed.

Mo'at's expression remained unreadable, but her eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—narrowed slightly. You watched as she scented the air, and her gaze sharpened further.

"You are omega."

Not a question. A statement. Another assessment.

Around you, the whispers exploded. Alphas in the crowd shifted, their postures changing. Some leaned forward, seemingly interested in the Tsahìk's observation. Others stepped back, wary. You could feel their attention like insects crawling across your skin.

"Yes." You lifted your chin, defensive, aggressive. Daring any of them to make it a problem.

Mo'at exchanged a look with Kiri that you couldn't decipher. The silence stretched long enough to make your teeth grind.

Was there something you didn’t understand? Why was your second gender so important?

"And unmated," Mo'at said, and somehow it sounded like an accusation. 

The crowd's reaction was immediate. Shock rippled through the gathered Na'vi like wind through leaves.  Clearly and unmated omega was wrong to them.  Apparently shameful, even. Given the number of people who stepped further away from you. 

Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "There was a war," you bit out. "Mating was not a priority when survival—"

"I understand," Mo'at interrupted, though her expression remained severe. "But you must understand our customs. An unmated omega of your age...it is unusual. It will draw attention. Challenges for you."

Challenges. Of course. You hadn't even considered—

Alphas here probably had rights. Claiming rights. The Ometicaya were thriving, which meant their traditions were intact. Their social structures were unbroken by war. Which meant unmated omegas were probably claimed young, properly courted, and bonded according to ancient customs you'd never had the luxury of following.

Which meant you walking in here unmated, unclaimed, smelling of no alpha, was probably the equivalent of ringing a dinner bell.

Fuck.

"I can fight," you said quickly, and your hand was still on your knife. Still ready. "I have killed more sky-people than I can count. I have survived unimaginable battles. I am not some delicate—"

Mo'at silences you with a raised hand. 

Your mouth snaps shut. It takes the rest of your willpower to keep a frustrated growl inside your throat. This was not a battle of strengths but a test of submission. Obedience. Willingness to obey their clan's hierarchy of leadership. 

You hated it. Hated how your biology was seen first and your skill second. Hated how you were willingly subjecting yourself to be reduced to a weak version of yourself that was helpless, all for the sake of claiming uturu. Claiming uturu for the chance, Toruk Makto will help avenge your clan–your family. 

Mo'at's expression softens, just slightly. "I will grant you temporary uturu. The law is sacred, and you have asked. But you will follow our rules while you are here. Until the Olo'eyktan returns and decides rather to grant you permanent uturu, you will respect our ways."

Relief should have flooded through you. Should have made your knees weak. But all you felt was hollow. You were going to have to play a role to fit in here. Another sacrifice of your character you were willing to make for vengeance.

"Thank you, Tsahìk," you managed. The words tasted like ash.

"Kiri will show you where you will stay." Mo'at turned to her granddaughter, and something passed between them. A look you couldn't read. "The large tent near the edge of the gathering space. It has not been used in some time."

Kiri's eyes widened. "Grandmother, that's—"

"It is available," Mo'at said firmly. "And it is far enough from the main camp to give our guest some... peace."

Mo’at turned to dismiss the gathered crowd. She mumbles a few words to a girl much younger than you. The girl nods and starts to make her way past you and towards Leya. You go to stop her, but a hand on your shoulder stops you.

"Go. Rest," Mo'at said, her tone slightly gentler now. "You look as though you might collapse where you stand. We will speak more when you have slept."

“My ikran…” You trail off, watching as the girl starts to untie your ikrans' saddle straps.

“Nita will take care of her. Now go.” Tsahik’s tone leave no room for argument. 

So you find yourself following Kiri through the clan's settlement, and it was wrong. All of it.

The Ometicaya didn't just survive—they thrived. Their tents were well-made, sturdy, decorated with trophies and weavings and signs of life. Warriors sparred with a viciousness that spoke of skill, not desperation. Their strikes were precise, practiced, and confident. Not the frantic fighting of people who expected to die.

You passed a group of young warriors—barely older than you—laughing as they wrestled, their bodies covered in scars that they wore like badges of honor. Scars from victory. From surviving battles they'd won.

Children ran through the paths, playing with toy ikrans, their laughter high and bright and so fucking innocent it made your chest ache.

Everywhere you looked, you saw what you should have been. What your clan should have been.

Strong. Whole. Alive.

The weight of eyes followed you. Whispers trailed in your wake like smoke.

Omega. Alone. Unmated. Survivor. Failure.

That last one you supplied yourself.

The tent Kiri led you to was far more spacious than you expected. Luxurious, even. Woven mats covered the floor, soft and carefully crafted. Weapons hung on the walls—a bow with arrows that looked like they could tear through metal, several knives with edges so sharp they caught the light, a spear that had seen use. All well-maintained. All belonged to a warrior who clearly knew their worth.

Furs were piled in one corner, creating a sleeping space that looked absurdly comfortable compared to the hard ground and cold stones you'd grown accustomed to.

Trophies lined the walls. RDA dog tags. Pieces of shattered equipment. And bones. Human bones, carefully cleaned and displayed.

This wasn't just any warrior's tent.

This belonged to someone important. Someone lethal.

"This is..." you started, uncertain.

"It's available," Kiri said quickly. Too quickly. Her eyes darted away from yours. "You can rest here. I'll bring you food later, okay? Just... just rest."

She left before you could ask questions. Before you could protest. The tent flap fell closed behind her, and you were alone.

Finally and blessedly alone.

The silence pressed down on you like a physical weight.

You stood frozen in the center of the tent, surrounded by signs of a warrior's life. A successful warrior's life. Someone who fought and won and came home to comfort and safety and a clan that celebrated their victories.

Everything you weren't.

Everything you'd failed to be.

Your legs gave out just as you reached the edge of the furs and you collapsed onto the thick, padded bed, and the scent hit you immediately.

Alpha.

Strong and woodsy with undertones of leather and high-altitude winds and something sharper— something you couldn’t seem to name, maybe some type of oil. It was overwhelming after days of nothing but your own fear-sweat and Leya's musk.

This was an alpha's space, but the scent was faded, and with one last look around the room, you decided that whoever had lived here hadn't been home in a long time. The thought made you unreasonably sad. 

You should leave. Should demand different accommodations. Should drag yourself back to Mo'at and insist on being placed somewhere—anywhere—else. 

You couldn’t stay in the home of a deceased warrior. This hut belonged to someone’s dead son, to a dead brother. It was wrong to stay, but your body had other ideas.

The exhaustion was too much. The furs too soft. And despite the faint foreign scent—or perhaps because of it—something in your omega biology insisted this was safe. Protected. An alpha's den–even a dead one–meant security. 

Your eyes slipped closed against your will.

Just for a moment, you told yourself. Just long enough to catch my breath. To gather my strength.

But the moment you relaxed into the furs, your body made the decision for you. Sleep dragged you under like a riptide, swift and merciless and ruthless.

You didn't even remove your weapons.

The bone knife pressed against your hip, the bow across your back dug into your shoulder blades. Your armor stayed laced tight, a second skin you couldn't bear to shed.

You were safe for now, and that was enough.

MUHAHA!!! Did you like? Is it good? How do you feel? I've been writing this for a while, and I'm excited to get feedback!! Is anyone interested in where this might be going? I know there is no Neteyam this chapter, but TRUST I am setting ya'll up GOOD.

[rori-ol]

Hello ! May I ask for a Neteyam x Metkaniya reader, daughter of Ronal and Tonowari, and they hate each other so much the entire clan k’ows them for their arguments, and there is kinda a annual celebration but no one wants to dance with her due to her temper and being the oldest terrifying daughter of the Tsahik and Olo’eyktan. So Neteyam go ask her for a dance, to the surprise of everyone himself first ?

Bonus if you could add the reactions of their families :)

Heat of the moment

Neteyam x Metkaniya! F!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: Since the arrival of the Sully's your life had been unbarable. Between constantly having to look out for the clueless forest Na'vi, Neteyam and you had been at each others throats. Now three months into living with the darker blue Na'vi, it is time for the annual bonfire. Where the unexpected happens, Neteyam asks you are a dance.

Warnings: Language

Note: I really like this request! Hope I did it justice! Enjoy!

Masterlist

It had been another long week for you. Full of work and no free time. Though your parents, the clan leaders, had great reason for their eldest daughter to be busy. This weekend was the annual bonfire to celebrate the highest peak of the tide all year. It was normally a great time to be a Metkaniya. Filled with lots of food and dancing and a huge fire that lasted the whole night.

Mother called it a time of miracles, due to the high tides the reef blooms with new life. A time of budding romance. And while your younger siblings might buy into that whole idea, you certainly did not. The only miracle you needed was for your parents to get off your back about training and Neteyam to disappear back to the forest.

As the oldest of Ronal and Tonowari, it was your job to be the next Tashik in training. While that wasn't really your favorite choice as a occupation in the clan, you knew you had to put your love for fighting aside. The needs of the people are greater than the needs of one, said your father on multiple occasions. It was now drilled into your head.

That didn't affect its effects on your personality however. You weren't cruel by any means, just very hard on people. Giving almost unrealistic expectations. You could say that is where the problem started between Neteyam and you. Your high expectations of him.

As the eldest son of Jake and Neytiri, you thought he was too week. Too soft. Too shy and soft spoken to have the title he had been birthed with.. Though he tried to prove you wrong on many occasions, your mind had been made up. Neteyam was too weak to understand the obligations of your people and by default too weak for you to associate with.

Neteyam on the other hand just couldn't understand you. You gave everyone, sometimes even your siblings such a cold shoulder. Too stubborn it seemed to give out kindness. When he first met you, he was excited to meet someone who was so similar to himself. His excitement soon faded seeing your lack of empathy to him and his family. He began to hold a grudge on you due to your lack of understand, they were all trying hard to fit in here.

