┊ ✯ Zuni, Apache, Black, and Trinidadian/Caribbean
✯ Benedict Bridgerton is everything to me .
𝓕𝓤𝓝 𝓕𝓐𝓒𝓣𝓢
☆I’m currently living in the US but I’ve kinda lived all over.
☆The last place I lived was New Zealand, and I travel a lot with my partner who studies cultural architecture.
☆ I use my real name lol. feel free to call me Sol, or Lana, or whatever!
☆ I live with my roommate, and my two dogs (one of which is a psychiatric service dog)
☆ I speak French, Spanish, English, and Shiwi (Zuni Language.)
☆ I study art and film, specifically story structure and cinematography.
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✮I write for any gender x any gender reader inserts.
☽ y/n will most likely be poc coded (non-euro centric features described, etc.)
R U L E S A N D D E T A I L S
Nsfw is aloud but nothing crazy. (By that I’m not calling any of anyone’s kinks “crazy” what I mean like super, super intense bdsm, knife play, gun play, blood kinks, incest, stepcest, (let’s just say anything ending in ‘cest’ is a no.) and everything MUST be consensual.)
I’m a bit hesitant about writing human x na’vi nsfw and I probably won’t write human reader x na’vi fluff. It’s just I have a hard time visually imagining a human and a na’vi having sex without an avatar body. I am not against the idea in any way, but the general concept does throw me off a bit (I always imagine some type of detrimental injury occurring bc we are so smol compared to na’vi)
In all, I’m not the biggest fan of writing for a human reader, and will probably turn down requests for a human x Na’vi fic.
I will however, absolutely write for avatar reader x na’vi character of any sort! Or even a half-human half na’vi reader or some kind of biracial na’vi? (I’ve seen that concept a few times in the fandom an it’s honestly so much fun)
I do allow things like comfort for self harm, abuse, traumatic experiences, racism, etc. but these things will never be romanticized.
Y/n won’t have a name. Sorry, I just don’t see the point in x reader if the reader has a name. I will always refer to them as Y/n.
I write for a female reader for the most part but please, if you want any other pronouns please let me know in your request.
Y/n will always be of any size! That includes plus size or on the skinnier size. If you would like me to specify that in your request let me know.
I do age up my characters. If you don’t like it you can head out.
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T H E H E A V E N S
Details: Each character has their own sky object or natural phenomenon. Works and fics are found underneath the collages.
(important! This masterlist is not yet finished! More characters will be added later!!)
pairings aged-up neteyam x tayrangi!female warrior
notes reader is ikeyni’s daughter, mean neteyam (dw he will grovel for this <3) crybaby neteyam, angst, she fell first and he fell harder, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis neteyam has always been the only boy who stirred your heart. as a man, he is everything you’ve ever wanted... and now that circumstances have finally drawn you closer, it feels like the perfect chance to make him see you. but with the looming war, the firstborn son of toruk makto has no room for distractions, and he won’t hesitate to push aside anyone who threatens his focus.
word count 17.7k
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You leaned against one of the massive pillars of the war pavilion, idly braiding a strand of fiber for your new knife sheath. Usually, your senses would be filled with the smell of salt and moss that clung to the cliffs of your home in the Eastern Sea, but here, in the rainforest, it was mostly choked out by the heavy stench of fuel and burning forest, and around you, the war council was deep in debate.
Your mother stood tall with the other chieftains, gesturing sharply at a large map laid on a long table. Beside her stood your brother, the future Olo’eyktan of your clan, listening intently.
And then, there was the real view.
Neteyam stood just behind his father, Jake Sully. He was taller than most of the men in your clan, broad-shouldered, and muscled, taking after his father, even though he had the fierce beauty of his mother. He was listening to the strategy with that maddeningly intense, perfectly disciplined look he always wore. Always the dutiful son, the perfect soldier.
You bit your lip, a slow smirk spreading across your face. He was so incredibly handsome it was ridiculous, especially when he looks like he carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. You’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that intensity... To be the subject of his focus and determination.
You shivered at the thought of it, and your brother caught your eyes across the table. He noticed where you were staring, rolled his eyes, and mouthed, “Stop it.”
“Their supply lines are vulnerable here, along the gorge,” Jake Sully was saying, moving a stone on the ridge on the map. “But they’ve got turrets scanning the skies. If we fly in blind, we’re target practice.”
“We need a distraction,” Neteyam muttered, his brow furrowed as he stared at the map. “Someone fast enough to draw the attention away from the ground strike team, but agile enough to avoid getting hit. But it’s high risk.”
“My people are born on the wind,” Ikeyni spoke up. She placed a hand flat on the table, her sharp eyes shifting from Jake to his eldest son. “If you need someone who can deliver what you need, you take my daughter.”
Neteyam’s head snapped up. His golden eyes immediately finding yours from where you leaned against the pillar, as if he knew where exactly you had been standing. A frown instantly marred his handsome face and he turned back to your mother, his posture stiffening.
“Olo’eykte, with respect, the RDA has upgraded those tracking systems,” Neteyam argued, his voice tight with that dutiful edge you loved to mess with. “They aren’t just shooting blindly anymore. It is high risk. A single mistake, and the ikran and its rider are—”
“Are you saying I can’t handle it?”
You purred the words as you finally pushed off the pillar, sauntering closer to the table, tossing your half-braided sheath fiber aside. Every eye in the room tracked your movement, but yours were locked on the Omatikaya’s golden boy. You stopped right beside him, close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him. You tilted your head up, letting a slow smirk pull at your lips as you looked at his clenched jaw.
“If I didn’t know any better,” you murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer, “I’d think you were trying to keep me out of the sky to keep me safe. I didn’t realize you care that much?”
A sudden bark of laughter broke out from an elder across the table and the others followed suit. Meanwhile, your brother shook his head at your sheer audacity. Jake Sully’s lips twitched upward, a faint, amused glint in his eyes as he looked between you two, clearly remembering what it was like to be young and stubborn. Even the older, stern warriors around the table began to chuckle, the suffocating tension of the war efforts breaking open to let a little light in. It was a comforting reminder to the elders that despite the demons coming back, the youth were still acting their age.
Neteyam, however, did not laugh.
He let out a long, slow breath through his nose, his shoulders dropping a fraction as he looked down at you. His ears twitched back in mild annoyance, but he didn't step away from you. He was tolerant, as he always was, enduring your teasing with the patience of a tree weathering a storm. He had always known that you are a lethal asset to the people’s war efforts... But unfortunately, you are also a source of a massive, distracting headache.
“I care about the success of the mission,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a low register meant only for you. His gaze was incredibly intense up close, close to the kind of focus that had made you shiver imagining just moments ago. “We are planning a raid that could cost lives. This isn’t the time for games.”
Partly slighted at his doubt, you frowned. “I am completely serious,” you said, dropping the just enough to show the deadly huntress beneath. You motioned at the map right where the turrets were marked. “These are coastal winds. I’ve navigated treacherous cliff gaps like it’s a playground snce I was a child. My ikran and I will rise to the challenge, you’ll see.”
“Alright, alright, break it up,” Jake intervened, though the grin was obvious in his voice as he tapped the map. “If Ikeyni says she’s the one for the job, then she’s the one. Neteyam, you’ll be leading the ground insertion. That means your timing with the distraction has to be perfect.”
Neteyam tore his eyes away from you, nodding sharply to his father. “Yes, sir.”
But as the council began to break into smaller groups to discuss once more among themselves, Neteyam didn't immediately walk away. He stayed right where he was, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He looked down at you, the exasperation fading into something quieter, something serious and heavy.
“It really is dangerous out there,” he said softly, his golden eyes searching yours. “The winds in the gorge are unpredictable.”
You matched his seriousness for a rare, passing second, to let him see that you are capable underneath all the flirting. “I know, Neteyam. But I’m faster than them. Trust me.”
He nodded, his jaw hardening. “I do trust you. Just... don't make me regret it.”
With a final, lingering look that left your heart hammering against your ribs, he turned to follow his father. You watched him go, your smirk slowly returning as you realized that for at least a few minutes, you had been the absolute center of his universe.
The next day, you were up before the first light, immediately going to where your ikran was roosting, smiling when you saw her already prepared, like always. “Ready, girl?“ you murmured, stroking her sleek, brightly patterned neck.
She screeched in response, a sharp, eager sound and you chuckled, mounting her back and connecting your kuru to hers, the familiar, rushing warmth of the tsaheylu flooding your senses. Your head swiveled to the side when you sensed a presence, seeing Neteyam stopping several paces away, already geared with his warrior cummerbund, longbow, amd chest knife sheath.
Your head tilted, admiring how handsome he looked as you smiled brightly. “Hi! Good morning,” you grinned. “Came to send me with a good luck kiss?”
He remained serious though, his eyes scanning your form on your ikran. “Be careful out there.” he said in a clipped tone, not waiting for a response before he turned away.
You chuckled, shaking your head. So serious, you thought, smirking. So handsome, too, anyway, the other part of your mind retorted and you rolled your eyes. You clicked your tongue and pulled at your ikran’s reins, making her surge up into the sky. You flew higher than usual, hiding in the thick clouds to scan high above the gorge. The sky was still a deep, bruised purple when the signal came through the comms secured to your ear.
“Pathfinder,” Jake Sully’s voice crackled, steady and calm. “Ground teams, position. You are clear to engage. Eye in the sky, you're up.”
A heartbeat later, a lower, tighter voice filtered through. “Be careful up there. Hit your marks.”
Neteyam.
Your smirk returned, invisible to him but it laced your voice enough for him to imagine it. “I heard that twice already, Neteyam. Are you so worried?” your honeyed teasing voice dripping through the comms.
You heard his groan and it was followed by a chuckle that sounded so much like Jake’s but it was cut short. “Just focus on the mission,” Neteyam’s voice snapped back through the earpiece.
You chuckled. “Watch the skies, Sully. Try not to blink, or you’ll miss me.”
Without waiting for a response, you clicked your tongue. Your ikran folded her wings and dove straight off the cliffside into the gaping maw of the gorge. The wind shrieked past your ears, whipping your braids wildly. Below, the metallic structures of the RDA outpost clung to the valley floor like a parasite. Within seconds, the base's automated defense grid woke up. Loud whirs echoed through the canyon as three massive turrets pivoted, their motion-tracking lasers sweeping the dark sky until they locked onto you.
“Now!” you hissed, leaning flat against your ikran's back.
You maneuvered your ikran in the sky as heavy explosive rounds tore through the air. The blasts should have scared you, but it surprised even you that it didn’t. You pulled sharply on the reins, banking hard to the left. A volley of bullet shattered the rocky cliffside right where you had been a millisecond before, reducing it to a powdery debris. You laughed out loud, pushing your mount into a tight, dizzying barrel roll, diving directly between the narrow gaps of the cliffs.
The tracking systems couldn't keep up. The automated turrets jerked violently, scrambling to overcorrect their aim as you flew through the blind spots, From your view high above, you watched Neteyam and his ground strike team. While the turrets were completely distracted by your earlier display, they swarmed out of the dense forest like shadows. Leading the charge, Neteyam moved with terrifying precision, breaching the perimeter fencing, dropping two RDA guards before they could even raise their weapons. Behind him, Lo'ak and the other warriors systematically planted charges on the supply crates and fuel lines.
Even from up above, your eyes found him effortlessly, admiring his swift and unyielding movements, completely commanding. He was a force of nature.
“Charges are live! Pull back, pull back!” You heard Neteyam’s voice bark through the comms. He looked up into the sky, his golden eyes scanning the smoke until he caught the bright, unmistakable red of your ikran’s wings looping through the clouds. “Y/N, disengage! Get out of there!”
Swooping low one last time, you let out a victorious battle cry as a massive explosion ripped through the base behind you. You looked and saw an image of a huge ball of fire consuming the turrets and the supply lines. The explosion gave your ikran the motivation to increase her speed, launching you up and out of the fiery gotge into the safety of the skies. The raid was a flawless success.
By the time you got back to Hometree, the adrenaline was still humming under your skin. You hopped down from your ikran, patting her flank affectionately as the other warriors cheered and celebrated the clean victory. No casualties for the party and a massive blow to the sky people. A smudge of black engine soot marred your cheek, your eyes searching the crowd.
Neteyam was standing near his father, catching his breath, his skin glistening with sweat and ash. He looked exhausted, but the heavy tension that usually held his shoulders tight had momentarily melted away. As if sensing your gaze, his head turned. His golden eyes locked onto yours across the clearing. You stared at him, raising your brow and tilting your chind up with a proud, triumphant grin that said, I told you so.
Neteyam watched you for a long moment. Then, slowly, a genuine, breathless smile broke across his handsome face. It was a rare, stunning sight that made your heart do a violent flip against your ribs. He broke away from his father and walked straight toward you, stopping just a foot away.
“You showboated,” he murmured, his voice low but devoid of the seriousness that usually laced it.
“I just gave them a show,” you corrected smoothly, crossing your arms. “There is a difference. And I did it.”
“You did,” Neteyam conceded, his eyes dropping to the soot on your cheek before rising to meet your gaze with an intensity that made you almost forget how to breathe. “It was an incredible show. You were incredible up there.”
Your breath hitched. For all your constant flirting and loud teasing, having his quiet praise directed entirely at you caught you completely off guard that the witty comeback died on your tongue, your cheeks warming under his stare.
Neteyam noticed your sudden silence, and a small, amused smirk, one that looked a lot like your own, as if he had just copied it, pulled at the corner of his lips.
“What's wrong?” he asked softly, stepping just a fraction closer. “Quiet now? I didn't realize it was that easy to shut you up.”
You stared up at him, your mouth slightly open. The proximity was intoxicating, and for someone who usually spent his time dodging your advances, he was occupying a lot of your personal space now.
Your eyes flicked down to his smirk, then back up to his eyes. “I’m just savoring the moment. You’re more handsome up close,“ you smirked, regaining your composure a little. You leaned in, forcing him to maintain that dizzying eye contact. “And it’s not every day the great Neteyam admits I'm incredible. I might just let it get in my head.”
Neteyam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Coughing softly, he cleared his throat as he took a strategic step backward, breaking the contact but keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “Don't get used to it,” he muttered, though his tone was lacking any real bite. “Go get cleaned up. My father wants a full debrief within the hour.”
He turned on his heel and walked back toward Jake, though you didn't miss the way his tail swished behind him. You let out a quiet, triumphant laugh, wiping the soot from your cheek with the back of your hand. There was still an armor, but you had managed to crack it... That’s a small victory!
In the following days, the high of the victory had settled into the familiar routine of war. The leaders gathered once again in the pavilion. This time, however, the mood was lighter. The success of the gorge raid had given the rebellion more time to breathe. Your mother pointed at the eastern coast on the map, discussing the movement of RDA sea vessels who was last seen going farther east.
“They are retreating toward the deep water,” your brother noted, crossing his arms. “The destruction of the supply lines has damaged their operations in the coastal outposts.”
“We need to take control of the momentum,” Jake said, leaning over the table. “Neteyam, what’s the status of our perimeter watches?”
Neteyam stepped forward, completely back into his professional, disciplined element. “The forest guards are doubling their patrols. But we need to ensure our aerial scouts are maintaining a strict radius. We can't afford to get complacent just because we succeed in one mission.”
You smiled, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned over the map table, deliberately putting yourself right in his line of sight. “Oh, don't worry, Commander. Our scouts are alwasys in the air. We don't get tired easily.” You paused, letting your eyes slowly track down his body before bringing your gaze back to his face. “Though, if you're so worried about our stamina, you're welcome to come up with me next time. I can show you how we stay energized.”
A collective ripple of amused snickers passed through the council. Your brother hid his face in his hands, muttering something about losing his mind, while your mother let out a small, huffing chuckle. “Daughter...” she said pointedly.
Neytiri smiled, shaking her head at Ikeyni. You watched Neteyam close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. He was so incredibly tolerant of you, enduring the teasing with the quiet patience of a palulukan letting a cub bat at its tail.
“Y/N,” Neteyam said slowly, opening his eyes to look at you with deadpan exasperation. “I have to train the youth at the archery grounds after this. I do not have time to be a part of your games.”
“A shame,” you purred, flashing him a brilliant, unbothered grin. “You don't know what you're missing.”
Hours later, you found yourself wandering down toward the village training grounds, hearing the familiar sound of snapping bowstrings and the light thud of arrows hitting bark targets. You stood there, crossing your arms as you watched the scene. Neteyam was in his element. He was surrounded by a dozen young, aspiring warriors, all holding smaller training bows. He was patient and focused, moving down the line to correct their posture.
“Keep your elbow high,” Neteyam instructed a young boy, gently adjusting the kid's arm. “Do not fight the bow string. Let it become an extension of your arm. Look at the center of the mark, breathe out, and release.”
The boy released the string, and the arrow thudded squarely into the inner ring of the target. The kids cheered, and Neteyam offered a rare, warm smile, patting the boy's shoulder.
“Very good. Again.”
“Nice,” you called out, stepping out from the shadows.
The group of young hunters immediately turned, their eyes widening when they saw you. In your clan, you were a legend among the youth, the daughter who flew like the wind and didn't care about the rules. A few of the older teenagers standing nearby immediately started whispering and nudging each other, grinning widely because everyone knew you loved to push Neteyam’s buttons.
Neteyam stiffened, his shoulders squaring as he turned to face you. He gripped his longbow, his ears twitching back. “I am teaching, Y/N. Go find something else to do.”
“I just want to see if I can help,” you said innocently, sauntering closer until you were standing right in front of him, entirely ignoring the giggles of the children behind him. You reached out, your fingers lightly tracing the curve of his heavy longbow. “You see, kids, the Omatikaya are used to shooting on the ground, on their feet. But if you want real precision while moving, you need a loose hip. Like this.”
You fluidly snatched a training bow from a nearby rack, notched an arrow in the blink of an eye, and without even pausing to aim, you spun on your heel and released. The young warriors erupted into gasps and cheers when they saw the arrow hit the center of the furthest target cleanly, totally thrilled by the display. You tossed the bow back onto the rack, turning around to look at Neteyam with a smug, raised eyebrow.
“See?” you murmured, stepping into his space, tilting your head up. “It’s about flexibility, too. Maybe I should give you a private lesson sometime. I can teach you how to loosen up what’s stiff.” you murmured, biting your lip.
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, his aw practically tightening into stone. His face burned a furious, deep shade of violet, his golden eyes wide as he stared down at you. He knows, with a piercing awareness, how completely trapped he is between his duty and his sheer, chaotic attraction to you, and he shouldn’t like it. But he does, so Eywa help him. He took a deep breath, gripping his bow tightly to keep his hands from shaking.
“Class dismissed,” Neteyam barked out, his voice a strained, tight rumble. “Go practice your stealth skills. Now.”
The kids scrambled away, still laughing and whispering, leaving the two of you completely alone in the training grounds. Neteyam stepped even closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you as he glared down, though the heat radiating from his skin told a completely different story.
“You are impossible,” he whispered fiercely.
You laughed, enjoying the sight of the crack getting bigger each day. You’ve never had this much progress in the past... Perhaps because you don’t really see each other for longer than a few days. Sometimes, your mother gets invited to festivals in the Omatikaya and she brings you and your brother with her, or it’s her who invites the Sullys to come for festivals in your clan.
You’ve always liked Neteyam better than his brother. Lo’ak is a good acquaintance, but it was Neteyam who you’ve always found more interesting. What with his intense focus and unyielding determination on everything he puts his mind to, but you could tell it was also born from his desire to live up to his parents’ legacy.
He is the firstborn, after all. The heir to the Omatikaya leadership. The return of the sky people was the reason why he’s grown even more serious and focused, determined to protect the people, Eywa’eveng, and his family, even more so. You respect that a great deal, but you also think he needs to loosen up a bit before he stresses himself into an early grave.
You wonder if he even has interest in women, or if he only cares about his bows and his arrows. But you don’t like to think of that. It makes you fiercely jealous to think of him directing that intense focus on a woman who’s not you... Or to think of him letting a woman see past the armor you’re working so hard to crack.
But you are too confident. You thought the crack in his armor was getting wider by the day, and you genuinely believed it was only a matter of time before he finally let his guard down.
You should have remembered that in war, the higher you fly, the harder you fall.
More council meetings ensued in the following days, and now, you found yourself back in the sky. The RDA had deployed a small convoy of armored vehicles, and Neteyam’s squad was tasked to do a quiet interception.
“Hold your position above the tree line,” you heard Neteyam’s voice through the comms, crisp and authoritative. “Do not engage until the ground team has disabled their communications. If they see you, they will lock down the area and call for reinforcements. Do you copy?”
You had copied. But as you circled in the grey mist, you saw one of the AMP suits pivoting its heavy cannon directly toward the dense foliage where Neteyam’s ground sweepers were crawling. Your heart leaped into your throat. You waited to hear from him, or for the communication to be cut, but you can’t wait when they could all be gunned down any second.
I am fast enough, you had thought, fueled by that same headstrong confidence that had always served you before. I can take out that suit before it fires.
So, you dove.
But you had underestimated the trees’ density in this sector. Your ikran’s wing clipped a massive branch, throwing off your trajectory by a fraction of a second, and it was all the automated sensors needed. The AMP suit spun, firing a volley of heavy-caliber rounds into the sky. A hot, tearing agony sliced across your thigh, a bullet graze, and the concussive blast sent your ikran screeching into a spiral.
Your sudden, messy descent completely blew the ground team's cover. The convoy opened fire on the forest blindly. Screams of pain echoed through the comms, cutting through your panic. By the time it all ended, the convoy was destroyed, but the cost to the war party was devastating. Blood soaked your leg wraps but you cared little for it, forcing your ikran into the air, flying back to the Hometree with your chest tightening in suffocating fear and shame.
When you landed in the clearing, the celebratory atmosphere of the past weeks was entirely dead. You scrambled off your mount, wincing as your injured leg buckled slightly, and rushed toward the center, catching sight of him immediately. Neteyam was lifting a huntress off the back of his ikran. Her arm was painted in deep, crimson blood from a horrific wound on her shoulder. It was Tarya.
“Get the medical bay ready! Move!” Neteyam roared, his voice cracking with a raw, terrifying desperation you had never heard from him before. He was covered in soot and someone else's blood, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
“Neteyam—” you breathed, stepping forward, your hands shaking. “Neteyam, I—I am so sorry. I saw the suit turning toward you, I thought I could—”
Neteyam snapped. He lowered Tarya into the frantic arms of the medical healers, then turned on you so fast his tail whipped the air. He closed the distance between you in two giant, looming strides, towering over you.
“You thought?” he asked, his voice drawing the shocked eyes of every warrior present. “I don’t think so! You are entirely, helplessly obstinate! You almost fell! You almost died, did you even think of that?!”
You flinched, stepping back, but he kept coming, his golden eyes blazing with a dangerous, lethal heat that made you feel incredibly small.
“And because you couldn't follow a single, simple order, these warriors are wounded!” He said in a hard voice, his jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grinding. “Tarya might not survive the night! Do you understand that? Do you even care?”
“I do care!” you cried out, tears of shame finally burning your eyes. “I was trying to protect—”
“You didn’t listen! Like always!” he cut you off, his chest heaving as he glared down at you with complete contempt. “You treat this war like a game to win my attention! You are a massive, childish distraction, Y/N! Everyone knows it, and I am sick of it! Do you think people bleeding out in the mud is a joke? Do you think this war is just another festival for you to play around in?”
The words felt like physical daggers piercing straight into your chest, ripping away at your pride and your confidence. You stood frozen, completely exposed and deeply ashamed in front of the people present. Your mouth opened to apologize again.
“I'm sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking.
“Save your apologies,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a cold, venomous hiss that hurt far worse than his shouting. “If you cannot take this seriously, you should just withdraw from the war efforts entirely. Frankly, your behavior is putting everyone's life on the line.”
He didn't wait for you to answer. He turned his back on you completely, jogging alongside the stretcher as they wheeled his warriors toward the human facilities.
You stood alone in the dirt. You couldn't even feel the throbbing wound on your thigh. The numbness of absolute embarrassment and guilt swallowed you whole. He was right. You had been stupid and childish. You had been playing a dangerous game with people's lives just to hear him say your name.
You didn't seek out the Tsahik. You didn't think you deserved her medicine. Weakly, you dragged yourself back onto your ikran and flew away from the Hometree, heading toward the borders of your own clan's territory. You spent the evening in isolation, using bitter, stinging ocean herbs to tend to your own thigh, weeping silently in the dark. You resolved that you would return to apologize to the wounded warriors, and thinking of doing that is already making you feel flayed.
You had been too confident in your abilities and now, you have put people’s lives on the line. You should be ashamed. He was right about you leaving the war efforts, too, perhaps that was for the better. Because of what happened, you don’t think you still have enough confidence to go out there and fight.
You went to your clan, simply to change clothes, but was welcomed by the heavy grief that befell the people. An honored elder had passed away from natural causes, and by custom, the clan had to gather for the burial rites. Your mother and brother returned from the war front to attend, their faces grim.
After the body was given back to Eywa, your brother found you sitting on a secluded cliffside, staring blankly out at the crashing waves of the Eastern Sea. He sat down beside you, sighing. “I heard of the northern ridge,” he said quietly.
You clutched your knees to your chest, refusing to look at him. “Is Tarya... is she alive?”
“She is. Jake’s human friends saved her. She will recover. The others are okay, too,” your brother assured you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “The war party didn't lose its momentum, sister, if that’s what you’re worried about. But... the injuries could have been prevented. You know this.”
“I know,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I think I should leave, before I put everyone's lives on the line.” You looked up at your brother, your eyes hollow. “I’ll fly back tomorrow. Just to apologize to those who were wounded because of me. And then... I'm coming home.”
Later that evening, you stood inside your mother's yurt, packing away your combat gear. Ikeyni watched you from the entrance, her arms crossed, as you told her what you told your brother, your voice flat and devoid of its usual spark.
“It would be better anyway if I stay back here, Mother,” you said, tying off a leather pouch. “I can act on your behalf with the local hunters. I'm just a bother to the war council over there.”
Ikeyni stared at you, her sharp eyes assessing your rigid posture, your bandaged leg, and the complete lack of confidence in your eyes.
“Whose words are those?” your mother asked softly. “Are they yours?”
You paused, your hands trembling over your gear. You shook your head slowly. “Mother, he was right,” you said, a lump forming in your throat as Neteyam's furious face flashed in your mind. “I wasn't taking the war seriously. I think it would do the council better if I leave. We have plenty of competent riders to do my job. I don't belong there.”
Ikeyni let out a long, heavy sigh. She walked over, placing a firm, warm hand on the nape of your neck, tilting your forehead up to look into her eyes.
“If that is what you truly want, then so be it,” your mother murmured softly, leaning forward to kiss your temple. “But remember who you are, daughter. You are a child of the wind. Do not let one storm ground you forever.”
The journey back to the Omatikaya clan felt different this time. Usually, you would be racing your brother through the clouds, your laughter wild and loud, but today, you simply flew silently behind your mother. When you landed and entered the pavilion, the change in you was loud. Normally, there was always a sharp, teasing smirk ready for whoever caught your eye, but now, your face was barely moving, your eyes fixed on a permanent point in front of you.
The shame was suffocating and it felt like a huge boulder they tied around you. The council proceeded, discussing territory lines and defensive strategies for what felt like hours, while you stood rigid behind your mother, your eyes watching them move pieces on the map, unknowing of Neteyam’s eyes seeking you despite Ikeyni’s body blocking him from sight.
Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward into the light of the pavilion when the elders finally paused. Your voice was flat as you addressed the chieftains and the elders, completely stripped of its usual playful edge. “I want to apologize for the failure of my recent mission. I disobeyed orders, and I take full accountability for the consequences. I am even sorrier that it took me days to stand before you and say this; my clan was laying an elder to rest.“
You took a breath, your hands clasped tightly behind your back so no one could see them shaking.
“As you can see, I am unfit for this council. I lack the discipline required for operations of this scale. Moving forward, I am letting my mother decide on my replacement from the Tayrangi riders.”
A heavy silence descended upon the pavilion.
“Y/N,” Jake Sully spoke first, his deep voice carrying a wave of gentleness that surprised you. He leaned over the table, his eyes soft. “The war party didn't lose its momentum. We took out the convoy. You don't need to pin the blame solely on yourself. This is war. Mistakes happen and warriors are always meant to be wounded.”
Neytiri leaned forward next, her sharp, golden eyes searching your hollow face. “Do I understand what you mean, Ikeyni’ite? Are you leaving the council?”
“Yes,” you nodded, your voice firm.
Your mother stepped into the space beside you, her voice steady and protective, supplementing your words before anyone else could question you. “I have asked her to stay back with the Tayrangi. Ruk’e and I are heavily occupied with the war efforts here, and I need someone I trust to oversee the people.”
“Olo'eykte. Tsakarem.”
The voice cut through the pavilion, low and fractured, making your heart seize painfully in your chest. You didn't want him to speak. You didn't want to look at him.
Neteyam stepped forward from behind his father's shoulder. His posture wasn't stiff with the perfect discipline of a soldier anymore, it looked strained, his shoulders slightly hunched. “I wish to speak,” he said, his eyes locked on you, seeking yours, though you kept your gaze fixed somewhere near his collarbone. “I want to apologize to you, Y/N, before the council, for my reaction days ago. I was angry, and I spoke out of turn. You do not need to leave the council because of it.”
You felt a faint ripple of shock go through you, but it didn't revive your heart. Instead, a fresh wave of mortification washed over you. You felt even more ashamed that he felt obligated to apologize in front of the entire leadership just to close the issue gracefully and maintain alliance peace. To you, him telling you not to leave was just something he was saying for the record, a diplomatic necessity.
“You have nothing to apologize for, warrior, and I have nothing to forgive either,” you said, your voice entirely level, devoid of any anger or spite. It was just empty.
One of the Omatikaya elders turned to your mother. “Ikeyni, is this decision final? We would hate to lose such a skilled asset for the war efforts.”
“Yes,” you answered for her, your tone absolute. Nothing could have changed your mind. “If the council pleases, I excuse myself. I wish to apologize to the warriors who were wounded because of me.”
You were already looking at the door, not catching how Neteyam’s head reared back as if something had clawed at him. Without waiting for a formal dismissal, you turned and walked out of the pavilion, the sudden shift to freedom doing nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.
You walked straight toward the medical areas, knowing you would find the injured split between the Tsahik’s tent and the human facilities. You went to the Tsahik's tent first, stepping into the dim space. When you approached the wounded Omatikaya warriors, your throat tightened, but they easily brushed your apologies off with tired, warm smiles.
“It is no one's fault,” one of them murmured. “We know what we came there for. Being wounded is expected for a warrior.”
When you went to the human facilities, you found Tarya resting in a clean bed, her shoulder heavily bandaged. When you spoke your apologies to her, she reached out to pat your arm. “Do not carry this weight, sister. We are alive. That is what matters.”
The sheer kindness of their forgiveness almost made you cry. A bitter, agonizing thought crossed your mind, wishing Neteyam thinks the same.
But you immediately caught yourself, mentally slapping the thought away. Stop it. You need to stop thinking about what Neteyam thinks or what he doesn't. You knew it would take time. You had liked him for so long, possibly loved him, but that part of your life was over now.
You walked out to the clearing where your ikran was waiting, ready to leave this place behind for good. You were just reaching for her leather harness when heavy, frantic footsteps behind you, hearing your name being called.
You closed your eyes for a brief second before turning around. Neteyam was jogging toward you, breathing heavily. He had asked to leave the council to follow you the exact moment you walked out, but Jake hadn't allowed him to dismiss himself until the meeting officially concluded.
Now, as he stopped a few paces away, you actively turned off your imaginative mind. You completely shut down that part of yourself that used to over-analyze his every breath, forcing yourself not to read into the fact that he looked almost desperate, entirely at a loss for words.
Neteyam's eyes flickered down, and you saw his face almost crumple, a sharp grimace crossing his features at the sight of the cloth bandaging your thigh. You subtly shifted your weight, trying your best to hide the injury behind the wing of your ikran.
His eyes flickeredup to yours, swimming with a quiet, raw desperation you tried your hardest to ignore. “Y/N, please. I am so sorry for what I said in the clearing. I shouldn't have—”
“It’s alright, Neteyam,” you cut him off smoothly, your voice polite and empty. “You were right anyway. Truly, I should be ashamed of my behavior right from the start. I didn't take things as seriously as I should have, and that only proves how unfit I am for the council. So, you see, you were completely right about me leaving—”
“No,” he breathed, the word breaking from him like a gasp. His shoulders fell, and he took a sudden step forward, his hand reaching out.
Unconsciously, your posture tensed, and you took a sharp step backward, pressing yourself closer to the flank of your ikran as if to seek safety.
Neteyam froze. His extended hand trembled in the air before slowly dropping to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice strained with a deep pain that, once again, you forced yourself to ignore.
“I know,” you said quickly, forcing a small chuckle to ease the tension. “Sorry.” You cleared your throat, gesturing vaguely to the sky. “But just as I said, everything has become much clearer to me now. I want to leave before I put more people in danger. Perhaps, I should even thank you for opening my mind about that—”
“No, Y/N, listen to me,” he stepped closer again, his voice rising in an urgent, pleading rush. “I was just... I was so scared for the wounded. I was terrified. And I said things that I shouldn't have said, terrible things—”
“You said things that were true, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, your face completely calm as you reached up to ruffle the crest of your ikran's head. “And as I said, I am completely cool about them. I accept them, and I understand. You have nothing to apologize for. In truth, it was just a superior delivering valid criticisms that I needed to learn from.”
“I was unnecessarily cruel,” Neteyam burst out, his jaw trembling as he stared at your polite, unbothered expression. “I was unfair of me to pin all the blame on you. Their tracking systems were upgraded, the terrain was bad—I couldn't tell you how much I have regretted my words every second since. Y/N, please... it is I who needs your forgiveness—”
You let out a sigh and Neteyam stopped abruptly, as if your sigh had put a physical gag on him. He watched you, terrified of whatever words were about to leave your mouth.
“Neteyam. It is over and done with,” you said, your voice shifting into a serious, cold finality that left no room for argument. “I have no hard feelings over it whatsoever. Everything you said that day was true. I didn’t listen, and it put people in danger. I was reckless. I was foolish. You were right, so stop insisting you were wrong, because I’ll start thinking this is just your guilt talking. Stand by your words, and let’s leave things be.”
You reached behind you, grabbing your kuru and connecting it swiftly to your ikran's, before fluidly mounting her back, settling into the saddle with a practiced, rigid grace.
Neteyam stood rooted to the dirt. He had stopped breathing. He stared up at you, his chest aching so violently he wished with everything in him that your ikran’s wings wouldn't work. He wished the wind would die. He wished he could reach out, grab the reins, and drag you back down. His heart throbbed with a suffocating mix of guilt, regret, and something far heavier that he couldn't even name.
He had hurt you. He had completely broken your spirit, and it was devastatingly obvious. Sitting on your ikran, you were unrecognizable. The brilliant, chaotic spark was entirely gone. Your playful confidence was buried deep beneath a layer of careful, polite nonchalance.
“Have a good life, Neteyam,” you murmured.
With a sharp click of your tongue, your ikran surged forward, her powerful wings launching you into the open sky.
Neteyam watched you fly away, your form growing smaller and smaller until you were nothing but a speck in the distance. A sharp, physical spasm ripped through his chest, and his golden eyes stung, blurring his vision. His fingers curled into tight, trembling fists, his teeth gritting together so hard he thought they would crack under the pressure.
He had wanted you to take the war seriously. He had wanted you to stop distracting him. But as he stood alone in the empty clearing, looking up at the empty sky, Neteyam realized he had never been more brokenly, horribly distracted in his entire life.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The war efforts did not stop just because Neteyam’s world had lost its friction. If anything, the pace of the rebellion quickened after the destruction of the northern convoy. The Omatikaya and their allies pushed the RDA further toward the coastal margins, reclaiming three separate valleys within a single turn of the moon.
Neteyam did his duty with the same cold precision his father had drilled into him since he was old enough to hold a knife. To the common warriors, he was still the golden heir... Unshakable, vigilant, a pillar of the clan along his parents and Mo’at.
But inside his own skin, he was experiencing a slow, suffocating death.