After one too many arguments, that almost became fights between the two of you both of your families decided it would be better for everyone if the two of you avoided each other. And avoid you did. Anytime either of you caught a glimpse of each other you turned and went the other way. At group dinners, all eye contact was avoided.

However, due to the importance of the bonfire coming up, Neteyam and his sibling new duties seemed to overlap with yours and your siblings. So you decide you must bite your tongue at all cost to save your parents more humiliations from their viper of a daughter Though that might be an impossible goal for you.

It was just days before the bonfire and life around the clan seemed to be buzzing. Your parents put you in charge of clearing the beach for more room to accommodate the size of the party. The task its self would only take a day and a half to complete due to help from your siblings. Though the Sully kids were also tasked with gathering wood for the fire, so unfortunately for you, lucky for everyone else, both sets of siblings would have to be around each other.

Getting started right away, you began to start chopping down smaller trees around the area. This didn't surprise anyone. What didn't surprise you were their disappearance half an hour later. They were all so lucky to not have as much responsibility you think. Still busy clearing out the small plants near the sand. You rather enjoyed the silence that was left with you.

You work for about another half hour until your drenched in sweat. The suns rays warming you up. The rest of the group is still missing, so you don't think twice before you make your way to the water. The cool water feels nice on your body as you wade deeper into the ocean. You stop about chest deep and plunge under. Fully submerged you open your eyes enjoying the new abondance of life in front of you.

You stay under the water for a while, finding such peace in the coolness engulfing your body. Coming back up for air, you start to wipe the hair from you face. Then start running your fingers through the waves of your hair. It feels nice to relax for a second, to let your guard down.

"Wow, really didn't expect you to be one of the slackers." His voice scares you. Jumping up and turning around your met with a smug looking Neteyam. Behind him sits a fair amount of wood he must have just brought. Your face heats up just looking at him. His arms are crossed over his chest and his head is tilted just a bit. As if you had been slacking where was he an hour ago?

"Shouldn't you be kissing up to my siblings instead of standing around watching me, you perv." You throw back at him, as you make your way back to the beach. His smirk drops as you approach him. Now you're the smug looking one. Just as you reach him you pause.

"You know it wasn't like that. I would never-"

"Never what Neteyam? Admit that you were looking at me swim. Correct me if I am wrong but that's what it looked like to me." Your voice cuts threw his words. There is a stand off between the two of you. You are both almost chest to chest, holding eye contact with each other. It really pissed you off that he was taller than you. You hated looking up at people, it made you feel weak.

"What's there to look at, huh? In fact doesn't seem like I am looking at much at all." His eyes leave yours for a second to look you up and down. His words sting, making you feel small. Your ears pull down and your teeth flash at him. Not that he really seems fazed by your actions, only pissing you off further.

"Do not speak down to me Neteyam." You hiss out. This causes him to chuckle, literally laugh in your face at your words. Forcing yourself to stay calm you decide the conversation is over. Your shove your way past him, further up the beach.

"If you want my respect, then just ask for it pretty girl." You stop in your step. Everything he word is an insult to you. Though some part of you wishes he meant it when he called you pretty. You had to give it to Neteyam, he was the only one to bite back at you. You would never admit it but you had grown to like the banter between the two of you.

"Go on, beg." He is too cocky for his own good. You whip around and charge at him. Driving your shoulder into his ribs, tackling him to the ground in surprise. He lets out a grunt as he takes the weight from both of you on impact with the ground. You're quick to pin down his arms as you are seated on top of him. This wasn't new, while neither of you had ever hit each other there definitely was some tackling that had happened.

You are a growling mess on top of him. It doesn't take long for him to recover from the fall, and then he's got you on your back. It was unfair really, he was just so much bigger than you. He is hissing at you, pinning your arms down. You struggle for time, trying to get out of his grasp but its pointless. HIs legs are wrapped around your waist, his whole body weight on you. His hands are wrapped around your wrists, pulled above your head.

Neteyam just watches you struggle for a while, entertained by your stubbornness. As soon as you still, you take him in. He is just looking down at you, hair falling around his face in a angelic way. He seems to be deep in his own train of thought while looking at you, a panting mess beneath him. A small smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

"Pretty girl, you look so good like this. You'd look better begging me to get off you." His voice is like venom to your body. You can't catch a breathe and your body is on fire. Your so mad at him for calling you pretty, knowing he doesn't really mean it. What's even worse is he is still asking you to beg.

"Teyam, get the fuck off of me." Your words come out in puffs, still tired from struggling under him. He doesn't move. You know what he wants, you just can't bring your self to say it. He leans down bringing his mouth next to your ear. You can feel his own puffs of air his the shell of your ear.

"Beg." He whispers. You're just overwhelmed and tired. From constantly following your parents rules. From fighting with Neteyam. From your own standards. So you brake, right under him. It is all to much, tears come to your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall down your face. When he pulls back away from your face, guilt consumes him. He can see the tears in your eyes, His grip softens afraid he's actually hurt you.

"Please, Nete. Please don't call me that." You beg not for him to get off of you but to not call you pretty. He is beyond confused now. But your pleas don't stop there. "Please stop being cruel, I know. I know, no one likes me. It is too much Teyem. Please." you cry.

Its unsettling seeing you like this, he doesn't know what to do. So, he just flips you back over on top of him and pulls you into his chest. You allow him to hold you while you brake down. Crying tears onto his dark blue skin. You both stay like that for a while, till you can calm down enough to push off of his chest and sit up. Your straddling him again, but know he sits up on his elbows to be closer too you.

Bringing a hand up, he wipes a tear off your cheek. It causes both of you to freeze. It all seems too intimate. "Do you want people to like you?" His voice is soft and quite, scared he might ruin the moment by speaking. His question beings more tears to your eyes as you nod.

"T-The P-People re-spect me, b-ut don't l-ike me-e." Its not like they both didn't know why. In fact he knew exactly how she felt, his dad made him feel the same way. It tore his heart knowing you were going through the same thing as him. Sniffling, you dry your tears and finally look down at him. His eyes are so soft looking, which would normally make you feel weak, but now they made you feel understood.

"I don't want to be un-loved Neteyam." You finally whisper out the truth that you had been keeping to your self.

"So, let me help you, yeah?" He brings his hand back up to your face to move your hair behind your ear. You nod, finally admitting you would like the kinds and soft boys' help. You spend the rest of the day helping each other with the tasks you siblings never came back for and planned what to do to get people to be less scared of you.

Two days past from that afternoon, it was now the night of the bonfire. It started a hour ago, but you couldn't bring yourself t go just yet. You stomach filled with nerves. What if he bailed or this was all a trap to humiliate you in front of your parents. You knew either way you had to go, you parents had asked to to attend. With no choice left, you made your way to the beach. The fire was so large you could see if from the other end of the cove. Shadows danced in front of the flames.

The closer you got the more you wanted to run way, into the night. Just as you reach the clan, your sister spots you from the other side. Making her way to you, she pulls you into a tight hug. Then grabs your arm to pull you over to your family. Greeting your parents and your little brother, you turn your attention to the crowd. Looking for Neteyam.

When you spot him you find him to already be looking at you. The urge to throw up suddenly appears. You have never felt this nervous. A new song picks up its beat and with in seconds he appears in front of you. The world seems to stop spinning when he reaches you. You glance around, and everyone seems to be looking at the two of you. Seemingly ready for what is about to happen next, a fight. You can see his brother, Lo'ak, start to make his way over to the two of you prepared to defend him. Aonung, is suddenly behind you now. Everyone is holding their breath including you.

Neteyams hand opens up between the two of you, gesturing for a dance. "Will you dance with me pretty girl?" He has a big ol' grin on his face. You try not to roll your eyes at the 'pretty girl' part and He is trying not to giggle at the look on both your brothers faces behind you. You know they must look like they have seen Eywa. You nod at him, taking his hand. He leads you out into the dancing circle, pulling you close. He begins to lead you in the dance. The whole thing is overwhelming. Everyone is looking at the two of you wrapped in each others arms.

"What the fuck was that?" Lo'ak asks no one in particular.

"She is going to kill him." Aonung is sure of his statement.

They both stand beside each other looking confused at the two of you.

"I think it is sweet of him!" Tsireya giggles out. She turns to go run to her parents to tell them 'someone asked you to dance.' Not that they needed to be informed, their eyes glued to your form as the two of you dance. Jaws dropped at the sudden change in character from the two of you. Not too far way Neteyam's family wasn't having to much of a different reaction.

"Ma Jake, look." Neytiri is pointing at the two of you.

"What in the world is he doing?" Jake askes Neytiri.

"Wait, I can't see. What is it?" Tuk whines out too short to see over all the people in front of her.

"Tuk Tuk, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Kiri mumbles under her breath. Both families can't take their eyes off of you. Neither an the other clan members around your age. Seemingly jealous that the dark blue Na'vi has caught your attention.

"You think we fooled them?" Neteyam asks you. Spinning you around then dipping you. You have never been dancing before, and cling to Neteyam like a small child. Your too busy trying not to trip on anything to look around for yourself.

"I hope so because if not, I am going to kill you for this." You inform him, feeling dizzy from all the spinning and fast movements. "And I thought I told you not to call me pretty, Neteyam." Your borderline still uncomfortable with him.

"I can't help it, I just get caught up in the Heat Of The Moment. Have to call it like I see it Pretty Girl." He tells you. At least he is honest you think.

"I hate you." is what really comes out. He knows that might have been true weeks ago, but now he knows your just uncomfortable with the attention. At lease you were being more honest with him, baby steps were good enough for now. The rest of the night, after that first dance with Neteyam, many other men asked you to dance. It felt nice to be liked, though truthfully they didn't make you feel the way he did. But that is a though for a different day.

AN: AHHHHHH I hoped you like it!!!!! I love this, even though I kinda sorta went a little off from the main ask! This has to be one of my new faves!