Every hour of every day, his mind raced backward, tracing the bridge he had violently brought down. He missed you with a ferocity that physically brought ache to his gut. It felt like a boulder was placed in his ribs, overcrowding his lungs. Some days, he could barely breathe.
And the worst part was the quiet.
Before his stupidity, every spot of the Hometree was a minefield of your laughter. He had spent months training himself to ignore the sound of that, even though it was the balm to his soul at the end of every exhausting day, the honeyed delivery of your voice, and the way you would lean your shoulder against his, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from you. He had thought of you as a massive, beautiful distraction. He had braced himself against you like a tree hardening its bark against a persistent storm.
Now, it was just gone. And the silence you left behind was deafening.
Dozens of times during the mid-day meetings, Neteyam would find his head turning instinctively to the left, his eyes scanning the roots or the wooden pillars for a glimpse of your vibrant red paint. At the training grounds, his shoulder would tingle, expecting the sudden touch of your hand.
But there was none.
By the second week, the pressure in Neteyam’s chest grew so immense that he began to lose his grip on his characteristic discipline. He became desperate for any connection to you, any excuse to hear updates from you that he found Ikeyni’s intense focus on war tactics and Ruk’e’s silence very irritating.
Stop talking of war, he thought. Let’s talk about your sister.
So when Ruk’e announced he was flying back to the Tayrangi to retrieve a shipment of leather harnesses and specialized arrows for the coastal hunters, Neteyam didn't even hesitate.
“I will go with you,” he had said, stepping into the ikran roosts before Ruk’e could even clear his mount for takeoff.
Ruk’e had paused, his hand tightening on his reins as he looked at Neteyam. There was no mission along the coast. There was no tactical reason for the commander of the ground forces to waste half a day acting as a pack-beast for supply crates.
“The eastern passes are clear, Sully,” Ruk’e said, his voice carrying that protective, guarded edge that you both possessed. “I do not need an escort.”
“My father wants an updated report on the drafts near the bay,” Neteyam lied, his jaw clenching as he connected his queue to his ikran. His voice was tight, nearly fracturing under the weight of his hidden urgency. “We are moving the division soon. I also need to see the terrain.”
Ruk’e stared at him for a long, heavy moment, reading the dark circles beneath his eyes and the frantic, nervous twitch of his tail. With a slow sigh, Ruk’e nodded silently. The flight to the Eastern Sea was the longest hour of Neteyam’s life. His mind ran through a thousand different scenarios, each one more pathetic than the last. He thought of finding you by the cliff’s edge. He thought of going down on his knees, uncaring of who saw him. He would let you see past his walls. He would let you see that he was nothing but a stupid man who had torn out his own heart stupidly. He was stupid, stupid, stupid.
Your final words had been repeating in his skull like a death chant. Have a good life, Neteyam.
It had sounded like a permanent severance. A final closure. He remembered how, weeks ago, when the realization that you intended to live the rest of your days without ever seeing him again hit him, he nearly doubled over, a physical gasp tearing from his throat as if he had been struck in the gut. Now, as they finally crested the high cliffs of the Tayrangi territory, his hope was crushed into dust. Apparently, you were not around. And he thought he was imagining the smirk that passed Ruk’e’s face.
They were there for close to two hours, gathering everything and securing it on their ikrans. At one point, Neteyam had looked high above and saw the unmistakable, bright red-and-orange span of your ikran’s wings flying down. His heart leaped into his throat, a sudden, violent surge of blood hammering in his ears. He leaned forward, preparing, his mouth already forming your name.
But then, Neteyam watched in absolute horror as your ikran turn back toward the blind side of the cliffs, diving deep into the sea mists until you completely vanished from sight. He looked at his ikran, its recognizable bright blue-green scales... Even from leagues away, you had seen the beast. Even though you didn't really see him, you decided to turn away. Avoiding him. Flying away from him.
Neteyam spent the rest of the supply run standing on the landing platforms, his eyes fixed on the empty horizon, his hands gripping his longbow so tightly his knuckles turned a sickly, pale shade of blue. You never came back up. You stayed hidden in the shadows of the rocks until they had to leave and fly back home to the forest, feeling more like a ghost than a living man.
Many nights later, Neteyam sat on a log near the weapon racks, idly running a whetstone down the edge of his hunting knife when a shadow fell over him. Jake Sully stepped into the light, his large frame blocking out the stars. He watched his eldest son for a quiet minute, taking in the rigid, defensive curve of the his spine.
“You're off your mark, son,” Jake said, his deep voice slicing through the crickets. “During the perimeter check today, you missed three separate trails on the western border. That’s not like you.”
Neteyam didn't look up. He kept his head bowed, the whetstone scraping against the blade. “Just tired, sir. The patrols have been long.”
“It’s not the patrols,” Jake countered gently. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the weapon rack, his expression softening. “I know what happened after the ridge raid, Neteyam.”
The whetstone stopped.
Neteyam’s hands tried to grip the knife tighter to hide the trembling of his fingers. For the first time in his life, he couldn't hold his mask in place. A small, ragged breath escaped his lips, and when he finally turned his face up to look at his father, Jake blinked sharply from the surprise of seeing Neteyam’s eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I hurt her, Dad,” Neteyam said weakly, his voice breaking. “I was... I was so unnecessarily cruel. I was too stupid, opening my mouth like that. Shouting at her... saying those terrible things.”
He let out a shaky breath, his face crumpling from the sheer, agonizing effort of trying not to cry, but the first tear slipped anyway.
“Have you seen her at the pavillion, Dad?” he asked. “That's not her. That is no longer her because I broke her. I took her spirit and I crushed it with my cruelty. And what’s worse, what is killing me every second, is that she thinks she deserved it. She thinks I was right.” He dropped the knife into the dirt, his hands coming up to cover his face. “I don't know how to turn it all back around. I want her to forgive me. I want her to know... I’d rip my own heart right out of my chest if it means I could take away the pain I gave her.”
Jake let out a long, heavy sigh. His own features crumpled in deep distress for the two of you. He reached down, placing a calloused hand on his son’s trembling shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Have you tried apologizing again? Truly talking to her?”
“No,” Neteyam choked out, pulling his hands away from his face, his eyes red-rimmed from his tears. “I think she doesn't want to see me ever again. I flew to the Tayrangi with Ruk'e last week... and the moment she saw my ikran, she retreated. She dove back into the cliffs... She didn't want to be near me, Dad.”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his teeth. “Have you tried hiding your ikran from view?”
Neteyam shot his father a miserable, exhausted look. “Dad,” he said, his you're-not-helping tone incredibly obvious. “I don't want to force her. If she wants to be away from me, I... I have to respect that. Even if it kills me.”
“Well,“ Jake said slowly, shifting his weight as he stared out into the dark canopy. “Perhaps you should just give her time... The perfect time to talk to her would probably be when she’s mated and having children with her husband—”
“Dad,” Neteyam’s voice rose and deepened, his head snapping up in sheer horror. The tears on his cheeks dried instantly as his heart did a terrifying, sickening dive into his stomach.
“What?” Jake asked, completely straight-faced, though there was a tiny, knowing glint in his eye. “You're taking too much time, son. Men could swoop in anytime, you know? Especially now. She’s back home, heartbroken, and trying to move on from a stupid boy who is too terrified to admit that he belongs to her. That’s exactly when other men take their chances.”
Neteyam closed his eyes, his breathing turning shallow and fast. For the first time in his twenty-two years of life, he felt a wild, primitive urge to beat his own father up.
It wasn't funny, but he knew that his father wasn’t joking either, and as he sat there, his mind began to spin into a dark spiral of jealousy and terror. He had always known that you liked him, that you had liked him since you were children, but because he had been so focused on his duty, he had never allowed himself to measure the depth of it. He had taken your presence for granted. He had assumed you would always be there, annoying him, teasing him, waiting for him to finally turn around.
But you were a chieftain's daughter. You were a legendary huntress, beautiful, fierce, and wild. He knew exactly how many Tayrangi young men watched you with fierce attraction when you flew. The only reason they had stayed away before was because you were down here, making a public nuisance of yourself over the Omatikaya heir.
Now, you were back home. Heartbroken and vulnerable.
Neteyam’s fingers curled into tight fists against his knees, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned under the pressure. The thought of another warrior touching your hand, the thought of another man making you laugh, or seeing that brilliant, wicked smirk return to your face, made his blood run thick.
“She is the daughter of the Olo’eykte,” Neteyam muttered, his voice dropping into a low register. “She would not just choose anyone.”
“No, she wouldn't,” Jake agreed softly. “But she will choose eventually, Neteyam. And right now, you're letting her believe she is better off without you.”
Jake turned away, leaving Neteyam to sit with the desperate fire that had lit inside him. He had broken your spirit, yes. But he would be damned if he let another man be the one to fix it.
With this new fire in him, Neteyam returned to the Tayrangi three more times over the following weeks, armed with a bag of increasingly flimsy excuses. The first time, he claimed his father needed a precise audit of the coastal clan's surplus ikran armor. The second time, he practically forced himself onto a tracking detail meant to map the migration patterns of the sturmbeast herds near the Tayrangi territories. By the third time, he was carrying a bundle of forest herbs from Mo’at that Tayrangi healers hadn't even asked for.
Yet, three times, you managed to dodge him completely.
It was maddening. It felt as though someone was deliberately feeding you a schedule of his arrivals and departures. Every time his blue-green ikran broke through the coastal fog, you were already gone, out on a hunt, or patrolling the northern borders. He even began to suspect your brother, Ruk’e, was secretly warning you through some hidden signal, but he knew for a fact that the man had no way of communicating with you.
You were simply anticipating him. You were treating him like an incoming storm, closing your doors and retreating into a safe place before the first drop of rain could touch you.
By the fourth visit, Neteyam had reached his absolute limit. He didn't bring an escort, and he didn't use the main landing platforms. He left his ikran tethered half a league away, hidden in a dense thicket, and trekked up the rocky coastal paths on foot, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was taking his father’s advice now, though he really hated the thought of surprising you.
He caught you by pure accident near the lower tide pools, where the cliffs formed a secluded cove. You were alone, repairing a frayed net, your long legs tucked beneath you on the smooth stone.When his shadow fell over you, you snapped your head up. For a second, your eyes widened in genuine, startled surprise. But the shock vanished, replaced instantly by that smooth mask of careful, polite nonchalance that made Neteyam’s stomach twist into a painful knot.
“Neteyam,” you said, your voice casual, but your fingers tightened so hard around the wooden netting needle. You made no move to stand, looking up at him as if he were nothing more than a passing trader. “What brings you here? Do you need help with anything, or were you sent here?”
You spoke the words with an easy, detached courtesy, even though your entire posture screamed that you wanted to be anywhere else but in front of him.
Neteyam closed the distance between you, his strides long and desperate. He didn't care about his dignity anymore. He didn't care that he was the commander of the ground forces or the son of Toruk Makto. He stopped just two paces away from you, his breath hitching as his eyes immediately swept down to your thigh. The bandage was gone, replaced by a white scar where the bullet had grazed you.
The sight of it made his throat tighten with a fresh wave of suffocating guilt.
“I wasn't sent, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, fractured register. He took a half-step forward, his hands twitching at his sides, wanting so desperately to reach out but forcing himself to stay back. “I came because of you. I came because I want to talk to you. I... I cannot sleep, I cannot breathe, and I—”
You let out a sharp, sudden breath, dropping the netting needle into your lap. The polite facade finally cracked, and you stood up, your tail whipping the air behind you in a sudden flash of genuine irritation.
“Aren’t we over this, Neteyam?” you snapped, your eyes narrowing as you glared up at him. “We discussed this already. I thought we agreed to get past it.”
“Y/N, please—”
“No, listen to me,“ you cut him off, your voice rising, hard and sharp. “If this is about your guilt, you can lay it down. I told you before, I have nothing to forgive. I accepted your words because they were true. But if you are going to keep coming here with more pathetic apologies and diplomatic reassurances, you are actually going to make me angry.” You stepped closer. “I told you to stand by your words. If you cannot back your own words, Neteyam, I would be deeply disappointed. You are going to lead your clan one day, and an Olo'eyktan’s words must be solid as stone. If you are this fickle with your own tongue, how can anyone trust you?“
“That is the problem!” He said pointedly, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing emotion as he grabbed your hand, his fingers locking around your wrist before you could pull away, his grip desperate but fiercely tender. “I regret my words, I regret them every single second of every day—”
You tried to wrench your wrist free, but he held fast, his eyes blazing down into yours with a terrifying, weeping intensity.
“I know I cannot take them back,” he breathed, his chest heaving as he stared into your eyes. “I know I cannot magically wipe away the pain I inflicted on you, and I know I cannot just hand you back the confidence that I shattered, but I will work on my hands and knees to bring you back to who you used to be. I will do whatever it takes, Y/N. I swear it to the Great Mother.”
You stopped pulling against his grip, your frame going completely rigid. A bitter huff escaped you, “I don't like who I used to be,” you whispered, and his head moved as if you’d slapped him. “And you said it yourself that day, you don't like it either. You said you were sick of it. You said I was a massive, childish distraction—”
“I was a fool!” he cried, his voice breaking completely. “I was terrified for the warriors, but most of all, I was terrified for you. When you fell from the sky... I thought I lost you. I let my fear turn into venom, and I threw it at the one person who didn't deserve it.”
You stared at him, your jaw tight, your breathing ragged. For a second, just a fraction of a second, Neteyam thought he saw a flicker of the old warmth that used to belong entirely to him. But then, your expression hardened again.
“It doesn't matter why you said it, Neteyam,” you said, your voice flat. “The fact remains that your assessment was correct. I was reckless, and I put lives at risk. Your cruelty was just the mirror I needed to see myself clearly. Now, let go of me. I have nets to mend."
Neteyam’s fingers slowly uncurled, his arm dropping to his side as if it had been cut. You didn't give him another glance, you simply sat back down on the rock, picked up your wooden needle, and began weaving the fibers with steady, unbothered precision.
That day was completely unproductive for him. He spent the remaining hours sitting on a boulder a few paces away, watching you work in absolute silence. You didn't speak to him again. You didn't look at him. You treated him like a piece of rock, completely ignoring his presence until the sun began to dip and he was forced to hike back to his ikran, his heart heavier than when he had arrived.
Neteyam did not give up. In fact, his failure only made him more relentless.
He began flying between the Omatikaya and the Tayrangi almost every single day, uncaring of the brutal, grueling transit on top of his patrols, trainings, and war meetings. He would wake up before the first light of dawn, complete his mandatory border patrols, and then immediately push his ikran through the treacherous mountain drafts just to spend an hour or two on the cliffs.
He became a desperate fixture in your clan. He didn't care how it looked to your people. He didn't care that they watched with raised eyebrows and murmurs of amusement as the proud Omatikaya heir practically degraded himself for a glimpse of their chieftain's daughter. He didn’t know how to fully show you how sorry he is, and how sorry he will be for the rest of his life, so he started with the absolute surrender of his pride.
If you were out in the lower fields gathering ocean kelp for the healers, Neteyam would appear beside you to help without a word. He would haul the heavy, water-logged crates onto his shoulders, carrying them up the steep cliff paths so you wouldn't have to. You would tell him to leave, your voice sharp with annoyance, but he would simply set his jaw, and go back down for another load.
When you were assigned to clean and grease the riding saddles, he would sit on the floor opposite you, taking the rough scraping stones out of your hands. He would spend hours working the stiff leather until his fingers blistered, quiet despite the clear annoyance and suffocating silence you serve him. Some days, you wouldn't even show yourself, your people telling him you went to patrol or hunted, leaving him sitting alone on the rocky ledges for hours.
But he always came back the next day.
One evening, after a particularly brutal afternoon where you had completely ignored his existence while he helped the elders fix something, he caught you as you walked back toward your family's yurt. The sky was a bruised purple, and the bioluminescence was casting a soft light across your face.
He called out your name, his voice light despite the clear exhaustion on his face. He looked terrible, his shoulders were bruised from hauling timber, but there was still the sharp, military crispness of his posture despite the air of a man who was running on nothing but sheer desperation.
You stopped, but you didn't turn around to face him. “Go home, Neteyam. Take the war seriously instead of spending so much of your time here. Your father needs you.”
“My father has other warriors,” Neteyam said, stepping closer. “I will not stop. I will come here every day. I will carry every basket, I will mend every net, I will bleed on these rocks until I’ve proven myself to you.”
You finally turned your head, looking over your shoulder at him. Your face was half-hidden in the shadows, but your eyes were fixed on him.
“You are wasting your time,” you said, though your voice devoid of its usual malice, carrying only a profound, weary sadness. “The girl who would have been happy with all of these is gone, Neteyam. Even I couldn’t bring her back. You cannot bring back something that no longer exists.”
His breath hitched, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow from his father’s training sessions. His ears pinned flat against his head, but he took a deep breath, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. You silently gasped, watching the proud, golden boy of the Omatikaya, who had been raised to hold his head high, lowering himself in the dirt of the Tayrangi cliffs.
“Then who is she now?“ he asked quietly. “Would you let me meet her?” he pleaded, looking up at you soulfully, his chest heaving. “If she is a stranger, then let me earn her. Let me learn the way she breathes, the way she speaks, what makes her laugh now. I do not care if it takes the rest of my life. I will build a bridge over whatever ocean you put between us.”
You looked down at him, your eyes tracing his bruised shoulders, the raw, blistered skin on his fingers, and the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked so tired, what with his duties back home and the tasks he’s killing himself to do here, only to be ignored by you.
“You are a fool, Neteyam,” you murmured softly.
“I am,” he agreed instantly, his eyes tired but fiercely intense. “I am a fool who took you for granted and hurt you, who took too long to realize that my world has no tilt on its axis if you don’t belong in it.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. For many moons, you had kept your heart behind an impenetrable wall of ice, convincing yourself that what had happened broken something inside you that could never be mended. But looking at him now, no armor to break nor wall to climb, and entirely surrendered at your feet, a terrifyingly familiar warmth threatened to crack the frost.
You stepped around him, your tail flicking with a wave of mixed emotions. “The elders need the nets mended by first light tomorrow,” you said, not looking back as you pulled open the flap of your yurt. “If you are going to bleed on our rocks, you might as well make yourself useful.”
You left him outside and he watched the flap shut close with a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there in moons. He let out a long breath, staying on his knees for a moment longer. A fierce, protective spark reignited in his chest. That wasn’t exactly forgiveness, but you had indirectly told him not to leave and tend to the nets, a complete opposite of how you’d pushed him away every single day in the past moons.
He’s not confident yet, but it was a crack in your armor.
Standing up, he wiped the dust from his knees, his eyes watching the flap with tangible longing, before deciding to walk down toward the docks where the torn nets lay waiting.
Days turned into weeks, and Neteyam’s presence in the cliffs before the first light ever crested the horizon has become a constant view. You were drinking your morning tea on a higher ledge when you saw him trekking up the hill, his ikran stubbornly left in a hidden thicket half a league away even though you’d stop avoiding him or fleeing away at the sight of his ikran. You’d seen where he hids his ikran and knew that he had to trek the rocky, miles-long paths on foot before he could even reach your home.
“You should have just brought your mount here instead of trekking that much distance,” you casually said.
He stared at you, as if surprised that you’d suggest that. “Maybe... Maybe tomorrow,” he replied.
Your eyes narrowed at how he was uncharacteristically wearing his warrior cummerbund. It was a gear he wears during missions, but one he rarely wore for casual labor. On top of that, he also looked too pale for your liking, his skin lacking its usual vibrance and his lips almost as white as sea foam.
“Did you come straight here from a mission?“ you probed and he immediately shook his head.
“Just patrol,” he answered, his voice a little gravelly.
Your eyes narrowed, refusing to press for more answers but you watched him almost the entire time, silently going straight to work, lifting heavy timber, hauling supply crates, and helping grease the stiff riding saddles of your clan’s riders. It was past mid-day when he finished, just in time for him to get back for the council meeting, if their schedule is still the same as you remembered.
You caught him just as he was walking down the mountain path. “Neteyam,” you called out.
He turned around immediately and you saw the slight sway that followed that sudden movement, which he tried to mask by shifting his weight.
“You should eat before you go,” you said, keeping your voice even. “I haven’t eaten yet, too... Only if you’d like,” you added.
A look of pure surprise crossed over his pale face. For a second, he just stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The exhaustion weighing him down seemed to lift, replaced by a twinkle in his eyes that made you almost smile. Thank Eywa, you were able to stop yourself!
“I... I would like that,” he murmured, his voice soft.
He walked back with you into the communal yurt, aware of your people’s eyes tracking your movements. After all, this was the first time you actually invited him in for anything, knowing how their imaginative minds have long came up with stories of their own to explain the presence of the Toruk Makto’s heir in the Tayrangi.
He sat across from you and you noted how slow he seemed to be moving, having known how efficient he usually is, so you handed him a bowl of steaming soup and a plate of honeyed roasted fish that you’ve already cut into bite-sized pieces. His eyes were heavy on you that your skin seemed to tingle at your every move, too conscious of yourself knowing that he’s watching you.
Your eyes snapped to his, your brow rising. “Eat. The food will go cold,“ you said.
He nodded, redirecting his attention on his food. Despite the pain on his side, a sense of profound peace seemed to settle over him. He was sitting across from you, eating your food, sharing your space. He was so glad he perservered to go today. Whatever agony pokes at him under his tight cummerbund was a cheap price to pay for this single moment with you.
When the bowl was completely empty, he placed it down with meticulous care, waiting for you to finish without speaking, but halfway your meal, your eyes snapped up to his.
“You can go, if you wished,” you said casually.
“Believe me, I do not wish to be anywhere but here,” he replied. “I knew I would have to wait, you were always a slow-eater.”
Your lips pushed forward. He knows that. You tilted your head to brush it off. “I’ve grown faster since I became a huntress,” you retorted.
“Hm. I wish I can see it,” he said, his voice laced with humor.
You stuffed the rest of your food into your mouth, chewing non-stop as your cheeks filled with food bubbling like a syaksyuk eating utumauti. A snort escaped him as he watches you, one that turned into a genuine laugh, though it was cut short, his ears twitching and his jaw tightening as he suppressed a grimace.
“Why?” you asked, your voice muffled by the food in your mouth. He looked like he was pained.
He shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on the low table. He handed you a bowl of water. “Slow down, syaksyuk, or you’ll choke...”
He chuckled when you rolled your eyes before ccepting the water he offered, continuously chewing. Once you were finished, you finally spoke, “You should get moving,” you said softly, reaching over to stack his empty bowl onto your plate. “If you are late for the council meeting, they might think that Toruk Makto’s heir lacks discipline. We don’t want that.”
Neteyam let out a quiet sigh, the humor fading into a weary but profoundly content expression. He slowly pushed himself up from the ground, a sharp, involuntary gasp escaping his teeth before his hand flew to his ribs, but he quickly converted the movement into a stretch. He looked down at you with a lingering fondness.
“Thank you for the meal,” he said softly. “I must head to the council now. I will... I will be back tomorrow. With my ikran, if you meant what you said.”
You went to stand, following him out of the communal space to walk him only until the ledge. “Take care...” you whispered in the wind as you watched him go. Your eyes narrowed, noting how unusually heavy his steps were. He really looked remarkably weak.
You figured you'd ask him tomorrow, but your suspicion was answered much sooner than you expected. In the dead of night, Ruk’e quietly entered your yurt, his expression unusually grave.
“Pack your weapons,” he said, his voice low. “The war council needs you back urgently. The RDA is pushing the western flank, and they need every competent ikran rider back in the air.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Mother agrees it is time.”
He left out the part where Jake Sully himself spoke with him. What you didn't know was that back at the Omatikaya hometree, Neteyam had fallen ill through the night. Yesterday, during a swift ambush on an RDA scout unit, a stray shrapnel had torn into his midriff. It was just a minor injury that required only bed rest, but Neteyam had completely ignored the Tsahik's orders. He had wrapped it tightly, hidden it beneath his cummerbund, and flown straight to the Tayrangi to help haul your clan's imports.
When he returned to the forest, he could barely stand. His wound was bleeding beneath his cummerbund, and his body hot with fever.
Now, he lay on a mat in the Tsahik’s tent, practically delirious. Neytiri sat near him, her tail whipping in a furious frenzy as she scolded him. “You went to the Tayrangi? What did you even do there that you’d managed to have your flesh torn open?! Have you lost your mind, Neteyam?!”
Through the haze of his fever, Neteyam weakly opened his eyes. “Mother... it’s fine. I am fine. Just... do not tell her. She wants me to bring... My ikran tomorrow...” his mouth formed into a lazy smile.
“What?!” Neytiri cried out, her voice breaking in panic. “Neteyam, you could barely open your eyes, and you're flying back there again to do only the Great Mother knows what?!“
“Mother, it’s okay,” he muttered, brushing her hands away.
Jake stepped into the tent, his large hand resting on his wife's shoulder to calm her, though he himself was worried. “You can't do this to yourself, boy. You're going to kill yourself before the RDA even gets a chance to.”
Neteyam let out a long, ragged sigh, his eyes closed. “Have you ever had someone be your entire world, Dad?” he whispered, his voice laced with contentment. “We ate together earlier... And it felt like my entire world was narrowed down on that table... With her sitting across from me. I don't think... I don't think I can miss a single day not seeing her. If I stop showing up... She will think I gave up.”
Neytiri’s fury slowly melted away, her face falling as she watched her son finally drift into a deep, feverish sleep. She turned to Jake and his eyes snapped to her, sharing a look of understanding.
The next morning, you walked with mother and brother to the war pavilion. You had flown back with Ruk’e at dawn, your mind focused on the reports Ruk’e has told you, but some parts of you were thinking about how Neteyam would react seeing you back in the council. Now, he wouldn't have to exhaust himself flying from the forest to the Eastern Coast.
The council welcomed you, asking you about things back home and slowly easing the current climate regarding the sky people into the conversation. You assured them your brother has told you and that you know what you came here for. You turned to the pavilion’s entrance when you heard an entourage enter, freezing at the sight you saw.
Neteyam entered first, his midriff wrapped with a medical woven fabric, and there was an unmistakable fresh smear of blood already blooming through the center of the cloth. He looked very pale. His head casually snapped to your direction, and the absolute shock on his face mirrored your own. Written on his forehead was a huge why are you here?
He instinctively took a half-step backward, his tail twitching as if he wanted to flee the pavilion entirely rather than let you see him like this. But Jake was standing directly behind him. His father placed a firm, unyielding hand on his shoulder, gently prompting him forward into the room. Neteyam swallowed hard, forced his chin up, and continued walking as if everyone in the pavilion didn’t witness his panic at the sight of you.
Well, it’s not like these people are oblivious to his daily trips to the Tayrangi. They had known, it’s only that they didn’t know exactly what for though they had a hunch. And now, he practically confirmed it. He was persistently going there for you.
Meanwhile, the pieces in your mind instantly fell into place. His paleness yesterday, the cummerbund, the obvious weariness... He had been bleeding out while lifting things that normally needed the strength of two men.
“Thank you all for gathering so quickly,” Jake began, clearing his throat as he addressed the elders. “I spoke with Ikeyni and Ruk’e yesterday. We have expanded our flight perimeters, and we drastically need our most skilled ikran riders back in the vanguard. Y/N has agreed to step back into her role.”
As the chieftains murmured their approval, the briefing began. You forced your mind to focus, stepping up to the map table to report on the coastal movements. “The Tayrangi borders are currently stable,” you said, your voice serious and level. “We ran three separate scouts and extended it along the northern reef daily. So far, it's untouched.”
You reached across the wide table for a wooden marker to illustrate the scout lines, but your fingers missed it by a few inched. Before you could lean forward again, a hand moved into your field of vision.
Neteyam picked up the marker for you.
As he extended his arm, a subtle flinch crossed his features. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck strained, the simple effort of reaching across the table obviously hurt him. But when his golden eyes turned to meet yours, the pain vanished behind a cool mask of a hardened warrior. He stared at you with an intense, unblinking focus that made your face feel incredibly hot.
The silence stretched for a beat too long. Jake cleared his throat loudly, and from the corner of the pavilion, Lo'ak let out a highly audible, mocking snicker.
You quickly tore your gaze away, your cheeks burning. “Thanks...” you muttered, looking at the map through your lashes.
“You're welcome,” Neteyam drawled, his voice low and smooth despite the sweat glistening on his brow.
You bit your lip, your cheeks still burning as you forced your voice to level to continue your report. The moment the council was dismissed, Neteyam stayed back, lingering by his father's side to converse with the elders. He was very obviously trying to avoid leaving the pavilion at the same time as you.
But you weren't going to let him escape. You walked out with your arms crossed and waited right outside the entrance, your eyes already narrowed into slits. When Neteyam finally emerged, he stopped dead in his tracks. Seeing you standing there like a warden, he took a breath and adjusted his posture, walking toward you with every ounce of military bravado he could muster, desperately trying to hide the slight limp in his stride. The red stain on his white bandage had grown wider.
“What is that?” you demanded without so much as a greeting, gesturing sharply to his torso.
Neteyam stopped two paces away, his expression carefully neutral as he looked away toward the trees. “Just a minor injury from the recent mission. It is nothing.”
“You got shot?” you pressed, stepping closer, your voice rising in genuine disbelief.
“It's a shrapnel,” he corrected quickly as if that made it all better.
“Great! An iron slug tore through your side, and you still came to the coast yesterday? You still did the heavy lifting? You still hiked miles on foot to your ikran?!”
“It was just small,” he lied smoothly, though his breathing was shallow.
“Then why is it actively bleeding?!“ your voice rose slightly.
“It just got strained yesterday, but it’s nothing serious—”
“Are you insane?!” you huffed, your anger finally boiling over. “My father died from a small wound and left my mother a widow, Neteyam! You are not thinking! You have a responsibility to this war, to your family, to your people! How can you preach to me about discipline and taking things seriously when you are out there compromising your own body for something so small?!”
Neteyam listened to your tirade, his ears pinning back slightly against his head. But he didn't flinch away from your fury, instead, he watched you with that stupidly twinkling eyes. He took a step closer, the hardened soldier completely melting away to reveal the raw, aching man underneath.
“What are you calling small? Your forgiveness? Your attention? The chance I was asking for from you? It’s not small to me, Y/N. It is everything to me... And right now, it is all that is holding me together,” he said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity.
“Must you really put yourself at risk like that?” you cried, throwing your hands up in exasperation.
He groaned, closing his eyes momenyarily, when you could no longer hold your tears back. You are so scared right now, so worried for him, it’s not even funny.
“Just let me, alright? I said I will do everything to earn the right to at least be near you again, and this is me standing by my words. Like what you told me to do,“ he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his conviction. He stepped into your space, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side. “I told you, I will do whatever it takes. I did not want to miss a single day of trying to show you that I will show up. Even if I am bleeding, even if you do not look at me, I will be there.”
You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. The sheer, stubborn idiocy of his devotion was infuriating, but beneath the anger, that stubborn wall of ice around your heart suffered another massive, catastrophic crack.
“Well, you don't have to do all that anymore,” you said, looking down at his bleeding bandage, your tone softening into something weary. “I am back on the council now. I will be here in the forest. You don't need to fly to the coast for me.”
“It does not change anything,” Neteyam countered instantly. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, close enough for you to feel the heat of his fever, though he refrained from touching you. “Just because you are back in the pavilion does not mean I am done. I will still work for your forgiveness, Y/N. I will still do everything in my power until you can look at me and trust me the way you used to. I am not stopping.”
You looked up at him, your mouth slightly open, completely at a loss for words. You mouth opened again to retort, but before you could even speak, a sudden, frantic rustling erupted from the pavilion entrance. Lo’ak came scrambling out, his limbs flailing wildly as he tried to prevent himself from falling into the dirt.
You and Neteyam quickly turned to him, only to get surprised to see not just Lo’ak, but an entire audience: Jake, Neytiri, Ikeyni, and Ruk’e. They were all standing completely still, their expressions a mix of profound interest and varying degrees of amusement. But because Lo’ak had tripped and completely blown their cover, the privacy shattered instantly.
Ikeyni was the first to recover, clearing her throat with a loud, entirely performative cough. “Ah... Ruk'e, we must go and inspect the riders at the vanguard. Immediately.“
Neytiri smoothed down her braids, her sharp eyes twinkling as she looked anywhere but at her eldest son. “Ah, and I must find Tuk. We have... things to gather. Many things.“
Jake offered a highly unconvincing nod, clapping a hand on a thoroughly embarrassed Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Right. And I have an urgent meeting with the elders about... perimeter lines.”
“I am hungry,” Ruk’e announced flatly to the sky, ignoring the fact that he had consumed a massive breakfast less than an hour ago.
Lo’ak let out a low whistle, backing away alongside the adults. Within three seconds, the entire crowd had vanished, leaving you two alone.
You turned back to Neteyam, your ears pinning flat against your head as you glared at him, trying desperately to mask the raging blush creeping up your neck. “You need to go see the Tsahik. Right now. You are bleeding through your bandage.”
Neteyam nodded, but he didn't move. He stayed standing there, towering over you, watching your fiery exasperation with a soft, maddening look of pure adoration. You groaned, a sound of defeat tearing from your throat.
Reaching out, you firmly grabbed his wrist and began dragging him yourself toward the Tsahik’s tent. “Move, you stubborn man,” you muttered. You figured you wanted to see exactly how small this wound actually was.
When you pulled him into the warmth of the Tsahik’s tent, Mo’at didn't look even remotely surprised to see you practically hauling the clan's golden heir by his arm.
“Ah, and he returns,” Mo’at remarked dryly, setting down a bowl of poultice. “Did I not tell you last night, Neteyam, when you came home violently ill and shaking with fever, that your flesh would tear? Look at this!”
With practiced, firm hands, she unclipped the medical wrap. When the bloody fabric fell away, your breath hitched, and you winced sharply.
The wound was not small. It was an angry tear about as long as your pinky finger, stretching deep into the muscle of his side, the edges raw and weeping fresh blood from where he had strained it.
“You are a liar,” you hissed, the fear in your chest turning into a surge of anger. You reached out and forcefully pinched his shoulder. “You said it was small!”
Neteyam’s hand instantly shot up, his fingers gently trapping yours against his shoulder. His twinkling eyes locked onto yours, completely unbothered by the pinch, and he flashed a rare smile that showed his pearly whites. It was so genuine, so disarming, that the hot anger in your chest simmered down into a helpless flutter.
“There is nothing to worry about, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “I’ve had worse before.”
You merely hissed at him in response, pulling your hand back.
Mo’at wiped the blood away and applied a fresh layer of soothing poultice, wrapping the midriff with tight, clean linen. Once finished, she stood up, turning her sharp gaze directly onto you. “Y/N, I am entrusting this hard-headed man to you. He does not listen to me, to his mother, or to his father. He needs strict bed rest. That wound will never close if he keeps moving and straining himself.”
You nodded with absolute solemnity, crossing your arms. “You can trust me, Tsahik. I will personally castrate this man if he even thinks about lifting a finger.”
Mo’at let out a rare, breathy chuckle, shaking her head as she gathered her bowls and exited the tent, leaving the two of you alone.
You turned to him. “Sleep,” you hissed.
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, a soft chuckle escaping him as he sank into the furs with a weary sigh, his eyes half-closed as he looked up at you through his lashes. “No need for castration... that would make you miss your babies...”
The last words were a barely audible, sleepy whisper, but the tent was so quiet that they rang like a bell in your ears. “What?!” you snapped, your entire face exploding in a violent heat.
Neteyam just smiled lazily, turning his head onto the fur pillow. “Sleeping now...”
True to your word, you made sure he took his rest. For the next week, you refused to let him leave the Tsahik’s tent unless necessary, sitting by his side, forcing him to eat, and threatening him with your dagger whenever he tried to sit up too fast.
But once his fever broke and the wound finally closed into a healthy, silver seam, he went back to waiting at your feet, and he became entirely shameless. He would bring you the sweetest fruits before morning drills, sharpen your arrow tips and hunting dagger, and sit quietly beside you during meals, completely content just to exist in the same space. He was still the same as before. There was no pushing or demanding, only working to seamlessly wove himself into your daily routines.
If you are to be asked when exactly did the remaining ice around your heart melted, you’d say it had turned into a puddle long ago. But now, as the Hometree came alive with the people singing and dancing to celebrate a turn of successful hunts, your chest was singing with a familiar hum. One you never thought you’d feel again. You stood near the outer roots, watching the dancers, when a familiar warmth bloomed at your side.
Neteyam stood beside you, wearing his formal warrior gear. He didn’t speak, but his hand hung loosely between you, his fingers inches from yours. You bit your lip, looking at his profile through your lashes, noting his sharp jawline and his beautiful patterns. It was the same image of the boy you swore to make fall in love with you. You wondered what thirteen-year-old you would have thought if she knew that this man literally bled into the dirt just to prove he wouldn't give up on you.
You let out a soft, long sigh. Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hand to intertwine your fingers with his.
Neteyam froze. His head snapping down to look at your joined hands, and when he lifted his eyes to yours, they were bright, watering. “Y/N...” he breathed, his voice trembling.
“What?” you whispered, a soft, familiar smirk finally returning to your lips. “Some would say this is the perfect time for a kiss... Unless you’re scared,” you mumbled.
He blinked, his forehead creasing for a moment before a ragged, breathless laugh escaped him. It was you who moved and tiptoed to press a soft kiss on his lips, and you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer, kissing you better. You smiled against his lips.
“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you pulled away only to murmur, and he chased your lips.
“I love you...“ he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. The sheer, unadulterated happiness radiating from him was intoxicating, and you cannot help but grin.
But the beautiful moment was violently ripped away when a deafening horn blew, shattering the festival music and the celebration.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” The people announced.
High above, in the eastern branches of the Hometree’s canopy, a terrifying orange glow erupted. Your breath seized at your chest, a cry of panic escaping you as the people frantically ran to and fro in all directions. Neteyam moved, signaling to the nearby hunters.
“All hunters! Gather water from the river! Move!” he roared, crisp and authoritative.
The communal clearing exploded into calculated chaos. You and Neteyam sprinted toward the lower roots, organizing lines of warriors to haul water containers up the massive vines, while flyers are gathering water from the river to splash it to extinguish the fire. At first, everyone thought it was an accident, but as the smoke cleared, a familiar deep thrumming vibrated through the air.
From the clouds, the shapes of sever RDA gunships dropped into view firing blindly into the canopy.
“To the air!” Jake’s booming voice echoed.
You and Neteyam sprinted to the high roosts, connecting to your ikrans in a synchronized flash of movement and flying into the open sky where the warriors on their ikrans were already fighting fiercely. You dove through the smoke to shoot pilots and sent arrows to the exposed underbellies of gunships you happen to get close to. Within an hour, the invading gunships were spiraling into the jungle in balls of fire.
You watched the fire it caused to the forest, your chest aching with fury and grief at the sight of it.
The war party was victorious, but the destruction it brought made all of you grim. The eastern branches of Hometree were charred black, but it didn’t burn the entirety, and fortunately, no one was dead or gravely injured.
The council convened immediately beneath the glowing roots, the air thick with tension.
“It is no longer safe to keep the children and the elders here. Hometree is too big a target,“ Jake said, his face shadowed by the firelight as he leaned over the map.
“We must relocate... for the meantime,” Neytiri agreed, her voice tight with grief.
“The Hallelujah Mountains. It’s filled of magnetic interference, their metal birds wouldn’t like it very much up there,” Neteyam spoke up, placing a stone on a specific grid of the map.
Jake nodded decisively. “We’ll send scouts, then we’ll evacuate those who cannot fight immediately. The warriors will stay on the ground to secure the perimeter and prepare our counter-strike.”
The plan was drawn swiftly. Jake didn’t want to wait longer. As soon as the clan is evacuated, the party will strike back. As you ordered some Tayrangi men to help with the evacuation, Neteyam caught your arm near the edge of the pavilion, his grup firm and his eyes holding a fierce, protective spark in them.
“After... After the battle is over...” he began, his eyes blinking too many times per second as he stammered for the right words to say.
“Hm?“ you prompted.
“Would you like...“ he trailed. “To have me as your mate?” he added, his words stumbling over one another, and even in the dark, you could see how his cheeks were tinted purple.
You blinked, your heart jumping at your throat, causing it to close as your eyes stung with hot tears. “How could I ever say no to that?” you said in a hoarse voice, your hand holding his firmly.
He pulled you close. “Yes?” he asked breathlessly and you nodded. His breath audibly caught in his throat, leaning forward to kiss you and pulling you even closer to deepen his kiss.
Neteyam broke the kiss reluctantly, his forehead resting against yours for one final, desperate second as the chaos of evacuation whirled around you two. He held your face in his hands, pressing another deep kiss. “Great Mother. I love you so much...”
You chuckled, gripping his forearm. “Glad you’ve finally caught up,“ you mumbled, giving him a peck.
“I have always been here, I was just stupid,” he chuckled, his eyes caressing your face.
The tender moment shattered, though, when a loud cough echoed from the shadows. Neteyam stiffened, and you pulled back just enough to see your brother stepping into the dim light. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed at Neteyam that practically shouted an order to let you go this exact second.
Neteyam cleared his throat, his hands slowly lowering, though he kept his fingers loosely holding your hip for just a heartbeat longer before fully stepping back. You bit your lip, stopping yourself from smiling as you took Neteyam’s hand to hold it. Ruk’e looked at you with a look that would normally be accompanied with a snort.
“Mother is looking for you. Right now. She says the Tayrangi scouts need their final instructions for the eastern ridge, and you're the only one who knows the layout of the lower caves.”
You pushed your lips forward. “I'm on my way,” you said, turning to Neteyam and tiptoeing to kiss him again. You bit his lower lip before pulling away, patting his chest. “Later.“
You turned away, your tail moving behind you, its hairy tip brushing his lower abdomen. You heard his gasp and you grinned as you walked away. You brought this small pocket of joy as your ikran perched on a cliff along with the others, waiting for the signal to fight. Neteyam was several ikrans away from you, although Toruk’s big head was almost hiding him from sight. He caught your gaze, giving you a fierce, sharp nod.
The signal came not from a horn, but from the unnatural tremor of distant explosions. War cries from your people and from the warriors from various clans erupted as hundreds of ikran took to the sky.
You plunged off the ledge, diving straight into the smoke. Your ikran, holding a large boulder in its hind legs, flew over a gunship’s rotors and threw the boulder with a force that tilted the gunship before it exploded into a ball of orange flame. You banked hard, narrowly dodging a volley of gunfire directed at you.
You pulled your ikran’s reins up, pulling the string of your bow before releasing an arrow through the glass of the gunship pursuing you. You watched the vehicle spin wildly, clipping another gunship before exploding into the nearest floating mountain. A sharp war cry tore from your throat, raising your bow before flying higher.
Below, you found Neteyam, riding with the reckless bravery of Toruk Makto himself, but with the terrifying precision of Neytiri. He guided his ikran into a dive, sending arrow grenades directly onto the rotors of a Dragon Assault ship, flying upstream before the large aircraft blasted, his war cry echoing over the din of combat.
For what seemed like hours, the sky bled. Whenever you feared you couldn't find Neteyam in the swirling ikrans flying in the air, he’d appear by your side, moving perfectly synchronized with you. Every time a threat closed in on your blind spot, Neteyam’s arrow finds them. Every time gunships threatened to box him in, your own lethal accuracy puts an end to it.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the final RDA gunship was on a slow descent in flames. This should be a victorious moment, but the sight of the burning jungle below you filled you with a grief that seized your breath. The adrenaline of the battle took hours to fade, but after securing the perimeter of the clan’s hideout, and convening with the council to speak of the next steps the party should take to completely batter the RDA, you felt Neteyam’s hand catch your forearm again.
You turned to him, your excitement bubbling in your chest despite your exhaustion. You followed him as he navigated some steep edges and climbed a few vines, wondering where exactly you two are going, but when he pulled you up on what seemed like a hidden hollow, the sight of a secluded, bioluminescent pool surprised you. The water glowed with a soft, blue light, casting shifting, watery patterns across the jagged walls.
Your mouth curled into a huge smile, turning to him. “This is beautiful...”
“Found it when I was sixteen aimlessly flying around here. I thought then that maybe this could be a place for dates with my mate,” he said, smiling at you, his face devoid of tension.
“Dates?” you echoed.
“It’s... a human thing. My parents often go on dates. Just the two of them, spending time with each other...” he explained.
You smiled, “I like that.”
His hand traveled up your forearm to hold your elbow, pulling you closer. “Good. Because I’ve always thought of bringing you in this place,” he mumbled.
You looked up at him, the soft blue light from the pool catching the warmth in his eyes. “Even back then?”
“Yes,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a reverent tone that made your chest tighten pleasantly. He reached down and gently slid his fingers between yours, leading you to the edge of the water. It was you who pulled him to sink into its chilly waters. “Even when I was trying to convince myself that I had to have laser focus on my duty, to be the most competent warrior I could be for my people, you were always the exception... You were always the tilt in my world.“
He held your jaw in his hand, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on your lips. His arms wrapped around your waist, his forehead pressed against yours.
“I know you forgave me. I know you said I didn't have to keep doing... all of that. But I need to say it, ” he paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I am so sorry. I will always be sorry... For the words I threw at you, for the pain I caused, for making you feel like you had to change who you were. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”
You moved your head slightly, you nose brushing his. The raw, unshielded vulnerability in his golden eyes was breathtaking. The proud, stubborn commander of the Omatikaya was completely laid bare before you, entirely surrendered. You have only ever dreamed of that.
“Neteyam,” You said softly, cupping his jaw with both hands. He stared at you, his eyes bright and swimming with an overwhelming wave of emotion. “The girl who used to be reckless might be gone, but the woman standing in front of you loves you more than she ever did,” you whispered, a soft, tearful smile breaking across your face. “I see you, Neteyam. I see everything you've done to make up for what you did. You don't have to carry the guilt anymore. Lay it down.”
A breathless sigh escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes, leaning heavily into the palm of your hand as if a massive weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. When he opened them again, the absolute devotion burning within them made your heart skip a beat. “I love you,” he breathed, his words an unbreakable vow. “Baby, I love you so much.”
He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was entirely different from the stolen moments before the battle. This was slow, deep, yet desperate. You groaned softly, your fingers tangling into his braids, he pulled you even closer until there was no space left between you. His hands moved down to your hips, gently stepping you back until you hit the velvety edge of the pool.
He pulled away to look down at your face, his large form towering over you so much now that you’re nearly lying down on the flat edge. Slowly, deliberately, he brought his kuru forward, the glowing tendrils at the tip unfurling, searching for anything to connect with. “Are you sure you want me as your husband?”
You raised a brow, “Is that a warning?”
He pressed a hard kiss on your lips. “It’s only that there is no turning back... You are mine. Forever.” he whispered conspiratorially.
You took your kuru behind you, “I’ve never been one to turn back in fear...” You met him halfway, bringing your kuru forward until the tendrils entwined in a sudden, breathtaking flash of pure energy that caused borh of you to jerk involuntarily. You watched his pupils dilate, the black almost swallowing the gold.
His world felt as though it expanded, then narrowed down to just you, while you could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat as if it were beating in your own chest. You felt the raw, overwhelming depth of his love for you, the fear he felt he drove you away from him, the desperation that ate at him when you no longer cared for him, the hope that bloomed in him when you were so worried about his small wound, and the pure, weeping joy that had consumed him when you finally held his hand at the festival.
You let out a ragged, trembling breath, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled him down into a deep, bruising kiss. Neteyam groaned softly against your lips, his arms instantly locking around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the stone as if he couldn't get you close enough. The kiss shifted from soft and tender, to the desperate hardness of a man who wanted to devour you.
His hands were everywhere on your body, unclasping your beaded top and untying your loincloth behind your tail. You chuckled in his ears when his hand on your tail tickled you, and he angled his head to press a hard kiss on your jaw, shedding your loincloth off of you. He hauled you up to the ledge before following you to hover over you, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, naked under him. The cool blue light of the secluded pool danced across his broad shoulders, making you shiver with awareness about how large of a man he actually is. He looked down at you with a hunger born from years of restraining himself.
His large hands slid down from your waist, his thumbs tracing your curves down to you thighs before firmly pressing your thighs apart. You let out a soft gasp as the cool air hit your skin, but the chill was instantly replaced by the intense heat of his body as he settled between your knees. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and searching, demanding you witness exactly how completely he belonged to you.
Slowly, he lowered himself, his calloused hands guiding your knees wider, draping your legs over his broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat as his breath fanned across the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the smooth skin of your knee, then another higher up, tracking a slow, agonizing path inward until you were trembling beneath him.
“Neteyam,” you called, panicking as you pushed him back by his shoulder.
His eyes snapped up to you, his eyes dark and dangerous, as if waiting for you to tell him no, but the heat in his eyes flustered you with a heat on your cheeks. He kissed your inner thigh again, and when his lips finally found the center of your heat, a sharp gasp escaped you, your hand squeezing his shoulder.
He pressed a gentle hand on your chest, travelling a bit sideways to cup your breast. “Lay back,“ he mumbled and you did, propping yourself up on your elbows.
His lips found you again and he groaned against your flesh, his hands wrapping securely around the back of your thighs to hold you steady as he parted you with his fingers. His tongue was warm, broad, and too deliberate, drawing upward, tasting you fully. The connection through your entwined kurus sent a jolt of unadulterated pleasure down his spine, and in turn, you could feel his own arousal spiking through the bond, heavy and demanding.
You arched your hips off the ground, your fingers digging into the thick roots beside your head. “Neteyam...” you whimpered, your head rolling back.
He grew even relentless, his pace quickening, his tongue swirling and pressing harder against your sensitive nub. Your hips bucked when his finger slid inside you, feeling uncomfortable with the slight stretch as his mouth sucked at your heat. The sensation was too noverwhelming, and the bond is only amplifying everything. You could feel his deep satisfaction at your undoing, his pride swelling as your body began to tighten around his fingers, and with a firm stroke of his tongue, you felt a powerful tremor in your body, a loud sob tearing from your throat as your thighs clamped around his head.
Neteyam held you through the tremors, swallowing your heat, his purr vibrating heavily against you until your breathing began to slow. As he dragged himself back up to hover over you, his face flushed and his lips glistening, you caught your breath. “That was insane...” you huffed.
His eyes lightened a bit, the darkness yielding to his curiosity. “Really?“
“You know how good it felt for me,” you smiled, tugging at your entwined kurus. A sudden, wicked spark flared in your chest, traveling straight through the bond to hit him. “I want to do it to you, too,” you whispered, your voice husky, your eyes locking onto his.
Neteyam blinked, a sudden wave of heat washing through his expression as his pupils dilated further. “You don’t need—”
“No,” you cut him off, your hands sliding down his muscled abdomen, until it lowered where you felt him. He breathe sharply when you felt him through his loincloth, your hand gripping the massive hardness. “I want it in my mouth, too...”
He closed his eyes for a moment before giving in with a low, defeated groan, shedding his loincloth off before rolling onto his back on the moss. You chuckled, the sound so womanly to him he felt a currently of electricity running exclusively on the margins of his body, causing his ears to pin back against his ears as he watched you rose on your knees, parting your thighs to straddle him.
His hand moved to touch you between your thighs and you jolted with a loud moan, nearly falling over if you didn’t catch yourself by propping a hand on his chest. His fingers caressed your velvety folds, gathering your fresh wetness.
“I need to concentrate, ‘Teyam...” you groaned and he chuckled. You saw him bring his fingers into his mouth.
“Sorry... You just taste so good,” he licked his lips, reaching to kiss you, but you moved your head to kiss his jaw instead.
You pressed soft kisses on his skin, contrasting his hard and heavy kisses. His hands hovered at your waist, his head falling back, letting you slide down his body. He watched you through heavy eyelids, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as you positioned yourself between his muscled thighs. You bit your lip at the sight of his length fully erect, thick, and leaking a bead of thick pre-cum at its tip.
You leaned down, your braids brushing against his thighs as you wrapped your lips around the smooth, hot head of his shaft. Neteyam’s breath hitched violently. He threw his head back against the moss, his jaw clenching so hard the cords in his neck strained as you took him into your mouth, your hands fisting and moving by instinct. Your tongue swirled around the ridge, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke him as your mouth moved.
He moaned, his hips bucking as the bond flared with a white hot intensity. Through the connection, you felt the sheer, agonizing pleasure ripping through him, the tight, desperate control he was trying to maintain as the wet warmth of your mouth drove him insane.
“Oh, baby, please, I can't—“ he gasped out, his hips lifting involuntarily off the ground as your mouth sucked him harder. He reached down, his large hands tangling into your braids.
You thought he was going to push you away, but he only held your head there with more pressure for a few more desperate seconds that his largeness almost choked you, but then he gently pulled you up, his breathing completely shattered. You groaned, frowning that he had to pull his cock out of your mouth.
He looked you in the eyes, serious and with finality. “No more. I want to come inside you.”
He hauled you up by your waist, flipping you beneath him in one fluid motion. He was completely done with waiting. His large hand pinned both your wrists above your head, his other hand holding your waist in place as he aligned his hard length against your softness, his mouth coming down to capture yours.
With a slow, heavy thrust, Neteyam began burying himself inside you, until he’d sank in entirely. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders , letting out a breathless cry, feeling your walls stretching to accommodate him. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of the fit sent an exquisite pleasure for the both of you through the bond, and it felt as though your souls were melting into one another, leaving no distinction between where you and him stand.
Neteyam paused for a second, his eyes closing as he absorbed the tight, wet heat of your walls squeezing him. A ragged groan tore from his chest before he began to move in a pace that was immediately hard, deep, and desperate, as if he was pouring into you all the pent-up energy he had left from the battle.
He drove into you with a fiercely possessive rhythm, his hips pounding against yours with a strength that had you crying out his name. Every time he pulled back, he returned deeper, marking you, claiming every inch of your body as his own. His arm wrapped under your body, while the other hand hiked your knee up to your chest, making sure you receive each of his forceful thrust.
The bond left no walls or armors to crack, both of you feeling only the pure, intoxicating love, devotion, and absolute surrender you have for each other. The tension in your lower abdomen coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable. Neteyam’s pace became frantic, his jaw locked, his eyes fixed on yours with a terrifying intensity as he felt your walls begin to tighten around him.
“Oh, baby,” he choked out, his grip on your thigh tightening.
You screamed his name as your body convulsed around him, the pleasure shattering your vision into a thousand white sparks. Your grip on him triggered his own release, and a deep, guttural roar escaped him as he thrust brutally deep into you one last time and held himself there, his body stiffening as he spilled himself completely inside you.
“Fuck, I’m seeing stars...” he groaned, collapsing against your chest, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his own chest rising and falling in ragged, exhausted gasps. You broke into a weakened laugh, your hold on him loosening up a little as you pressed soft kisses on his temple.
The weeks that followed were a blur of war council meetings, suffocating maps, and aerial patrols around the High Camp. The ongoing struggle against the RDA had left very little time for you and Neteyam to enjoy your first days together, but it’s when you’re high above the sky that everything seemed to be yours.
You banked hard to the left, your ikran letting out a shrill cry as the wind rushed past your ears. Behind you, Neteyam dipped beneath a floating vine, a wild, unburdened laugh tearing from his throat. For a few glorious hours, the shadow of the RDA did not touch you. There were no battles, no strategies, and no bloodshed. There was only the dizzying feeling of flying, the wind, and the intoxicating freedom of racing the Neteyam through the floating mountains and its hanging vines.
He pulled up right beside you, his ikran's wingtip nearly brushing yours. When he turned his head, his golden eyes were bright, his smile throwing all his typical military crispness to the wind. You flashed him a sharp, challenging smirk, diving straight through a cascading waterfall.
“Keep up!” you taunged, leaving him to chase your laughter through the mist.
By nightfall, the adrenaline gave way to the familiar craving for quiet. You returned to the hidden hollow, slipping into the bioluminescent pool. The chilly waters swirled around your waist as Neteyam hugged you sideways, his chin finding your shoulder, bending his large frame to fit himself at your side.
Every night felt different, but tonight was calmer, filled with your soft mumurs and his low, rumbling chatters as you talked for hours about nothing at all, your fingers tracing the faint, silvery marks of his scars, before the talking faded into the slow and heavy rhythm of your lovemaking.
You are a impatient woman, but you couldn’t deny your love for his deliberate, agonizing slowness sometimes, his hands anchoring your waist as he worshipped you. Every thrust was deep and strong, his lips pressed to your throat, whispering your name like a prayer until the sensations from the bond left you both breathless, tangled together in a sweating, blissful heap.
The sky was just beginning to shift from darkness to the bruised purple of pre-dawn light when you woke up, your body singing with delicious soreness and you snuggled closer to his warmth. You kissed the soft skin of his shoulder, you hand caressing his muscled chest down to his abdomen. You smiled when he stirred, pressing soft kisses on his shoulder and neck, until you reach his jaw.
“Wake up, handsome...“ you mumbled. “It’s your turn today.”
He groaned softly, pulling you closer to him. “I hate leaving you.”
You chuckled. “So dramatic, my handsome man. I will be close behind,” you said, patting his abdomen. “Quick, quick. Before they wake up.”
He grunted, hauling you on top of him effortlessly. His eyes, though sleepy, watched you darkly as his hands moved to knead your breasts. You gasped softly, your hand clutching at his bicep as you peered down at him.
“I’m still sore from last night,” you said with a little drama, pouting at him.
He bit his lip, cooing at you. “I’ll help...” his hands moved down to your waist, ready to roll you over to your back but you were quick to sit up.
“No thanks. I know it’s not really help,” you smirked, grabbing your top. “Get up, warrior. You don’t want to get caught, do you?”
Neteyam groaned, a soft smile on his face before getting up, his hand clamping on your ankle to pull you toward him. You smiled when he bent his head a little to level with you. “Kiss,“ he mumbled and you gave him your lips.
You two kissed and kissed, but when you felt him nudging you to lie on your back, your eyes snapped open, pulling away from the kiss with narrowed eyes. “Neteyam...”
He smiled, his head falling dramatically. You rushed him, watching how the sun is almost peeking through the bruised sky, and Neteyam moved as quickly as he could, stealthily slipping back into the camp, walking with a light, quiet stride, a faint smile still on his lips as he neared his family’s tent.
“Out late?”
Neteyam froze, his ears pinning flat against his head. His father stepped out from the shadow, his arms crossed. From just inside the tent flap, Neytiri stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowed at her eldest son in a way that made Neteyam’s posture instantly snap into military rigidity.
Jake sighed. “Neteyam... I've been meaning to talk to you, boy. I know you’re sort of courting Y/N. The whole clan knows it, everyone knows it, but you cannot just spend nights after nights with her to only Eywa knows where. You are both unmated. It's a small camp, people talk, and it’s not going to be a good look for her reputation.”
Neytiri stepped fully into the dim light, her tail twitching. “Just last night, when you had to sleep here, you looked like you were being sent to war instead of just holding Tuk because she’s asked to snuggle with you,” she pointed out. “You best ask for her hand from Ikeyni, son. Formally. You can’t dishonor her with this fooling around that you young people tend to engage in these days.“
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak and explain, but the look on his father’s face had him turning his head to follow Jake’s line of vision. He then saw you stepping into the clearing, completely unaware of the tribunal happening right in front of the Sully tent. You had planned to quickly slip into the yurt you shared with your mother to change your clothes and fix your hair, but you had taken the wrong turn.
You stopped dead in your tracks.
To say you looked thoroughly ravaged was an understatement. Your hair was a wild, tangled halo of loose braids, your lips were visibly swollen, and your chest was heaving from the hurried walk. You looked exactly like a woman who had spent the last hours being thoroughly fucked. Jake blinked, looking from you to his son.
Neytiri tilted her head, her gaze shifting slowly from your wild hair down to Neteyam’s deeply flushed face. She looked at her son pointedly, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Neteyam...”
Neteyam looked at you, then at his parents, his chest rising as he took a deep, steadying breath. The boyish embarrassment vanished, replaced by the fierce, unyielding pride of a man who knew exactly where he stood.
He walked over to you, completely ignoring his father’s stunned expression, and firmly wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“I will personally apologize to the Olo’eykte, Mother. Because there is no need to ask for her hand,” Neteyam said, squeezing your waist a bit as he looked at his parents. “We are already mated.”
Your heart jumped into your throat, your cheeks burning.
Jake stared at his son, utterly speechless for three long seconds, before a slow, defeated smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Well... damn. Congratulations, I guess,” he said. “But you need to talk to Ikeyni about this. Immediately.”
“What is the matter at hand?” Your mother’s voice coming from your clan’s side of the camp.
You startled, pursing your lips. Neytiri watched you, the stern face for her son breaking into a soft smile as she shook her head in comical disbelief for your and Neteyam’s stubbornness.
“We have a ceremony to prepare, Ikeyni,“ Neytiri turned to your mother with a triumphant smile. “The two seemed to have finally met halfway.”
First off the tayrangi is my absolute favorite clan so that was definitely such a treat. Omg the accurate use of combat strategy?? That’s like my favorite detail in any avatar fic you absolutely slayed ily
pairings aged-up neteyam x tayrangi!female warrior
notes reader is ikeyni’s daughter, mean neteyam (dw he will grovel for this <3) crybaby neteyam, angst, she fell first and he fell harder, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis neteyam has always been the only boy who stirred your heart. as a man, he is everything you’ve ever wanted... and now that circumstances have finally drawn you closer, it feels like the perfect chance to make him see you. but with the looming war, the firstborn son of toruk makto has no room for distractions, and he won’t hesitate to push aside anyone who threatens his focus.
word count 17.7k
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
You leaned against one of the massive pillars of the war pavilion, idly braiding a strand of fiber for your new knife sheath. Usually, your senses would be filled with the smell of salt and moss that clung to the cliffs of your home in the Eastern Sea, but here, in the rainforest, it was mostly choked out by the heavy stench of fuel and burning forest, and around you, the war council was deep in debate.
Your mother stood tall with the other chieftains, gesturing sharply at a large map laid on a long table. Beside her stood your brother, the future Olo’eyktan of your clan, listening intently.
And then, there was the real view.
Neteyam stood just behind his father, Jake Sully. He was taller than most of the men in your clan, broad-shouldered, and muscled, taking after his father, even though he had the fierce beauty of his mother. He was listening to the strategy with that maddeningly intense, perfectly disciplined look he always wore. Always the dutiful son, the perfect soldier.
You bit your lip, a slow smirk spreading across your face. He was so incredibly handsome it was ridiculous, especially when he looks like he carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. You’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that intensity... To be the subject of his focus and determination.
You shivered at the thought of it, and your brother caught your eyes across the table. He noticed where you were staring, rolled his eyes, and mouthed, “Stop it.”
“Their supply lines are vulnerable here, along the gorge,” Jake Sully was saying, moving a stone on the ridge on the map. “But they’ve got turrets scanning the skies. If we fly in blind, we’re target practice.”
“We need a distraction,” Neteyam muttered, his brow furrowed as he stared at the map. “Someone fast enough to draw the attention away from the ground strike team, but agile enough to avoid getting hit. But it’s high risk.”
“My people are born on the wind,” Ikeyni spoke up. She placed a hand flat on the table, her sharp eyes shifting from Jake to his eldest son. “If you need someone who can deliver what you need, you take my daughter.”
Neteyam’s head snapped up. His golden eyes immediately finding yours from where you leaned against the pillar, as if he knew where exactly you had been standing. A frown instantly marred his handsome face and he turned back to your mother, his posture stiffening.
“Olo’eykte, with respect, the RDA has upgraded those tracking systems,” Neteyam argued, his voice tight with that dutiful edge you loved to mess with. “They aren’t just shooting blindly anymore. It is high risk. A single mistake, and the ikran and its rider are—”
“Are you saying I can’t handle it?”
You purred the words as you finally pushed off the pillar, sauntering closer to the table, tossing your half-braided sheath fiber aside. Every eye in the room tracked your movement, but yours were locked on the Omatikaya’s golden boy. You stopped right beside him, close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him. You tilted your head up, letting a slow smirk pull at your lips as you looked at his clenched jaw.
“If I didn’t know any better,” you murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer, “I’d think you were trying to keep me out of the sky to keep me safe. I didn’t realize you care that much?”
A sudden bark of laughter broke out from an elder across the table and the others followed suit. Meanwhile, your brother shook his head at your sheer audacity. Jake Sully’s lips twitched upward, a faint, amused glint in his eyes as he looked between you two, clearly remembering what it was like to be young and stubborn. Even the older, stern warriors around the table began to chuckle, the suffocating tension of the war efforts breaking open to let a little light in. It was a comforting reminder to the elders that despite the demons coming back, the youth were still acting their age.
Neteyam, however, did not laugh.
He let out a long, slow breath through his nose, his shoulders dropping a fraction as he looked down at you. His ears twitched back in mild annoyance, but he didn't step away from you. He was tolerant, as he always was, enduring your teasing with the patience of a tree weathering a storm. He had always known that you are a lethal asset to the people’s war efforts... But unfortunately, you are also a source of a massive, distracting headache.
“I care about the success of the mission,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a low register meant only for you. His gaze was incredibly intense up close, close to the kind of focus that had made you shiver imagining just moments ago. “We are planning a raid that could cost lives. This isn’t the time for games.”
Partly slighted at his doubt, you frowned. “I am completely serious,” you said, dropping the just enough to show the deadly huntress beneath. You motioned at the map right where the turrets were marked. “These are coastal winds. I’ve navigated treacherous cliff gaps like it’s a playground snce I was a child. My ikran and I will rise to the challenge, you’ll see.”
“Alright, alright, break it up,” Jake intervened, though the grin was obvious in his voice as he tapped the map. “If Ikeyni says she’s the one for the job, then she’s the one. Neteyam, you’ll be leading the ground insertion. That means your timing with the distraction has to be perfect.”
Neteyam tore his eyes away from you, nodding sharply to his father. “Yes, sir.”
But as the council began to break into smaller groups to discuss once more among themselves, Neteyam didn't immediately walk away. He stayed right where he was, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He looked down at you, the exasperation fading into something quieter, something serious and heavy.
“It really is dangerous out there,” he said softly, his golden eyes searching yours. “The winds in the gorge are unpredictable.”
You matched his seriousness for a rare, passing second, to let him see that you are capable underneath all the flirting. “I know, Neteyam. But I’m faster than them. Trust me.”
He nodded, his jaw hardening. “I do trust you. Just... don't make me regret it.”
With a final, lingering look that left your heart hammering against your ribs, he turned to follow his father. You watched him go, your smirk slowly returning as you realized that for at least a few minutes, you had been the absolute center of his universe.
The next day, you were up before the first light, immediately going to where your ikran was roosting, smiling when you saw her already prepared, like always. “Ready, girl?“ you murmured, stroking her sleek, brightly patterned neck.
She screeched in response, a sharp, eager sound and you chuckled, mounting her back and connecting your kuru to hers, the familiar, rushing warmth of the tsaheylu flooding your senses. Your head swiveled to the side when you sensed a presence, seeing Neteyam stopping several paces away, already geared with his warrior cummerbund, longbow, amd chest knife sheath.
Your head tilted, admiring how handsome he looked as you smiled brightly. “Hi! Good morning,” you grinned. “Came to send me with a good luck kiss?”
He remained serious though, his eyes scanning your form on your ikran. “Be careful out there.” he said in a clipped tone, not waiting for a response before he turned away.
You chuckled, shaking your head. So serious, you thought, smirking. So handsome, too, anyway, the other part of your mind retorted and you rolled your eyes. You clicked your tongue and pulled at your ikran’s reins, making her surge up into the sky. You flew higher than usual, hiding in the thick clouds to scan high above the gorge. The sky was still a deep, bruised purple when the signal came through the comms secured to your ear.
“Pathfinder,” Jake Sully’s voice crackled, steady and calm. “Ground teams, position. You are clear to engage. Eye in the sky, you're up.”
A heartbeat later, a lower, tighter voice filtered through. “Be careful up there. Hit your marks.”
Neteyam.
Your smirk returned, invisible to him but it laced your voice enough for him to imagine it. “I heard that twice already, Neteyam. Are you so worried?” your honeyed teasing voice dripping through the comms.
You heard his groan and it was followed by a chuckle that sounded so much like Jake’s but it was cut short. “Just focus on the mission,” Neteyam’s voice snapped back through the earpiece.
You chuckled. “Watch the skies, Sully. Try not to blink, or you’ll miss me.”
Without waiting for a response, you clicked your tongue. Your ikran folded her wings and dove straight off the cliffside into the gaping maw of the gorge. The wind shrieked past your ears, whipping your braids wildly. Below, the metallic structures of the RDA outpost clung to the valley floor like a parasite. Within seconds, the base's automated defense grid woke up. Loud whirs echoed through the canyon as three massive turrets pivoted, their motion-tracking lasers sweeping the dark sky until they locked onto you.
“Now!” you hissed, leaning flat against your ikran's back.
You maneuvered your ikran in the sky as heavy explosive rounds tore through the air. The blasts should have scared you, but it surprised even you that it didn’t. You pulled sharply on the reins, banking hard to the left. A volley of bullet shattered the rocky cliffside right where you had been a millisecond before, reducing it to a powdery debris. You laughed out loud, pushing your mount into a tight, dizzying barrel roll, diving directly between the narrow gaps of the cliffs.
The tracking systems couldn't keep up. The automated turrets jerked violently, scrambling to overcorrect their aim as you flew through the blind spots, From your view high above, you watched Neteyam and his ground strike team. While the turrets were completely distracted by your earlier display, they swarmed out of the dense forest like shadows. Leading the charge, Neteyam moved with terrifying precision, breaching the perimeter fencing, dropping two RDA guards before they could even raise their weapons. Behind him, Lo'ak and the other warriors systematically planted charges on the supply crates and fuel lines.
Even from up above, your eyes found him effortlessly, admiring his swift and unyielding movements, completely commanding. He was a force of nature.
“Charges are live! Pull back, pull back!” You heard Neteyam’s voice bark through the comms. He looked up into the sky, his golden eyes scanning the smoke until he caught the bright, unmistakable red of your ikran’s wings looping through the clouds. “Y/N, disengage! Get out of there!”
Swooping low one last time, you let out a victorious battle cry as a massive explosion ripped through the base behind you. You looked and saw an image of a huge ball of fire consuming the turrets and the supply lines. The explosion gave your ikran the motivation to increase her speed, launching you up and out of the fiery gotge into the safety of the skies. The raid was a flawless success.
By the time you got back to Hometree, the adrenaline was still humming under your skin. You hopped down from your ikran, patting her flank affectionately as the other warriors cheered and celebrated the clean victory. No casualties for the party and a massive blow to the sky people. A smudge of black engine soot marred your cheek, your eyes searching the crowd.
Neteyam was standing near his father, catching his breath, his skin glistening with sweat and ash. He looked exhausted, but the heavy tension that usually held his shoulders tight had momentarily melted away. As if sensing your gaze, his head turned. His golden eyes locked onto yours across the clearing. You stared at him, raising your brow and tilting your chind up with a proud, triumphant grin that said, I told you so.
Neteyam watched you for a long moment. Then, slowly, a genuine, breathless smile broke across his handsome face. It was a rare, stunning sight that made your heart do a violent flip against your ribs. He broke away from his father and walked straight toward you, stopping just a foot away.
“You showboated,” he murmured, his voice low but devoid of the seriousness that usually laced it.
“I just gave them a show,” you corrected smoothly, crossing your arms. “There is a difference. And I did it.”
“You did,” Neteyam conceded, his eyes dropping to the soot on your cheek before rising to meet your gaze with an intensity that made you almost forget how to breathe. “It was an incredible show. You were incredible up there.”
Your breath hitched. For all your constant flirting and loud teasing, having his quiet praise directed entirely at you caught you completely off guard that the witty comeback died on your tongue, your cheeks warming under his stare.
Neteyam noticed your sudden silence, and a small, amused smirk, one that looked a lot like your own, as if he had just copied it, pulled at the corner of his lips.
“What's wrong?” he asked softly, stepping just a fraction closer. “Quiet now? I didn't realize it was that easy to shut you up.”
You stared up at him, your mouth slightly open. The proximity was intoxicating, and for someone who usually spent his time dodging your advances, he was occupying a lot of your personal space now.
Your eyes flicked down to his smirk, then back up to his eyes. “I’m just savoring the moment. You’re more handsome up close,“ you smirked, regaining your composure a little. You leaned in, forcing him to maintain that dizzying eye contact. “And it’s not every day the great Neteyam admits I'm incredible. I might just let it get in my head.”