[rori-ol]

HIIII… Just wanted to tell you that your betrothed story is amazing and I’m really excited for the next part ❤️❤️❤️ kinda want her to end up with both cus I can’t chooseeee.

Heyyyy, I am so glad you are enjoying my series! I just posed part 6!!! Let me know what you think! And trust me I have a hard time choosing when writing this too, BUT she may not have to choose at all ;)

Here is the link to part 6

[rori-ol]

My Betrothed pt 6

Neteyam x F!Omaticaya!Reader, Lo’ak x F!Omaticaya!Reader

Slow-burn story with aged up characters. Neteyam is 19 and Lo’ak is 18. Reader is 18. Everyone else is their movie age. Also this takes place before Avatar:TWOW

Summary: The reader's ceramony is finally happening. She gets her mate, and its exactly who she wants it to be. They spend the night dancing and laughing. Feeling totally welcomed into the family, the reader is so happy. Untill she faces the decision to choose her mate or go after someone else. The night ends with the reader being cuddled into a great sleep.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Non that I can think of!

Note: Read AN at the bottom for a secret :0 Also i have been writting this off and on for days, so i havn't proof read any of it!

Last part Masterlist Next part

The afternoon sun had warmed the stream of water up just enough not to be completely unbearable. It was just a little past noon when Neytiri came to get my from my hut. My mother was still no where to be found. Not that I was really surprised anymore by her missing my important events.

Neytiri insisted on fixing my hair for tonight. I appreciated her help. She was skilled at braiding hair. She had done everyone's in her families. Even little Tuk's. I found it sweet of her to help out. My braids had taken a long time to do by myself and they weren't as flawless as hers, but I kept them up in a ponytail most of the time. Hopping no one would notice. But of course Neytiri did.

I was currently sitting chest deep in water with Neytiri sat behind me. She was slowly unbraiding my hair. Neither of us really spoke. I let her do her thing, while I daydreamed of tonight and of last night. My stomach had been in a constant state of butterflies since I awoke this morning. I got up before the sun had risen and couldn't fall back asleep so I took a early morning flight to the tops of the hallelujah mountains to watch the sunrise. I spent an hour or so there. Trying to calm down my nerves. Praying to Eywa for forgiveness about last night.

I still couldn't believe I hit her and fought her to the ground. Needless to say I was embarrassed. I had done that in front of the boys. Who I hadn't even spoken a word to before that. It was shameful. But I hadn't heard anything about it from anyone else so I am hopeful that she wasn't going to tell anyone. In part because of her awful words about Lo'ak.

I was glad Neytiri wasn't talking to me. I had many questions about the trip the three boys took, that I wasn't so sure I wanted the answers to. I am sure Neytiri has her own questions about me too. It is hard to hide my bruised knuckles and the soreness in my side. I wonder how Eyrina was going to hide her, I am sure, bruised face.

Neytrir's finger's work fast but soft. She hadn't pulled my hair harshly or anything. I'm sure due to lots practice of her family members. Or her late sister. It was crazy how she did it all. Between giving up her spot as the next Tashik for Jake to the lost of her father and sister. She had been through so much yet she was so soft to her family.

"How do you do it?" I hadn't really meant to say it out loud. The question hung in the air for a minuet. I began to think I hadn't said it out loud at all.

"What do you mean, Y/n?" Her hands never stopped their motions in my hair.

"How did you ever figure out your feelings about life. I mean so much has happened and you are so sure. So strong."

"Before I met my Jake, I felt I had no choice in my life. I was to be this and do that. He gave me choices for my life. Who to love. How to live."

"How did you know that he was your mate. I mean I know Eywa sent him, but..." My sentence disappears in my throat.

"Hmmm, it is a feeling that only the heart knows." She sounds so sure of her self as she unbraids my hair.

"What does it feel like?"

"Ma Jake makes me feel safe. Protected. Warm. Even at the thought of him." She sounds so happy. I know a smile must be on her face behind me. "Does Neteyam make you feel like this?"

I am taken back by her question. Did Neteyam make me feel like that? Protected, yes. Safe, yes absolutly. Warm however?

"When you say warm you mean like...?"

"Calm. Like being by a fire."

"Yes, then Neteyam does make me feel those things." I have to be honest with her. Eywa compels me too.

"And Lo'ak?" She never stops her goal on my hair as she undoes my hair. Lo'ak was a total different feeling than Neteyam.

"He makes me excited and happy. He also makes me feel calm and safe most of the time." I choose to not tell the whole truth about how both boys really make me feel.

"Hmm. Sounds like you love them both."

"Yeah." I feel wired talking about her sons like this with her. "I think I do." I whisper out. Its silent for a while after that. Just the sound of water splashing from her movements.

"May I ask something from you?" She interrupts the silence.

"Yes ma'am."

"Are you sexuality active with them?"

I'm choking on air. I have to pull away from her grasp to lean forward to catch my breath. Water splashes around me sending ripples through the water. Neytiri starts patting my back in a attempt to help.

"W-what-t?" I choke out still coughing. I am so shocked by her question I can't think straight. She asks so calmly I start to think she may have not asked at all. Is she asking me if I am a virgin? If I fuck her sons?

"Y/n, dear calm down." She sooths me.

When I finally calm down enough to sit back up in the water, I turn around to face her. Neytiri 's arm turns with me, slipping from my back to my shoulder. She has a look of concern on her face as she looks over me.

"W-what did y-you say?" I am still stuttering.

"It is normal to take more than one sexual partner in ones life." Her eyes find mine and don't brake contact when she speaks. What is she talking about?

"I-uh. Y-you. W-what are y-you s-saying." I can't even get a solid word out.

"It is not unheard of but some women even take another sexual partner after they have a mate." Her voice is still calm as she speaks. Her words are like gospel as she shares this new information to me. A new though fills my brain and my chest feels hope. "Are you planning on being with them both?"

"I thought-"

"Your mother has not mothered you well." She interrupts. This time when she insults my mom I am no longer filled with anger, but a new sense of understanding. I am starting to get what Netyiri means.

"Even after a mate? Really?" A sudden burst of hope runs through me. I could have both of them? "Can you explain it more to me?" She smiles at me new found hope.

"I had a friend who was in love with two men. She loved them both dearly. But she was betrothed to one and not the other. She mated with her betrothed, the love of her life. Only they shared the Tsaheylu but she took both of them inside her."

My head is spinning. She took both of them inside her. That sounds like my dream. This had to be too good to be true. "Surly they were shamed my the village. What about Eywa? Were they happy!"

"With age mates die. People find new ways go get needs met. The village knows this. Eywa blessed them with years and years of happiness, Y/n. Tashik knows all that goes on in the village." She chuckles out. "Now turn around and let me wash your hair out."

Her hand on my shoulder pushes me back around away from facing her. Then she begins to finish the last of my de-braiding and the starts to wash the waves out of my hair. I still can't seem to rap my head around the whole thing. Part of me is embarrassed she is telling me to be intimate with both of her sons. So much so I can feel my face heat up.

"Why would you be comfortable with your son's sharing me?" My voice is just a whisper. I feel ashamed. What if Eywa hears me.

"You make them happy, Y/n."

---------

Nether me or Neytiri felt the need to say much after that. Once she had finished washing my hair she took me back to my hut. To both of our surprises my mother was actually there.

They both helped me get dressed. Helping me slide into the beaded items once I had changed into my red loin cloth and small stringed top. Neytiri slid the beaded anklets onto my legs while my mother slid on my bangles. Though I didn't miss the way my mother eyed my bruised knuckles.

The whole ordeal was silent. Thankfully not the awkward kind. Just the soothing and comforting silence. Neytiri finished up on my by wrapping my tail in small patterns with some red fabric before she left. Needing to make sure her boys were dressed and groomed for the night.

Even after Neytiri left my mother and I didn't speak. She was lacing up my beaded necklace behind me. Once she was finished, she wrapped her shawl around me and took a step back. Her eyes seemed to be taking me in. Looking for any imperfections.

When she didn't find any she gave me a small smile and patted me shoulder before leaving the hut. Muttering something about 'may Eywa bring you good luck tonight'. It wasn't surprising that she left me this time. I was glad to be left alone, for the first time all day I had a moment to myself.

I was looking at my body. Taking it all in. I felt amazing. Flat, straight hair. With two small braids in the front, tucked behind my ears, to keep the hair out of my face. I can't help but run my hand over my neck were my betrothal beads are. It feels so strange under my fingers.

My anxiety from this morning comes back in waves as I see the sun as just set. I know I only have minutes before the ceremony begins. Before I have to dance Infront of all of the clan. I hope the boys think I look good. I hope Eywa grants me a mate.

A horn goes of in the distance, a call that the ceremony will start soon. I have to start making my way to center camp. With one last glance down at my body I head out the hut.

It doesn't take long to make it to the center of the camp. There is a huge fire in the center and many people are sat around ready and excited for their younger clan members. I make my was through the crowd to find the other girls. My eyes are pealed to possibly catch a glimpse of the two boys. But there are so many people to look though that I give up.

I find the group of girls. They are all dressed up too. They look so much prettier than me. In bright colors and feathers my outfit seems out of place. I make eye contact with Eyrina. She has a bruised cheek and a busted lip. I feel bad. She looks me up and down then smirks and looks away. I feel small here. Mo'at comes over to us and explains how to start. She putts me at the front of the line, to walk out. Then tells me to start when the drums start.

Mo'at leave out from where we are to the center of the circle where all the clan members sit around the fire. Saying something along the lines of how exciting this night is and how the ceremony is about to begin. She then makes her way up to where her and the sullys sit for meals. The boys are missing from their usual seats, meaning they must be in the crowd somewhere.

Its all overwhelming. Between the bright light of the fire, the whole clan watching, and Eyrina behind me I feel the need to cry. I can't ruin this for myself though. I hold the tears in and wait for the music to start.