Neteyam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Coughing softly, he cleared his throat as he took a strategic step backward, breaking the contact but keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “Don't get used to it,” he muttered, though his tone was lacking any real bite. “Go get cleaned up. My father wants a full debrief within the hour.”
He turned on his heel and walked back toward Jake, though you didn't miss the way his tail swished behind him. You let out a quiet, triumphant laugh, wiping the soot from your cheek with the back of your hand. There was still an armor, but you had managed to crack it... That’s a small victory!
In the following days, the high of the victory had settled into the familiar routine of war. The leaders gathered once again in the pavilion. This time, however, the mood was lighter. The success of the gorge raid had given the rebellion more time to breathe. Your mother pointed at the eastern coast on the map, discussing the movement of RDA sea vessels who was last seen going farther east.
“They are retreating toward the deep water,” your brother noted, crossing his arms. “The destruction of the supply lines has damaged their operations in the coastal outposts.”
“We need to take control of the momentum,” Jake said, leaning over the table. “Neteyam, what’s the status of our perimeter watches?”
Neteyam stepped forward, completely back into his professional, disciplined element. “The forest guards are doubling their patrols. But we need to ensure our aerial scouts are maintaining a strict radius. We can't afford to get complacent just because we succeed in one mission.”
You smiled, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned over the map table, deliberately putting yourself right in his line of sight. “Oh, don't worry, Commander. Our scouts are alwasys in the air. We don't get tired easily.” You paused, letting your eyes slowly track down his body before bringing your gaze back to his face. “Though, if you're so worried about our stamina, you're welcome to come up with me next time. I can show you how we stay energized.”
A collective ripple of amused snickers passed through the council. Your brother hid his face in his hands, muttering something about losing his mind, while your mother let out a small, huffing chuckle. “Daughter...” she said pointedly.
Neytiri smiled, shaking her head at Ikeyni. You watched Neteyam close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. He was so incredibly tolerant of you, enduring the teasing with the quiet patience of a palulukan letting a cub bat at its tail.
“Y/N,” Neteyam said slowly, opening his eyes to look at you with deadpan exasperation. “I have to train the youth at the archery grounds after this. I do not have time to be a part of your games.”
“A shame,” you purred, flashing him a brilliant, unbothered grin. “You don't know what you're missing.”
Hours later, you found yourself wandering down toward the village training grounds, hearing the familiar sound of snapping bowstrings and the light thud of arrows hitting bark targets. You stood there, crossing your arms as you watched the scene. Neteyam was in his element. He was surrounded by a dozen young, aspiring warriors, all holding smaller training bows. He was patient and focused, moving down the line to correct their posture.
“Keep your elbow high,” Neteyam instructed a young boy, gently adjusting the kid's arm. “Do not fight the bow string. Let it become an extension of your arm. Look at the center of the mark, breathe out, and release.”
The boy released the string, and the arrow thudded squarely into the inner ring of the target. The kids cheered, and Neteyam offered a rare, warm smile, patting the boy's shoulder.
“Very good. Again.”
“Nice,” you called out, stepping out from the shadows.
The group of young hunters immediately turned, their eyes widening when they saw you. In your clan, you were a legend among the youth, the daughter who flew like the wind and didn't care about the rules. A few of the older teenagers standing nearby immediately started whispering and nudging each other, grinning widely because everyone knew you loved to push Neteyam’s buttons.
Neteyam stiffened, his shoulders squaring as he turned to face you. He gripped his longbow, his ears twitching back. “I am teaching, Y/N. Go find something else to do.”
“I just want to see if I can help,” you said innocently, sauntering closer until you were standing right in front of him, entirely ignoring the giggles of the children behind him. You reached out, your fingers lightly tracing the curve of his heavy longbow. “You see, kids, the Omatikaya are used to shooting on the ground, on their feet. But if you want real precision while moving, you need a loose hip. Like this.”
You fluidly snatched a training bow from a nearby rack, notched an arrow in the blink of an eye, and without even pausing to aim, you spun on your heel and released. The young warriors erupted into gasps and cheers when they saw the arrow hit the center of the furthest target cleanly, totally thrilled by the display. You tossed the bow back onto the rack, turning around to look at Neteyam with a smug, raised eyebrow.
“See?” you murmured, stepping into his space, tilting your head up. “It’s about flexibility, too. Maybe I should give you a private lesson sometime. I can teach you how to loosen up what’s stiff.” you murmured, biting your lip.
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, his aw practically tightening into stone. His face burned a furious, deep shade of violet, his golden eyes wide as he stared down at you. He knows, with a piercing awareness, how completely trapped he is between his duty and his sheer, chaotic attraction to you, and he shouldn’t like it. But he does, so Eywa help him. He took a deep breath, gripping his bow tightly to keep his hands from shaking.
“Class dismissed,” Neteyam barked out, his voice a strained, tight rumble. “Go practice your stealth skills. Now.”
The kids scrambled away, still laughing and whispering, leaving the two of you completely alone in the training grounds. Neteyam stepped even closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you as he glared down, though the heat radiating from his skin told a completely different story.
“You are impossible,” he whispered fiercely.
You laughed, enjoying the sight of the crack getting bigger each day. You’ve never had this much progress in the past... Perhaps because you don’t really see each other for longer than a few days. Sometimes, your mother gets invited to festivals in the Omatikaya and she brings you and your brother with her, or it’s her who invites the Sullys to come for festivals in your clan.
You’ve always liked Neteyam better than his brother. Lo’ak is a good acquaintance, but it was Neteyam who you’ve always found more interesting. What with his intense focus and unyielding determination on everything he puts his mind to, but you could tell it was also born from his desire to live up to his parents’ legacy.
He is the firstborn, after all. The heir to the Omatikaya leadership. The return of the sky people was the reason why he’s grown even more serious and focused, determined to protect the people, Eywa’eveng, and his family, even more so. You respect that a great deal, but you also think he needs to loosen up a bit before he stresses himself into an early grave.
You wonder if he even has interest in women, or if he only cares about his bows and his arrows. But you don’t like to think of that. It makes you fiercely jealous to think of him directing that intense focus on a woman who’s not you... Or to think of him letting a woman see past the armor you’re working so hard to crack.
But you are too confident. You thought the crack in his armor was getting wider by the day, and you genuinely believed it was only a matter of time before he finally let his guard down.
You should have remembered that in war, the higher you fly, the harder you fall.
More council meetings ensued in the following days, and now, you found yourself back in the sky. The RDA had deployed a small convoy of armored vehicles, and Neteyam’s squad was tasked to do a quiet interception.
“Hold your position above the tree line,” you heard Neteyam’s voice through the comms, crisp and authoritative. “Do not engage until the ground team has disabled their communications. If they see you, they will lock down the area and call for reinforcements. Do you copy?”
You had copied. But as you circled in the grey mist, you saw one of the AMP suits pivoting its heavy cannon directly toward the dense foliage where Neteyam’s ground sweepers were crawling. Your heart leaped into your throat. You waited to hear from him, or for the communication to be cut, but you can’t wait when they could all be gunned down any second.
I am fast enough, you had thought, fueled by that same headstrong confidence that had always served you before. I can take out that suit before it fires.
So, you dove.
But you had underestimated the trees’ density in this sector. Your ikran’s wing clipped a massive branch, throwing off your trajectory by a fraction of a second, and it was all the automated sensors needed. The AMP suit spun, firing a volley of heavy-caliber rounds into the sky. A hot, tearing agony sliced across your thigh, a bullet graze, and the concussive blast sent your ikran screeching into a spiral.
Your sudden, messy descent completely blew the ground team's cover. The convoy opened fire on the forest blindly. Screams of pain echoed through the comms, cutting through your panic. By the time it all ended, the convoy was destroyed, but the cost to the war party was devastating. Blood soaked your leg wraps but you cared little for it, forcing your ikran into the air, flying back to the Hometree with your chest tightening in suffocating fear and shame.
When you landed in the clearing, the celebratory atmosphere of the past weeks was entirely dead. You scrambled off your mount, wincing as your injured leg buckled slightly, and rushed toward the center, catching sight of him immediately. Neteyam was lifting a huntress off the back of his ikran. Her arm was painted in deep, crimson blood from a horrific wound on her shoulder. It was Tarya.
“Get the medical bay ready! Move!” Neteyam roared, his voice cracking with a raw, terrifying desperation you had never heard from him before. He was covered in soot and someone else's blood, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
“Neteyam—” you breathed, stepping forward, your hands shaking. “Neteyam, I—I am so sorry. I saw the suit turning toward you, I thought I could—”
Neteyam snapped. He lowered Tarya into the frantic arms of the medical healers, then turned on you so fast his tail whipped the air. He closed the distance between you in two giant, looming strides, towering over you.
“You thought?” he asked, his voice drawing the shocked eyes of every warrior present. “I don’t think so! You are entirely, helplessly obstinate! You almost fell! You almost died, did you even think of that?!”
You flinched, stepping back, but he kept coming, his golden eyes blazing with a dangerous, lethal heat that made you feel incredibly small.
“And because you couldn't follow a single, simple order, these warriors are wounded!” He said in a hard voice, his jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grinding. “Tarya might not survive the night! Do you understand that? Do you even care?”
“I do care!” you cried out, tears of shame finally burning your eyes. “I was trying to protect—”
“You didn’t listen! Like always!” he cut you off, his chest heaving as he glared down at you with complete contempt. “You treat this war like a game to win my attention! You are a massive, childish distraction, Y/N! Everyone knows it, and I am sick of it! Do you think people bleeding out in the mud is a joke? Do you think this war is just another festival for you to play around in?”
The words felt like physical daggers piercing straight into your chest, ripping away at your pride and your confidence. You stood frozen, completely exposed and deeply ashamed in front of the people present. Your mouth opened to apologize again.
“I'm sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking.
“Save your apologies,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a cold, venomous hiss that hurt far worse than his shouting. “If you cannot take this seriously, you should just withdraw from the war efforts entirely. Frankly, your behavior is putting everyone's life on the line.”
He didn't wait for you to answer. He turned his back on you completely, jogging alongside the stretcher as they wheeled his warriors toward the human facilities.
You stood alone in the dirt. You couldn't even feel the throbbing wound on your thigh. The numbness of absolute embarrassment and guilt swallowed you whole. He was right. You had been stupid and childish. You had been playing a dangerous game with people's lives just to hear him say your name.
You didn't seek out the Tsahik. You didn't think you deserved her medicine. Weakly, you dragged yourself back onto your ikran and flew away from the Hometree, heading toward the borders of your own clan's territory. You spent the evening in isolation, using bitter, stinging ocean herbs to tend to your own thigh, weeping silently in the dark. You resolved that you would return to apologize to the wounded warriors, and thinking of doing that is already making you feel flayed.
You had been too confident in your abilities and now, you have put people’s lives on the line. You should be ashamed. He was right about you leaving the war efforts, too, perhaps that was for the better. Because of what happened, you don’t think you still have enough confidence to go out there and fight.
You went to your clan, simply to change clothes, but was welcomed by the heavy grief that befell the people. An honored elder had passed away from natural causes, and by custom, the clan had to gather for the burial rites. Your mother and brother returned from the war front to attend, their faces grim.
After the body was given back to Eywa, your brother found you sitting on a secluded cliffside, staring blankly out at the crashing waves of the Eastern Sea. He sat down beside you, sighing. “I heard of the northern ridge,” he said quietly.
You clutched your knees to your chest, refusing to look at him. “Is Tarya... is she alive?”
“She is. Jake’s human friends saved her. She will recover. The others are okay, too,” your brother assured you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “The war party didn't lose its momentum, sister, if that’s what you’re worried about. But... the injuries could have been prevented. You know this.”
“I know,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I think I should leave, before I put everyone's lives on the line.” You looked up at your brother, your eyes hollow. “I’ll fly back tomorrow. Just to apologize to those who were wounded because of me. And then... I'm coming home.”
Later that evening, you stood inside your mother's yurt, packing away your combat gear. Ikeyni watched you from the entrance, her arms crossed, as you told her what you told your brother, your voice flat and devoid of its usual spark.
“It would be better anyway if I stay back here, Mother,” you said, tying off a leather pouch. “I can act on your behalf with the local hunters. I'm just a bother to the war council over there.”
Ikeyni stared at you, her sharp eyes assessing your rigid posture, your bandaged leg, and the complete lack of confidence in your eyes.
“Whose words are those?” your mother asked softly. “Are they yours?”
You paused, your hands trembling over your gear. You shook your head slowly. “Mother, he was right,” you said, a lump forming in your throat as Neteyam's furious face flashed in your mind. “I wasn't taking the war seriously. I think it would do the council better if I leave. We have plenty of competent riders to do my job. I don't belong there.”
Ikeyni let out a long, heavy sigh. She walked over, placing a firm, warm hand on the nape of your neck, tilting your forehead up to look into her eyes.
“If that is what you truly want, then so be it,” your mother murmured softly, leaning forward to kiss your temple. “But remember who you are, daughter. You are a child of the wind. Do not let one storm ground you forever.”
The journey back to the Omatikaya clan felt different this time. Usually, you would be racing your brother through the clouds, your laughter wild and loud, but today, you simply flew silently behind your mother. When you landed and entered the pavilion, the change in you was loud. Normally, there was always a sharp, teasing smirk ready for whoever caught your eye, but now, your face was barely moving, your eyes fixed on a permanent point in front of you.
The shame was suffocating and it felt like a huge boulder they tied around you. The council proceeded, discussing territory lines and defensive strategies for what felt like hours, while you stood rigid behind your mother, your eyes watching them move pieces on the map, unknowing of Neteyam’s eyes seeking you despite Ikeyni’s body blocking him from sight.
Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward into the light of the pavilion when the elders finally paused. Your voice was flat as you addressed the chieftains and the elders, completely stripped of its usual playful edge. “I want to apologize for the failure of my recent mission. I disobeyed orders, and I take full accountability for the consequences. I am even sorrier that it took me days to stand before you and say this; my clan was laying an elder to rest.“
You took a breath, your hands clasped tightly behind your back so no one could see them shaking.
“As you can see, I am unfit for this council. I lack the discipline required for operations of this scale. Moving forward, I am letting my mother decide on my replacement from the Tayrangi riders.”
A heavy silence descended upon the pavilion.
“Y/N,” Jake Sully spoke first, his deep voice carrying a wave of gentleness that surprised you. He leaned over the table, his eyes soft. “The war party didn't lose its momentum. We took out the convoy. You don't need to pin the blame solely on yourself. This is war. Mistakes happen and warriors are always meant to be wounded.”
Neytiri leaned forward next, her sharp, golden eyes searching your hollow face. “Do I understand what you mean, Ikeyni’ite? Are you leaving the council?”
“Yes,” you nodded, your voice firm.
Your mother stepped into the space beside you, her voice steady and protective, supplementing your words before anyone else could question you. “I have asked her to stay back with the Tayrangi. Ruk’e and I are heavily occupied with the war efforts here, and I need someone I trust to oversee the people.”
“Olo'eykte. Tsakarem.”
The voice cut through the pavilion, low and fractured, making your heart seize painfully in your chest. You didn't want him to speak. You didn't want to look at him.
Neteyam stepped forward from behind his father's shoulder. His posture wasn't stiff with the perfect discipline of a soldier anymore, it looked strained, his shoulders slightly hunched. “I wish to speak,” he said, his eyes locked on you, seeking yours, though you kept your gaze fixed somewhere near his collarbone. “I want to apologize to you, Y/N, before the council, for my reaction days ago. I was angry, and I spoke out of turn. You do not need to leave the council because of it.”
You felt a faint ripple of shock go through you, but it didn't revive your heart. Instead, a fresh wave of mortification washed over you. You felt even more ashamed that he felt obligated to apologize in front of the entire leadership just to close the issue gracefully and maintain alliance peace. To you, him telling you not to leave was just something he was saying for the record, a diplomatic necessity.
“You have nothing to apologize for, warrior, and I have nothing to forgive either,” you said, your voice entirely level, devoid of any anger or spite. It was just empty.
One of the Omatikaya elders turned to your mother. “Ikeyni, is this decision final? We would hate to lose such a skilled asset for the war efforts.”
“Yes,” you answered for her, your tone absolute. Nothing could have changed your mind. “If the council pleases, I excuse myself. I wish to apologize to the warriors who were wounded because of me.”
You were already looking at the door, not catching how Neteyam’s head reared back as if something had clawed at him. Without waiting for a formal dismissal, you turned and walked out of the pavilion, the sudden shift to freedom doing nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.
You walked straight toward the medical areas, knowing you would find the injured split between the Tsahik’s tent and the human facilities. You went to the Tsahik's tent first, stepping into the dim space. When you approached the wounded Omatikaya warriors, your throat tightened, but they easily brushed your apologies off with tired, warm smiles.
“It is no one's fault,” one of them murmured. “We know what we came there for. Being wounded is expected for a warrior.”
When you went to the human facilities, you found Tarya resting in a clean bed, her shoulder heavily bandaged. When you spoke your apologies to her, she reached out to pat your arm. “Do not carry this weight, sister. We are alive. That is what matters.”
The sheer kindness of their forgiveness almost made you cry. A bitter, agonizing thought crossed your mind, wishing Neteyam thinks the same.
But you immediately caught yourself, mentally slapping the thought away. Stop it. You need to stop thinking about what Neteyam thinks or what he doesn't. You knew it would take time. You had liked him for so long, possibly loved him, but that part of your life was over now.
You walked out to the clearing where your ikran was waiting, ready to leave this place behind for good. You were just reaching for her leather harness when heavy, frantic footsteps behind you, hearing your name being called.
You closed your eyes for a brief second before turning around. Neteyam was jogging toward you, breathing heavily. He had asked to leave the council to follow you the exact moment you walked out, but Jake hadn't allowed him to dismiss himself until the meeting officially concluded.
Now, as he stopped a few paces away, you actively turned off your imaginative mind. You completely shut down that part of yourself that used to over-analyze his every breath, forcing yourself not to read into the fact that he looked almost desperate, entirely at a loss for words.
Neteyam's eyes flickered down, and you saw his face almost crumple, a sharp grimace crossing his features at the sight of the cloth bandaging your thigh. You subtly shifted your weight, trying your best to hide the injury behind the wing of your ikran.
His eyes flickeredup to yours, swimming with a quiet, raw desperation you tried your hardest to ignore. “Y/N, please. I am so sorry for what I said in the clearing. I shouldn't have—”
“It’s alright, Neteyam,” you cut him off smoothly, your voice polite and empty. “You were right anyway. Truly, I should be ashamed of my behavior right from the start. I didn't take things as seriously as I should have, and that only proves how unfit I am for the council. So, you see, you were completely right about me leaving—”
“No,” he breathed, the word breaking from him like a gasp. His shoulders fell, and he took a sudden step forward, his hand reaching out.
Unconsciously, your posture tensed, and you took a sharp step backward, pressing yourself closer to the flank of your ikran as if to seek safety.
Neteyam froze. His extended hand trembled in the air before slowly dropping to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice strained with a deep pain that, once again, you forced yourself to ignore.
“I know,” you said quickly, forcing a small chuckle to ease the tension. “Sorry.” You cleared your throat, gesturing vaguely to the sky. “But just as I said, everything has become much clearer to me now. I want to leave before I put more people in danger. Perhaps, I should even thank you for opening my mind about that—”
“No, Y/N, listen to me,” he stepped closer again, his voice rising in an urgent, pleading rush. “I was just... I was so scared for the wounded. I was terrified. And I said things that I shouldn't have said, terrible things—”
“You said things that were true, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, your face completely calm as you reached up to ruffle the crest of your ikran's head. “And as I said, I am completely cool about them. I accept them, and I understand. You have nothing to apologize for. In truth, it was just a superior delivering valid criticisms that I needed to learn from.”
“I was unnecessarily cruel,” Neteyam burst out, his jaw trembling as he stared at your polite, unbothered expression. “I was unfair of me to pin all the blame on you. Their tracking systems were upgraded, the terrain was bad—I couldn't tell you how much I have regretted my words every second since. Y/N, please... it is I who needs your forgiveness—”
You let out a sigh and Neteyam stopped abruptly, as if your sigh had put a physical gag on him. He watched you, terrified of whatever words were about to leave your mouth.
“Neteyam. It is over and done with,” you said, your voice shifting into a serious, cold finality that left no room for argument. “I have no hard feelings over it whatsoever. Everything you said that day was true. I didn’t listen, and it put people in danger. I was reckless. I was foolish. You were right, so stop insisting you were wrong, because I’ll start thinking this is just your guilt talking. Stand by your words, and let’s leave things be.”
You reached behind you, grabbing your kuru and connecting it swiftly to your ikran's, before fluidly mounting her back, settling into the saddle with a practiced, rigid grace.
Neteyam stood rooted to the dirt. He had stopped breathing. He stared up at you, his chest aching so violently he wished with everything in him that your ikran’s wings wouldn't work. He wished the wind would die. He wished he could reach out, grab the reins, and drag you back down. His heart throbbed with a suffocating mix of guilt, regret, and something far heavier that he couldn't even name.
He had hurt you. He had completely broken your spirit, and it was devastatingly obvious. Sitting on your ikran, you were unrecognizable. The brilliant, chaotic spark was entirely gone. Your playful confidence was buried deep beneath a layer of careful, polite nonchalance.
“Have a good life, Neteyam,” you murmured.
With a sharp click of your tongue, your ikran surged forward, her powerful wings launching you into the open sky.
Neteyam watched you fly away, your form growing smaller and smaller until you were nothing but a speck in the distance. A sharp, physical spasm ripped through his chest, and his golden eyes stung, blurring his vision. His fingers curled into tight, trembling fists, his teeth gritting together so hard he thought they would crack under the pressure.
He had wanted you to take the war seriously. He had wanted you to stop distracting him. But as he stood alone in the empty clearing, looking up at the empty sky, Neteyam realized he had never been more brokenly, horribly distracted in his entire life.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The war efforts did not stop just because Neteyam’s world had lost its friction. If anything, the pace of the rebellion quickened after the destruction of the northern convoy. The Omatikaya and their allies pushed the RDA further toward the coastal margins, reclaiming three separate valleys within a single turn of the moon.
Neteyam did his duty with the same cold precision his father had drilled into him since he was old enough to hold a knife. To the common warriors, he was still the golden heir... Unshakable, vigilant, a pillar of the clan along his parents and Mo’at.
But inside his own skin, he was experiencing a slow, suffocating death.
Every hour of every day, his mind raced backward, tracing the bridge he had violently brought down. He missed you with a ferocity that physically brought ache to his gut. It felt like a boulder was placed in his ribs, overcrowding his lungs. Some days, he could barely breathe.
And the worst part was the quiet.
Before his stupidity, every spot of the Hometree was a minefield of your laughter. He had spent months training himself to ignore the sound of that, even though it was the balm to his soul at the end of every exhausting day, the honeyed delivery of your voice, and the way you would lean your shoulder against his, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from you. He had thought of you as a massive, beautiful distraction. He had braced himself against you like a tree hardening its bark against a persistent storm.
Now, it was just gone. And the silence you left behind was deafening.
Dozens of times during the mid-day meetings, Neteyam would find his head turning instinctively to the left, his eyes scanning the roots or the wooden pillars for a glimpse of your vibrant red paint. At the training grounds, his shoulder would tingle, expecting the sudden touch of your hand.
But there was none.
By the second week, the pressure in Neteyam’s chest grew so immense that he began to lose his grip on his characteristic discipline. He became desperate for any connection to you, any excuse to hear updates from you that he found Ikeyni’s intense focus on war tactics and Ruk’e’s silence very irritating.
Stop talking of war, he thought. Let’s talk about your sister.
So when Ruk’e announced he was flying back to the Tayrangi to retrieve a shipment of leather harnesses and specialized arrows for the coastal hunters, Neteyam didn't even hesitate.
“I will go with you,” he had said, stepping into the ikran roosts before Ruk’e could even clear his mount for takeoff.
Ruk’e had paused, his hand tightening on his reins as he looked at Neteyam. There was no mission along the coast. There was no tactical reason for the commander of the ground forces to waste half a day acting as a pack-beast for supply crates.
“The eastern passes are clear, Sully,” Ruk’e said, his voice carrying that protective, guarded edge that you both possessed. “I do not need an escort.”
“My father wants an updated report on the drafts near the bay,” Neteyam lied, his jaw clenching as he connected his queue to his ikran. His voice was tight, nearly fracturing under the weight of his hidden urgency. “We are moving the division soon. I also need to see the terrain.”
Ruk’e stared at him for a long, heavy moment, reading the dark circles beneath his eyes and the frantic, nervous twitch of his tail. With a slow sigh, Ruk’e nodded silently. The flight to the Eastern Sea was the longest hour of Neteyam’s life. His mind ran through a thousand different scenarios, each one more pathetic than the last. He thought of finding you by the cliff’s edge. He thought of going down on his knees, uncaring of who saw him. He would let you see past his walls. He would let you see that he was nothing but a stupid man who had torn out his own heart stupidly. He was stupid, stupid, stupid.
Your final words had been repeating in his skull like a death chant. Have a good life, Neteyam.
It had sounded like a permanent severance. A final closure. He remembered how, weeks ago, when the realization that you intended to live the rest of your days without ever seeing him again hit him, he nearly doubled over, a physical gasp tearing from his throat as if he had been struck in the gut. Now, as they finally crested the high cliffs of the Tayrangi territory, his hope was crushed into dust. Apparently, you were not around. And he thought he was imagining the smirk that passed Ruk’e’s face.
They were there for close to two hours, gathering everything and securing it on their ikrans. At one point, Neteyam had looked high above and saw the unmistakable, bright red-and-orange span of your ikran’s wings flying down. His heart leaped into his throat, a sudden, violent surge of blood hammering in his ears. He leaned forward, preparing, his mouth already forming your name.
But then, Neteyam watched in absolute horror as your ikran turn back toward the blind side of the cliffs, diving deep into the sea mists until you completely vanished from sight. He looked at his ikran, its recognizable bright blue-green scales... Even from leagues away, you had seen the beast. Even though you didn't really see him, you decided to turn away. Avoiding him. Flying away from him.
Neteyam spent the rest of the supply run standing on the landing platforms, his eyes fixed on the empty horizon, his hands gripping his longbow so tightly his knuckles turned a sickly, pale shade of blue. You never came back up. You stayed hidden in the shadows of the rocks until they had to leave and fly back home to the forest, feeling more like a ghost than a living man.
Many nights later, Neteyam sat on a log near the weapon racks, idly running a whetstone down the edge of his hunting knife when a shadow fell over him. Jake Sully stepped into the light, his large frame blocking out the stars. He watched his eldest son for a quiet minute, taking in the rigid, defensive curve of the his spine.
“You're off your mark, son,” Jake said, his deep voice slicing through the crickets. “During the perimeter check today, you missed three separate trails on the western border. That’s not like you.”
Neteyam didn't look up. He kept his head bowed, the whetstone scraping against the blade. “Just tired, sir. The patrols have been long.”
“It’s not the patrols,” Jake countered gently. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the weapon rack, his expression softening. “I know what happened after the ridge raid, Neteyam.”
The whetstone stopped.
Neteyam’s hands tried to grip the knife tighter to hide the trembling of his fingers. For the first time in his life, he couldn't hold his mask in place. A small, ragged breath escaped his lips, and when he finally turned his face up to look at his father, Jake blinked sharply from the surprise of seeing Neteyam’s eyes bright with unshed tears.
“I hurt her, Dad,” Neteyam said weakly, his voice breaking. “I was... I was so unnecessarily cruel. I was too stupid, opening my mouth like that. Shouting at her... saying those terrible things.”
He let out a shaky breath, his face crumpling from the sheer, agonizing effort of trying not to cry, but the first tear slipped anyway.
“Have you seen her at the pavillion, Dad?” he asked. “That's not her. That is no longer her because I broke her. I took her spirit and I crushed it with my cruelty. And what’s worse, what is killing me every second, is that she thinks she deserved it. She thinks I was right.” He dropped the knife into the dirt, his hands coming up to cover his face. “I don't know how to turn it all back around. I want her to forgive me. I want her to know... I’d rip my own heart right out of my chest if it means I could take away the pain I gave her.”
Jake let out a long, heavy sigh. His own features crumpled in deep distress for the two of you. He reached down, placing a calloused hand on his son’s trembling shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Have you tried apologizing again? Truly talking to her?”
“No,” Neteyam choked out, pulling his hands away from his face, his eyes red-rimmed from his tears. “I think she doesn't want to see me ever again. I flew to the Tayrangi with Ruk'e last week... and the moment she saw my ikran, she retreated. She dove back into the cliffs... She didn't want to be near me, Dad.”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his teeth. “Have you tried hiding your ikran from view?”
Neteyam shot his father a miserable, exhausted look. “Dad,” he said, his you're-not-helping tone incredibly obvious. “I don't want to force her. If she wants to be away from me, I... I have to respect that. Even if it kills me.”
“Well,“ Jake said slowly, shifting his weight as he stared out into the dark canopy. “Perhaps you should just give her time... The perfect time to talk to her would probably be when she’s mated and having children with her husband—”
“Dad,” Neteyam’s voice rose and deepened, his head snapping up in sheer horror. The tears on his cheeks dried instantly as his heart did a terrifying, sickening dive into his stomach.
“What?” Jake asked, completely straight-faced, though there was a tiny, knowing glint in his eye. “You're taking too much time, son. Men could swoop in anytime, you know? Especially now. She’s back home, heartbroken, and trying to move on from a stupid boy who is too terrified to admit that he belongs to her. That’s exactly when other men take their chances.”
Neteyam closed his eyes, his breathing turning shallow and fast. For the first time in his twenty-two years of life, he felt a wild, primitive urge to beat his own father up.
It wasn't funny, but he knew that his father wasn’t joking either, and as he sat there, his mind began to spin into a dark spiral of jealousy and terror. He had always known that you liked him, that you had liked him since you were children, but because he had been so focused on his duty, he had never allowed himself to measure the depth of it. He had taken your presence for granted. He had assumed you would always be there, annoying him, teasing him, waiting for him to finally turn around.
But you were a chieftain's daughter. You were a legendary huntress, beautiful, fierce, and wild. He knew exactly how many Tayrangi young men watched you with fierce attraction when you flew. The only reason they had stayed away before was because you were down here, making a public nuisance of yourself over the Omatikaya heir.
Now, you were back home. Heartbroken and vulnerable.
Neteyam’s fingers curled into tight fists against his knees, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned under the pressure. The thought of another warrior touching your hand, the thought of another man making you laugh, or seeing that brilliant, wicked smirk return to your face, made his blood run thick.
“She is the daughter of the Olo’eykte,” Neteyam muttered, his voice dropping into a low register. “She would not just choose anyone.”
“No, she wouldn't,” Jake agreed softly. “But she will choose eventually, Neteyam. And right now, you're letting her believe she is better off without you.”
Jake turned away, leaving Neteyam to sit with the desperate fire that had lit inside him. He had broken your spirit, yes. But he would be damned if he let another man be the one to fix it.
With this new fire in him, Neteyam returned to the Tayrangi three more times over the following weeks, armed with a bag of increasingly flimsy excuses. The first time, he claimed his father needed a precise audit of the coastal clan's surplus ikran armor. The second time, he practically forced himself onto a tracking detail meant to map the migration patterns of the sturmbeast herds near the Tayrangi territories. By the third time, he was carrying a bundle of forest herbs from Mo’at that Tayrangi healers hadn't even asked for.
Yet, three times, you managed to dodge him completely.
It was maddening. It felt as though someone was deliberately feeding you a schedule of his arrivals and departures. Every time his blue-green ikran broke through the coastal fog, you were already gone, out on a hunt, or patrolling the northern borders. He even began to suspect your brother, Ruk’e, was secretly warning you through some hidden signal, but he knew for a fact that the man had no way of communicating with you.
You were simply anticipating him. You were treating him like an incoming storm, closing your doors and retreating into a safe place before the first drop of rain could touch you.
By the fourth visit, Neteyam had reached his absolute limit. He didn't bring an escort, and he didn't use the main landing platforms. He left his ikran tethered half a league away, hidden in a dense thicket, and trekked up the rocky coastal paths on foot, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was taking his father’s advice now, though he really hated the thought of surprising you.
He caught you by pure accident near the lower tide pools, where the cliffs formed a secluded cove. You were alone, repairing a frayed net, your long legs tucked beneath you on the smooth stone.When his shadow fell over you, you snapped your head up. For a second, your eyes widened in genuine, startled surprise. But the shock vanished, replaced instantly by that smooth mask of careful, polite nonchalance that made Neteyam’s stomach twist into a painful knot.
“Neteyam,” you said, your voice casual, but your fingers tightened so hard around the wooden netting needle. You made no move to stand, looking up at him as if he were nothing more than a passing trader. “What brings you here? Do you need help with anything, or were you sent here?”
You spoke the words with an easy, detached courtesy, even though your entire posture screamed that you wanted to be anywhere else but in front of him.
Neteyam closed the distance between you, his strides long and desperate. He didn't care about his dignity anymore. He didn't care that he was the commander of the ground forces or the son of Toruk Makto. He stopped just two paces away from you, his breath hitching as his eyes immediately swept down to your thigh. The bandage was gone, replaced by a white scar where the bullet had grazed you.
The sight of it made his throat tighten with a fresh wave of suffocating guilt.
“I wasn't sent, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, fractured register. He took a half-step forward, his hands twitching at his sides, wanting so desperately to reach out but forcing himself to stay back. “I came because of you. I came because I want to talk to you. I... I cannot sleep, I cannot breathe, and I—”
You let out a sharp, sudden breath, dropping the netting needle into your lap. The polite facade finally cracked, and you stood up, your tail whipping the air behind you in a sudden flash of genuine irritation.
“Aren’t we over this, Neteyam?” you snapped, your eyes narrowing as you glared up at him. “We discussed this already. I thought we agreed to get past it.”
“Y/N, please—”
“No, listen to me,“ you cut him off, your voice rising, hard and sharp. “If this is about your guilt, you can lay it down. I told you before, I have nothing to forgive. I accepted your words because they were true. But if you are going to keep coming here with more pathetic apologies and diplomatic reassurances, you are actually going to make me angry.” You stepped closer. “I told you to stand by your words. If you cannot back your own words, Neteyam, I would be deeply disappointed. You are going to lead your clan one day, and an Olo'eyktan’s words must be solid as stone. If you are this fickle with your own tongue, how can anyone trust you?“
“That is the problem!” He said pointedly, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing emotion as he grabbed your hand, his fingers locking around your wrist before you could pull away, his grip desperate but fiercely tender. “I regret my words, I regret them every single second of every day—”
You tried to wrench your wrist free, but he held fast, his eyes blazing down into yours with a terrifying, weeping intensity.
“I know I cannot take them back,” he breathed, his chest heaving as he stared into your eyes. “I know I cannot magically wipe away the pain I inflicted on you, and I know I cannot just hand you back the confidence that I shattered, but I will work on my hands and knees to bring you back to who you used to be. I will do whatever it takes, Y/N. I swear it to the Great Mother.”
You stopped pulling against his grip, your frame going completely rigid. A bitter huff escaped you, “I don't like who I used to be,” you whispered, and his head moved as if you’d slapped him. “And you said it yourself that day, you don't like it either. You said you were sick of it. You said I was a massive, childish distraction—”
“I was a fool!” he cried, his voice breaking completely. “I was terrified for the warriors, but most of all, I was terrified for you. When you fell from the sky... I thought I lost you. I let my fear turn into venom, and I threw it at the one person who didn't deserve it.”
You stared at him, your jaw tight, your breathing ragged. For a second, just a fraction of a second, Neteyam thought he saw a flicker of the old warmth that used to belong entirely to him. But then, your expression hardened again.
“It doesn't matter why you said it, Neteyam,” you said, your voice flat. “The fact remains that your assessment was correct. I was reckless, and I put lives at risk. Your cruelty was just the mirror I needed to see myself clearly. Now, let go of me. I have nets to mend."
Neteyam’s fingers slowly uncurled, his arm dropping to his side as if it had been cut. You didn't give him another glance, you simply sat back down on the rock, picked up your wooden needle, and began weaving the fibers with steady, unbothered precision.
That day was completely unproductive for him. He spent the remaining hours sitting on a boulder a few paces away, watching you work in absolute silence. You didn't speak to him again. You didn't look at him. You treated him like a piece of rock, completely ignoring his presence until the sun began to dip and he was forced to hike back to his ikran, his heart heavier than when he had arrived.
Neteyam did not give up. In fact, his failure only made him more relentless.
He began flying between the Omatikaya and the Tayrangi almost every single day, uncaring of the brutal, grueling transit on top of his patrols, trainings, and war meetings. He would wake up before the first light of dawn, complete his mandatory border patrols, and then immediately push his ikran through the treacherous mountain drafts just to spend an hour or two on the cliffs.
He became a desperate fixture in your clan. He didn't care how it looked to your people. He didn't care that they watched with raised eyebrows and murmurs of amusement as the proud Omatikaya heir practically degraded himself for a glimpse of their chieftain's daughter. He didn’t know how to fully show you how sorry he is, and how sorry he will be for the rest of his life, so he started with the absolute surrender of his pride.
If you were out in the lower fields gathering ocean kelp for the healers, Neteyam would appear beside you to help without a word. He would haul the heavy, water-logged crates onto his shoulders, carrying them up the steep cliff paths so you wouldn't have to. You would tell him to leave, your voice sharp with annoyance, but he would simply set his jaw, and go back down for another load.
When you were assigned to clean and grease the riding saddles, he would sit on the floor opposite you, taking the rough scraping stones out of your hands. He would spend hours working the stiff leather until his fingers blistered, quiet despite the clear annoyance and suffocating silence you serve him. Some days, you wouldn't even show yourself, your people telling him you went to patrol or hunted, leaving him sitting alone on the rocky ledges for hours.
But he always came back the next day.
One evening, after a particularly brutal afternoon where you had completely ignored his existence while he helped the elders fix something, he caught you as you walked back toward your family's yurt. The sky was a bruised purple, and the bioluminescence was casting a soft light across your face.
He called out your name, his voice light despite the clear exhaustion on his face. He looked terrible, his shoulders were bruised from hauling timber, but there was still the sharp, military crispness of his posture despite the air of a man who was running on nothing but sheer desperation.
You stopped, but you didn't turn around to face him. “Go home, Neteyam. Take the war seriously instead of spending so much of your time here. Your father needs you.”
“My father has other warriors,” Neteyam said, stepping closer. “I will not stop. I will come here every day. I will carry every basket, I will mend every net, I will bleed on these rocks until I’ve proven myself to you.”
You finally turned your head, looking over your shoulder at him. Your face was half-hidden in the shadows, but your eyes were fixed on him.
“You are wasting your time,” you said, though your voice devoid of its usual malice, carrying only a profound, weary sadness. “The girl who would have been happy with all of these is gone, Neteyam. Even I couldn’t bring her back. You cannot bring back something that no longer exists.”
His breath hitched, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow from his father’s training sessions. His ears pinned flat against his head, but he took a deep breath, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. You silently gasped, watching the proud, golden boy of the Omatikaya, who had been raised to hold his head high, lowering himself in the dirt of the Tayrangi cliffs.
“Then who is she now?“ he asked quietly. “Would you let me meet her?” he pleaded, looking up at you soulfully, his chest heaving. “If she is a stranger, then let me earn her. Let me learn the way she breathes, the way she speaks, what makes her laugh now. I do not care if it takes the rest of my life. I will build a bridge over whatever ocean you put between us.”
You looked down at him, your eyes tracing his bruised shoulders, the raw, blistered skin on his fingers, and the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked so tired, what with his duties back home and the tasks he’s killing himself to do here, only to be ignored by you.
“You are a fool, Neteyam,” you murmured softly.
“I am,” he agreed instantly, his eyes tired but fiercely intense. “I am a fool who took you for granted and hurt you, who took too long to realize that my world has no tilt on its axis if you don’t belong in it.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. For many moons, you had kept your heart behind an impenetrable wall of ice, convincing yourself that what had happened broken something inside you that could never be mended. But looking at him now, no armor to break nor wall to climb, and entirely surrendered at your feet, a terrifyingly familiar warmth threatened to crack the frost.
You stepped around him, your tail flicking with a wave of mixed emotions. “The elders need the nets mended by first light tomorrow,” you said, not looking back as you pulled open the flap of your yurt. “If you are going to bleed on our rocks, you might as well make yourself useful.”
You left him outside and he watched the flap shut close with a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there in moons. He let out a long breath, staying on his knees for a moment longer. A fierce, protective spark reignited in his chest. That wasn’t exactly forgiveness, but you had indirectly told him not to leave and tend to the nets, a complete opposite of how you’d pushed him away every single day in the past moons.
He’s not confident yet, but it was a crack in your armor.
Standing up, he wiped the dust from his knees, his eyes watching the flap with tangible longing, before deciding to walk down toward the docks where the torn nets lay waiting.
Days turned into weeks, and Neteyam’s presence in the cliffs before the first light ever crested the horizon has become a constant view. You were drinking your morning tea on a higher ledge when you saw him trekking up the hill, his ikran stubbornly left in a hidden thicket half a league away even though you’d stop avoiding him or fleeing away at the sight of his ikran. You’d seen where he hids his ikran and knew that he had to trek the rocky, miles-long paths on foot before he could even reach your home.
“You should have just brought your mount here instead of trekking that much distance,” you casually said.
He stared at you, as if surprised that you’d suggest that. “Maybe... Maybe tomorrow,” he replied.
Your eyes narrowed at how he was uncharacteristically wearing his warrior cummerbund. It was a gear he wears during missions, but one he rarely wore for casual labor. On top of that, he also looked too pale for your liking, his skin lacking its usual vibrance and his lips almost as white as sea foam.
“Did you come straight here from a mission?“ you probed and he immediately shook his head.
“Just patrol,” he answered, his voice a little gravelly.
Your eyes narrowed, refusing to press for more answers but you watched him almost the entire time, silently going straight to work, lifting heavy timber, hauling supply crates, and helping grease the stiff riding saddles of your clan’s riders. It was past mid-day when he finished, just in time for him to get back for the council meeting, if their schedule is still the same as you remembered.
You caught him just as he was walking down the mountain path. “Neteyam,” you called out.
He turned around immediately and you saw the slight sway that followed that sudden movement, which he tried to mask by shifting his weight.
“You should eat before you go,” you said, keeping your voice even. “I haven’t eaten yet, too... Only if you’d like,” you added.
A look of pure surprise crossed over his pale face. For a second, he just stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The exhaustion weighing him down seemed to lift, replaced by a twinkle in his eyes that made you almost smile. Thank Eywa, you were able to stop yourself!
“I... I would like that,” he murmured, his voice soft.
He walked back with you into the communal yurt, aware of your people’s eyes tracking your movements. After all, this was the first time you actually invited him in for anything, knowing how their imaginative minds have long came up with stories of their own to explain the presence of the Toruk Makto’s heir in the Tayrangi.
He sat across from you and you noted how slow he seemed to be moving, having known how efficient he usually is, so you handed him a bowl of steaming soup and a plate of honeyed roasted fish that you’ve already cut into bite-sized pieces. His eyes were heavy on you that your skin seemed to tingle at your every move, too conscious of yourself knowing that he’s watching you.
Your eyes snapped to his, your brow rising. “Eat. The food will go cold,“ you said.
He nodded, redirecting his attention on his food. Despite the pain on his side, a sense of profound peace seemed to settle over him. He was sitting across from you, eating your food, sharing your space. He was so glad he perservered to go today. Whatever agony pokes at him under his tight cummerbund was a cheap price to pay for this single moment with you.
When the bowl was completely empty, he placed it down with meticulous care, waiting for you to finish without speaking, but halfway your meal, your eyes snapped up to his.
“You can go, if you wished,” you said casually.
“Believe me, I do not wish to be anywhere but here,” he replied. “I knew I would have to wait, you were always a slow-eater.”
Your lips pushed forward. He knows that. You tilted your head to brush it off. “I’ve grown faster since I became a huntress,” you retorted.
“Hm. I wish I can see it,” he said, his voice laced with humor.
You stuffed the rest of your food into your mouth, chewing non-stop as your cheeks filled with food bubbling like a syaksyuk eating utumauti. A snort escaped him as he watches you, one that turned into a genuine laugh, though it was cut short, his ears twitching and his jaw tightening as he suppressed a grimace.
“Why?” you asked, your voice muffled by the food in your mouth. He looked like he was pained.
He shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on the low table. He handed you a bowl of water. “Slow down, syaksyuk, or you’ll choke...”
He chuckled when you rolled your eyes before ccepting the water he offered, continuously chewing. Once you were finished, you finally spoke, “You should get moving,” you said softly, reaching over to stack his empty bowl onto your plate. “If you are late for the council meeting, they might think that Toruk Makto’s heir lacks discipline. We don’t want that.”
Neteyam let out a quiet sigh, the humor fading into a weary but profoundly content expression. He slowly pushed himself up from the ground, a sharp, involuntary gasp escaping his teeth before his hand flew to his ribs, but he quickly converted the movement into a stretch. He looked down at you with a lingering fondness.
“Thank you for the meal,” he said softly. “I must head to the council now. I will... I will be back tomorrow. With my ikran, if you meant what you said.”
You went to stand, following him out of the communal space to walk him only until the ledge. “Take care...” you whispered in the wind as you watched him go. Your eyes narrowed, noting how unusually heavy his steps were. He really looked remarkably weak.
You figured you'd ask him tomorrow, but your suspicion was answered much sooner than you expected. In the dead of night, Ruk’e quietly entered your yurt, his expression unusually grave.
“Pack your weapons,” he said, his voice low. “The war council needs you back urgently. The RDA is pushing the western flank, and they need every competent ikran rider back in the air.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Mother agrees it is time.”
He left out the part where Jake Sully himself spoke with him. What you didn't know was that back at the Omatikaya hometree, Neteyam had fallen ill through the night. Yesterday, during a swift ambush on an RDA scout unit, a stray shrapnel had torn into his midriff. It was just a minor injury that required only bed rest, but Neteyam had completely ignored the Tsahik's orders. He had wrapped it tightly, hidden it beneath his cummerbund, and flown straight to the Tayrangi to help haul your clan's imports.
When he returned to the forest, he could barely stand. His wound was bleeding beneath his cummerbund, and his body hot with fever.
Now, he lay on a mat in the Tsahik’s tent, practically delirious. Neytiri sat near him, her tail whipping in a furious frenzy as she scolded him. “You went to the Tayrangi? What did you even do there that you’d managed to have your flesh torn open?! Have you lost your mind, Neteyam?!”
Through the haze of his fever, Neteyam weakly opened his eyes. “Mother... it’s fine. I am fine. Just... do not tell her. She wants me to bring... My ikran tomorrow...” his mouth formed into a lazy smile.
“What?!” Neytiri cried out, her voice breaking in panic. “Neteyam, you could barely open your eyes, and you're flying back there again to do only the Great Mother knows what?!“
“Mother, it’s okay,” he muttered, brushing her hands away.
Jake stepped into the tent, his large hand resting on his wife's shoulder to calm her, though he himself was worried. “You can't do this to yourself, boy. You're going to kill yourself before the RDA even gets a chance to.”
Neteyam let out a long, ragged sigh, his eyes closed. “Have you ever had someone be your entire world, Dad?” he whispered, his voice laced with contentment. “We ate together earlier... And it felt like my entire world was narrowed down on that table... With her sitting across from me. I don't think... I don't think I can miss a single day not seeing her. If I stop showing up... She will think I gave up.”
Neytiri’s fury slowly melted away, her face falling as she watched her son finally drift into a deep, feverish sleep. She turned to Jake and his eyes snapped to her, sharing a look of understanding.
The next morning, you walked with mother and brother to the war pavilion. You had flown back with Ruk’e at dawn, your mind focused on the reports Ruk’e has told you, but some parts of you were thinking about how Neteyam would react seeing you back in the council. Now, he wouldn't have to exhaust himself flying from the forest to the Eastern Coast.
The council welcomed you, asking you about things back home and slowly easing the current climate regarding the sky people into the conversation. You assured them your brother has told you and that you know what you came here for. You turned to the pavilion’s entrance when you heard an entourage enter, freezing at the sight you saw.
Neteyam entered first, his midriff wrapped with a medical woven fabric, and there was an unmistakable fresh smear of blood already blooming through the center of the cloth. He looked very pale. His head casually snapped to your direction, and the absolute shock on his face mirrored your own. Written on his forehead was a huge why are you here?
He instinctively took a half-step backward, his tail twitching as if he wanted to flee the pavilion entirely rather than let you see him like this. But Jake was standing directly behind him. His father placed a firm, unyielding hand on his shoulder, gently prompting him forward into the room. Neteyam swallowed hard, forced his chin up, and continued walking as if everyone in the pavilion didn’t witness his panic at the sight of you.
Well, it’s not like these people are oblivious to his daily trips to the Tayrangi. They had known, it’s only that they didn’t know exactly what for though they had a hunch. And now, he practically confirmed it. He was persistently going there for you.
Meanwhile, the pieces in your mind instantly fell into place. His paleness yesterday, the cummerbund, the obvious weariness... He had been bleeding out while lifting things that normally needed the strength of two men.
“Thank you all for gathering so quickly,” Jake began, clearing his throat as he addressed the elders. “I spoke with Ikeyni and Ruk’e yesterday. We have expanded our flight perimeters, and we drastically need our most skilled ikran riders back in the vanguard. Y/N has agreed to step back into her role.”
As the chieftains murmured their approval, the briefing began. You forced your mind to focus, stepping up to the map table to report on the coastal movements. “The Tayrangi borders are currently stable,” you said, your voice serious and level. “We ran three separate scouts and extended it along the northern reef daily. So far, it's untouched.”
You reached across the wide table for a wooden marker to illustrate the scout lines, but your fingers missed it by a few inched. Before you could lean forward again, a hand moved into your field of vision.
Neteyam picked up the marker for you.
As he extended his arm, a subtle flinch crossed his features. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck strained, the simple effort of reaching across the table obviously hurt him. But when his golden eyes turned to meet yours, the pain vanished behind a cool mask of a hardened warrior. He stared at you with an intense, unblinking focus that made your face feel incredibly hot.
The silence stretched for a beat too long. Jake cleared his throat loudly, and from the corner of the pavilion, Lo'ak let out a highly audible, mocking snicker.
You quickly tore your gaze away, your cheeks burning. “Thanks...” you muttered, looking at the map through your lashes.
“You're welcome,” Neteyam drawled, his voice low and smooth despite the sweat glistening on his brow.
You bit your lip, your cheeks still burning as you forced your voice to level to continue your report. The moment the council was dismissed, Neteyam stayed back, lingering by his father's side to converse with the elders. He was very obviously trying to avoid leaving the pavilion at the same time as you.
But you weren't going to let him escape. You walked out with your arms crossed and waited right outside the entrance, your eyes already narrowed into slits. When Neteyam finally emerged, he stopped dead in his tracks. Seeing you standing there like a warden, he took a breath and adjusted his posture, walking toward you with every ounce of military bravado he could muster, desperately trying to hide the slight limp in his stride. The red stain on his white bandage had grown wider.
“What is that?” you demanded without so much as a greeting, gesturing sharply to his torso.
Neteyam stopped two paces away, his expression carefully neutral as he looked away toward the trees. “Just a minor injury from the recent mission. It is nothing.”
“You got shot?” you pressed, stepping closer, your voice rising in genuine disbelief.
“It's a shrapnel,” he corrected quickly as if that made it all better.
“Great! An iron slug tore through your side, and you still came to the coast yesterday? You still did the heavy lifting? You still hiked miles on foot to your ikran?!”
“It was just small,” he lied smoothly, though his breathing was shallow.
“Then why is it actively bleeding?!“ your voice rose slightly.
“It just got strained yesterday, but it’s nothing serious—”
“Are you insane?!” you huffed, your anger finally boiling over. “My father died from a small wound and left my mother a widow, Neteyam! You are not thinking! You have a responsibility to this war, to your family, to your people! How can you preach to me about discipline and taking things seriously when you are out there compromising your own body for something so small?!”
Neteyam listened to your tirade, his ears pinning back slightly against his head. But he didn't flinch away from your fury, instead, he watched you with that stupidly twinkling eyes. He took a step closer, the hardened soldier completely melting away to reveal the raw, aching man underneath.
“What are you calling small? Your forgiveness? Your attention? The chance I was asking for from you? It’s not small to me, Y/N. It is everything to me... And right now, it is all that is holding me together,” he said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity.
“Must you really put yourself at risk like that?” you cried, throwing your hands up in exasperation.
He groaned, closing his eyes momenyarily, when you could no longer hold your tears back. You are so scared right now, so worried for him, it’s not even funny.
“Just let me, alright? I said I will do everything to earn the right to at least be near you again, and this is me standing by my words. Like what you told me to do,“ he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his conviction. He stepped into your space, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side. “I told you, I will do whatever it takes. I did not want to miss a single day of trying to show you that I will show up. Even if I am bleeding, even if you do not look at me, I will be there.”
You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. The sheer, stubborn idiocy of his devotion was infuriating, but beneath the anger, that stubborn wall of ice around your heart suffered another massive, catastrophic crack.
“Well, you don't have to do all that anymore,” you said, looking down at his bleeding bandage, your tone softening into something weary. “I am back on the council now. I will be here in the forest. You don't need to fly to the coast for me.”
“It does not change anything,” Neteyam countered instantly. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, close enough for you to feel the heat of his fever, though he refrained from touching you. “Just because you are back in the pavilion does not mean I am done. I will still work for your forgiveness, Y/N. I will still do everything in my power until you can look at me and trust me the way you used to. I am not stopping.”
You looked up at him, your mouth slightly open, completely at a loss for words. You mouth opened again to retort, but before you could even speak, a sudden, frantic rustling erupted from the pavilion entrance. Lo’ak came scrambling out, his limbs flailing wildly as he tried to prevent himself from falling into the dirt.
You and Neteyam quickly turned to him, only to get surprised to see not just Lo’ak, but an entire audience: Jake, Neytiri, Ikeyni, and Ruk’e. They were all standing completely still, their expressions a mix of profound interest and varying degrees of amusement. But because Lo’ak had tripped and completely blown their cover, the privacy shattered instantly.
Ikeyni was the first to recover, clearing her throat with a loud, entirely performative cough. “Ah... Ruk'e, we must go and inspect the riders at the vanguard. Immediately.“
Neytiri smoothed down her braids, her sharp eyes twinkling as she looked anywhere but at her eldest son. “Ah, and I must find Tuk. We have... things to gather. Many things.“
Jake offered a highly unconvincing nod, clapping a hand on a thoroughly embarrassed Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Right. And I have an urgent meeting with the elders about... perimeter lines.”
“I am hungry,” Ruk’e announced flatly to the sky, ignoring the fact that he had consumed a massive breakfast less than an hour ago.
Lo’ak let out a low whistle, backing away alongside the adults. Within three seconds, the entire crowd had vanished, leaving you two alone.
You turned back to Neteyam, your ears pinning flat against your head as you glared at him, trying desperately to mask the raging blush creeping up your neck. “You need to go see the Tsahik. Right now. You are bleeding through your bandage.”
Neteyam nodded, but he didn't move. He stayed standing there, towering over you, watching your fiery exasperation with a soft, maddening look of pure adoration. You groaned, a sound of defeat tearing from your throat.
Reaching out, you firmly grabbed his wrist and began dragging him yourself toward the Tsahik’s tent. “Move, you stubborn man,” you muttered. You figured you wanted to see exactly how small this wound actually was.
When you pulled him into the warmth of the Tsahik’s tent, Mo’at didn't look even remotely surprised to see you practically hauling the clan's golden heir by his arm.
“Ah, and he returns,” Mo’at remarked dryly, setting down a bowl of poultice. “Did I not tell you last night, Neteyam, when you came home violently ill and shaking with fever, that your flesh would tear? Look at this!”
With practiced, firm hands, she unclipped the medical wrap. When the bloody fabric fell away, your breath hitched, and you winced sharply.
The wound was not small. It was an angry tear about as long as your pinky finger, stretching deep into the muscle of his side, the edges raw and weeping fresh blood from where he had strained it.
“You are a liar,” you hissed, the fear in your chest turning into a surge of anger. You reached out and forcefully pinched his shoulder. “You said it was small!”
Neteyam’s hand instantly shot up, his fingers gently trapping yours against his shoulder. His twinkling eyes locked onto yours, completely unbothered by the pinch, and he flashed a rare smile that showed his pearly whites. It was so genuine, so disarming, that the hot anger in your chest simmered down into a helpless flutter.
“There is nothing to worry about, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “I’ve had worse before.”
You merely hissed at him in response, pulling your hand back.
Mo’at wiped the blood away and applied a fresh layer of soothing poultice, wrapping the midriff with tight, clean linen. Once finished, she stood up, turning her sharp gaze directly onto you. “Y/N, I am entrusting this hard-headed man to you. He does not listen to me, to his mother, or to his father. He needs strict bed rest. That wound will never close if he keeps moving and straining himself.”
You nodded with absolute solemnity, crossing your arms. “You can trust me, Tsahik. I will personally castrate this man if he even thinks about lifting a finger.”
Mo’at let out a rare, breathy chuckle, shaking her head as she gathered her bowls and exited the tent, leaving the two of you alone.
You turned to him. “Sleep,” you hissed.
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, a soft chuckle escaping him as he sank into the furs with a weary sigh, his eyes half-closed as he looked up at you through his lashes. “No need for castration... that would make you miss your babies...”
The last words were a barely audible, sleepy whisper, but the tent was so quiet that they rang like a bell in your ears. “What?!” you snapped, your entire face exploding in a violent heat.
Neteyam just smiled lazily, turning his head onto the fur pillow. “Sleeping now...”
True to your word, you made sure he took his rest. For the next week, you refused to let him leave the Tsahik’s tent unless necessary, sitting by his side, forcing him to eat, and threatening him with your dagger whenever he tried to sit up too fast.
But once his fever broke and the wound finally closed into a healthy, silver seam, he went back to waiting at your feet, and he became entirely shameless. He would bring you the sweetest fruits before morning drills, sharpen your arrow tips and hunting dagger, and sit quietly beside you during meals, completely content just to exist in the same space. He was still the same as before. There was no pushing or demanding, only working to seamlessly wove himself into your daily routines.
If you are to be asked when exactly did the remaining ice around your heart melted, you’d say it had turned into a puddle long ago. But now, as the Hometree came alive with the people singing and dancing to celebrate a turn of successful hunts, your chest was singing with a familiar hum. One you never thought you’d feel again. You stood near the outer roots, watching the dancers, when a familiar warmth bloomed at your side.
Neteyam stood beside you, wearing his formal warrior gear. He didn’t speak, but his hand hung loosely between you, his fingers inches from yours. You bit your lip, looking at his profile through your lashes, noting his sharp jawline and his beautiful patterns. It was the same image of the boy you swore to make fall in love with you. You wondered what thirteen-year-old you would have thought if she knew that this man literally bled into the dirt just to prove he wouldn't give up on you.
You let out a soft, long sigh. Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hand to intertwine your fingers with his.
Neteyam froze. His head snapping down to look at your joined hands, and when he lifted his eyes to yours, they were bright, watering. “Y/N...” he breathed, his voice trembling.
“What?” you whispered, a soft, familiar smirk finally returning to your lips. “Some would say this is the perfect time for a kiss... Unless you’re scared,” you mumbled.
He blinked, his forehead creasing for a moment before a ragged, breathless laugh escaped him. It was you who moved and tiptoed to press a soft kiss on his lips, and you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer, kissing you better. You smiled against his lips.
“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you pulled away only to murmur, and he chased your lips.
“I love you...“ he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. The sheer, unadulterated happiness radiating from him was intoxicating, and you cannot help but grin.
But the beautiful moment was violently ripped away when a deafening horn blew, shattering the festival music and the celebration.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” The people announced.
High above, in the eastern branches of the Hometree’s canopy, a terrifying orange glow erupted. Your breath seized at your chest, a cry of panic escaping you as the people frantically ran to and fro in all directions. Neteyam moved, signaling to the nearby hunters.
“All hunters! Gather water from the river! Move!” he roared, crisp and authoritative.
The communal clearing exploded into calculated chaos. You and Neteyam sprinted toward the lower roots, organizing lines of warriors to haul water containers up the massive vines, while flyers are gathering water from the river to splash it to extinguish the fire. At first, everyone thought it was an accident, but as the smoke cleared, a familiar deep thrumming vibrated through the air.
From the clouds, the shapes of sever RDA gunships dropped into view firing blindly into the canopy.
“To the air!” Jake’s booming voice echoed.
You and Neteyam sprinted to the high roosts, connecting to your ikrans in a synchronized flash of movement and flying into the open sky where the warriors on their ikrans were already fighting fiercely. You dove through the smoke to shoot pilots and sent arrows to the exposed underbellies of gunships you happen to get close to. Within an hour, the invading gunships were spiraling into the jungle in balls of fire.
You watched the fire it caused to the forest, your chest aching with fury and grief at the sight of it.
The war party was victorious, but the destruction it brought made all of you grim. The eastern branches of Hometree were charred black, but it didn’t burn the entirety, and fortunately, no one was dead or gravely injured.
The council convened immediately beneath the glowing roots, the air thick with tension.
“It is no longer safe to keep the children and the elders here. Hometree is too big a target,“ Jake said, his face shadowed by the firelight as he leaned over the map.
“We must relocate... for the meantime,” Neytiri agreed, her voice tight with grief.
“The Hallelujah Mountains. It’s filled of magnetic interference, their metal birds wouldn’t like it very much up there,” Neteyam spoke up, placing a stone on a specific grid of the map.
Jake nodded decisively. “We’ll send scouts, then we’ll evacuate those who cannot fight immediately. The warriors will stay on the ground to secure the perimeter and prepare our counter-strike.”
The plan was drawn swiftly. Jake didn’t want to wait longer. As soon as the clan is evacuated, the party will strike back. As you ordered some Tayrangi men to help with the evacuation, Neteyam caught your arm near the edge of the pavilion, his grup firm and his eyes holding a fierce, protective spark in them.
“After... After the battle is over...” he began, his eyes blinking too many times per second as he stammered for the right words to say.
“Hm?“ you prompted.
“Would you like...“ he trailed. “To have me as your mate?” he added, his words stumbling over one another, and even in the dark, you could see how his cheeks were tinted purple.
You blinked, your heart jumping at your throat, causing it to close as your eyes stung with hot tears. “How could I ever say no to that?” you said in a hoarse voice, your hand holding his firmly.
He pulled you close. “Yes?” he asked breathlessly and you nodded. His breath audibly caught in his throat, leaning forward to kiss you and pulling you even closer to deepen his kiss.
Neteyam broke the kiss reluctantly, his forehead resting against yours for one final, desperate second as the chaos of evacuation whirled around you two. He held your face in his hands, pressing another deep kiss. “Great Mother. I love you so much...”
You chuckled, gripping his forearm. “Glad you’ve finally caught up,“ you mumbled, giving him a peck.
“I have always been here, I was just stupid,” he chuckled, his eyes caressing your face.
The tender moment shattered, though, when a loud cough echoed from the shadows. Neteyam stiffened, and you pulled back just enough to see your brother stepping into the dim light. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed at Neteyam that practically shouted an order to let you go this exact second.
Neteyam cleared his throat, his hands slowly lowering, though he kept his fingers loosely holding your hip for just a heartbeat longer before fully stepping back. You bit your lip, stopping yourself from smiling as you took Neteyam’s hand to hold it. Ruk’e looked at you with a look that would normally be accompanied with a snort.
“Mother is looking for you. Right now. She says the Tayrangi scouts need their final instructions for the eastern ridge, and you're the only one who knows the layout of the lower caves.”
You pushed your lips forward. “I'm on my way,” you said, turning to Neteyam and tiptoeing to kiss him again. You bit his lower lip before pulling away, patting his chest. “Later.“
You turned away, your tail moving behind you, its hairy tip brushing his lower abdomen. You heard his gasp and you grinned as you walked away. You brought this small pocket of joy as your ikran perched on a cliff along with the others, waiting for the signal to fight. Neteyam was several ikrans away from you, although Toruk’s big head was almost hiding him from sight. He caught your gaze, giving you a fierce, sharp nod.
The signal came not from a horn, but from the unnatural tremor of distant explosions. War cries from your people and from the warriors from various clans erupted as hundreds of ikran took to the sky.
You plunged off the ledge, diving straight into the smoke. Your ikran, holding a large boulder in its hind legs, flew over a gunship’s rotors and threw the boulder with a force that tilted the gunship before it exploded into a ball of orange flame. You banked hard, narrowly dodging a volley of gunfire directed at you.
You pulled your ikran’s reins up, pulling the string of your bow before releasing an arrow through the glass of the gunship pursuing you. You watched the vehicle spin wildly, clipping another gunship before exploding into the nearest floating mountain. A sharp war cry tore from your throat, raising your bow before flying higher.
Below, you found Neteyam, riding with the reckless bravery of Toruk Makto himself, but with the terrifying precision of Neytiri. He guided his ikran into a dive, sending arrow grenades directly onto the rotors of a Dragon Assault ship, flying upstream before the large aircraft blasted, his war cry echoing over the din of combat.
For what seemed like hours, the sky bled. Whenever you feared you couldn't find Neteyam in the swirling ikrans flying in the air, he’d appear by your side, moving perfectly synchronized with you. Every time a threat closed in on your blind spot, Neteyam’s arrow finds them. Every time gunships threatened to box him in, your own lethal accuracy puts an end to it.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the final RDA gunship was on a slow descent in flames. This should be a victorious moment, but the sight of the burning jungle below you filled you with a grief that seized your breath. The adrenaline of the battle took hours to fade, but after securing the perimeter of the clan’s hideout, and convening with the council to speak of the next steps the party should take to completely batter the RDA, you felt Neteyam’s hand catch your forearm again.
You turned to him, your excitement bubbling in your chest despite your exhaustion. You followed him as he navigated some steep edges and climbed a few vines, wondering where exactly you two are going, but when he pulled you up on what seemed like a hidden hollow, the sight of a secluded, bioluminescent pool surprised you. The water glowed with a soft, blue light, casting shifting, watery patterns across the jagged walls.
Your mouth curled into a huge smile, turning to him. “This is beautiful...”
“Found it when I was sixteen aimlessly flying around here. I thought then that maybe this could be a place for dates with my mate,” he said, smiling at you, his face devoid of tension.
“Dates?” you echoed.
“It’s... a human thing. My parents often go on dates. Just the two of them, spending time with each other...” he explained.
You smiled, “I like that.”
His hand traveled up your forearm to hold your elbow, pulling you closer. “Good. Because I’ve always thought of bringing you in this place,” he mumbled.
You looked up at him, the soft blue light from the pool catching the warmth in his eyes. “Even back then?”
“Yes,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a reverent tone that made your chest tighten pleasantly. He reached down and gently slid his fingers between yours, leading you to the edge of the water. It was you who pulled him to sink into its chilly waters. “Even when I was trying to convince myself that I had to have laser focus on my duty, to be the most competent warrior I could be for my people, you were always the exception... You were always the tilt in my world.“
He held your jaw in his hand, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on your lips. His arms wrapped around your waist, his forehead pressed against yours.
“I know you forgave me. I know you said I didn't have to keep doing... all of that. But I need to say it, ” he paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I am so sorry. I will always be sorry... For the words I threw at you, for the pain I caused, for making you feel like you had to change who you were. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”
You moved your head slightly, you nose brushing his. The raw, unshielded vulnerability in his golden eyes was breathtaking. The proud, stubborn commander of the Omatikaya was completely laid bare before you, entirely surrendered. You have only ever dreamed of that.
“Neteyam,” You said softly, cupping his jaw with both hands. He stared at you, his eyes bright and swimming with an overwhelming wave of emotion. “The girl who used to be reckless might be gone, but the woman standing in front of you loves you more than she ever did,” you whispered, a soft, tearful smile breaking across your face. “I see you, Neteyam. I see everything you've done to make up for what you did. You don't have to carry the guilt anymore. Lay it down.”
A breathless sigh escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes, leaning heavily into the palm of your hand as if a massive weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. When he opened them again, the absolute devotion burning within them made your heart skip a beat. “I love you,” he breathed, his words an unbreakable vow. “Baby, I love you so much.”
He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was entirely different from the stolen moments before the battle. This was slow, deep, yet desperate. You groaned softly, your fingers tangling into his braids, he pulled you even closer until there was no space left between you. His hands moved down to your hips, gently stepping you back until you hit the velvety edge of the pool.
He pulled away to look down at your face, his large form towering over you so much now that you’re nearly lying down on the flat edge. Slowly, deliberately, he brought his kuru forward, the glowing tendrils at the tip unfurling, searching for anything to connect with. “Are you sure you want me as your husband?”
You raised a brow, “Is that a warning?”
He pressed a hard kiss on your lips. “It’s only that there is no turning back... You are mine. Forever.” he whispered conspiratorially.
You took your kuru behind you, “I’ve never been one to turn back in fear...” You met him halfway, bringing your kuru forward until the tendrils entwined in a sudden, breathtaking flash of pure energy that caused borh of you to jerk involuntarily. You watched his pupils dilate, the black almost swallowing the gold.
His world felt as though it expanded, then narrowed down to just you, while you could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat as if it were beating in your own chest. You felt the raw, overwhelming depth of his love for you, the fear he felt he drove you away from him, the desperation that ate at him when you no longer cared for him, the hope that bloomed in him when you were so worried about his small wound, and the pure, weeping joy that had consumed him when you finally held his hand at the festival.
You let out a ragged, trembling breath, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled him down into a deep, bruising kiss. Neteyam groaned softly against your lips, his arms instantly locking around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the stone as if he couldn't get you close enough. The kiss shifted from soft and tender, to the desperate hardness of a man who wanted to devour you.
His hands were everywhere on your body, unclasping your beaded top and untying your loincloth behind your tail. You chuckled in his ears when his hand on your tail tickled you, and he angled his head to press a hard kiss on your jaw, shedding your loincloth off of you. He hauled you up to the ledge before following you to hover over you, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, naked under him. The cool blue light of the secluded pool danced across his broad shoulders, making you shiver with awareness about how large of a man he actually is. He looked down at you with a hunger born from years of restraining himself.
His large hands slid down from your waist, his thumbs tracing your curves down to you thighs before firmly pressing your thighs apart. You let out a soft gasp as the cool air hit your skin, but the chill was instantly replaced by the intense heat of his body as he settled between your knees. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and searching, demanding you witness exactly how completely he belonged to you.
Slowly, he lowered himself, his calloused hands guiding your knees wider, draping your legs over his broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat as his breath fanned across the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the smooth skin of your knee, then another higher up, tracking a slow, agonizing path inward until you were trembling beneath him.
“Neteyam,” you called, panicking as you pushed him back by his shoulder.
His eyes snapped up to you, his eyes dark and dangerous, as if waiting for you to tell him no, but the heat in his eyes flustered you with a heat on your cheeks. He kissed your inner thigh again, and when his lips finally found the center of your heat, a sharp gasp escaped you, your hand squeezing his shoulder.
He pressed a gentle hand on your chest, travelling a bit sideways to cup your breast. “Lay back,“ he mumbled and you did, propping yourself up on your elbows.
His lips found you again and he groaned against your flesh, his hands wrapping securely around the back of your thighs to hold you steady as he parted you with his fingers. His tongue was warm, broad, and too deliberate, drawing upward, tasting you fully. The connection through your entwined kurus sent a jolt of unadulterated pleasure down his spine, and in turn, you could feel his own arousal spiking through the bond, heavy and demanding.
You arched your hips off the ground, your fingers digging into the thick roots beside your head. “Neteyam...” you whimpered, your head rolling back.
He grew even relentless, his pace quickening, his tongue swirling and pressing harder against your sensitive nub. Your hips bucked when his finger slid inside you, feeling uncomfortable with the slight stretch as his mouth sucked at your heat. The sensation was too noverwhelming, and the bond is only amplifying everything. You could feel his deep satisfaction at your undoing, his pride swelling as your body began to tighten around his fingers, and with a firm stroke of his tongue, you felt a powerful tremor in your body, a loud sob tearing from your throat as your thighs clamped around his head.