It is soft at first, when the first drum hits. Then get louder and louder and people start to clap to the beat. My body moves on it own accord out to the fire. I can't hear the girls behind me, But I know they are following me. With each beat my feet make contact with the ground. Pulling me further into the center and the eventually around the fire.

I decide right then and there that the only way I can do this is with my eyes closed. I can feel the beat in my chest. The peoples claps in my ears. Then I let go. Suddenly it isn't me moving my body anymore. Its Eywa. Its the heat from the fire. The breeze in the air. The hum of the forest. I am lost in the moment and it feels great.

I spin and dance around the fire for what feels like hours. I take a look around at the other girls. They all have this look on their face, like they have never felt more free. I can feel a smile spread on my face. I hope I look like that. The beat of the drums is now a fast pace. We are all skipping and hoping around the fire is this huge circle at a much faster pace. I close my eyes again. The need to pray to Eywa floods my brain.

A string of many words of thanks and hope comes from my mouth. I make it around the fire five more times before the music slowly fades. The claps slow down with the drums. The end of the dance is coming. I open my eyes on my final spin and steps. Then it all stops.

All the music is gone. The claps. We all stop moving. I am in our final pose. Arms out in front of me, with my palms up. Only the roar of the fire can be heard in my hear. I don't know what to expect next? Not that I thought there would be some big reveal but its just nothing. Us girls are left facing the clan spread out around the fire with our hands out.

My eyes take in others who are looking back at me. They have big smiles on their faces. I try to orientate myself to where I am around the fire. I come to the conclusion my back is not only to the fire but the place where Mo'at hits on the stage. I am sorta glad I am not face to face with the Sullys.

My breathe is labored from all the dancing, coming out in puffs. When I see her. Mo'at is circling us. She walks into my line of sight then back out. I don't move. She comes around again this time stopping at the girl on my right. She pricks her palm in one fast motion. Then tasting her blood. Then calling out a name.

A man, who I was last night at the pre-dance, steps in front of her. Taking her hands into his and pulling her further out from the fire but still in the circle. Her mate. She got a mate. Just that fast. The urge to cry comes back. What if I don't get chosen.

Mo'at walks back around out of sight. I am left trying not to ogle the new mates standing in front of my with jealousy. She is wrapped up in his arm and they are smiling and giggling. I feel sick. Mo'at doesn't come back around for some time. There is a burn in my arms. I want to drop them so bad. The burn is almost as intense as the heat coming off the fire behind me.

When I finally see Mo'at again she doesn't stop at me but the girl to my left now. The same thing happens. A prick then a taste followed by a name. Mo'at finally comes to me next. I feel like throwing up. This is it. She steps forward to me.

"You are the last one my dear." My heart sinks.

I wanted to get Neteyam or Lo'ak so bad. They must be on the other side of the fire with their new mates right now. Mo'at must see the fear on my face because she gives me a smile then quickly pricks my hand.

The pain is sharp and then it is gone. My single drop of blood finds its was into her mouth. I think I might pass out. My heart beat is so loud I can't hear anything. Her mouth moves but I have no Idea what she says. Behind her I can see people making faces. On no.

I close my eyes, preparing for the worst. Seconds pass then someone grabs my hands. The sensation scares me, I gasp at the contact. eyes popping open.

There he is standing in front on me. Dressed in his new clothes. The collar of red feathers looks made for him. Relief floods my system. This time the tears in my eyes are from happiness.

"Hey there, no need to cry little warrior." Lo'aks voice is like honey to my ears. I have to keep myself from jumping into his arms. He pulles me forward, away from the fire. The cool air is a relief on my back.

"You look, well, you look just fucking gorgeous Y/n." His eyes are taking in my body.

I am suddenly hot again. I have so Much I want to say. To ask, as my eyes take him in. His hair is straight. His collared feathers make him look huge in all the right places. He has on a new beaded and woven necklace that comes down to the top of his chest. I catch sight of the cut on his chest.

"I never got to ask you," I start as I reach up and touch the cut. "What happened?" He looks like he doesn't want to talk about it but then decides to speak anyways.

"Neteyam and I had a little fight, but it is settled now. Let me enjoy you tonight knowing your mind is on me rather than my brother okay?" He both answered my question and reminded me of tonight's main priorities. Lo'ak and me.

I hadn't realized Mo'at hand been talking, too in my own world with Lo'ak to catch what she said. The music picks back up and the clan is cheering. Lo'ak must see my confused face because he starts giggling at me.

"Let me give my mate her first dance, yeah?" My mouth falls open, this is a new side of him I've never seen. I am also taken aback by his use of 'my mate.' It fills my heart with an overwhelming feeling of joy.

"Eywa yes, please." And just like that he leads me back out to around the fire. We spend most of the night like that. Dancing together. Sometimes it's a slow song they play, other times its fast passed and a line dance. Either way by the end of three hours or so I can hardly stand.

"Can we take a brake?" I am panting out of breath. Still hand in hand with Lo'ak. He doesn't answer just leads up out of the dance floor. He is taller than me so I can't see where we are going. I don't have the energy to peer around him either, so I let him pull me to our destination. When he finally stops I see we are standing in front of the stage his family sits at. His father and mother are before us.

"Mom, Dad, I see you." He gesters out to them. I follow suit. Suddenly I am nervous. I have know the Sullys all my life yet now, as Lo'aks mate I feel like I have never met them before. Neytiri gets up from her seat and pulls me away from Lo'ak into her arms. Congratulating me. Jake pulls me into a hug when she finally lets go.

"Welcome to the family daughter." My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. A small hand tugs at mine for my attention next. I squat down to Tuk, who is all smiles too.

"Since your my sister now, can I braid your hair tomorrow?" She's not shy about her recent obsession with braiding. "Of course Tuk Tuk." I giggle.

It feels nice to finally be apart of a family who actually likes me. I stand back up to find Lo'ak still waiting for me talking to his father. Neytiri takes Tuk and excuses them both to bed so I turn and walk back to Lo'ak. His father saying something about congrats. But the look on his face is not a happy one.

"Lo'ak? Whats wrong?" I reach for him. Wrapping both my arms around his right arm. My tail wrapping around his right thigh, in hopes of comforting him. It felt weird to wrap my tail round him, only parents and mates normally do this. It feels so natural to do it with Lo'ak. I can feel his own tail wrap around my left leg.

"Kiri has gone after Neteyam." The world stops. I had been so lost in Lo'ak that I hadn't even thought of him. I figured he was with his new mate. Go after him? What does that mean?

"What!" I'm shook. My ears flattening down and my tail tightening around him. My eyes are scanning his face for answers.

"He will be fine, he is dealing with some personal issue right now." Jake try's to answer.

"He is the only one who didn't get a mate Y/n." Lo'ak clarifies. I am gunna be sick. Neteyam needed a mate this year and it had slipped through his fingers again. An ach settles into my chest. They both look at me like they are waiting for me to freak out.

Who knows any other night I would be but I don't have the energy tonight. I cling closer to Lo'ak. Our eyes finding each others. He thinks I am going to leave him to go find Neteyam, its written all over his face. I know what I have to do. I look to Jake.

"You said Kiri went to go find him?"

"Yes, but if he doesn't want to be found. He won't be..." Jake looks like he is waiting for me to snap. My eyes come back to Lo'ak, he almost looks sad.

"Lo'ak, I think we should go to bed then. I am tired and it sounds like Kiri is taking care of it." My words surprise them both. A huge smile appears on his face. He pulls me closer with his tail and bids his father a good night. He takes the through the crowd towards the huts.

I don't want to be alone tonight, the thought of Neteyam possibly being hurt and alone is killing me inside. Would it be too weird to stay the Lo'ak? we are mates after all. My brain is drawing in thoughts and my body has had enough for one day. We pause outside my hut.

"Hey could I-"

"Would you want-"

Giggles erupt between us. He still has me in his arms, So I have to pull away from him to see his face.

"You go first. Please." My voice still has a tang of giggle left in it. He is shacking his head at me with a goofy grin on his lips.

"Can you stay with me?" My heart flutters. I take no time in my reply.

"Yes, please. I would really like that." I smile back.

The walk to his hut is short, but my feel and legs are so tired from dancing all night the walk seems never ending. When we finally make it, we slip into the hut and to a side room. Lo'ak room. It kooks the same as it always does which makes me feel at home.

We help each other take off our unnecessary clothes and beads. Both of us filling the air with hushed giggles by our struggles with the items. Before crawling into the hammock. We are both left in just minimal clothing. My little top and our loin clothes, so it's strange to lay down so close to each other. We finally both quite down enough to hear only each others breath.

I am curled up with him behind me. His left arm draped over me, pulling me close. Are fingers intertwined together. Between not being around him for the past week and not touching as much in the past years I feel like I could melt away in his warm touch. This was nice. I wonder what It would be like with Neteyam.

Oh, right. Neteyam. For what feels like the millionth time tonight I feel the need to cry again and curl up into myself. What was supposed to be the happiest night of my life has now turned into a night of unease and worry. I am so caught up in my thoughts and the warmth around me I feel alone.

"Thank you Y/n," Lo'aks breath his the shell of my hear. I jump from the surprise. I can feel him chuckle behind me. from the way his chest vibrates. "For what?" I whisper back to him.

"Choosing me tonight." I can hear the happiness in his voice. My heart swells.

"No need to thank me Lo'ak, you are my betrothed." It true, it is supposed to be us choosing each other from now on regardless of my feeling for Neteyam. "My mate." The words feel strange on my tongue but nice at the same time.

"My mate, thank you Eywa." He whispers back to himself. His heat is enough to sooth me into a deep sleep.