Neteyam held you through the tremors, swallowing your heat, his purr vibrating heavily against you until your breathing began to slow. As he dragged himself back up to hover over you, his face flushed and his lips glistening, you caught your breath. “That was insane...” you huffed.
His eyes lightened a bit, the darkness yielding to his curiosity. “Really?“
“You know how good it felt for me,” you smiled, tugging at your entwined kurus. A sudden, wicked spark flared in your chest, traveling straight through the bond to hit him. “I want to do it to you, too,” you whispered, your voice husky, your eyes locking onto his.
Neteyam blinked, a sudden wave of heat washing through his expression as his pupils dilated further. “You don’t need—”
“No,” you cut him off, your hands sliding down his muscled abdomen, until it lowered where you felt him. He breathe sharply when you felt him through his loincloth, your hand gripping the massive hardness. “I want it in my mouth, too...”
He closed his eyes for a moment before giving in with a low, defeated groan, shedding his loincloth off before rolling onto his back on the moss. You chuckled, the sound so womanly to him he felt a currently of electricity running exclusively on the margins of his body, causing his ears to pin back against his ears as he watched you rose on your knees, parting your thighs to straddle him.
His hand moved to touch you between your thighs and you jolted with a loud moan, nearly falling over if you didn’t catch yourself by propping a hand on his chest. His fingers caressed your velvety folds, gathering your fresh wetness.
“I need to concentrate, ‘Teyam...” you groaned and he chuckled. You saw him bring his fingers into his mouth.
“Sorry... You just taste so good,” he licked his lips, reaching to kiss you, but you moved your head to kiss his jaw instead.
You pressed soft kisses on his skin, contrasting his hard and heavy kisses. His hands hovered at your waist, his head falling back, letting you slide down his body. He watched you through heavy eyelids, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as you positioned yourself between his muscled thighs. You bit your lip at the sight of his length fully erect, thick, and leaking a bead of thick pre-cum at its tip.
You leaned down, your braids brushing against his thighs as you wrapped your lips around the smooth, hot head of his shaft. Neteyam’s breath hitched violently. He threw his head back against the moss, his jaw clenching so hard the cords in his neck strained as you took him into your mouth, your hands fisting and moving by instinct. Your tongue swirled around the ridge, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke him as your mouth moved.
He moaned, his hips bucking as the bond flared with a white hot intensity. Through the connection, you felt the sheer, agonizing pleasure ripping through him, the tight, desperate control he was trying to maintain as the wet warmth of your mouth drove him insane.
“Oh, baby, please, I can't—“ he gasped out, his hips lifting involuntarily off the ground as your mouth sucked him harder. He reached down, his large hands tangling into your braids.
You thought he was going to push you away, but he only held your head there with more pressure for a few more desperate seconds that his largeness almost choked you, but then he gently pulled you up, his breathing completely shattered. You groaned, frowning that he had to pull his cock out of your mouth.
He looked you in the eyes, serious and with finality. “No more. I want to come inside you.”
He hauled you up by your waist, flipping you beneath him in one fluid motion. He was completely done with waiting. His large hand pinned both your wrists above your head, his other hand holding your waist in place as he aligned his hard length against your softness, his mouth coming down to capture yours.
With a slow, heavy thrust, Neteyam began burying himself inside you, until he’d sank in entirely. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders , letting out a breathless cry, feeling your walls stretching to accommodate him. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of the fit sent an exquisite pleasure for the both of you through the bond, and it felt as though your souls were melting into one another, leaving no distinction between where you and him stand.
Neteyam paused for a second, his eyes closing as he absorbed the tight, wet heat of your walls squeezing him. A ragged groan tore from his chest before he began to move in a pace that was immediately hard, deep, and desperate, as if he was pouring into you all the pent-up energy he had left from the battle.
He drove into you with a fiercely possessive rhythm, his hips pounding against yours with a strength that had you crying out his name. Every time he pulled back, he returned deeper, marking you, claiming every inch of your body as his own. His arm wrapped under your body, while the other hand hiked your knee up to your chest, making sure you receive each of his forceful thrust.
The bond left no walls or armors to crack, both of you feeling only the pure, intoxicating love, devotion, and absolute surrender you have for each other. The tension in your lower abdomen coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable. Neteyam’s pace became frantic, his jaw locked, his eyes fixed on yours with a terrifying intensity as he felt your walls begin to tighten around him.
“Oh, baby,” he choked out, his grip on your thigh tightening.
You screamed his name as your body convulsed around him, the pleasure shattering your vision into a thousand white sparks. Your grip on him triggered his own release, and a deep, guttural roar escaped him as he thrust brutally deep into you one last time and held himself there, his body stiffening as he spilled himself completely inside you.
“Fuck, I’m seeing stars...” he groaned, collapsing against your chest, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his own chest rising and falling in ragged, exhausted gasps. You broke into a weakened laugh, your hold on him loosening up a little as you pressed soft kisses on his temple.
The weeks that followed were a blur of war council meetings, suffocating maps, and aerial patrols around the High Camp. The ongoing struggle against the RDA had left very little time for you and Neteyam to enjoy your first days together, but it’s when you’re high above the sky that everything seemed to be yours.
You banked hard to the left, your ikran letting out a shrill cry as the wind rushed past your ears. Behind you, Neteyam dipped beneath a floating vine, a wild, unburdened laugh tearing from his throat. For a few glorious hours, the shadow of the RDA did not touch you. There were no battles, no strategies, and no bloodshed. There was only the dizzying feeling of flying, the wind, and the intoxicating freedom of racing the Neteyam through the floating mountains and its hanging vines.
He pulled up right beside you, his ikran's wingtip nearly brushing yours. When he turned his head, his golden eyes were bright, his smile throwing all his typical military crispness to the wind. You flashed him a sharp, challenging smirk, diving straight through a cascading waterfall.
“Keep up!” you taunged, leaving him to chase your laughter through the mist.
By nightfall, the adrenaline gave way to the familiar craving for quiet. You returned to the hidden hollow, slipping into the bioluminescent pool. The chilly waters swirled around your waist as Neteyam hugged you sideways, his chin finding your shoulder, bending his large frame to fit himself at your side.
Every night felt different, but tonight was calmer, filled with your soft mumurs and his low, rumbling chatters as you talked for hours about nothing at all, your fingers tracing the faint, silvery marks of his scars, before the talking faded into the slow and heavy rhythm of your lovemaking.
You are a impatient woman, but you couldn’t deny your love for his deliberate, agonizing slowness sometimes, his hands anchoring your waist as he worshipped you. Every thrust was deep and strong, his lips pressed to your throat, whispering your name like a prayer until the sensations from the bond left you both breathless, tangled together in a sweating, blissful heap.
The sky was just beginning to shift from darkness to the bruised purple of pre-dawn light when you woke up, your body singing with delicious soreness and you snuggled closer to his warmth. You kissed the soft skin of his shoulder, you hand caressing his muscled chest down to his abdomen. You smiled when he stirred, pressing soft kisses on his shoulder and neck, until you reach his jaw.
“Wake up, handsome...“ you mumbled. “It’s your turn today.”
He groaned softly, pulling you closer to him. “I hate leaving you.”
You chuckled. “So dramatic, my handsome man. I will be close behind,” you said, patting his abdomen. “Quick, quick. Before they wake up.”
He grunted, hauling you on top of him effortlessly. His eyes, though sleepy, watched you darkly as his hands moved to knead your breasts. You gasped softly, your hand clutching at his bicep as you peered down at him.
“I’m still sore from last night,” you said with a little drama, pouting at him.
He bit his lip, cooing at you. “I’ll help...” his hands moved down to your waist, ready to roll you over to your back but you were quick to sit up.
“No thanks. I know it’s not really help,” you smirked, grabbing your top. “Get up, warrior. You don’t want to get caught, do you?”
Neteyam groaned, a soft smile on his face before getting up, his hand clamping on your ankle to pull you toward him. You smiled when he bent his head a little to level with you. “Kiss,“ he mumbled and you gave him your lips.
You two kissed and kissed, but when you felt him nudging you to lie on your back, your eyes snapped open, pulling away from the kiss with narrowed eyes. “Neteyam...”
He smiled, his head falling dramatically. You rushed him, watching how the sun is almost peeking through the bruised sky, and Neteyam moved as quickly as he could, stealthily slipping back into the camp, walking with a light, quiet stride, a faint smile still on his lips as he neared his family’s tent.
“Out late?”
Neteyam froze, his ears pinning flat against his head. His father stepped out from the shadow, his arms crossed. From just inside the tent flap, Neytiri stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowed at her eldest son in a way that made Neteyam’s posture instantly snap into military rigidity.
Jake sighed. “Neteyam... I've been meaning to talk to you, boy. I know you’re sort of courting Y/N. The whole clan knows it, everyone knows it, but you cannot just spend nights after nights with her to only Eywa knows where. You are both unmated. It's a small camp, people talk, and it’s not going to be a good look for her reputation.”
Neytiri stepped fully into the dim light, her tail twitching. “Just last night, when you had to sleep here, you looked like you were being sent to war instead of just holding Tuk because she’s asked to snuggle with you,” she pointed out. “You best ask for her hand from Ikeyni, son. Formally. You can’t dishonor her with this fooling around that you young people tend to engage in these days.“
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak and explain, but the look on his father’s face had him turning his head to follow Jake’s line of vision. He then saw you stepping into the clearing, completely unaware of the tribunal happening right in front of the Sully tent. You had planned to quickly slip into the yurt you shared with your mother to change your clothes and fix your hair, but you had taken the wrong turn.
You stopped dead in your tracks.
To say you looked thoroughly ravaged was an understatement. Your hair was a wild, tangled halo of loose braids, your lips were visibly swollen, and your chest was heaving from the hurried walk. You looked exactly like a woman who had spent the last hours being thoroughly fucked. Jake blinked, looking from you to his son.
Neytiri tilted her head, her gaze shifting slowly from your wild hair down to Neteyam’s deeply flushed face. She looked at her son pointedly, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Neteyam...”
Neteyam looked at you, then at his parents, his chest rising as he took a deep, steadying breath. The boyish embarrassment vanished, replaced by the fierce, unyielding pride of a man who knew exactly where he stood.
He walked over to you, completely ignoring his father’s stunned expression, and firmly wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“I will personally apologize to the Olo’eykte, Mother. Because there is no need to ask for her hand,” Neteyam said, squeezing your waist a bit as he looked at his parents. “We are already mated.”
Your heart jumped into your throat, your cheeks burning.
Jake stared at his son, utterly speechless for three long seconds, before a slow, defeated smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Well... damn. Congratulations, I guess,” he said. “But you need to talk to Ikeyni about this. Immediately.”
“What is the matter at hand?” Your mother’s voice coming from your clan’s side of the camp.
You startled, pursing your lips. Neytiri watched you, the stern face for her son breaking into a soft smile as she shook her head in comical disbelief for your and Neteyam’s stubbornness.
“We have a ceremony to prepare, Ikeyni,“ Neytiri turned to your mother with a triumphant smile. “The two seemed to have finally met halfway.”
can someone please help me find a fic it was so inspiring and beautiful-
Okay so it was a neteyam x reader.
The reader was raised in the OMATICAYA clan but she has mangkwan descent. Because of that, the clan doesn’t trust her and she is banished to live in the woods.
The phrase “obnoxious prince.” Is used within the fic.
At one point neteyam goes to find her in the woods- and before that I think she kills a hexapede and the clan looks down on her bc they assume she kills brutally???
Wait just to be clear do we hate or love spider bc he’s a big part of my neteyam x na’vi!reader fic….like he’s a major character in virago but im very conflicted bc i lowkey don’t wanna write things no one will read
So…how about our fav white boy??
Don’t like spider
Like spider enough for him to not annoy me during a fic
Dude I just read in the afaa visual dictionary that the mangkwan actually not only raid and pirate other clans, they actually will kidnap and enslave other na’vi.
HERES THE PAGE FROM THE VISUAL DICTIONARY
It gets even more gut-wrenching when you realize the possibility of how many members of the mangkwan are actually just literal hostages??? Forced to inhumaley adapt?
If I recall right, na’vi clans usually stay within a population of 100-300 people, just speaking statistically. At the implied rate of how much raiding these freaks are doing that means it’s highly possibly that 10% – 60% of their clan isn’t even mangkwan, but rather tayrangi, tipani, tlalim, anurai, etc.
Shit the mangkwan are on literal demon time guys 😭
As a Lo’ak lover, some of yall need to learn that a lot of things that happen in the movie are actually his fault. Don’t get me wrong I love him but guys c’mon that dude never listens
no i will not "sign up” that makes no sense by the way. also jake never calls neteyri babe its always baby which is why i complained. cause ik neteyam would copy him but NEVER BABE BE SO FRRRRRR do everyone a favor and stop writing❤️❤️❤️
The story with hate continues.
I'm just posting this to warn other Neteyam x reader writers that there's a person online who is offended by different pronunciations of the same word and a different understanding of the character than their own.
I”m sorry for you if you really have the strength to tell someone to stop writing and trying to offend someone.
Знаешь как у нас говорят, головой об , мб поможет, интернет герой лол
guys i'm pretty sure it's common sense that you SHOULDN'T glamorize rape. do people GENUINELY not know that?
i stumbled upon a wukula x fem!omaticaya reader fic by m9yaa, and i wanted to check it out. little did i know that my eyes had skipped over the "dubious consent themes", and thought it would be an enemies to lovers fic or something. WELL TICKLE MY FIDDLE BECAUSE Y/N WAS STRAIGHT UP GETTING RAPED.
i will now do a re-enactment of the EXACT lines that appeared in that story:
"your body has already surrendered to him, even if your mind struggles to follow." (wukula says)
"i don't want this" (y/n says, REPEATEDLY THROUGHOUT THE STORY BTW)
"your mouth says no, but your body.. your body is shaking yawne." (wukula says)
"your body knows what it wants, even if you won't admit it." (wukula says)
hey so that's actually rape. like those are classic lines of someone who is actively taking advantage of a person who has clearly expressed they aren't interested in sexual intercourse.
i get the mangkwan are freaky and all, but ur brain must be rlly scrambled if ur writing something like THAT. i got blocked after commenting "im confused... isn't this straight up rape? why are we glamorizing this?", which confused me even MORE.
why ARE you glamorizing rape? when people have weird kinks, idgaf if BOTH PARTIES are into it. this is straight up someone being taken advantage of.
YES I KNOW it's just a random fanfic on the internet. BUT it's still a problem. i am hating on @m9yaa because the decision to write, review, and post that was so fucking weird and i needed to point it out myself since the comments on her page seemed to be eating it up.
when you put that kind of work onto the internet, you're setting a standard that (doing the act of)/(enjoying) rape is okay! which is ISNT. by blocking me, you essentially admit that you are glamorizing rape, and you can't get it through your thick fucking skull that its WRONG TO DO SO.
im gonna post rants every time i see bs like this because i STAY hating on total losers. and i rlly do hope m9yaa sees this and reflects on her actions! you're an imbecile, and you should see a psychiatrist if you think otherwise. don't be a fucking loser! (,,•᷄ࡇ•᷅ ,,)
I’m starved for some good Protective/Neteyam x Fem/Injured/Reader fics. Inspired by the new trailer for AFAA showing an injured Neytiri being rushed on a stretcher (I’m thinking to the lab/surgery/etc) and seeing spoiler clips of her injury, I’ve been craving something similar for a Neteyam x reader fic!
Scenario: Reader is injured on a mission while flying on her Ikran. Neteyam is stationed somewhere else but he goes against Jake’s orders to get to her as he hears she’s been hit over the coms. But Reader is a very strong Navi warrior and insists on flying back on her own to report to Jake before showing the severity of her injuries. Maybe she ends up collapsing the second her Ikran lands and is rushed to the lab by Neteyam and Jake? Heavy emphasis on protective Neteyam seeing her hurt!! Would love to see the bond with her Ikran also emphasized!! Can be AFAA or ATWOW!! Hope this makes sense I am STARVED for some angst and injury fics
— To be strong, but hurt
GENRE: Angst || Comfort
WORDS FROM RXSIL: Thank you SO much for this request!! I absolutely ADORED writing this one, I couldn't even keep myself from squealing while writing, so I HOPE I did this one to justice. I think I got messed in the head by the end, I have no idea what happened in the middle. Stale bits of writing, kill me. PLEASEEE! Release me from this torment. Loved this request though!!
WARNINGS: Fem!Reader. Blood. Racism against na'vi? Reader gets shot. You use your arrow to attack. I named Neteyam's ikran. She/they pronounces for reader? Implications of an ikran killing a human? Tell me if I missed something. Jake loves you like a daughter.
SYNOPSIS: "Neteyam believes anytime he has to stay away from you, he is punished by Eywa to do so. So when you're DYING to prove yourself to Jake, that belief is pushed to the edge of truth when you end up getting yourself attacked."
In Pandora, every being relies on something. Similarly, the clan and na'vi individuals rely on each other; for safety, for food, for necessities, for even fighting and against danger. The clans of forest, closest to the interactions with humans are always relying on each other for going against any sign of weird sky-walkers and avatars.
You understood your part in the clan; it was a simple task. Be careful, spy silently, keep out of trouble and attack only if you deemed it was necessary, Jake Sully trusted you knew when it was because you had good judgement unlike Neteyam and Lo'ak. You followed Jake's rules to an exact TEE, not just because he was the olo'eyktan and the Toruk Makto.
But perhaps also because he was your father-figure in a way, he trusted you. You were a good kid in his eye and since Neteyam and Lo'ak were stationed elsewhere, you promised him you'd do good and take over for eastern side.
And for this reason, you were trusted alone. Neteyam's intercom had recently broken, so all he had to contact you was to depend on his father or brother to contact people or you. His radio wasn't getting fixed up until a few days later.
So you knew you'd be alone too. No help from your yawntu, not in the moment. But you had to trust them and know they'll be here when you need them.
Your feet gentle padded against the grass as you bent down, radio around your throat tight and active. Face and body warpaint covering your skin so it'll camouflage you to the best of ability, your bow held tightly in one hand. You softly held in a breath, your kuru attached to your ikran, Hufaê's.
She softly growled, keeping quiet but also snuggled softly as if to comfort you into being more confident. You could feel her encouragement through the tsaheylu, her heartbeat as you patted her gently. You needed her around you, and she knew you did. You two were best-friends, since you'd chosen each other for your iknimaya.
You gently crouched, your tail softly flicking. Your footsteps silent while you scanned your golden-eyes around, looking at the opposite side of where humans had paused a huge vehicle of sorts. Another way to transport their resources and weaponry.
"What in Eywa's name—" you paused, watching a human jog past in what seemed to be fake pair of legs and arms to match upto your sizes. What were they going to do? Physically wrestle? Hufaê softly snorted. You shushed her gently. "We need to check them out and leave unless we need to attack, Hufaê." You whispered.
A human walked past, wearing a weirdly patterned suit—military print. Jake explained that print was worn by 'fighters' or people in excharge. They seemed to be speaking grievously, the human's voice tense, serious and steely. "Alright, eastern side, all clear." they said loudly. Everyone seemed to be guiding silently.
But, you saw the numbers, it was slightly more than you expected to see in the Eastern side.
You had to fight, nothing else could be done.
You softly took in a breath, eyes glancing up for a few seconds at the other na'vi who'd been stationed on this side of the forest, you sucked in a breath, heart-beating faster. Hufaê softly bumped you with her head, making you nod as you gently pulled your kuru away from hers, breaking the tsaheylu, but gently motioning for her to stay down and stay quiet.
Your eyes again scanned every place, hearing very subtly call of the other na'vis, which would usually be taken off the radar under the assump that they were the sound of Pandorean birds to the humans, a static hit your throat and ears,
"Eastern wing, how is everything?" Jake's voice asked. You were going to answer, when the rustling of leaves caused you to freeze, making you move a bit deeper in the foliage to stay silent. Jake received answers from others, you could hear them, but when he didn't hear you, he asked again—
"Kid. Answer, you good?" he repeated. You sucked in a breath, but hummed, "Yeah—yes, sir." you whispered. "Alright." before the static was gone. Everyone stayed silent, waiting for the signal to start the attack. It wasn't too far off, you sucked in a breath, arrow and bow in your hand.
"And NOW!"
You whipped your body quickly together as you notched your arrow before shooting, hitting two separate humans together as they groaned in pain, while Hufaê chose to stamp over, snapping her jaws as if to drive back any human she could.
Other na'vi's joined the attack in the exact moment your arrow hit the glass of a flying mobile, the glass cracking before digging into the pilot as it began descending, sending frenzy among the humans, who began garnering their weapons and guns.
The fight was no small thing. While, yes, it was smaller than the main place the Sullys were stationed in, you had BEGGED to be in this spot and it was smaller movement.
Some RDA humans seeing the attack, immediately ducked into their helicopters or air-crafts, buzzing them into life and using the attached guns to attack. You ducked, grabbing another arrow and shooting it up. Hufaê softly howled, using her size to nudge a human off their feet, while you shot the arrows.
The arrows flew through, the coloured springs on them signs of the defenders. All while the arrows dug themselves into vital parts of the humans, while the other na'vis were busy attacking the cargo for transporting their resources and weapons. The defenders yelled the fighting and battles cries loudly overhead, their weapons accurate as you tugged on another bow from your back.
Notching it and you pulled the string, before shooting. The arrow's seeding past with air almost vaporising for a second before they hit their targets with uncanny preciseness. Neytiri would've been proud, Neteyam even more so.
Your held on your arrow tightened, knuckles tight and swung it roughly against the back of a human, causing them yell loudly before crumbling infront of you, falling against the grass roughly, scratching their skin. Your snarled loudly at the ones who tried to approach you, if they even tried to, or swung as much. You sucked in a breath, trying to calm your breath, grabbing your arrow and aiming it at the blades of the aircrafts, hitting it and breaking the metal, causing the Kestrels to fall.
Your hand reaches back, grabbing mindlessly for an arrow, only you feel nothing come up at all— "Pxasìk!" you hissed under your breath, turning your head but clearly seeing it empty, as you shifted back, letting out a loud cry to alert others that you needed help in being covered.
It was responded to within a second, a large ikran and a na'vi, Mo'unyu, your friend, slammed down on the ground beside you, rolling before standing beside you, their ikran loudly roaring and pushing back the beings, snapping their sharp teeth.
You and Mo'unyu immediately crouched, falling back as they handed you a few arrows, before listening in to another cry of na'vi, "Shall you be fine here?"
"Yes! Go, help them." you hummed, nodding while you counted the arrows and began planning how to use them efficiently. Mo'unyu would insist on staying, but you seemed tense, so they climbed back on their ikran before flying off.
Your hand counted them, before silently putting them against your back.
when you heard it—
A large robotic groan came from your side, your head whipped to your side to notice another robot holding a gun. You grabbed your arrow, but before that, you heard a loud whistle of bullet as you got down on the grass.
"AGH—! Hufaê, GO! Cover!" you hissed, crawling as fast as you could away from the clearing, before standing up and running round the side of the clearing. You could hear Hufaê fly up, her wings rustling tree tops, but you ran faster. You knew these forests like the back of your hand, but right now? It felt like it was looming over you. You hoped to lose the human while your feet patterned on the soft grass and mud, a tiny stone or two sometimes piercing your foot as you winced, but didn't stop.
But the human seemed to persist, even if at a bit of distance, you could hear them yell orders back to some comrades through communication device.
"Oh, Eywa..please work." you silently mumbled, crouching, before climbing up the tree, your hands held tightly on the bark before climbing higher, you hoped the flora disguised yourself well enough..
When the branch beside your head broke apart, splinters hitting as you hissed under your breath, whipping your head to see the human smirk, "Come on down, buttercup..We'll be nice!" he hollered softly, as you snarled loudly, before turning behind the bark, and silently going up,
"No..? Tch," the human clicked their tongue, before you heard another bullet. In an acrobatic arc, you jumped onto the vine of another tree, getting higher, before settling up. You got a view, before you moved higher and onto another tree, a large arc of your arms supporting you before somehow launched yourself onto another pointed branch, rustling the plants around gently.
Luckily, the rustling confused the human a bit, with how it occurred rapidly around on different points as they shot bullets whenever the rustling of plants occurred, but didn't come up with your body.
You finally got a vantage point behind their robotic body's glass back and grabbed an arrow, notching and hitting it directly at the upper leg of the robot, another arrow onto the back and a final one, right as they moved their head to you—!
CRACK!
It hit right through the glass, right into and against their collarbone. Blood spewed and they screamed in pain before they slumped forward in their robotic contraption... You were okay.. Finished.
"Oh Eywa.." you sighed in relief, breathing out heavily, the warpaint across you smeared with grass and mud and dirt and blood, splinters and others. You took in and let out breaths you didn't know you held in.
You jumped down from the tree, grabbing on the leaves and gently sliding down before standing straight on the grass, you took in a breath. You had one or maybe two arrows more, you sighed out in relief. You took steps back away from the body of the warriors, and turned around.
You looked down, pressing your intercom, "Sir! I'm here!" you called over softly before immediately—
"Kid—?! you okay—! Shit, your team is already heading over! They said they couldn't reach you!" Jake's voice called, you could already hear somewhere in the distance a bit of arguing, and then Neteyam's voice, "Dad! Is she—Is she okay?" he asked, panicked before you heard some murmurs.
"You alright, kid?"
"Yes, sir." you replied back, looking down and taking a step ahead, a soft rustle of grass and the soft clink of your jewellery, you didn't pay much attention, more busy listening in on the instructions.
"Alright, head back. Quickly." Jake said, voice concerned but keeping warmer like he does with Tuk or Kiri, like you were already his daughter. You felt warmth in your neck, a soft smile on your lips and another jingle from your tweng's dangles.
The warmth on your neck, silently made you stretch your head, you let out a loud cry, calling onto Hufaê, hoping she was still around. Cause you weren't sure how far was the walk back to the clan. You hummed, another soft clink—wait..
That wasn't you—! Your hand grabbed your arrow, notching it and whipping around, "Sir Jake Sully, wai—!"
BANG!
Your head whipped not in time, right before the wind was knocked out of you as you fell back roughly, head hitting the bark of a tree roughly as you jerked backwards, falling behind and sitting down hard. Breathed knocked out of you, like it somebody hit your throat, your body jolted from where the pain came from, shockwaves hitting you roughly.
A bullet hit you. The vrrtep shot you—!
Pain shot through you like hot metal held against your skin and peeled back roughly, ripping skin off.
Your finger let go of the arrow, again hitting the glass of amplified mobility platform and the human in it, again it only hit their upper arm, the junction near their shoulder, and they screamed in pain like you, but again tried to mobilise their gun using their good hand. Your dazed head literally felt like it was choking you on it's own, you took a desperate shaky breath, attempting to crawl back, but red was staining the floor.
"Damn fuckin' local tails like ya really think you can overpower me?" the human treaded closer, the robotic arms holding the large gun as he began aiming it at you, the crackled glass did little and so did the arrows.
"Kid, what's going on?!" you heard over the intercom, but your mind had already begun to cloud over, your panic and adrenaline didn't do much to help.
You squeezed back, sucking in a breath to not cry, the warpaint smeared further, blood dripping into the soil and into Eywa's earth, the man had somehow managed to click the gun's safety lock, you somehow pushed yourself against the tree bark.
"Kid, ANSWER!" the intercom said, but all that came out your mouth was a lowly groan, trying to sit up, but still lolling down, eyes felt painfully sore and throat even more so.
The wetness of whatever fluids gushed out, ran through your veins. The bullet felt messy, you could feel the pain, the way it wasn't masking itself, unable to, from the way the adrenaline in you was lowering now..
But still, you tried to move away somehow. You managed to crawl aside a bit more, the tree now no longer your support, but the human was already somehow gathering it's bearings, quicker and easier than you. With two of your arrows embedded in them.
"Kid?! We're SENDING SOMEONE OVER!" You heard before the static moved off, you groaned in desperation as if saying 'don't leave now! NO! please—please..no..' but nothing came out except a slurring groan and some drool this time too. Your hand moved to wipe your mouth quickly, as the man took another step ahead
You tried to drag yourself away again, this time, your feet and one side of upper arm got tangled in thing strangly web-like vines descending from the tree.
"Fuckin' blue monkeys." he hissed, venom coating his words. In response, you snarled back, baring your canine and attempting to intimidate. It didn't seem to intimidate the man, as you snarled again. One last attempt. You controlled your breath, garnered strength as much as you could. So you could be heard. Scare and be strong. and most of all, BE LOUDER.
Of-course, your snarled almost resonated nearby trees, in the energy spent, your head slumped back, revealing your neck as you moved one hand to cover your throat, again gaining control in your neck and bringing your head straight.
but the man chuckled, "Fucking mutt, you all really do act like savages." he hissed, taking a step ahead. Your head straightened with remaining strength, your golden eyes glared at him. Your eyes were blurring over, your arms giving out. Help would be too far..
He took steps ahead, his stronger arm holding the gun as he tried to garner strength in the other. You eyes squeezed shut, blurring over and throat convulsing and watering sourly. You can't die, not like this—! NO!
And that's when your heard it. A roar. A road which was loud and strong.
Your eyes opened, another figure hitting your hazy eye, too blurry but you swore you heard a small yip of joy in yourself, the figure descended right on top of the human, crushing the glass even more, before the snapping jaws of the random arial creature grabbed the human before throwing them across the forest floor, causing a deep incision in the soil itself , roaring loudly.
That had to hurt.
You couldn't tell though, your eyes were blurred with tears, throat choked up and mind dazed out. You could barely comprehend one moment to next, the adrenaline ran too high, so you swore you kept twitching. One hand held your side where the bullet had embedded itself.
The creature yipped loudly, it's wings flaring brightly. Your eyes admired the colors, even if clouded over by the sole tiredness you provided yourself, head lolling backward or slumping ahead like you could barely support yourself, but you swore your lips lilted in a small smile, before you slump back.
Thankfully the web-like vines tangled themselves, holding you up. You still looked at the beautiful creature with dazed and bleary eyes, softly crooning in weak voice, body feeling like a marionette with no strength in muscles so your joints were giving up.
"..Hufaê.."
—
"Kid?! We're SENDING SOMEONE OVER!" Jake yelled over the intercom. Neteyam's eyes widened in worry, as he urged his ikran to fly ahead further. They were almost over Hallelujah mountains. Lo'ak also seemed to be calling over his intercom, "Contact her on your own, I'll try from this side." he grabbed what was supposed to be a walkie-talkie he handed you, tugged onto his necklace, it was small, black.
"Y/N, can you hear us?.. Y/N!" he called, before shaking his head nervously, "What..? What's wrong?" Neteyam asked, voice cracking with him unable to control his throat constricting,
"She's not responding, sir." Lo'ak told Jake, almost unable to look at Neteyam's almost broken face. Neteyam softly motioned for his ikran to fly faster. He can't stand this, he shouldn't have let you go on this mission..
Jake, Lo'ak and Neteyam swooped in the underside of the mountain, entering in vertically. Neteyam lands his ikran, Oaytokx, who growled and simmered in extreme worry he was feeling from Neteyam. Neteyam disconnected his tsaheylu, patting his ikran.
"The war party is back!" Tuk came running over and pulling Kiri behind her, hugging Neteyam tightly. Neteyam forced on a smile, while Kiri frowned seeing the look on her brothers and father's faces,
"What's wrong?" Kiri asked, silently prying Tuk off Neteyam, who clearly needed space in the moment. Lo'ak gently calmed his ikran, letting him land peacefully. He didn't get off, when he answered,
"Y/N hasn't returned, she's not responding to calls either. Her last intercom seemed to have some gun noise." Lo'ak whispered. "What." Kiri's eyes darkened when she spoke, worry and concern already swirling in her as she turned to watch Neteyam walk off without a word, when Neytiri's ikran also landed beside theirs.
Upon learning of the news, Neytiri softly snarled, but she also seemed worried. She got off, pulling her kuru away as she stood straight, slightly bruised on her back, but overall fine. "Kiri, take your sister and head back inside." Neytiri ordered firmly. Kiri nodded, gently tugging Tuk away with her.
Neteyam silently waited around a bit, hoping that your intercom just got broken and nothing more. But after a while, his worry and panic was overriding his patience, so he tried to connected to you through his mother's intercom, before asking around if anyone saw you come in.
Every 'no' seemed to spike his worry, and trouble. By the time, he returned, Jake was already getting off Bob, who yipped softly at Lo'ak's ikran. Lo'ak followed their dad, disconnecting the tsaheylu from his ikran gently.
"Where is she? Dad, she-she could be in SO MUCH trouble-or hurt-or-!" he kept talking in worry. Jake took steps ahead quickly, now wasn't the time to play commander, but dad.
Jake gently grabbed Neteyam's shoulder, "She's strong, They'll be fine. Take a breather, boy, I've already sent people over." he said softly. Walking over. Your squad had returned, the ones you accompanied, but you weren't around. No one could reach you..
Jake himself doesn't want to think bad or wrong, he trusted you. You were a good kid and you trusted him, he can't be breaking your trust like this—no!
"Any news?, "No, Toruk Makto." Jake silently groaned at response from the warriors. Neteyam pacing the High Camp, despite his own injuries, his face worried. You'd be fine, he trusts you, yes. You are a great fighter, you're strong and you're smart and you're resourceful in a way he thinks is amazing of you.
But Neteyam also wants you to be as safe as possible. As safe as he can allow things to be for you.
Neteyam's tail flicked and swished in worry, ears twitching in tandem. His hand gently pats Oaytokx's head, as if trying to distract himself. Jake gave strict directions, "Both of you, stay down here. I'll go on rounds to look for them." He said, climbing back on Bob, connecting tsaheylu before Jake took off.
Lo'ak gently rubs his back, "bro, it's going to be fine. She'll return to us, the humans can't capture her!" he said. Lo'ak tried to convince him, rubbing his back. Neteyam only shook his head gently, picking at one of his braids before he silently sat down as to not pace himself and panic even more. Lo'ak also seemingly kept trying to comfort him, though he also seemed worried that you hadn't returned.
Neytiri, after being bandaged quickly, returned to her children's sides, "She shall be fine, Eywa won't let such a girl be harmed." she whispered, gently rubbing Neteyam's back. Lo'ak rolled his eyes, but tapped his feet silently. Everyone seemed to be heading in, and they had already sent four to five people to look for you, not to mention, Jake was patrolling around to look for you as well.
Neteyam's eyes were now starting to sting, even as he tried to not cry. Thoughts and conclusions were becoming worse and worse and he felt nauseated, like he was going to empty the contents of his stomach if he didn't get some news soon. His mother sat beside him, Lo'ak kept talking to him about how good they had done in the mission, Lo'ak's own tactic of comforting Neteyam.
"And remember when we ACTUALLY were called in? Woah!"
Lo'ak motioned with his hands, as if showing how they dove in. It did little to comfort Neteyam, but even that little meant something when he felt devastated that you haven't returned from your only mission away from him.
Eyes starting to grow swollen as he kept rubbing them to remove the tears before they got out, "You'll hurt your eyes." Neytiri whispered, gently pulling his hand away, hugging him against her side and kissing his head.
A genuine spot of affection from his mother.
Neteyam had protested against his father to send you around without him with you, but you had promised you'd be careful and that you both needed to built independent skills as well. Depending on each other can only do so good, right? He remembers smiling brightly at how strong and firm and confident you seemed.
Look how well that turned out.
Neteyam sighed, stretching his neck and arms slightly, even as Lo'ak kept talking and his mother sat, murmuring comfort or humming in agreement to Lo'ak's words. His eyes again trained to the sky, Jake's ikran descended back. Jake got off, face buried in his hands as Neteyam stood up,
"Dad, anything..?" he asked, nervously, hands tightening till his knuckles felt pained. Jake sighed, as Neytiri sighed in worry, "Nothing. Nothing at all, I've kept a lookout, we have to wait." he mumbled.
Neteyam looked away, before anything could happen, wiping his eyes again. Eyes stinging as he tried to not cry, he can't lose you. Absolutely not, you were one thing in his life he doesn't have to perfect for. Nothing could keep him away from you, but he didn't want to cry..It felt humiliating enough.
Lo'ak softly turned to him, "Bro, maybe—"
"Not now, Lo'ak." Neteyam said, voice more sharp than he intended it to be as he sighed out, shakily. Voice cracking and eyes stinting with blurred up tears. As if to combat them, he looked up, wiping his eyes with his palms and blinked to clear his eyes. That's when he saw a soft shadow flying, he paused, squinting his eyes.
"You were being a douche, maybe she already called for help, but we seriously—"
"Lo'ak, shut up for a second."
Neteyam barely said anything more and stood up, walking to the edge of the edge and looking to make sure he's seeing it right. Catching Neteyam's line of sight, Neytiri blinks and squints and Lo'ak follows their gaze,
"HUFAÊ—!" Neteyam's voice got caught in his throat in near relief, "That's Hufaê!" he called. The ikran roared back loudly in response, flying faster as it descended before landing. Neteyam ran over, but froze when he saw the sight in it's entirety.
His heart sunk down to his feet. He was almost buckling over and falling in his own pain at the sight of you.
You were barely holding on, your kuru wasn't even fully connected to Hufaê's, warpaint smudged, blood seeping down Hufaê's back and wings, onto her abdomen from where a large gaping wound lay.
You barely blinked and looked up, "..I-did—" before your body lost it's balance as you fell over. You luckily didn't hit the floor. Neteyam's arms quickly held onto you, gently helping you off, laying you down. Hufaê loudly snarled, as if she needed you awake. Neytiri turned to calm the ikran, while Lo'ak ran to get Mo'at, Norm and Max. ANYONE who could help.
Neteyam held your hand, holding down on the bullet wound, while Jake gently hit your cheeks, "Kid, kid you awake? Get up!" he hissed. Neteyam's voice was crumpling in itself, "Yawne, yawne! Get up. Y/N, can you hear me?" he called, gently shaking you from your shoulders.
Your eyes barely moved, barely open and slipping in and out of consciousness, "..Did my duty—" before you coughed violently. Jake rubbed your back, holding you against him on one side while Neteyam held your hand tightly.
"Shhh, yeah. i know..I know, kid. You did well. You did amazing. Great, in-fact." Jake shushed you, pushing back your braids. Tears of pain and to clear out your blurry eyes, Jake's fingers gently wiped them. Neteyam's hand held down on your wound.
"Yawne, you did so well on your mission." Neteyam whispered, even though he had no idea what actually occurred, he just needed you to hold on. Your hand gently moved around his, tightened for a second, "yeah..?" you asked, despite your eyes closing.
"Yeah, definitely." He said softly, your eyes closing as you fell unconscious, "Y/N...? Y/N!" Neteyam shook you when Neytiri pulled him back gently,
"She shall be fine, she's in Eywa's hands now, be patient." Neytiri whispered gently. Jake gently pulled off the body-came he put on you, to record in case something EXACTLY like this happens. It comes in use.
By the time Norm, Max and others came over with stretcher and whatever they needed. Neteyam could barely pull himself away from you, his sobs wrecking his body while he tried to stay strong, even if his voice cracked whenever he spoke.
"Yawne, you hear- shit," he sucked in a breath, "You hear me? You're okay-You're okay. Norm's here, you'll be okay. I promise, just...don-don't let go." His grip tightened on your hand, before he reluctantly let go to move you. Jake helped Neteyam get up on the stretcher, as he again returned to your side, to hold your hand while you were being rushed inside the High Camp.
Neteyam's hands held your tightly, while he sobbed. But after a bit, Norm and jake did have to convince Neteyam to leave so you could be treated in a sterile condition. It took a lot of convincing, not to mention Lo'ak and Spider basically wrestling him out of there. He sat the entire time outside, with Hufaê, your ikran, who seemed rather devastated herself that you were hurt.
Neteyam gently stroked her head with the back of his nails, seeing how she softly whined or let out yips of sadness since she happened to miss you so much. That sort of bond was rare between a na'vi and ikran. Neteyam felt glad that even if not him, you had someone who cared for you as much as he seemingly does.
—
"Neteyam, she'll be fine. It's okay. They're fine now." on top of soft sobbing, your mind could barely comprehend anything. Like you were physically glued and stuck to the ground. Nothing moved, even if you used your entire capability to, like a web on top of you was stopping you.
Besides, your one hand was physically held by someone. It was soft, someone's soft hand. You guessed, when you finally began pulling yourself together, stirring silently.
"Neteyam. Breathe, boy. She's fine," Jake's voice carried over, before your vision opened to reveal blinding lights. The blinding lights made you immediately clamp your eyes shut again. "They returned, didn't they?"
Jake whispered, gently wiping Neteyam's tears as he held Neteyam's head to his chest. It was a bit out of the ordinary to be so soft nowadays for Jake, but right now. Jake wasn't playing commander, but rather dad to his kid. His first born.
"Yeah, returned while shot! She almost died!" Neteyam whispered, wiping his face haphazardly and then leaning his head back against Jake. Jake gently fixed your fan which was above you, watching over silently. You stirred softly, which made Neteyam perk up to sit. His eyes swollen, reddened from hours of crying.
"Y/N—Y/N. Are-are you alright?" he asked, your eyes blinking open tiredly, while you coughed a bit. Neteyam's grip on your hand tightened, while your other hand was grabbing onto the nearest thing for support which was wires from the machines.
When you grabbed onto them, Jake grabbed your wrists, gently prying them off the essential wires and held your hand in his own.
Jake's finger rubbed small circles on your hand while Neytiri was rubbing some ointment into your side, before packing it up tightly in bark-made bandages. "Your wounds were strong. By Eywa's blessings, have you seem to survive." Neytiri mumbled, voice soft but still proud of you.
Neteyam's large hand hooded over your eyes to block out some light from your eyes. Your eyes blinked, clearing up as you took in a breath, attempting to sit up,
"No..Lay there," Neteyam whispered, hand on your shoulder to just push your back. You were going to protest, but his swollen, tear-ridden eyes made you stop,
"Please, Oaretsyìp.. Just-just stay and heal."
He said it, like it'll be difficult to let you actually walk around and be active. So you silently laid back, taking in breaths for yourself while Neteyam silently played with your fingers.
Laying back down, being treated, you softly sighed out before speaking up,"What happened..?" you asked yourself, before pausing and remembering all that happened,
"right—got shot. Yeah."
You nodded to your own memory trying to teach you and remind you of everything that happened since this morning. Jake looked up, smiling silently as he fixed your hair, his own large fingers tracing tiny circles on your palm.
"You took quite a hit kid. I saw the recording, you busted some ass." He said, voice proud while you grinned, winking one eye. But paused when you realised the state you were in, hooked up to machines, bandages of both human and na'vi manner around you. Warpaint wiped clean off, but bruises spotting around. You were supposed to come back with minimal damage to yourself, now?
You looked like you got eaten by a palulukan and then spat out when it decided it was enough to use you as a chew toy. You cleared your throat, before speaking up,
"I'm.. sorry, sir. For getting in the fight. I should've stayed out of it, like you told me to." you whispered.
You always were a bit of a unintended rebel, you didn't mean to disobey when you knew it should do you good, but it felt better to do things your way sometimes.
"It's fine. You aren't the first and you won't be the last and this won't be your last ride either. You did quite well for your first solo mission than I expected, that would deserve you a drink back on Earth."
"...Earth?" you blinked in confusion, what the hell was that?
But Jake shook his head with a fond look, "Forget it." but Neteyam gently looked up, gently placing a kiss to your cheek, "It's where dad's from, where all sky-people are from." He said, softly stroking your cheek. You looked up at him, his arm propped up on his elbow and face against his palm as he watched you.
"Ah.."
Neteyam smiled, wiping his eyes lastly, even if eyelashes glistened with remnants of tears which he was unable to wipe away,
"You did great.." he whispered to you, a soft smile finally reaching his lips, "You fought amazing, even with how badly you were injured, you stayed consciousness long enough to reach us."
Neteyam's voice was warm, as he gently stroked your cheek with his knuckles or hands, before snuggling his cheek against yours to get his scent on you for a second. Your voice cracked when you responded,
"..You think so?"
"I know so. Also, Hufaê was crying while you were treating, you should go see her since she's not allowed inside here." Neteyam said gently, chuckling fondly at the idea of the ikran and how direly it was trying to enter when Neteyam was allowed in. "I'll go see her right after this."
Jake clicked his tongue, "Oh, but you're grounded on my end. No flying until you heal, you hear me, kid?" , "But, sir—", "no arguments." Jake put down his foot, firmly but in his own loving manner for you. You sighed, but nodded your head.
For your own good.
"I really didn't do a well enough job though. I was supposed to come back with minimal damage." You whispered, but Neteyam simply leaned close, kissing your lips and then cheek,
"All i'm glad for is that you came back AT ALL. You did what you thought was right, help them as much as you could. And you helped immensly. You fought like a true warrior," he whispered, his cheek gently nuzzling on top of your head, while your cheek snuggled against the side of his jaw and throat,
And Neteyam sighed. You're back, in his arms and completely okay for a while now. "And that's your personality to the core, to be strong, even if hurt."
The length!? The characters? I love how the writer included EVERY SINGLE THING from the request. SULLY FAMILY FEELS WAS THE CHERRY ON TOP! AND SOME IKRAN ACTION UGH I LOVE THIS. It’s def going into my favorite folder ❤️
When the man made metal contraption named a ‘bullet’ pierced through Neteyams chest, you decided you couldn’t be happier to have spent days that turned into weeks learning from the human healers that resided in high camp.
You were a warrior, much more skilled in causing injuries than repairing them, but the sky people forced you to be practical. Months of war also meant months of losses; months of seeing your comrades die in hapless deaths. It led you to the realization that in order to survive in the ongoing war it would be important to know how to repair the wounds their metal weapons caused.
The tawtutes were familiar with your presence. Always trailing the Sully kids, curiously poking around and toying with the instruments they seemed to revolve their lives around. So when you walked in, there was no large reaction; they simply glanced in your direction, some murmuring greetings, others nodding in acknowledgement of your presence before continuing with their tasks.
You wished they would have given you more of a reaction. It would be less awkward if you didn’t have to speak to a roomful of the back of tawtute heads. But you were a warrior, you could complete the hardest flight paths even with winds pushing against you and your ikran, you could figure out how to complete a clean kill on a sturmbeast from any angle, and you had confidence beyond your years because of it.
Clearing your throat softly you find your voice, “I wish to learn from your… zeykoyu.” Your amber eyes flicked across the room towards where you knew the zeykoyu completed their work. It took a few moments for your words to settle, for their brains to comprehend what you were asking.
“From the zeykoyu?” Norm speaks up first, “What do you want to learn from the doctor's kid?”
Ah. Doctor. That was the English word you were looking for. You picked up on a lot of English from the Sully kids, enough to get by in most conversations with the tawtutes, but they rarely came to these doctors; instead heading to their Grandmother Mo’at, as she was the Tsa’hik.
“I wish to learn how to mend wounds caused by the sky people weapons.” The zeykoyu motioned you over, making to inquire about what specifically you wanted to learn but before they could you spoke again, “But I also wish to keep it secret.”
So from that afternoon on you spent your free evenings with a respirator around your neck, hunched over what the tawtute’s called ‘dummies’ used for practice of healing skills.
Being a well decorated warrior meant that you had many duties to complete. They ranged from accompanying the foragers to ensure their safety, leading hunts to feed the clan for the night, helping future warriors hone their skills in training, sometimes even something as simple as sharpening arrowheads and knives.
After your duties were complete, Eywa willing you’d head straight to the tawtute encampment. Unfortunately, Eywa normally did not will it. You would frequently end up whisked away by the Sullys.
Kiri would ask you to come be her personal guard as she foraged for more herbs that the Tsa’hik asked for. Lo’ak would come bounding towards you spouting nonsense about something he and Spider did that Neteyam scolded him for, you knew he was searching for some sympathy, and of course you agreed with him, he was just a teenager and as long as he completed his duties there's no reason he shouldn’t be allowed free time. Neteyam would steal you away with a hand grasping your wrist to drag you towards where your ikrans reside, eager to steal you for some alone time, ‘date night’ as he calls it. And Tuk who would make sure to run straight to you when none of her siblings would engage in her antics.
Yet none of these diversions deterred you from your learning. Inadvertently this also made you practice resilience; No matter how much your legs ached, how much your eyes felt like they were going to slam shut on you, how close the calluses on your fingers felt like they were going to burst open, or how tight the knots in your shoulders and back were, you still showed up.
The tawtute Zeykoyu taught you how to pack a wound, to stop the bleeding, what forest materials you could use in a pinch, how to stitch up a wound the tawtute way. You made them run you through every scenario you could think of, every scenario you’ve lived through and been unable to do anything about.
When you traveled with the Sullys, refusing to be left behind by your future mate, you had never expected to use those skills. You expected to be free from the sky people, to forget about their insanity, and their metal monstrosities, and to finally live your life in peace.
And yet when Lo’ak slings Neteyams arm over his shoulder and begins to glide away on the ilu, everything snaps into place. All of the scenarios, hours of learning how to differentiate the different types of packing material, days of learning how the tawtute fluids affected blood, weeks of learning how to properly stitch wounds so you can complete all your daily tasks without them breaking, and tortuous months of working over Na’vi ‘dummies’ to ensure a high rate of survivability.
You carried tawtute healing tools on you for this reason. You never thought you’d use it on Neteyam, but it’s better that you’re here than anyone else right now. As Lo’ak, Tsireya, and Spider haul Neteyam up onto the nearest rock, you tear into the small satchel you’ve attached to your tewng. It holds different variations of gauze, needles, sutures, tourniquets, antiseptics, and chest seals.
“Lo’ak, lift him up.”
When Lo’ak shows no signs of moving, you try again.
“Lo’ak.” Your amber eyes are burning into his, urging him to look up at you. And when he finally does, “Lift him, now!”
This time he listens, pulling Neteyams shoulder to haul his upper body up and expose his back to you. Your eyes quickly survey the scene, cataloging every scrape and bruise, then honing in on the main worry.
“Hold him there.” Your orders come out cold, your icy exterior hiding the inner turmoil you were experiencing.
Lo’ak’s breathless in his reply, “What?”
You huff, “If he is too heavy, lie him back down on his front.”
Lo’ak makes no move in the few seconds you give him to react so you set out to work. Tearing into a packet of antiseptic with your teeth, you work quick to clean the wound, trying to clear it of as much blood as possible before placing the seal.
The chest seal is a simple concept. In theory it’s what humans would call ‘fool proof’. Tape 3 sides down, and leave one open to allow air to escape. After you learned the basic concept, understood how it worked, and could perform it well with minimal tools, the tawtutes presented you with premade seals. The simulations you ran with the premade seals worked, all the Na’vi ‘dummies’ surviving as long as they received further medical care after placing the chest seals.
This was different though. This is your life partner, mated before Eywa or not. The thought of losing him brought tremors to your hands. Yet you couldn’t afford the mistake of not cleaning properly. Couldn’t afford the mistake of not centering the seal. Couldn’t afford not using enough pressure. Couldn’t afford any mistakes.
“Mawey, tsmuke. You can do this.” Lo’ak’s voice reminds you of who you are. A warrior. Confident beyond your years. One of the best the Omaticaya had seen before your departure from the clan. You may not have been a tsakarem, but you trained under the human doctors. You could complete this task, as you have every other one that you’ve faced.
A brief prayer to Eywa is spoken in your mind, a deep breath heaving from your lungs before you spring into action. Much time has already been wasted, and you don’t want to imagine what could happen, what will happen, if you don’t start moving.
You reclean the wound, drying it before attaching one of the chest seals.
“Lay him back,” Your eyes meet Lo’ak’s again briefly. When Neteyam is safely resting against the rock you surge forward again, cleaning the entrance wound, and placing another seal.
Amber eyes rake over Neteyams body, assessing his breathing, ensuring the chest seal is allowing for breathing but keeping the blood in, and finalizing your catalog of his injuries. You were avoiding his face, not wanting to see if he was conscious, if he was still with you. But you also needed to know if you needed to move now, or if you could let your adrenaline sit for a moment.
Neteyam’s staring at you when you finally raise your eyes to his. His throat constricts in pain when he attempts to speak, a normal na’vi would wait until they could get a waterskin, to ‘wet their whistle’ as his father would put it.But Neteyam is the mighty warrior, and some scratchiness would not stop him.
“Yawntu,” Neteyam coughs, and you scramble to grasp his hand eager to show him you’re present, “Where did you learn all this?”
“I will tell you when you recover, yes?”
Instead of a verbal response, Neteyams brows furrow. He wants to say more, wants to know when you possibly had the time to cultivate these skills. You cut him off before he can really speak his concerns.
“You must rest. Not your eyes, never your eyes. But conserve energy, stay mighty until we reach Tsa’hik.”
In a whirlwind Jake and Neytiri appear. Both shocked at the state of their oldest, both turning vengeful at the man who was the cause of all this pain. Jake notices the seals, he knew of them but he wasn’t wired to think about their usefulness in times like this.
Through their rage, they hear you. Speaking of returning to Awa’atlu, that you must seek out a Zeykoyu before it is too late. Neytiri protests for a moment, believing Tsa’hik is the only one who can help. You don’t correct her, knowing in your heart she is correct, but you insist that any Zeykoyu is better than no Zeykoyu.
Then you’re on your way, Neteyams arm slung over your shoulder, clutched tight to your chest to ensure he does not fall off. Soft prayers to Eywa leave your lips, begging her to not take Neteyam. Begging her to not take him from his parents, to not take him from his siblings, and selfishly to not take him from you.
When Neteyam starts to slump forward into your back, you start spewing anything you can to keep him awake. You tell him that he has still not seen his father as Toruk Makto, you remind him that you have yet to complete your Metkayina iknimayas, you tell him that Tuk would want him to help her become a warrior.
Lastly, as best as you can without your voice breaking, you remind him that you haven’t even mated yet. That you were supposed to be together forever, and he can’t leave you so soon. But instead of a response, you feel him go more lax against you. All you can do is force the ilu to surge faster, forcing it to push it’s limits past what you both believed was possible.
You had never asked for much. Never asked for anything if you were being truthful. You understood it was a big ask, something you’d have to spend the rest of your life repaying. And yet, you believed Eywa could grant you this. She can thank you for all your troubles, every time you’ve done something for the people, every time you’ve sacrificed. She can see all of your past devotions and see them as equity; that you would make due on your word, and help drive the sky people off her planet.
If only Eywa would grant you this one request.
In an ideal world Neteyam’s recovery would be linear.
You had hoped Neteyam’s recovery would be linear.
But it was seemingly not willed by Eywa.
The available Zeykoyu had tended to him when you first arrived at the village, mending his smaller uncovered wounds. When Tsa’hik arrived back from the battle she tended to the gaping wound in Neteyam’s chest, stitching him up and applying salves before wrapping his wound with kelp.
Neteyam’s eyes stayed shut for the first few days. His skin became less azure, paling from the blood loss. His chest rose and fell more shallowly than it was supposed to. That was when Jake Sully decided to call in his tawtute friends, and to stop relying on Tsa’hiks prayers and salves.
They came with their medical equipment, giving Neteyam what they called an ‘IV’ to return some fluids to his body. They ran scans over his chest and his skull, they said it was to check for pooling.
What could be pooling in those areas? You’re curiosity was blooming, but it wasn’t the time to ask what they meant. It was the time to hope and trust that the tawtutes could solve the problems they cause.
Eventually, Norm and the tawtute doctors decided they did all they could. That it was up to Neteyam now. He had to regain his strength in order to recover fully.
That leads to where you are now. Resting on a sleeping mat in the Tsa’hiks healing marui. You lay on Neteyam’s ‘good’ side, your right palm settled over where his heart rests in his chest, your left hand cushioning your head as you watch him closely.
You’ve spent the past 3 weeks in this same position. Not the entire time, you knew it was important to complete your duties, to not slack off despite your grief and anxiety. But when those were completed, you walked the familiar path back to the Tsa’hiks marui.
Norm had said he could hear you, could recognize voices even though he couldn’t respond to them. So you spoke to him about anything, you tried to keep it light. Tried to only discuss stupid things Ao’nung had done recently, the new loincloth you had weaved, the new ways you learned to roast fish, how Tuk made you a new armband with a bunch of shells she had found on the reef.
Somedays, when it was late at night and you began to doubt that his eyes would ever open, you spoke of a future that might never be. That you wanted to see his first reef tattoo, where your mating ceremony would take place, things he would want to decorate your marui or kelku if you ever made it back home, how great of a father he would be to your future kids.
Even less frequently you would just sit there, observing. Making sure the rise and fall of his chest was rhythmic. Feeling the beat of his heart under your palm. Watching his eyes twitch beneath their lids, trying to will them to flicker open.
You can feel the soft bounce of someone walking towards the marui before you see who it is. The Tsa’hiks marui is a bit away from the rest of the village so you know it must be someone coming specifically to see Neteyam. It might be Lo’ak, he stops by almost as much as you, the guilt of requesting Neteyam to come and save Spider eating away at him. Or maybe it was Kiri, she came by to pray over Neteyam sometimes, other times she just came to keep you company.
“Child.”
Ah. It was neither of them. How foolish of you to forget the Tsa’hik would come to change his dressings sometimes.
“Hello Tsa’hik,” you raise your eyes in acknowledgement, but make no movement to remove yourself from Neteyam’s side. Ronal had been here enough to know that she would have to ask you to move.
Ronal moves around the marui in slow deliberate movements collecting the proper salves, and wraps. She glances her eyes over her shoulder before speaking, “You must rest.”
“I am resting.”
“In your own marui,” she kneels at Neteyams other side lightly brushing your hand away from his chest, “Your anxiety affects him.”
Your anxiety? The statement makes you rise, resting on your knees as you refuse to make eye contact with the Tsa’hik.
“He can feel your energy. It brings him unease.” Her fingers work fast, it is second nature for them to undress and dress wounds.
Your voice is small when it comes out, a contemplative tone accompanying it, “It… hinders his healing?”
Ronal is plastering a salve made of crushed corals over Neteyams stitches when she pauses. She wipes her hands moving to place a protective layer of kelp over his wound, “Possibly.”
That was never your intention. You thought your presence would be calming, that it would bring him a bit of peace, maybe even be a guiding light back towards consciousness. Hearing that your presence was only hindering his progress brought a sting to your chest that you were unfamiliar with.
So with shaky legs and a new caving feeling sinking into your chest you retreat. If Ronal, if the Tsa’hik, said you were useful, then you would make yourself scarce. Your marui was cold when you stepped in, the fire having not been lit in weeks. Not to mention how a layer of sea salt seemed to set over all your belongings, showing their weeks of being unused.
It was decided.
You would clean your marui tomorrow once you woke. Then you would find out how to be more useful around the village. How to make a difference for the People.
Neteyam is sore when he wakes. His eyes feel sealed shut from not being used in many moons. His mouth is dry, and it takes more effort than he’d like to swallow what little saliva rests on his tongue. His ears flick with recognition of his brother's voice, he’s telling him about one of his recent adventures with Payakan.
When his eyes finally open, they slowly gaze over at Lo’ak. They take in his hair, how he’s no longer wearing it in a ponytail. They take in how rigid his body is, Lo’ak’s tail curled tightly to his body, his ears close to his skull., and how despite being close physically Lo’ak refuses to look in his direction.
Neteyam clears his throat, trying to prepare his vocal chords for use. It’s then that Lo’ak’s eyes finally snap towards him.
“Bro!” Lo’ak’s hands fly to his shoulders, “You’re - You’re awake!”
Neteyam moves to respond, to confirm he’s awake and ask for a waterskin but Lo’ak is jumping into movement.
“I’ve got to get Tsa’hik. Don’t move!”
As if Neteyam could even think of getting up. He aches just laying still, how badly did he get hit in the battle with the sky people?
Neteyam begins the checks that his father briefed him on when the war first started. He wiggles his fingers and his toes, he flexes his hands into fists a few times, bends his elbows and knees.
But then Lo’ak is bounding back in, Ronal and Tsireya hot on his tail.
It’s a blur from then on. Ronal is questioning him, assessing how much he remembers, figuring out how he feels, and redoing the motion assessment that Neteyam just completed.
Tsireya brought over a few important materials. New herbs that will aid him in this next step of the healing process, smelling salts, new dressings for his wound, and thank Eywa a waterskin.
Neteyam snatches the waterskin with less decorum than anyone has ever seen from him. As he chugs Ronal informs him that he had fallen into a coma, a type of deep sleep.
His parents rush in as she's explaining how he must take everything slow. That he hasn’t used his limbs in many weeks and they will be weak; that he will be weak. How his responsibilities will continue to be dispersed among other clan members until he is fully healed. He is not allowed to hunt, to train, to ride an ilu, he wasn’t even allowed to weave!But he took it in stride, Neteyam always did. He listened to what he was told, complied to orders even if he didn’t agree with them.
Over the next few days, Neteyam was malleable. He allowed Kiri to help him sit up, he allowed his mother to feed him, allowed his father to skim over the details of the war that Neteyam desperately wanted to know, he let Tuk braid shells and new beads into his hair.
Lo’ak was a constant at his side. He was worse than a shadow, he was like a second skin. Every breath Neteyam would take Lo’ak would watch, eagle eyed, to make sure that there wasn’t a shudder or hitch to it. After every stretch Lo’ak would be there, making sure none of his stitches tore or got irritated from the movement. When Neteyam was finally allowed to walk again, Lo’ak hovered closer than the rest, ready to slip Neteyams arm over his shoulder to support his weight if needed.
You hadn’t left his mind since he woke. He hadn’t voiced it to anyone, he honestly hadn’t thought he would need to. He was sure that you would run into the marui, collapse next to him, recheck his wounds that have been healing for the weeks he was unconscious, and then collapse into his arms.
But that never happened, you never showed. Never stopped by when you had a free moment to place a brief kiss on his lips, or even his cheek, hell at this point he’d even take his forehead! He missed your affections but he refused to be selfish and pushy by asking where you were and what possibly could be holding you up.
It dawned on him that he hadn’t seen you in passing either. Not on his walks around the village, not when he joined your friends on the beach, not when he ignored one of Ronals orders and began sharpening arrowheads, not at the weekly cookfire. It was like you had disappeared, and yet no one mentioned your absence.
The only logical way to think about it was that you were ignoring him. That you were still present in everyone else's lives, but made sure to steer clear of him. But why would you do that? The two of you were to be mated. It wasn’t a betrothal set up by both your parents, but a promise made between the two of you.
You both were seen as adults in the eyes of the people. Brave warriors, skilled hunters, two sides of the same spear. An undeniable bond that thrummed between the two of you since you were children, always dancing around each other, a constant no matter the situation.But with the RDA returning, constant raids, and the new strange responsibilities bestowed upon the two of you it was not the right time to mate. Not the right time to force the clan to complete the mating ceremony. Not the right time to ask mourning mothers, fathers, siblings, or friends, to come together to celebrate a union of two warriors who were also not guaranteed to see the next day.
Remembering this only confused Neteyam more. You were mates in every sense of the word except for the fact that you hadn’t completed tsaheylu with each other. He saw you, and he knew you saw him, so why hadn’t you come to physically see him?
For Eywas sake, you abandoned your home and followed Neteyam across the sea! And now you can’t find a spare minute to just lay your eyes on him, make sure that he is still breathing and well?
It’s been gnawing at him for days, eating him alive from the inside out when he finally decides to ask Lo’ak about it. “Baby bro, can I ask you something?”
“You’re already asking me something.” Lo’ak jokes, not sensing the tension between Neteyams brows.
“Skxawng!” Neteyam throws his four fingered hand into Lo’aks hair to tousle it around, “It is an important question.”
“What is it?”
Uncertainty makes his voice waver, “Have you seen Y/n around lately?”
“Oh, no I don’t think so.”
Neteyam was searching for something to soothe the ache in his chest, something to bring some peace back to his mind but instead he is sent reeling deeper into his thoughts.
“Has she found another?”
“What? No bro.” Lo’ak’s breathless as he tries to formulate his thoughts, “She slept by you every night before you woke up. I assumed she kept visiting you at night or something.”
Well that does bring Neteyam some comfort. You had been missing him, and you hadn’t replaced him. But that still leaves the question of where you were, of what was taking up so much of your time.
Inside the Sully marui, six of the seven bodies are in deep sleep. Jake and Neytiri are cuddled up with Tuk making space for herself between them, Kiri is resting on her back, Spider has himself angled towards Kiri like he’s attuned to her even in his slumber, and Lo’ak has rotated all the way onto his stomach in a position that seems like it’d be uncomfortable for anyone else.
Neteyam however hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep. He’s only been able to think about your whereabouts, about if you’re taking care of yourself, when was the last time you braided your hair, had you pestered Tonowari into allowing you to ride a skimwing yet? Endless questions that only you could answer.
So he clambers out of his hammock, trying to land as softly as possible before making his way to your marui. He can see a faint glow coming from the bottom of the sealed privacy flaps, so either you were up or you forgot to put out the fire before falling asleep.
Upon entering Neteyam takes a few moments to observe your marui. You’ve changed some of the decorations since he was last here, and there's one of the supply crates from the RDA sitting neatly against one of the walls. He moves to investigate, curious to know what you could possibly be using from the RDA, but then he spots you.
It's the first time he’s seen you in weeks. Well in reality it’s been a few months if you account for his time spent in a coma, but he’s still having a tough time believing that he really missed out on so much time. Neteyam’s been imagining you based on his past memories, ones from your childhood, from the moments after your iknimaya, even from when you first arrived to Awa’atlu, but this version of you is different.
Your hair is mostly unbraided, some pieces are braided back to keep your hair out of your face, you’ve got shells and beads braided in and they jingle and clack together in the soft breeze that shifts through the marui. But then he looks closer, he notices the dark blue bags that have settled under your eyes, the slight frown that your lips are pulled into and the way your body is pulled so taught, like a bowstring ready to snap an arrow into flight.
You must have been overworking yourself in his absence. Probably took on the responsibilities that Ronal banned him from completing. That would leave you little time for yourself, no time to hang out with your friends, or to attend communal gatherings.
He could wake you. Gently shake you awake and discuss his worries and concerns with you now, but he decides against it. He softly climbed in next to you, nudging your body so that there would be enough space for him to cradle you to his chest.
It works, for a moment at least. You unconsciously shuffle to the side, irritated even in your sleep that someone was poking into your side. But Neteyam must have forgotten about your warrior status in his renewed adoration for you. After he settles you begin to stir, body sensing the unknown warm presence around you, realizing that it must have been someone pressing you and not just an uncomfortable fiber in your hammock.
“Neteyam?”
“It is me Yawntu.”
Your eyes widen in realization that this is not a dream, your fingers raising to feel his face, feel around his chest, lightly pressing over the pink angry scar tissue, before moving to feel his arm grasping at his hand clutching it tightly in between both of yours.
“Tìyawn, it is not safe. You must go back to Tsa’hiks marui.”
Even with your protests, your grip doesn’t let up on his hand. You may want him to leave for his health and safety, but your heart clearly is unwilling to lose him again so quickly.
“I have not rested in the Tsa’hiks marui in many moons, baby.” His free hand comes to cradle your face in his palm rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone. “Do you still wish to be ma muntxate?”
Your expression shifts from one fondness to one of confusion, “Of course I do. What makes you ask such silly questions?”
“You have been absent from my sights. As well as my siblings’ and our friends' sights.”
Instead of responding you just go back to nuzzling your face into his hand, it’s clear that you don’t want to acknowledge his statement.
“Baby, I am not angry,” Neteyams other hand raises to your face now, urging you to look at him. When you finally open your eyes and peer into his, he continues, “I just want to know why you have been absent.”
“I was told my anxiety may have been causing you anguish,” a sigh heaves from your lips, “That it may have been hindering your healing. I did not want it to affect your family as well.”
You expected a look of compassion but no, Neteyam laughs, “My siblings call you tsmuke, they do not care about your anxiety. They work to be a cause of your anxiety in fact.”
“Yes but -”
“No but. Who does Lo’ak run to when I am trying to skin him?”
“He comes to me.”
“Not my father, or my mother, but you. Who does Kiri ask to admire Eywas beauty with her?”
“She asks me.”
“Do not forget that she pesters you until you comply. Who does Tuk ask for help when she wants to learn a new weaving pattern?”
“Tuk asks everyone to weave with her.”
Neteyam flicks your forehead, “Do not be a skxawng, you know she prefers you!”
“She prefers anyone who will say yes!”
“She complains to me when it is not you, she says that you are more patient and know many different patterns.”
You mull it over. Neteyam does have a point, you’ve learned many ways to weave, and you attempt to be patient with Tuk, knowing she wants to be as immersed in her siblings' lives as possible.
“Fine, I suppose you are correct.”
“I know I am. Do not distance yourself any longer, I will be able to complete my duties soon and I expect to spend our free time together to make up for lost time.”
Then he kisses you. Soft and slow, trying to make up for lost time. Working his hardest to convey how his heart still beats for you. The way his lips work against yours, his tongue licking into your mouth leaves a warm feeling in your chest. It is not an unfamiliar feeling, but it is one you have not felt in a long while, it makes you giddy to feel it again.
Before it can get carried away Neteyam shifts back, ever the responsible one, he rests his forehead against yours. “We should rest, you have many duties to complete.”
“I suppose you would be correct,” You’re grinning dreamily at him, “For the second time tonight.”
Your position tonight is very similar to the one you assumed for the weeks that Neteyam was unconscious. The two of you facing each other, your hand slides up his chest to settle over his heart feeling it beat under your palm. Except this time when you look up, you’re met with Neteyams amber eyes peering back into yours.
His hand finds the back of your neck, urging you to rest your face into the side of his neck where he can shield you from the rest of the world. His familiar scent lulls you into more of a drowsy state than you’d like to admit. Neteyam has also reached a drowsy state, happy to finally be in your presence after missing you for so long.
There would be new challenges to face coming tomorrow, but for now the two of you could be wrapped up in your love's embrace. Anything would be possible, no mountain too high to scale, no water too treacherous to tread, as long as both of your hearts kept beating.
Translations:
Tawtute - human
Zeykoyu - healer
Tsa’hik - spiritual leader
Mawey, tsmuke - Calm, sister
Tsakarem - Tsa’hik in training
Yawntu - Loved one
Tìyawn - love
Muntxate - wife, female spouse
Skxawng - idiot, moron
a/n: i've had too much of an avatar obsession since watching afaa... hopefully i can return to my regularly scheduled writing soon
When the man made metal contraption named a ‘bullet’ pierced through Neteyams chest, you decided you couldn’t be happier to have spent days that turned into weeks learning from the human healers that resided in high camp.
You were a warrior, much more skilled in causing injuries than repairing them, but the sky people forced you to be practical. Months of war also meant months of losses; months of seeing your comrades die in hapless deaths. It led you to the realization that in order to survive in the ongoing war it would be important to know how to repair the wounds their metal weapons caused.
The tawtutes were familiar with your presence. Always trailing the Sully kids, curiously poking around and toying with the instruments they seemed to revolve their lives around. So when you walked in, there was no large reaction; they simply glanced in your direction, some murmuring greetings, others nodding in acknowledgement of your presence before continuing with their tasks.
You wished they would have given you more of a reaction. It would be less awkward if you didn’t have to speak to a roomful of the back of tawtute heads. But you were a warrior, you could complete the hardest flight paths even with winds pushing against you and your ikran, you could figure out how to complete a clean kill on a sturmbeast from any angle, and you had confidence beyond your years because of it.
Clearing your throat softly you find your voice, “I wish to learn from your… zeykoyu.” Your amber eyes flicked across the room towards where you knew the zeykoyu completed their work. It took a few moments for your words to settle, for their brains to comprehend what you were asking.
“From the zeykoyu?” Norm speaks up first, “What do you want to learn from the doctor's kid?”
Ah. Doctor. That was the English word you were looking for. You picked up on a lot of English from the Sully kids, enough to get by in most conversations with the tawtutes, but they rarely came to these doctors; instead heading to their Grandmother Mo’at, as she was the Tsa’hik.
“I wish to learn how to mend wounds caused by the sky people weapons.” The zeykoyu motioned you over, making to inquire about what specifically you wanted to learn but before they could you spoke again, “But I also wish to keep it secret.”
So from that afternoon on you spent your free evenings with a respirator around your neck, hunched over what the tawtute’s called ‘dummies’ used for practice of healing skills.
Being a well decorated warrior meant that you had many duties to complete. They ranged from accompanying the foragers to ensure their safety, leading hunts to feed the clan for the night, helping future warriors hone their skills in training, sometimes even something as simple as sharpening arrowheads and knives.