If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know by DMing me so I don't miss it! @crazylokonugget @buttercake2234 @rosaryos @random-human-uwu @mayhemories @eywas-daughter @gamorxa @flower-lise @usernumder67 @rainyreens @percyjacksonspeen @aurora-starwars @bloodyziggy @noodlesfics @avatarzim @14readwritedraw96 @ducksong @jitske22 @sseleniaa @onlytays @sugas-daddy7 @queenI04 @kadu-5607 @whos3rn @champagnelovers101 @emilia-the-artist​ @nmedina8611 @bitchotine @macaronnv @hooman-tree @peicksgf @godess-of-mist @optimisticherolightpanda @mashiromochi @hotmarveladdict @ditsydaydream @wonieeee @ashtyb @coldlamaspersonspy @leilaniers @heartzz4p @dearmoonz @ittosnumberonefan @lizziesfirstwife @fantasy-addict354 @neteyamsalive @arminsgfloll @bxnnywriting @victoriuss @bandomonia @soberbabe @a111318 @countdrywall @thecapybara526 @mashiromochi @imbiafandbored @leilaniers @neteyamslover @melllinaa @froglogblog @chocolottes @23victoria @senassn @arminsgfloll @pwallettes @cawi00 @dakotali @shrnaj @atokirina-writings An: Hey Guys!!1 did you miss me? I missed you! Anyways here is part 6. I.ve been so busy with school it's crazy. Ill be writing everyone who sent me requests all day tomorrow so that exciting. Also this is what I thought her ceremonial fit looked like! ^^^ OOO okay and the next part is gunna be smut so be ready ;)

[rori-ol]

hello! can you do a neteyam x human!reader who is super flirty with everyone where neteyam gets super flustered at first when y/n makes flirty/sexual comments or jokes to him but starts growing jealous when he hears her acting the same with everyone else? thank you!!

I really liked this request! I kind of wanted to twist it just a bit, where she has already been flirty and this is how he handles the situation. Hope you like it!

Just me

Neteyam x Human! Reader

Warnings: Language, pretty much fluff with a bit of angst. Let me know if I missed something.

Summary: Reader has been previously flirting with Lo'ak to get a reaction from Neteyam. Neteyam gets fed up this readers flirtations with his brother and confesses to the reader how he would like her to only flirt with him.

Word count: 2k

Requests are open- here are the rules

Masterlist

All my life, I seemed to not fit in. See, when Jake Sully and the rest of the clans had driven the Humans off of Pandora, they left me behind. I was just a baby then. Too young to make it back to Earth. My life could have been very different if I had been older. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be raised by humans. Though I am sure that life would not be as incredible as my life had turned out.

I had to over compensate to fit in now days. Be more vocal. More loud. Stronger. I liked living like this though. With the Na'vi. I know I will never be one of them. And I don't try to, not like how Spider does anyways. I pride myself on being a 'bad ass' human as Jake called it. Though I just see it as trying to survive. I was small, a easy target for just about anything in Pandora to eat, so I had to learn how to be a predator of sorts.

It was strange being so small in such a big world. Even Spider was taller than me. Though I was two years older than him. Norm, had taken me under his wing right from the get-go. Which I sorta apricated. I was smart thanks to him. Well accustom with the science behind everything. It brought me a long way with the Clan. Being able to fully speak the native language allowed me to get close to Jakes kids.

Though Neytiri didn't totally like me at first, I think she appreciates me not pretending to understand it all. Which allowed me to really become friends with the 4 siblings. Spider on the other hand didn't seem to get much respect from the tall natives. Jake had called him a 'dog' once. I liked not being called names by the family.

Life had become easy and normal like this. When allowed, Spider and I would spend hours with the siblings. Goofing off and finding things to hunt or do. I especially loved when we could play games. Like today. The 6 of us were playing a game Jake had taught us a long time ago, called 'Hide and seek', this one was favored by me and Neteyam. We were both unusually good at this game.

The game had started 10 minuets ago, Kiri and Spider being it. When they began to count down we had all ran to hide fast. Tuk had followed Lo'ak down towards the river. Lo'ak probably thought he could loose them in the water, but now that Tuk went with him that idea probably wouldn't work out well for him. Which made me giggle, they were sure to get caught first.

Neteyam and I had a different idea. We both darted off to the forest. A safer bet. More places to hide. Neteyam followed me for a minuet or two before he turned right off the path behind me. I kept on in my search for a good spot, knowing I only had a few minuets left to fide it before Spider and Kiri would start searching for us. I knew where to go. The Octoshrooms. They were hug and dense, perfect for small me to hide in.

As I reached them I could here Spider yelling something about times up. I let out another giggle. It would taken them a while to find me in here. I had to crawl under some to wonder further in. The sunlight was beginning to fade do to the sheer coverage the shrooms had. Once I was far enough in the patch of Octoshrooms, that I could no longer see the path I sat down. leaning against one of the shrooms. Nothing to do now but wait.

At least 10 to 15 minuets passed and I was beginning to thing they had given up. Till I could hear foot steps. Spider was the only one who couldn't seem to stay quite, but their was a high chance the others where with them.

"Y/n! Come out, I don't like this game." Tuk cried out. Probably upset that she didn't hide with me or Neteyam. They were really close now. I could hear them all complaining about Tuk Giving away how close they were. What surprised me was hearing Neteyam with them. Normally he was the last to get caught. I knew it was only a matter of time before he found me.

Neteyam had to be my favorite. Even though Lo'ak and me were the same age, and he was my best friend, I had the beigest unrealistic crush on him. Though I tired to pretend I didn't I would jokingly flirt with Lo'ak and even Spider sometimes to piss off Kiri. Though all three of them knew I didn't like them at all like that.

Neteyam really didn't like this though. He would always get mad and say something along the lines of 'that is inappropriate' or 'Mom would skin us alive if she heard you talk like that.' I really didn't think Neteyam liked me sometimes. He never seemed to find my jokes funny even though everyone else did.

It had been quite for a minuet or two. I was beginning to thing they had walked right past my hiding spot. Till I noticed the tops of the shrooms wiggling and moving. Like something was stepping on them. My heart sank into my belly. It was most likely a Viperwolf scouting before dusk. My mind began to run a million miles a minuet. I had no protection and I was small enough to be a light snack with little effort.

There was nothing for me to do except to sit unmoving and hold my breath. Hopping that it wouldn't find me before the others did. The tops of the shrooms wiggled and moved with new weight on top of them. Whatever was on top kept moving around on them till they stopped above me. Well this isn't good.

My heart beat was loud in my ears, so loud I am sure the Viperwolf can hear it. The would stops spinning for a second and then it falls through the canopy of Octoshrooms. Launching it's self at me. I don't even have a second to scream before it's on me pinning me to the ground with it's body weight. I keep my eyes closed tight, not wanting the last thing I see to be the teeth of the animal.

I prepare for the impact of it's teeth on my unfortunately fragile and soft human skin but it never comes. The weight of the animal shifts back and then I become aware of the two legs straddling me. With that, two hands on my arms. I decide its worth a look to see what's on me. I never expected to open my eyes to see Neteyam.

But there he is with that smirk on his face sitting lightly on top of me. He is polite enough not to use his whole body weight. Thankfully. That doesn't change the heat that grows in my face at the position he is in.

"Got-cha." His smirk never fades from his lips. He is proud he not only caught me but scared me as well. I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Y-you didn't have t-to give me a-a-a heart attack! I-i though you w-were a V-viperwolf." I am a mess underneath him, stuttering. Well this is so embarrassing.

"Well, I think you disserved it Y/n." His smirk is now just a smile. I shift my body under him trying to wiggle out from under him. It causes our hips to touch. The edges of my mask get foggy from the heat coming off my body. There is a light blush on his cheeks from the contact. I completely still my body.

"You look really red? You okay?" Neteyam asks, his voice hiding ulterior motives. I don't have to answer, he's just playing dumb.

"Why did I disserve to be terrified that I was going to be eaten, Teyam?" I have to shift my face to the side when he leans down to put his mouth next to my ear. I am starting to wander what he is playing at.

"Y/n, you know what you did with Lo'ak earlier." His breathe is hot on my skin. Which doesn't help my already hot body. It is hard to see as it is under the Octoshrooms, let alone with a foggy mask. Him bringing up Lo'ak makes me think he is jealous about what I said to Lo'ak earlier. I can't even remember the exact words, but they made Lo'ak turn red. Which in return made everyone laugh at his embarrassment. Which also cased Neteyam to complaine again about my 'naughty words.'

"S-sorry T-teyam, I d-didn't know it w-would m-make you jealous. So, so needy for my attention pretty boy?" I don't really know where the words came from. Needy? Pretty boy? I couldn't believe they came out of my mouth that was for sure. But they worked. Whatever he was going to say next got caught in his throat. A gasp left his mouth and he leaned up, lessening his grip on my arms just enough to wiggle loose. I move far enough back that I have room to stand up.

Neteyam is still on his knees in front on me. His legs are spread a little. Crazy that was where my body was a minuet ago. Even with me standing I still have to look up at him. I take the time while he is silent to adjust my clothes. The wrap around my boobs in particular. I have to wiggle it back up and into place. I catch his eyes on my chest when I look back up at him.

His braids frame is face beautifully. Every time I see him I just want to run my hands through them. His cheeks are still red-ish but the darkness of the shrooms lets his freckles light up. His eyes are glowing. He is amazing and huge. Just looking at him is another reminder that I am not made to be on this world.

"You know I don't like it when you flirt with him." He is staring into my soul. I know he means it but I can't help but push some more.

"So I can only flirt with you Teyam? Well that's no fun," Once again I don't know what comes over me but I take a step closer to him. Making him look down at me. We are almost touching chests. For a second I think that is what he is actually looking at until I take a finger and run it down his chest. His breath hitches. "You don't even flirt back. At least Lo'ak doe-"

Before I can finish my half assed attempt at flirting with him, his arm wraps around me pulling me close. I am now fully pressed against him. So much so that I can no long make eye contact with him. Only able to look at his chest. One hand grabs at his other arm, the other is on his chest. The only thing keeping my boobs off of him completely.