After your duties were complete, Eywa willing you’d head straight to the tawtute encampment. Unfortunately, Eywa normally did not will it. You would frequently end up whisked away by the Sullys.
Kiri would ask you to come be her personal guard as she foraged for more herbs that the Tsa’hik asked for. Lo’ak would come bounding towards you spouting nonsense about something he and Spider did that Neteyam scolded him for, you knew he was searching for some sympathy, and of course you agreed with him, he was just a teenager and as long as he completed his duties there's no reason he shouldn’t be allowed free time. Neteyam would steal you away with a hand grasping your wrist to drag you towards where your ikrans reside, eager to steal you for some alone time, ‘date night’ as he calls it. And Tuk who would make sure to run straight to you when none of her siblings would engage in her antics.
Yet none of these diversions deterred you from your learning. Inadvertently this also made you practice resilience; No matter how much your legs ached, how much your eyes felt like they were going to slam shut on you, how close the calluses on your fingers felt like they were going to burst open, or how tight the knots in your shoulders and back were, you still showed up.
The tawtute Zeykoyu taught you how to pack a wound, to stop the bleeding, what forest materials you could use in a pinch, how to stitch up a wound the tawtute way. You made them run you through every scenario you could think of, every scenario you’ve lived through and been unable to do anything about.
When you traveled with the Sullys, refusing to be left behind by your future mate, you had never expected to use those skills. You expected to be free from the sky people, to forget about their insanity, and their metal monstrosities, and to finally live your life in peace.
And yet when Lo’ak slings Neteyams arm over his shoulder and begins to glide away on the ilu, everything snaps into place. All of the scenarios, hours of learning how to differentiate the different types of packing material, days of learning how the tawtute fluids affected blood, weeks of learning how to properly stitch wounds so you can complete all your daily tasks without them breaking, and tortuous months of working over Na’vi ‘dummies’ to ensure a high rate of survivability.
You carried tawtute healing tools on you for this reason. You never thought you’d use it on Neteyam, but it’s better that you’re here than anyone else right now. As Lo’ak, Tsireya, and Spider haul Neteyam up onto the nearest rock, you tear into the small satchel you’ve attached to your tewng. It holds different variations of gauze, needles, sutures, tourniquets, antiseptics, and chest seals.
“Lo’ak, lift him up.”
When Lo’ak shows no signs of moving, you try again.
“Lo’ak.” Your amber eyes are burning into his, urging him to look up at you. And when he finally does, “Lift him, now!”
This time he listens, pulling Neteyams shoulder to haul his upper body up and expose his back to you. Your eyes quickly survey the scene, cataloging every scrape and bruise, then honing in on the main worry.
“Hold him there.” Your orders come out cold, your icy exterior hiding the inner turmoil you were experiencing.
Lo’ak’s breathless in his reply, “What?”
You huff, “If he is too heavy, lie him back down on his front.”
Lo’ak makes no move in the few seconds you give him to react so you set out to work. Tearing into a packet of antiseptic with your teeth, you work quick to clean the wound, trying to clear it of as much blood as possible before placing the seal.
The chest seal is a simple concept. In theory it’s what humans would call ‘fool proof’. Tape 3 sides down, and leave one open to allow air to escape. After you learned the basic concept, understood how it worked, and could perform it well with minimal tools, the tawtutes presented you with premade seals. The simulations you ran with the premade seals worked, all the Na’vi ‘dummies’ surviving as long as they received further medical care after placing the chest seals.
This was different though. This is your life partner, mated before Eywa or not. The thought of losing him brought tremors to your hands. Yet you couldn’t afford the mistake of not cleaning properly. Couldn’t afford the mistake of not centering the seal. Couldn’t afford not using enough pressure. Couldn’t afford any mistakes.
“Mawey, tsmuke. You can do this.” Lo’ak’s voice reminds you of who you are. A warrior. Confident beyond your years. One of the best the Omaticaya had seen before your departure from the clan. You may not have been a tsakarem, but you trained under the human doctors. You could complete this task, as you have every other one that you’ve faced.
A brief prayer to Eywa is spoken in your mind, a deep breath heaving from your lungs before you spring into action. Much time has already been wasted, and you don’t want to imagine what could happen, what will happen, if you don’t start moving.
You reclean the wound, drying it before attaching one of the chest seals.
“Lay him back,” Your eyes meet Lo’ak’s again briefly. When Neteyam is safely resting against the rock you surge forward again, cleaning the entrance wound, and placing another seal.
Amber eyes rake over Neteyams body, assessing his breathing, ensuring the chest seal is allowing for breathing but keeping the blood in, and finalizing your catalog of his injuries. You were avoiding his face, not wanting to see if he was conscious, if he was still with you. But you also needed to know if you needed to move now, or if you could let your adrenaline sit for a moment.
Neteyam’s staring at you when you finally raise your eyes to his. His throat constricts in pain when he attempts to speak, a normal na’vi would wait until they could get a waterskin, to ‘wet their whistle’ as his father would put it.But Neteyam is the mighty warrior, and some scratchiness would not stop him.
“Yawntu,” Neteyam coughs, and you scramble to grasp his hand eager to show him you’re present, “Where did you learn all this?”
“I will tell you when you recover, yes?”
Instead of a verbal response, Neteyams brows furrow. He wants to say more, wants to know when you possibly had the time to cultivate these skills. You cut him off before he can really speak his concerns.
“You must rest. Not your eyes, never your eyes. But conserve energy, stay mighty until we reach Tsa’hik.”
In a whirlwind Jake and Neytiri appear. Both shocked at the state of their oldest, both turning vengeful at the man who was the cause of all this pain. Jake notices the seals, he knew of them but he wasn’t wired to think about their usefulness in times like this.
Through their rage, they hear you. Speaking of returning to Awa’atlu, that you must seek out a Zeykoyu before it is too late. Neytiri protests for a moment, believing Tsa’hik is the only one who can help. You don’t correct her, knowing in your heart she is correct, but you insist that any Zeykoyu is better than no Zeykoyu.
Then you’re on your way, Neteyams arm slung over your shoulder, clutched tight to your chest to ensure he does not fall off. Soft prayers to Eywa leave your lips, begging her to not take Neteyam. Begging her to not take him from his parents, to not take him from his siblings, and selfishly to not take him from you.
When Neteyam starts to slump forward into your back, you start spewing anything you can to keep him awake. You tell him that he has still not seen his father as Toruk Makto, you remind him that you have yet to complete your Metkayina iknimayas, you tell him that Tuk would want him to help her become a warrior.
Lastly, as best as you can without your voice breaking, you remind him that you haven’t even mated yet. That you were supposed to be together forever, and he can’t leave you so soon. But instead of a response, you feel him go more lax against you. All you can do is force the ilu to surge faster, forcing it to push it’s limits past what you both believed was possible.
You had never asked for much. Never asked for anything if you were being truthful. You understood it was a big ask, something you’d have to spend the rest of your life repaying. And yet, you believed Eywa could grant you this. She can thank you for all your troubles, every time you’ve done something for the people, every time you’ve sacrificed. She can see all of your past devotions and see them as equity; that you would make due on your word, and help drive the sky people off her planet.
If only Eywa would grant you this one request.
In an ideal world Neteyam’s recovery would be linear.
You had hoped Neteyam’s recovery would be linear.
But it was seemingly not willed by Eywa.
The available Zeykoyu had tended to him when you first arrived at the village, mending his smaller uncovered wounds. When Tsa’hik arrived back from the battle she tended to the gaping wound in Neteyam’s chest, stitching him up and applying salves before wrapping his wound with kelp.
Neteyam’s eyes stayed shut for the first few days. His skin became less azure, paling from the blood loss. His chest rose and fell more shallowly than it was supposed to. That was when Jake Sully decided to call in his tawtute friends, and to stop relying on Tsa’hiks prayers and salves.
They came with their medical equipment, giving Neteyam what they called an ‘IV’ to return some fluids to his body. They ran scans over his chest and his skull, they said it was to check for pooling.
What could be pooling in those areas? You’re curiosity was blooming, but it wasn’t the time to ask what they meant. It was the time to hope and trust that the tawtutes could solve the problems they cause.
Eventually, Norm and the tawtute doctors decided they did all they could. That it was up to Neteyam now. He had to regain his strength in order to recover fully.
That leads to where you are now. Resting on a sleeping mat in the Tsa’hiks healing marui. You lay on Neteyam’s ‘good’ side, your right palm settled over where his heart rests in his chest, your left hand cushioning your head as you watch him closely.
You’ve spent the past 3 weeks in this same position. Not the entire time, you knew it was important to complete your duties, to not slack off despite your grief and anxiety. But when those were completed, you walked the familiar path back to the Tsa’hiks marui.
Norm had said he could hear you, could recognize voices even though he couldn’t respond to them. So you spoke to him about anything, you tried to keep it light. Tried to only discuss stupid things Ao’nung had done recently, the new loincloth you had weaved, the new ways you learned to roast fish, how Tuk made you a new armband with a bunch of shells she had found on the reef.
Somedays, when it was late at night and you began to doubt that his eyes would ever open, you spoke of a future that might never be. That you wanted to see his first reef tattoo, where your mating ceremony would take place, things he would want to decorate your marui or kelku if you ever made it back home, how great of a father he would be to your future kids.
Even less frequently you would just sit there, observing. Making sure the rise and fall of his chest was rhythmic. Feeling the beat of his heart under your palm. Watching his eyes twitch beneath their lids, trying to will them to flicker open.
You can feel the soft bounce of someone walking towards the marui before you see who it is. The Tsa’hiks marui is a bit away from the rest of the village so you know it must be someone coming specifically to see Neteyam. It might be Lo’ak, he stops by almost as much as you, the guilt of requesting Neteyam to come and save Spider eating away at him. Or maybe it was Kiri, she came by to pray over Neteyam sometimes, other times she just came to keep you company.
“Child.”
Ah. It was neither of them. How foolish of you to forget the Tsa’hik would come to change his dressings sometimes.
“Hello Tsa’hik,” you raise your eyes in acknowledgement, but make no movement to remove yourself from Neteyam’s side. Ronal had been here enough to know that she would have to ask you to move.
Ronal moves around the marui in slow deliberate movements collecting the proper salves, and wraps. She glances her eyes over her shoulder before speaking, “You must rest.”
“I am resting.”
“In your own marui,” she kneels at Neteyams other side lightly brushing your hand away from his chest, “Your anxiety affects him.”
Your anxiety? The statement makes you rise, resting on your knees as you refuse to make eye contact with the Tsa’hik.
“He can feel your energy. It brings him unease.” Her fingers work fast, it is second nature for them to undress and dress wounds.
Your voice is small when it comes out, a contemplative tone accompanying it, “It… hinders his healing?”
Ronal is plastering a salve made of crushed corals over Neteyams stitches when she pauses. She wipes her hands moving to place a protective layer of kelp over his wound, “Possibly.”
That was never your intention. You thought your presence would be calming, that it would bring him a bit of peace, maybe even be a guiding light back towards consciousness. Hearing that your presence was only hindering his progress brought a sting to your chest that you were unfamiliar with.
So with shaky legs and a new caving feeling sinking into your chest you retreat. If Ronal, if the Tsa’hik, said you were useful, then you would make yourself scarce. Your marui was cold when you stepped in, the fire having not been lit in weeks. Not to mention how a layer of sea salt seemed to set over all your belongings, showing their weeks of being unused.
It was decided.
You would clean your marui tomorrow once you woke. Then you would find out how to be more useful around the village. How to make a difference for the People.
Neteyam is sore when he wakes. His eyes feel sealed shut from not being used in many moons. His mouth is dry, and it takes more effort than he’d like to swallow what little saliva rests on his tongue. His ears flick with recognition of his brother's voice, he’s telling him about one of his recent adventures with Payakan.
When his eyes finally open, they slowly gaze over at Lo’ak. They take in his hair, how he’s no longer wearing it in a ponytail. They take in how rigid his body is, Lo’ak’s tail curled tightly to his body, his ears close to his skull., and how despite being close physically Lo’ak refuses to look in his direction.
Neteyam clears his throat, trying to prepare his vocal chords for use. It’s then that Lo’ak’s eyes finally snap towards him.
“Bro!” Lo’ak’s hands fly to his shoulders, “You’re - You’re awake!”
Neteyam moves to respond, to confirm he’s awake and ask for a waterskin but Lo’ak is jumping into movement.
“I’ve got to get Tsa’hik. Don’t move!”
As if Neteyam could even think of getting up. He aches just laying still, how badly did he get hit in the battle with the sky people?
Neteyam begins the checks that his father briefed him on when the war first started. He wiggles his fingers and his toes, he flexes his hands into fists a few times, bends his elbows and knees.
But then Lo’ak is bounding back in, Ronal and Tsireya hot on his tail.
It’s a blur from then on. Ronal is questioning him, assessing how much he remembers, figuring out how he feels, and redoing the motion assessment that Neteyam just completed.
Tsireya brought over a few important materials. New herbs that will aid him in this next step of the healing process, smelling salts, new dressings for his wound, and thank Eywa a waterskin.
Neteyam snatches the waterskin with less decorum than anyone has ever seen from him. As he chugs Ronal informs him that he had fallen into a coma, a type of deep sleep.
His parents rush in as she's explaining how he must take everything slow. That he hasn’t used his limbs in many weeks and they will be weak; that he will be weak. How his responsibilities will continue to be dispersed among other clan members until he is fully healed. He is not allowed to hunt, to train, to ride an ilu, he wasn’t even allowed to weave!But he took it in stride, Neteyam always did. He listened to what he was told, complied to orders even if he didn’t agree with them.
Over the next few days, Neteyam was malleable. He allowed Kiri to help him sit up, he allowed his mother to feed him, allowed his father to skim over the details of the war that Neteyam desperately wanted to know, he let Tuk braid shells and new beads into his hair.
Lo’ak was a constant at his side. He was worse than a shadow, he was like a second skin. Every breath Neteyam would take Lo’ak would watch, eagle eyed, to make sure that there wasn’t a shudder or hitch to it. After every stretch Lo’ak would be there, making sure none of his stitches tore or got irritated from the movement. When Neteyam was finally allowed to walk again, Lo’ak hovered closer than the rest, ready to slip Neteyams arm over his shoulder to support his weight if needed.
You hadn’t left his mind since he woke. He hadn’t voiced it to anyone, he honestly hadn’t thought he would need to. He was sure that you would run into the marui, collapse next to him, recheck his wounds that have been healing for the weeks he was unconscious, and then collapse into his arms.
But that never happened, you never showed. Never stopped by when you had a free moment to place a brief kiss on his lips, or even his cheek, hell at this point he’d even take his forehead! He missed your affections but he refused to be selfish and pushy by asking where you were and what possibly could be holding you up.
It dawned on him that he hadn’t seen you in passing either. Not on his walks around the village, not when he joined your friends on the beach, not when he ignored one of Ronals orders and began sharpening arrowheads, not at the weekly cookfire. It was like you had disappeared, and yet no one mentioned your absence.
The only logical way to think about it was that you were ignoring him. That you were still present in everyone else's lives, but made sure to steer clear of him. But why would you do that? The two of you were to be mated. It wasn’t a betrothal set up by both your parents, but a promise made between the two of you.
You both were seen as adults in the eyes of the people. Brave warriors, skilled hunters, two sides of the same spear. An undeniable bond that thrummed between the two of you since you were children, always dancing around each other, a constant no matter the situation.But with the RDA returning, constant raids, and the new strange responsibilities bestowed upon the two of you it was not the right time to mate. Not the right time to force the clan to complete the mating ceremony. Not the right time to ask mourning mothers, fathers, siblings, or friends, to come together to celebrate a union of two warriors who were also not guaranteed to see the next day.
Remembering this only confused Neteyam more. You were mates in every sense of the word except for the fact that you hadn’t completed tsaheylu with each other. He saw you, and he knew you saw him, so why hadn’t you come to physically see him?
For Eywas sake, you abandoned your home and followed Neteyam across the sea! And now you can’t find a spare minute to just lay your eyes on him, make sure that he is still breathing and well?
It’s been gnawing at him for days, eating him alive from the inside out when he finally decides to ask Lo’ak about it. “Baby bro, can I ask you something?”
“You’re already asking me something.” Lo’ak jokes, not sensing the tension between Neteyams brows.
“Skxawng!” Neteyam throws his four fingered hand into Lo’aks hair to tousle it around, “It is an important question.”
“What is it?”
Uncertainty makes his voice waver, “Have you seen Y/n around lately?”
“Oh, no I don’t think so.”
Neteyam was searching for something to soothe the ache in his chest, something to bring some peace back to his mind but instead he is sent reeling deeper into his thoughts.
“Has she found another?”
“What? No bro.” Lo’ak’s breathless as he tries to formulate his thoughts, “She slept by you every night before you woke up. I assumed she kept visiting you at night or something.”
Well that does bring Neteyam some comfort. You had been missing him, and you hadn’t replaced him. But that still leaves the question of where you were, of what was taking up so much of your time.
Inside the Sully marui, six of the seven bodies are in deep sleep. Jake and Neytiri are cuddled up with Tuk making space for herself between them, Kiri is resting on her back, Spider has himself angled towards Kiri like he’s attuned to her even in his slumber, and Lo’ak has rotated all the way onto his stomach in a position that seems like it’d be uncomfortable for anyone else.
Neteyam however hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep. He’s only been able to think about your whereabouts, about if you’re taking care of yourself, when was the last time you braided your hair, had you pestered Tonowari into allowing you to ride a skimwing yet? Endless questions that only you could answer.
So he clambers out of his hammock, trying to land as softly as possible before making his way to your marui. He can see a faint glow coming from the bottom of the sealed privacy flaps, so either you were up or you forgot to put out the fire before falling asleep.
Upon entering Neteyam takes a few moments to observe your marui. You’ve changed some of the decorations since he was last here, and there's one of the supply crates from the RDA sitting neatly against one of the walls. He moves to investigate, curious to know what you could possibly be using from the RDA, but then he spots you.
It's the first time he’s seen you in weeks. Well in reality it’s been a few months if you account for his time spent in a coma, but he’s still having a tough time believing that he really missed out on so much time. Neteyam’s been imagining you based on his past memories, ones from your childhood, from the moments after your iknimaya, even from when you first arrived to Awa’atlu, but this version of you is different.
Your hair is mostly unbraided, some pieces are braided back to keep your hair out of your face, you’ve got shells and beads braided in and they jingle and clack together in the soft breeze that shifts through the marui. But then he looks closer, he notices the dark blue bags that have settled under your eyes, the slight frown that your lips are pulled into and the way your body is pulled so taught, like a bowstring ready to snap an arrow into flight.
You must have been overworking yourself in his absence. Probably took on the responsibilities that Ronal banned him from completing. That would leave you little time for yourself, no time to hang out with your friends, or to attend communal gatherings.
He could wake you. Gently shake you awake and discuss his worries and concerns with you now, but he decides against it. He softly climbed in next to you, nudging your body so that there would be enough space for him to cradle you to his chest.
It works, for a moment at least. You unconsciously shuffle to the side, irritated even in your sleep that someone was poking into your side. But Neteyam must have forgotten about your warrior status in his renewed adoration for you. After he settles you begin to stir, body sensing the unknown warm presence around you, realizing that it must have been someone pressing you and not just an uncomfortable fiber in your hammock.
“Neteyam?”
“It is me Yawntu.”
Your eyes widen in realization that this is not a dream, your fingers raising to feel his face, feel around his chest, lightly pressing over the pink angry scar tissue, before moving to feel his arm grasping at his hand clutching it tightly in between both of yours.
“Tìyawn, it is not safe. You must go back to Tsa’hiks marui.”
Even with your protests, your grip doesn’t let up on his hand. You may want him to leave for his health and safety, but your heart clearly is unwilling to lose him again so quickly.
“I have not rested in the Tsa’hiks marui in many moons, baby.” His free hand comes to cradle your face in his palm rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone. “Do you still wish to be ma muntxate?”
Your expression shifts from one fondness to one of confusion, “Of course I do. What makes you ask such silly questions?”
“You have been absent from my sights. As well as my siblings’ and our friends' sights.”
Instead of responding you just go back to nuzzling your face into his hand, it’s clear that you don’t want to acknowledge his statement.
“Baby, I am not angry,” Neteyams other hand raises to your face now, urging you to look at him. When you finally open your eyes and peer into his, he continues, “I just want to know why you have been absent.”
“I was told my anxiety may have been causing you anguish,” a sigh heaves from your lips, “That it may have been hindering your healing. I did not want it to affect your family as well.”
You expected a look of compassion but no, Neteyam laughs, “My siblings call you tsmuke, they do not care about your anxiety. They work to be a cause of your anxiety in fact.”
“Yes but -”
“No but. Who does Lo’ak run to when I am trying to skin him?”
“He comes to me.”
“Not my father, or my mother, but you. Who does Kiri ask to admire Eywas beauty with her?”
“She asks me.”
“Do not forget that she pesters you until you comply. Who does Tuk ask for help when she wants to learn a new weaving pattern?”
“Tuk asks everyone to weave with her.”
Neteyam flicks your forehead, “Do not be a skxawng, you know she prefers you!”
“She prefers anyone who will say yes!”
“She complains to me when it is not you, she says that you are more patient and know many different patterns.”
You mull it over. Neteyam does have a point, you’ve learned many ways to weave, and you attempt to be patient with Tuk, knowing she wants to be as immersed in her siblings' lives as possible.
“Fine, I suppose you are correct.”
“I know I am. Do not distance yourself any longer, I will be able to complete my duties soon and I expect to spend our free time together to make up for lost time.”
Then he kisses you. Soft and slow, trying to make up for lost time. Working his hardest to convey how his heart still beats for you. The way his lips work against yours, his tongue licking into your mouth leaves a warm feeling in your chest. It is not an unfamiliar feeling, but it is one you have not felt in a long while, it makes you giddy to feel it again.
Before it can get carried away Neteyam shifts back, ever the responsible one, he rests his forehead against yours. “We should rest, you have many duties to complete.”
“I suppose you would be correct,” You’re grinning dreamily at him, “For the second time tonight.”
Your position tonight is very similar to the one you assumed for the weeks that Neteyam was unconscious. The two of you facing each other, your hand slides up his chest to settle over his heart feeling it beat under your palm. Except this time when you look up, you’re met with Neteyams amber eyes peering back into yours.
His hand finds the back of your neck, urging you to rest your face into the side of his neck where he can shield you from the rest of the world. His familiar scent lulls you into more of a drowsy state than you’d like to admit. Neteyam has also reached a drowsy state, happy to finally be in your presence after missing you for so long.
There would be new challenges to face coming tomorrow, but for now the two of you could be wrapped up in your love's embrace. Anything would be possible, no mountain too high to scale, no water too treacherous to tread, as long as both of your hearts kept beating.
Translations:
Tawtute - human
Zeykoyu - healer
Tsa’hik - spiritual leader
Mawey, tsmuke - Calm, sister
Tsakarem - Tsa’hik in training
Yawntu - Loved one
Tìyawn - love
Muntxate - wife, female spouse
Skxawng - idiot, moron
a/n: i've had too much of an avatar obsession since watching afaa... hopefully i can return to my regularly scheduled writing soon
thinking about lo’ak being such a pleaser that getting you off can literally get him off oh my— ౨ৎ {18+} nsfw, 1.2k wc, aged up, he’s lowkey begging? bros absolutely whipped ngl, masterlist
Lo’ak had your thighs spread, head dipped between them and braids tied back, the warmth of his tongue lapping at your aching slit. With your hands fisted in his locks, your back bowed off the cot and your face screwed into a wince of pleasure, a wave of overstimulation rushed over you. Your body was literally buzzing at this point. How long had you been under him?
“Ah-hahhh, L-Lo’ak, please! I can’t cum anymore…” You whined, teeth tugging at the plump, swollen flesh of your bottom lip while he sifted the tip of his tongue between your folds. His nose gently ghosted over your clit, barely nudging against it but you were so sensitive that it had your body jolting. His eyes lifted at your words, golden gaze locked on your lidded one. Like prey.
He pulled up, his two middle fingers slowing to a halt before they left you completely with a sound that made your toes curl. Taking mercy on you, you thought. But it didn’t feel merciful. In fact, it felt like the opposite. Torturous. You felt terribly empty.
“Do you want me to stop?” Hovering over you, he scanned your eyes when he asked, dead serious. A few braids had long since slipped from the hold of his hairtie, shorter than the others as they hung in front of his face. “Y’know all you have to do is say it, and I’ll stop.”
But the sheen of you smeared across his lips and the scent of him all riled up only caused more slick to seep out of you, your body responding to his and you both knew you weren’t done.
You shook your head.
“No.”
He kissed the top of it.
Two long fingers plunged back into your sopping hole, spreading from each other just the slightest to scissor you open. Your hand clamped onto his wrist reflexively, your thighs squeezing to a close when you cried out and arched your back and all he did was push them apart again.
“Nah, keep ‘em open. I haven’t made you do that thing I like yet,” He grinned up at you, sharp canines pointing from behind his top lip as he pushed his fingers in further, until he could feel the smooth, taut skin of your sticky cunt against his knuckles. “You remember, don’t you?”
“Mm-mmn…” Your brows furrowed, eyes pinching to a close as your core roped itself into a burning knot. Ultimately defying your answer.
“Yeah, you do. You know what I want.” He laughed softly, he knew you were lying, and you knew exactly what he was referring to. You’d only squirted once, without even knowing you could, but that was enough to have Lo’ak trying to make you do it every time you were under him from that point on. You were beyond embarrassed when it happened the first time, but it did something to him he couldn’t explain.
He was determined to make it happen again. He needed it.
“Come on baby, just a little bit? For me?”
His voice flowed through your ears like tree sap as he sang his plea. It drove you mad. Those human names he always used for you. He smiled like the conniving bastard he was, knowing exactly what it did to you.
“I-I don’t know if I can, Lo’…” You used the backside of your fist to muffle a moan.
He grabbed your wrist, removing your hand from your mouth.
“I know you can.”
You could feel it building again, your nipples hardening into stiff peaks, your cheeks tinting mauve and your hips grinding into the palm of his hand shamelessly. It felt so good you started begging him, and you didn’t even know what for.
“So pretty.” Admiring the fucked out look on your face, Lo’ak bit his lip to prevent a groan from slipping out when your tail slinked around his flexed bicep and squeezed.
He could feel you clenching around his digits and he growled quietly, gaze falling back down to watch as you began to leak on his fingers. His tail lashed behind him excitedly. It was his turn to beg.
“Come on. That’s a good girl… come on, come on.”
He curled his digits, pumping them into where he knew you were the most sensitive.
“Right there? Yeah?” he breathed, the fluff of your tail brushing against the bulging veins in his forearm.
“Oh god—“ you squealed, mouth falling open, a mewl straining its way out before you fell silent.
“There you go baby, just like that. Make your pretty little mess on my fingers and then we’re done. Promise.” He cooed, lowering himself back down to continue his torment on your sensitive cunt once you nodded.
As Lo’ak fucked his fingers into your sopping entrance, his lips came to a close around your glistening nub, gently sucking on it as he moaned into your heat. He couldn’t help it. You tasted just like his favorite fruit. Your scent alone had him reeling.
The vibration of his satisfied hum sent shockwaves through your nerves, and when that deliciously familiar feeling of your stomach flipping started to chip away at your senses, you knew you were close.
His left hand came up and pressed down on your lower abdomen, only adding to the pressure building in your belly and it made you scream aloud. He released your clit from hostage and let his tongue lay flat before he shook his head back and forth, hellbent on tasting every part of you. One thing you admired about Lo’ak was his damned determination.
Your vision blasted with white, stars behind your eyelids as the levee broke and you tumbled face first into the heat of ecstasy, head cast to the side, hands in his hair as he let you ride it out the way you wanted. Lo’ak’s eyes closed in preparation when your legs shuddered around his head and he buried his face into your mound. Your melodic moans rose an octave with each one that passed your lips as you squirted, the sweet liquid he’d been asking for spurting onto his face and leveled tongue.
Chin dripping with the evidence of your orgasm, he cupped his mouth right over your hole and eagerly gulped down your juices with an audible moan, the thumb of the hand on your abdomen darting down to fiddle with your clit. Helplessly, he ground his hips down onto the floor to provide his throbbing bulge with some much needed friction. You couldn’t lie, seeing how worked up he got over it almost made you cum again.
Pushing a single digit back into you, he made sure every last drop of your essence was milked onto his tastebuds. You whimpered his name, chest stuttering while the aftershock rocked you. God, he loved seeing you like this.
Suddenly, he felt his own climax near, and his movements faltered. It blindsided him, feeling his own abdomen clench with that familiar feeling. He didn’t realize he was so close to cumming simply from the sounds you were making until it was too late to stop it. His erection stiffened painfully when it throbbed beneath the thin fabric of his tweng.
With hot, weighted breaths he suddenly yanked his fingers out. You gasped, desperately trying to catch your breath as you came down from how high he’d brought you. Held up on his forearms with both his hands balled into fists, he groaned almost painfully— then dropped his head between your trembling, slick thighs and sucked a sharp inhale through his teeth. Your own head snapped up at the sound of a strangled string of curses escaping him, only to see his eyes slam shut.
Your lips parted slightly in silent shock.
Is he…?
His balls tensed and before you could even finish your thought— thick, white seed spilled over his tip as he came onto the mat below your bodies. Panting, and completely untouched by you, he quietly whimpered through his own orgasm, forehead pressed against the soft skin of your inner thigh.
He hadn’t expected to have such a strong climax, let alone one at all just by getting you off. And when he turned over to flop onto his back, his chest heaving, his vision blinking clear, he couldn’t help but stare up at the ceiling of your hut with an exhausted smile playing on his features.
thinking about lo’ak being such a pleaser that getting you off can literally get him off oh my— ౨ৎ {18+} nsfw, 1.2k wc, aged up, he’s lowkey begging? bros absolutely whipped ngl, masterlist
Lo’ak had your thighs spread, head dipped between them and braids tied back, the warmth of his tongue lapping at your aching slit. With your hands fisted in his locks, your back bowed off the cot and your face screwed into a wince of pleasure, a wave of overstimulation rushed over you. Your body was literally buzzing at this point. How long had you been under him?
“Ah-hahhh, L-Lo’ak, please! I can’t cum anymore…” You whined, teeth tugging at the plump, swollen flesh of your bottom lip while he sifted the tip of his tongue between your folds. His nose gently ghosted over your clit, barely nudging against it but you were so sensitive that it had your body jolting. His eyes lifted at your words, golden gaze locked on your lidded one. Like prey.
He pulled up, his two middle fingers slowing to a halt before they left you completely with a sound that made your toes curl. Taking mercy on you, you thought. But it didn’t feel merciful. In fact, it felt like the opposite. Torturous. You felt terribly empty.
“Do you want me to stop?” Hovering over you, he scanned your eyes when he asked, dead serious. A few braids had long since slipped from the hold of his hairtie, shorter than the others as they hung in front of his face. “Y’know all you have to do is say it, and I’ll stop.”
But the sheen of you smeared across his lips and the scent of him all riled up only caused more slick to seep out of you, your body responding to his and you both knew you weren’t done.
You shook your head.
“No.”
He kissed the top of it.
Two long fingers plunged back into your sopping hole, spreading from each other just the slightest to scissor you open. Your hand clamped onto his wrist reflexively, your thighs squeezing to a close when you cried out and arched your back and all he did was push them apart again.
“Nah, keep ‘em open. I haven’t made you do that thing I like yet,” He grinned up at you, sharp canines pointing from behind his top lip as he pushed his fingers in further, until he could feel the smooth, taut skin of your sticky cunt against his knuckles. “You remember, don’t you?”
“Mm-mmn…” Your brows furrowed, eyes pinching to a close as your core roped itself into a burning knot. Ultimately defying your answer.
“Yeah, you do. You know what I want.” He laughed softly, he knew you were lying, and you knew exactly what he was referring to. You’d only squirted once, without even knowing you could, but that was enough to have Lo’ak trying to make you do it every time you were under him from that point on. You were beyond embarrassed when it happened the first time, but it did something to him he couldn’t explain.
He was determined to make it happen again. He needed it.
“Come on baby, just a little bit? For me?”
His voice flowed through your ears like tree sap as he sang his plea. It drove you mad. Those human names he always used for you. He smiled like the conniving bastard he was, knowing exactly what it did to you.
“I-I don’t know if I can, Lo’…” You used the backside of your fist to muffle a moan.
He grabbed your wrist, removing your hand from your mouth.
“I know you can.”
You could feel it building again, your nipples hardening into stiff peaks, your cheeks tinting mauve and your hips grinding into the palm of his hand shamelessly. It felt so good you started begging him, and you didn’t even know what for.
“So pretty.” Admiring the fucked out look on your face, Lo’ak bit his lip to prevent a groan from slipping out when your tail slinked around his flexed bicep and squeezed.
He could feel you clenching around his digits and he growled quietly, gaze falling back down to watch as you began to leak on his fingers. His tail lashed behind him excitedly. It was his turn to beg.
“Come on. That’s a good girl… come on, come on.”
He curled his digits, pumping them into where he knew you were the most sensitive.
“Right there? Yeah?” he breathed, the fluff of your tail brushing against the bulging veins in his forearm.
“Oh god—“ you squealed, mouth falling open, a mewl straining its way out before you fell silent.
“There you go baby, just like that. Make your pretty little mess on my fingers and then we’re done. Promise.” He cooed, lowering himself back down to continue his torment on your sensitive cunt once you nodded.
As Lo’ak fucked his fingers into your sopping entrance, his lips came to a close around your glistening nub, gently sucking on it as he moaned into your heat. He couldn’t help it. You tasted just like his favorite fruit. Your scent alone had him reeling.
The vibration of his satisfied hum sent shockwaves through your nerves, and when that deliciously familiar feeling of your stomach flipping started to chip away at your senses, you knew you were close.
His left hand came up and pressed down on your lower abdomen, only adding to the pressure building in your belly and it made you scream aloud. He released your clit from hostage and let his tongue lay flat before he shook his head back and forth, hellbent on tasting every part of you. One thing you admired about Lo’ak was his damned determination.
Your vision blasted with white, stars behind your eyelids as the levee broke and you tumbled face first into the heat of ecstasy, head cast to the side, hands in his hair as he let you ride it out the way you wanted. Lo’ak’s eyes closed in preparation when your legs shuddered around his head and he buried his face into your mound. Your melodic moans rose an octave with each one that passed your lips as you squirted, the sweet liquid he’d been asking for spurting onto his face and leveled tongue.
Chin dripping with the evidence of your orgasm, he cupped his mouth right over your hole and eagerly gulped down your juices with an audible moan, the thumb of the hand on your abdomen darting down to fiddle with your clit. Helplessly, he ground his hips down onto the floor to provide his throbbing bulge with some much needed friction. You couldn’t lie, seeing how worked up he got over it almost made you cum again.
Pushing a single digit back into you, he made sure every last drop of your essence was milked onto his tastebuds. You whimpered his name, chest stuttering while the aftershock rocked you. God, he loved seeing you like this.
Suddenly, he felt his own climax near, and his movements faltered. It blindsided him, feeling his own abdomen clench with that familiar feeling. He didn’t realize he was so close to cumming simply from the sounds you were making until it was too late to stop it. His erection stiffened painfully when it throbbed beneath the thin fabric of his tweng.
With hot, weighted breaths he suddenly yanked his fingers out. You gasped, desperately trying to catch your breath as you came down from how high he’d brought you. Held up on his forearms with both his hands balled into fists, he groaned almost painfully— then dropped his head between your trembling, slick thighs and sucked a sharp inhale through his teeth. Your own head snapped up at the sound of a strangled string of curses escaping him, only to see his eyes slam shut.
Your lips parted slightly in silent shock.
Is he…?
His balls tensed and before you could even finish your thought— thick, white seed spilled over his tip as he came onto the mat below your bodies. Panting, and completely untouched by you, he quietly whimpered through his own orgasm, forehead pressed against the soft skin of your inner thigh.
He hadn’t expected to have such a strong climax, let alone one at all just by getting you off. And when he turned over to flop onto his back, his chest heaving, his vision blinking clear, he couldn’t help but stare up at the ceiling of your hut with an exhausted smile playing on his features.