"No Lo'ak. Just me." His breathe is back in my ear. My body is covered in chills. I can feel his massive arms around me keeping me close. His hand just above my ass. Suddenly I am very hot.

"T-tayem, I-"

"Say no more Lo'ak, Y/n. Say it's just me." It isn't the first time he has asked me to stop with the flirting. It is however the first time he has begged, well demanded, that I only flirt with him. I have been waiting for this moment.

"It's just you Neteyam." Forever and always. It always has been.

PART 2? 👀

[rori-ol]

Hello, how are you? you haven't appeared for a long time, so i'm just dropping by to say that your fic is one of my favorites here, and i hope you can get back to updating it soon, i hope you're doing well 😊💗

AWWWW I am so happy that you are enjoying the fic! It really means a lot to me :) I am actually working on part 6 right now! Hopefully it will be up tomorrow or Tuesday! Hop you enjoy it!

[rori-ol]

Asks!

Hey guys I am going to try out Asks! I have never done this before but I get inspired by your ideas. Feel free to ask me anything.

Here are my requirements.

Also If you want to ask about my, 'My Betrothed', series feel free! I really like hearing from y'all about what you want to see or thing is going to happen. Or how badly we are all struggling to pick a brother.

[rori-ol]

Asks Requirements :)

Hey, welcome to my requirements for asks!

This is where you can find what characters I'm willing to write for at the moment and what I am willing to write.

I will write Smut, Fluff, and Angst. Feel free to send me any asks for Drabbles, One-shots, Fics, or Headcanons.

Since I am new to writing I only feel comfortable writing smut with MxF. This is not to be rude, I just don't want to write anything offensive or incorrect! This will change with time! When I get more comfortable.

Feel free to ask for reference Gifs to be included or not.

If not specified the ask will be Fem with Y/N, Unless it is between two characters.

Also you may ask for characters not on my list, If I am familiar with who you are talking about I will write them for you!

List of characters I will write for ATM: Neteyam Sully, Lo'ak Sully

[rori-ol]

My Betrothed pt. 5

Neteyam x F!Omaticaya!Reader, Lo’ak x F!Omaticaya!Reader

Slow-burn story with aged up characters. Neteyam is 19 and Lo’ak is 18. Reader is 18. Everyone else is their movie age. Also this takes place before Avatar:TWOW

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of a dream ;) , Violence (hitting, punching), Sorry if I missed any!

Summary: While at dinner Y/n starts to understand her own world and why some things are the way they are. Then when it is time to learn the ceremonial dance, she discovers a bruised and bloody Neteyam and Lo'ak. Who don't look so happy. Things only get weirder with their never-ending stares all night. The night really takes a turn when someone says some mean things about Lo'ak causing her to defend him with her fists. Neteyam brakes up the fight and sends her home to her mother. Who seems to be going through some feelings of her own.

Word Count: 4k

Part Four Masterlist Next part

Everyone is loud as they usher the returning clan members back to camp. I am almost torn away from my mother from the excitement. I have to grab onto her shoulder to keep up. I can't blame them though there are at least 20 returning members. A zero casualty hunt and raid. I am filled with pride from my strong mother.

We are being lead to the center of camp where many clan members have already started to prepare a feast and others start a fire. It is always so nice to see everyone so happy.

As everyone begins to settle in around the starting fire, Neytiri stands in the middle of the circle of people with her mother, Mo'at. Neytiri begins a speech that I half heartedly listen to. Something about how this success makes the clan stranger and how blessed we are by Eywa for the successful hunt. Mo'at begins talking soon after Neytiri's speech reminding everyone of the special event happening tomorrow. I find myself tunning my ears into her.

"There are many fine members of are clan becoming true adults tomorrow night. Included among them Toruk Makto's son's, Neteyam and Lo'ak. May all of them be blessed by Eywa with a mate for life." Mo'at makes a quick glance at me before she adverts her eyes to my mother for a split second.

There are many cheers of excitement at the mention of Neteyams name. He was well sought out from many girls. He was strong, brave, nice, kind and handsome. Not to mention his success as a hunter. My heart swells at the thought of his well deserved success in the clan.

At the mention of Lo'ak the cheers are less so. I always felt so bad for him. Despite him being younger, Lo'ak was just as strong willed and destine to be a leader as much as Neteyam. The clan had never made it a point to outcast him on purpose but over time it had happened. He was different with five fingers instead of four. I am not so sure why it bothered people so much. Our chief has five too and look at the leader he has become.

My tail swishes from side to side in nerves. A unforced smile appears on my face at the thought of the two boys however. I was rather excited for tomorrow. I would get to finally have my own mate. From beside me I can hear my mother make a displeasing sound.

Glancing over I can see a scowl on her face. Oh, is she not happy for me? I try to study her face but she hardly ever looks my way. She must be disappointed in me for some reason. Did she not find me worthy of a Mate from Eywa? My mind races and my tail stops moving.

"Alright, alright. Let us hear of the great success for our clan tonight!" Neytiri settles down everyone and tells people to share their stories.

The hunting group tells story's about the mission long enough for the fire to be roaring and the sun to be setting. I am beyond board. My mother has barley spoked to me. Let alone looked at me. Leaving me to still in silence, listening to the most random and least exciting stories. I really have to resist rolling my eyes. This sucks.

At least another 10 minuets passes before someone's less than interesting story is cut off my the screeching of ikran's. My eyes are intently looking to the sky in hopes that I can see the three of them. They pass straight over head. One. Two. And three. Oh, hell yes. My boys are home.

It takes a second from them to emerge out from where their Ikran land. They enter from the opposite side from where I am set. There are many hoots and cheers for the trio's return. The fire is almost too big and bright from me to make out who is who. They make their way over to where Neytiri is sat with Kiri and Tuk.

There is a short family reunion with Neytiri grasping at the two shorter ones, checking them over. Neteyam and Lo'ak. Jake has swept the two girls up into a hug. Even Mo'at greets them as they all sit down beside each other to eat. It is cute, their family. My mother can't even talk to me and she has been gone for a month, not five days. My heart stings.

Once the hoots have calmed how and the sun is gone, food is being passed around. A soft hum and chatter is heard from the conversations being held as everyone chows down. It feels in the awkward silence between my mother and me. I am almost grateful to have something to busy my hands. A distraction.

I can't bring myself to look up and over at the family. Between the talks with Mo'at and Neytiri and that dream, I feel like I should really mind my own business this time and stay out of trouble. Especially with my mother here now.

She wasn't always so, so harsh. I can remember a time where she was soft and sweet. When I was much, much younger. She would hold me and my father would hold her. She sing to me and father in the morning and at dinner. Play with me. One big happy, normal family.

Then my father died. my life became anything but normal. She was absolutely crushed. She could hardly eat and wouldn't go hunt. I had cried to Neteyam, so much about it he told his mother. Neytiri then got Mo'at to come and see her. Mo'at said she had a broken heart and that those her harder to heal than other injures.

She was never the same. She could hardly look at me. All the singing, dancing, and affection were taken away overnight. I had lost a father and a mother. I was so grateful for Neteyam for filling some of the hole in my heart. Lo'ak had filled a hole too. As we all grew up and Neteyam taught me to be a warrior like him, Lo'ak always reminded me of being a kid. It felt nice to be reminded not to take everything so seriously. I was indebted to both of them.

A sharp jab into my side brings me back to the present. I glance over at my mother who just hit me in the ribs with her elbow.

"Ow!"

"Tashik is speaking to you." My mothers voice is harsh. She doesn't look at me but at Mo'at. Always so worried about everyone else.

My eyes flutter over to where she sits. The fire is at a normal height now. I can see them all so clearly. Mo'at is sitting beside Neytiri. Lo'ak next to her followed by Kiri, Tuk, then Neteyam. Jake sits at the complete other end of Mo'at.

"Child come here, now." She calls out to me.

She doesn't even have to shout. Most people have already left to go sleep for the night. It is just a few people surrounding the fire. They are all looking at me. My face heats up as I stand. I can make out who the families are, It is other women and men participating in the ceremony tomorrow. I keep my head down the rest of the way over to her. Their looks giving me chills.

"Yes, Tashik?" I fall to my knees in front of her. I keep my eyes on my knees. I can't afford to mess up in front of everyone.

"I asked you if you were ready to learn the dance?"

"Yes, I feel very excited and honored, Tashik."

"Good, I will need your help, you are a fast learner. "

She says it like it is so plain and normal. Not like it's a huge honor to be helping her. I can't stop myself from making eye contact with her. I also can't help but want to turn it down.

"Girls, It is time. Come closer." She yells this time getting everyone's attention off my back and onto her face. "Y/n will lead the girls into dance tomorrow." And just like that it is final. The decision made.

"Tonight once the girls have learned the dance to Eywa, boys will learn the ceremonial dance with them as well."

I can hear people moving closer to the fire, but I am almost unable to even turn around. I can see the shadows of families leaving. I can feel many sets of eyes on me, including theirs. I still can't bring myself to look up at them. They are so close I can almost feel them on me.

I need a distraction. I glance over my left shoulder away from where the two sit. Scanning the crowd I see where my mother is supposed to be. Her seat is empty. My heart sinks some more. She couldn't even say goodbye. I must have done something wrong. She must hate me.

I have to bring myself back into my body from the horrible thoughts I am having. I am still sitting before Mo'at. I better move. I stand up and step back close enough to the group of girls behind me that I can hear their whispers.

'who do you think will get Neteyam?'

'Oh, I am so excited.'

'I hope me, so I can jump his bones first.'

'Stop it.'

'I bet he is good at sex. Look at his body.'

'Shhh.'

'Don't be silly, you will never be worthy to bed Neteyam.'

'Lo'ak if your so unlucky.'

'And you are unlucky.'

Their gossip and giggles makes me sick, I almost have to pinch myself to keep quite. I just can't help myself. I need some type of comfort. Just a glance I decide. I take a fast look up at the boys.

I catch Neteyam's eyes first. He has clearly been watching me all night and not ashamed of the fact I caught him doing so either. They are soft when they meet mine. His face is lit up by the firelight. He looks good. I can't help but notice the busted lip on his face and the slight bruise on his cheek. A small gasp leaves me. He go into a fight?

When I finally look at Lo'ak a soft cry leaves my mouth. I have to take a small step froward. He has a scabbed over cut across his chest and a bruise on the end of this eyebrow near his right eye. The cut couldn't have been but three inches long, but the area around the wound looked irritated. It looked like a day or so old. When did that happen. He has a annoyed look on his face that falls when I look at him.

"Oh, Lo'ak..." I'm almost sure he can't hear me but he mouths an 'I'm fine to me.' It does not make me feel any better. I have to look away to keep the tears from my eyes. I jump to the conclusion the two boys must have done this to each other. My heart sinks into feet.

---

Mo'at spends at least an hour teaching us the betrothal dance. I pick up the movements fast, just as she said I would. It is just repetition of simple praising movements to Eywa. Basic stuff. Never the less I am sent over to other girls who can't seem to find a strong rhythm. With both Tashik and my help the new dance is picked up finally.

I can feel many eyes on me. I am always being watched now days. The other girls stilling glances at me then muttering to themselves. Just like they have been all night. Their gossip seems never ending and untrue. The other participating men, all still hanging out around the now small fire. Their gazes seem to lenger on me, more than I would like but they can't seem to look away from the group wither way. I choose not to give their looks any more thought. Mo'at is also eyeing me, with some 'all knowing' look like she is proud. Though I don't understand why.

Then their is the boys. I catch both of them looking at me more than once. They can't seem to look at each other or anyone else though, and they are just as uncomfortable with all the eyes on me as I am it seems. I can see it in their body language. Stiff and tense like they are waiting for trouble to happen.

Their is almost a snarl hanging in the air from Neteyam. He clearly has a very strong opinion on this whole thing. Lo'ak seems lost in his own thoughts, I can't say I blame him. I would rather be anywhere else than here right now.

I come to the quick conclusion that whatever happened between the two boys, Neteyam had won. Lo'ak hadn't made a sound. He hadn't spoken all night that I was aware of. Not to anyone. Which for him was weird, really weird. But just like everyone else in the ceremony, he was forced to be here. Even if he clearly didn't want to be.

Once the girls had picked up the whole dance the boys were told to line up on the other side of the fire. Then the new line dance was taught to all of us. It was supposed to be a duo dance , but clearly for obvious reasons we couldn't learn it that way.

This one was much easer than the first one. It was similar to the other tribe ones that were victory dances. By the second run through, I had already picked up the steps and movements. It was beginning to become increasingly boring. By the forth run through, I was eyeing the boys. Watching them move in sync with the other men. It was at least entertaining.

The night was almost over. I had to keep reminding myself just to make it through. I was so grateful to Eywa for allowing the night to go as smoothly as it had. Despite the looks thrown to me or Lo'ak everyone had kept their thoughts to themselves for the most part. Or at least out of my ears.

Which had to be because Mo'at was steadily circling everyone. No one wanted to get caught degrading her grandson. I can't say I blame them. Mo'at was known to be justful.

The fire was just coals, all the light was coming from the moon now when Mo'at had released the everyone to go home. Calling it quits for the night when I heard it.

The rudest and nastiest thing come out of a girls mouth. A girl named Eyrina. She was the daughter of some less than helpful clan members who seemed to only be good at gossiping. She clearly picked up that genetic trait. She is just a few feet in front of me. It takes me no time to reach her.

"Your funny. Lo'ak will never have a mate. I mean did you even look at him. He's got hair above his eyes (eyebrows) and five fingers. Like ew. Eywa would never let someone who looks like that reproduce with anyone of good standing. He might as well mate with a sky demon-"

She never really got the chance to finished her statement. I was on top of her in a second. Grabbing her arm and turning her around to face me. For a brief second she is still smiling till she sees who has her. Her face drops when I punch her the first time, then we're on the ground. Rolling back and forth. Both of us are trying to get an advantage. I finally get her pinned on her back. I feel like I am on fire with anger, my face burns.

I can't even find words to yell at her, I am just hissing and growling at her. I couldn't really tell you why I felt so compelled to start hitting her again but once I started I couldn't stop. She was screaming bloody murder underneath me. Begging for me to stop but my fist kept finding her body. Her mouth. Eye. Rib. Ear. I could only see black. She had only landed one or two good hits only my ribs before I was pulled off of her.

"Never. Never speak ill of Lo'ak again. Eywa would be ashamed of you." I was still hissing at her as her friends started to drag her crying form away.

I didn't need to look back to see whose arms were around me keeping me tight to their chest. I knew it was Neteyam. Always the my savior of the day.

"You two deserve each other, freak." She called out just as she was disappearing from the fire light. I try to lunged at her, but it is point less. His arms are like trees. Unmoving around me. I go slack in his arms when Lo'ak appears in front of me.

"Hey, hey. It is okay." His eyes are scanning my face as if I was bleeding. Maybe I was. A growl is let out from behind me. I half ass look around to see if a lot of people saw what just happened. But their is no one in sight. Thank Eywa.

"Neteyam, it is okay, you made your point already. You can let her go now." A warning hiss leaves his throat before his arms release me. I step forward into Lo'ak. My fingers are instantly on his chest at the wound. I want to heal it for him so bad. Take the pain away from him.

"I know Y/n, I know." He brings his hands up to mine on his chest, holding them. His touch is perfect, four callused fingers bring me back to my body. My heart is pounding in my ears. "You kicked her ass." There is a shit eating grin on his face. It's contagious because I feel my cheeks tighten. He looks so proud of me.

"Did you hear what she said?" My voice doesn't sound like my own. It is animal like, coming out in puffs. My body is high off of adrenaline. I really hope he didn't her those lies coming from her. Suddenly hands are brushing themselves on my waist, wrapping around my hips. Neteyam.

"I am sure it was well deserved, little warrior." Lo'ak's voice is like velvet on my ears. The pet name makes my face heat back up this time in a blush. I am being pulled back into Neteyam's chest again. Both of them touching me, has my body burning. Or maybe that's just my ribs. The way I am being held by both of them makes me think of that dream. I have to pray thet I am not getting wet thighs in front of them.

"We need to get you home Y/n, before anything else happens tonight." There is a sharp edge in Neteyam's voice, one of disappointment.

"Nete, I am sorry." The last thing I want to do is disappoint him but I don't really feel sorry. Lo'ak eyes travel down my body to Neteyams hold on me. I try to decipher the look on his face. It is almost jealousy but his eyes hold longing in them, a fire. A want of some sort.

"He is right, you are a little warrior," His breath is hitting the shell of my ear causing shivers to go down my spine. Lo'ak holds eye contact with me. Something about his eyes on me while his brother is whispering in my ear makes the whole thing erotic to me. "But you really do need to get home." I like this.

Before I know it I am being release by both of them. They stand side by side facing me. I don't know who to look at.

"Go home Y/n." At Neteyams command I feel the urge to listen. I take a step back. My eyes now linger on Lo'ak as if I was asking permission to leave.

"He is right, go Y/n." That's all I need for my body to go on autopilot. My feet carry me to my hut with out a thought to them. The night had taken a crazy turn. I couldn't believe I hit her. I hit her! If my mother was here...

Wait. Oh fuck. Just as I round the entrance to the hut I am meet with my mothers death stare. I can't believe I forgot she was here.

"Look I don't really care what you were doing as long as it isn't with those two boys." Her voice is sharp. It cuts through the night and into me. I wait for the rest of her word to hit me but she seems to be waiting for an answer.

"I was with the other girls, I was helping Eyrina. She is having some boy problems. I was clarifying how the ceremony works. I am sorry I am late, mother." It wasn't exactly a whole lie but I know I can't tell her the truth. I hope my answer is what she wanted to hear.

"Good. That is good to hear. Come." Her shoulders loose some of their tension at my confession. The sorta lie works. She pats the spot next to her. I make a slow approach to the seat next to her. It almost seems like a trap. She is being too nice. Just as I sit she stands and makes her way over to her side of the hut. Her back is to me but she is clearly looking for something. She pulls out multiple things from her pile of stuff before she speaks.

"I know I can be harsh," she sighs out. "I just want you to know it is not because of you. Life has been hard for me. I lost the love of my life. I am sorry I have taken that out on you." She is still turned away from me. As if she could on confess this secret to herself. She pauses her looking in the pile as she goes on.

"Neytiri has brought me your ceremonial beads you two have made. They are very beautiful." It almost sounds like she is crying. "I am filled with regret at not being a good mother to you. I am sorry daughter." My heart brakes. I want to get up and hug her. Tell her that she did her best but I can't will myself to get up of the floor.

She takes a deep breath then continues to look though her things.

"Ah there it is." She has a red looking shawl in her arms and the things Neytiri and I made as she walks back over to me.

"You will soon move out and be with a mate. I would like to have something for you to remember me by. To remember the better parts of me by at least." She holds up the shawl and it is beautiful. The same exact color as my beads. Like it was planned. It is an endless loop of fabric that almost has a glitter sheen on it.

"I wore it when I became betrothed to your father. It is yours now. You will wear it well." Her voice is all but a whisper. I have to look at her to see if he is actually there in front of me. Taking in her face is strange. She actually looks sad. A single tear slides down her face. I stick my arm out. Just touching her hand, I am unsure of how to comfort her. So we sit in silence with me touching her hand as she cries. Her eyes never leave the shawl. It is a weird experience to say the least. The whole night has felt that way.

It takes her a second to calm down, like she hasn't cried it years. She has a shake in her breath but is aware enough to finally see our connected hands. Slipping her hands away from mine she passes over the whole outfit. I try not to let her rejection of my comforting hurt, but it stings. Just like the growing ache in my ribs.

"Um, okay, well Neytiri said she would be her in the afternoon to help you get ready. Get some rest." She glances at me as she rubs the liquid of her face and stands.

"Oh, uhhh okay." I am not sure what I am supposed to say. Not that it matters she leaves the tent and me sitting there just like she always does.

The weight of the items in my lap is soothing. Like a sorta hug. It doesn't take me long to realize she isn't coming back for the night so I get up and get into bed.

Sleep hits me like my fist hit Eyrina.

Note: Hey guys, sorry this took like for ever. Collage just started back up and I have been busy with classes. I will try and update asap but its won't be everyday. ALSO, THANK YALL SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE. I really didn't think people would like this story and where I am going with it so thank you. I love yalls comments. I sometimes get inspiration from yall. so if yall want to tell me what you think happens next, I would love that, Or what yall want to happpen next!

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[rori-ol]

My Betrothed pt. 4

Neteyam x F!Omaticaya!Reader, Lo’ak x F!Omaticaya!Reader

Slow-burn story with aged up characters. Neteyam is 19 and Lo’ak is 18. Reader is 18. Everyone else is their movie age. Also this takes place before Avatar:TWOW

Warnings: mentions of death, Smut (but like not Smut at the same time), touching on the throat, begging, teasing.

Summary: A dream Y/n has about the two boys leads to even more confusing thoughts about the betrothal ceremony. Y/n also starts to make preparations for her outfit for the ceremony with help from Neytiri. And Y/n mother finally comes back from her hunt.

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 3 Masterlist Next part

"Hmm, Neteyam stop that it tickles." I can feel his hand wrap around my waist. So soft, so slow. His touch is feather soft until he reaches my hip. He squeezes' the skin there pulling a purr right from my chest.

He is behind me, claiming the position of big spoon. I must not be close enough because his grip on my hip tightens and then he pulls me back into him. The air suddenly gets hotter. His front is completely covered by my back. I can feel his growing groin pressed firm against my butt.

"My Y/n." His breaths into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I can't help but try to scoot farther back against him, needing some relief in-between my thighs. This causes a tisk from him, a warning to stop wiggling.

"You have been such a bad girl, flirting with my brother. Thinking I wouldn't notice. Bad girls don't get rewarded do they Y/n." Neteyams hand has now wandered up to my chest. Away, from where I need him.

"Please, Nete. Plea-"

"Shhhhush."

His hand is now around my throat, fingers on my jaw. Still so gentile, and soft, but the gesture takes my breath anyways. He tilts my head around, causing me to look at him. This shifts my position, now I'm almost completely flat on my back. His lips are curved into a smirk. He shifts so he is leaning on his arm, angling him above me.

"Such a needy girl."

I can't help but take in how beautiful he is. His freckles. The cool blue town of his skin. His eyes that seem to see my soul. This is perfect. This is right where I should be, with Neteyam.

He moves his mouth back to my ear, causing his braids to tickle my cheek.

"You want me to touch you, Y/n?" I can only nod my head in approval.

His hand starts back down my body. Only to stop at my chest and slip underneath my beaded top. He pinches my nipples. A surprising sound leaves my throat. Oh, yes. I can't keep my eyes open it feels so good.

"Hmm, you like that?'' His voice is full of control but ever so soft at the same time.

"Yes."

He gives his full attention to my boobs. Massaging and kneading them. Occasionally pinching my nipples. It is so good but not enough. I want more.

"Please, Nete, more." I'm panting at this point. I can't bring myself to open my eyes but I can feel him shift down and then in-between my legs. He grips my thighs and begins to kiss his way around my lower body. And it feels amazing, his lips are soft and just grazing my skin. Leaving goose-bumps in their wake. My hips keep shifting up trying to get some type of friction. He is nipping at my skin and sucking just not where I need him. I reach down and grab a hand full of hair to move him where I need him.

"Stop teasing." I beg.

The kisses stop. A growl leaves my lips and I open my eyes to look at him. Only it's not Neteyam between my legs it is Lo'ak. How?

His eyes are big and wide and full of need. His eyebrows are raised up. He is panting too. I take a look around the room. It's just the two of us. Prefect. Just how he wants us.

"Thought you liked it when I tease you, babe." Oh, I love it.

"I need you Lo'ak. Please." His head tilts a little and his eyes look over his (or maybe his brother's) work has done to my body. My nipples are hard and my top is doing little to hide the rest of my boobs. The loin cloth is hardly covering anything. My legs are spread wide around him. And I am a panting mess.

"Only if you say it." My mind races. Say what? My hand falls from his head and comes up to mine. I cover my eyes in full thought. What does Lo'ak want me to say? He continues to tease me while I think. Small kisses just on the inside on my thighs. It's almost to hard to think. I can feel his breath on my folds. I wiggle some more needing some release. Oh, does he want me to beg him?

"Please Lo'ak, I want you. I need you. Be my mate before Eywa. Touch me in all the ways you don't want Neteyam too." I can't believe the words coming out of my mouth. The last part especially.

“All mine. Not Neteyam’s.”

Some part of that plea must have been right because in one swift motion he is pulling my cloth up and eating me alive. And it is everything I had ever dreamed of. One of his hands come up around my leg and holds my hips down. The other hand making an appearance between my legs just at the edged of my folds. He glances up at me, waiting from approval.

"Yes, Yes, Yes, please touch me Lo'ak." Who am I begging to (for) him, why do I like it?

That's all he needs before wiggling one finger inside of me. His mouth never stops licking and sucking at my clit and folds. His finger begins going in and out of me at a agonisingly slow pace, curling every time it goes in. My legs start to shake around him, feeling the need to close them around his head. I want need more.

"Stop, spread them wide for me Y/n." He only takes a second to command me. I obey.

"More-" I don't even know if I'm coherent enough for him to understand me, but he does. And he obliges by sticking another finger in.

It's enough to stretch me just right. Without giving me a second to adjust he beings an fast pace. In and out. Curl. In and out. Curl.

“Yes, yes, Lo’ak, Eywa yes!” The cry’s of ecstasy fall from my lips.

“That’s my girl. Tell me how good I make you feel Y/n.”

I'm a complete moaning mess now underneath him. I don’t think I could even bring a complete sentence out of my mouth at this point. His name is mixed with moans which is all that can come out of my mouth now. My belly begins to tighten and just as I'm about to cu-

--

I sit up straight on my bed. I am panting hard. The space between my legs is empty, besides the pool of slick that covers my thighs. What the hell was that? My heart is racing as my eyes dart around my hut. My mother is supposed to return from her hunting party today. I am glad to see she is not home yet. I fall back onto my bed roll with a huff.

I try to slow my heart down. But my mind continues to race with images of the two brothers and what they had done in my dreams. I almost wish I could see them but upon hearing the events of that day, Neytiri sent the two boys and their father away until the ceremony on a hunting trip. I was not even allowed to see them off.

Neytiri had come up to me after they left and further explained the situation. Them leaving made sense, their absence in the clan was noticed by me and hung heave in my chest. Neytiri tired to fill the void with random tasks she claimed was from my ceremonial outfit. I knew she was really just trying to keep me distracted.

I had made many beaded items. Two woven and beaded bands for my wrists and two more identical ones for my ankles. Both sets were a bright red with little orange beads string through them. She even made my necklace for the ceremony. Her kindness was strange but so incredibly welcoming from her usual sharp words and actions.

That was 6 days ago. The ceremony was tomorrow night. They would be coming home today as well as my mother. It is going to be a long day. Especially after that dream. Was did that mean. Was I even supposed to dream like that? Was that a sign from Eywa. I had basically begged to Lo'ak mate. Is that what I wanted. Is that what Eywa wanted. But why was Neteyam there doing those things.

A grunt leaves my throat. I can't just lay here and think about this all day. I have to meet with Tsahik to learn the dance tonight. And prepare from my mother's return today. And I most definitely can't go with wet thighs.

---

I decide to wash in the river to clear my head. (And to clean my thighs.) While washing them I couldn't help but wish it was one of the brothers cleaning in-between my-

No, I have to stop thinking about them.

I shake my head free of thoughts. I move further into the water and sit in-between two huge ferns. I'm almost completely hidden from sight. Perfect. The water comes up to my chest and laps around my knees that are pulled up to my chest. I really need to re-focus.

I speed some time channeling to Eywa. Humming cords and hymns that I have learned over my life. I can feel her in me when I breath the cool morning air. Suddenly the world is louder than my thoughts and I am able to fine a moment of peace inside my head.

---

After my bath I decided to clean around the hut. Not that I had kept it messy if my mother's absence but I knew she would be mad if the hut was not spotless clean and everything just where she left it. I had spent almost all morning cleaning when I heard it.

The horn. Signaling the return of clan members. I could only hope it was my mother and not the boys and their father as I rush out the door to the edge of camp. Following the sound of the horn.

My feet carry me fast across camp. I find the rest of the village cuddled around in a circle. I can't see who have arrived, so I push my way farther into the crowd. Please don't be Neteyam and Lo'ak. Please Eywa.

When I finally brake through the crowd I see her. She is standing with other members of the party. She looks the exact same. Their Ikrans spread out behinds them, full of new supplies from raids and hunting. Groups are slowly stating to take stuff off of them.

"Mother!" I make a brake for her. It has been a full month since I last saw her. And despite her half-hearted attempt at raising me after fathers death, I am beyond happy to see her.

She hears my call out and see's me coming her way and simply opens her arms to me. I basically launch myself into her embrace. She smells like the clouds and the forest. I bury head into her neck and the tears start to flow out of me.

"There, there, child. I am home."

"Thank you Eywa. Thank you."

Her arms are wrapped tight around me. She continues to calm me and I thank Eywa for her return and for her good health and everything in-between. In this moment I could stay for forever.

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