You whine softly as you lean back against the woven hammock, the warm Pandora breeze drifting through your home.
Your body is still adjusting to your new body, your hips wider, breasts heavy with milk, a soft tummy that Neteyam can’t seem to stop touching lately.
Your mother had warned you before the mating ceremony.
“Your mate is more likely than his brother to give you twins…it skips a generation, I am tsihik, I know…”
You hadn’t believed her. You’d laughed and told her she was just trying to scare you. But here you are, barely three months after giving birth, with two identical little boys sleeping in the cradle beside your bed. Two tiny Na’vi babies with the same bright golden eyes, same stripe patterns, same tufts of dark hair. Even you sometimes had to look twice.
Neteyam steps into the marui quietly, fresh from a hunt, his broad chest glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He smiles when he sees you, tail flicking happily as he comes over and kneels beside the hammock. His large hand immediately finds your soft stomach, rubbing slow circles there like he always does now.
“How are my three favorite people?” he murmurs, voice low and warm with his English thick accent.
You told yourself that you do not want your kids learning English, but it’s apart of your half human mate and what Navi doesn’t know English nowadays…
You tilt your head toward the cradle. “They just went down. But I think one of them is already stirring again.”
Neteyam leans over the cradle, gently scooping up one of the babies. He cradles him carefully against his chest, murmuring soft words in Na’vi. You watch with a fond smile… until he turns back to you with a slightly confused frown.
“This one feels smaller than yesterday,” he says, studying the baby’s face. “Is this Kame? Or is this Tsu’tey?” ( you’re free to change the names, I just did this so it wouldn’t get confusing for me lolll )
You bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Teyam… that’s Kame. You’re holding Kame.”
Neteyam blinks, ears flicking back in embarrassment. He looks down at the baby again, then at the one still sleeping. “They look exactly the same. How am I supposed to tell?”
“You’re their father,” you tease, sitting up slowly. “You’re supposed to just know.”
He carefully places Kame back down and turns to you, golden eyes darkening as they roam over your body. “Maybe I need help remembering which is which… and maybe I need to remind their mother how much I love her for giving me two at once.”
You mewl as he climbs into the hammock with you, his huge body covering yours carefully. His mouth finds your neck first, kissing and licking while one hand tugs your top down, freeing your swollen breasts. They’re heavy and sensitive, already leaking a little at the slightest touch.
“Still so full,” he groans, leaning down to take one nipple into his mouth. He sucks gently at first, then deeper, swallowing your milk with low, hungry sounds. You moan softly, fingers threading through his braids as relief from the pain and tension of your breasts.
“Neteyam— ahh…”
You ended up stopped because kame started crying from inside your home… or was it Tsu’tey.
Over time it’s gotten worse.
You mewl softly as you watch Neteyam from across the marui, the warm evening light filtering in.
The twins are toddlers now, running around with endless energy, and Neteyam still can’t tell them apart most days. You’ve tried everything—different beads in their hair, painting little marks on their arms—but they always end up rubbing them off during play.
One evening you’re setting the table with fresh fruit and grilled fish when Neteyam calls out toward the doorway.
“KAMEEE! Come eat!”
You pause, spoon in hand. Little Kame is sitting right in front of him at the low table, swinging his short legs, staring up at his father with big golden eyes.
The boy tilts his head, ears flicking. “Daddy… I am Kame.” Pointing to himself.
Neteyam freezes mid reach for a bowl, blinking down at the child. His tail stops moving. “You… are?”
You burst out laughing, nearly dropping the spoon. “He’s been sitting here the whole time, Teyam.”
Neteyam lets out a long sigh and scoops Kame up anyway, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Sorry, my little warrior. You two look too much like me.”
Years later, when the boys are teenagers, it hasn’t improved.
You’re braiding your hair near the entrance when you hear Neteyam shouting from the training grounds below the marui.
“Tsu’tey! Come here, I want to show you this new spear grip!”
Tsu’tey is literally standing right next to him, holding the spear. Kame is the one walking up from the other direction.
Tsu’tey laughs loudly, extroverted as always, and throws an arm around his father’s shoulders for a big hug. “Dad, I’m right here. That’s Kame.”
Neteyam’s ears pin back in embarrassment. “Right. Of course.” He clears his throat and turns to Kame instead. “Then… Kame, come here. I’ll show you too.”
But Kame just gives a small, shy smile and stays a few steps back, avoiding the big hug his brother is still giving. He’s never been as affectionate as Tsu’tey.
Later that same week, Neteyam walks into the marui carrying two fresh kills. He spots one of the boys lounging in the hammock.
“Kame, help me skin these.”
The boy looks up with an amused grin.
Neteyam groans, rubbing his face. “Who are you?”
“Dad… I’m Tsu’tey,” he laughs, ears flicking. “You do this every time.”
“ I’m Tsu’tey,” the teen repeats, still chuckling as he hops out of the hammock to help anyway. He gives Neteyam a big side hug, nuzzling against his father’s arm like he’s still a little kid. Neteyam softens instantly and hugs him back.
Kame, who had been quietly reading in the corner, just shakes his head with a small smile and stays put. He’s never liked all the cuddling and kisses the way his brother does.
That night, after the boys have gone to sleep in their own hammocks, Neteyam pulls you into yours with a tired but heated look.
You mewl softly as he climbs over you, his huge body pressing you down gently into the woven fabric. His hands immediately find your softer hips and tummy, squeezing with that familiar hunger.
“Still can’t tell my own sons apart after all these years,” he mutters against your neck, accent thick with frustration and affection. “But I can always tell which one is my pretty mate.”
“Maybe I should just start calling them ‘son’ forever,” he murmurs with a tired chuckle, nuzzling your neck.
You laugh breathlessly and run your fingers through his braids. “Or maybe you’ll finally learn… after the next set of twins.”
Neteyam’s eyes widen in playful horror before he buries his face in your chest, groaning. You just smile and hold him tighter, heart full.
So'lek x fem!avatar driver reader inspired by Tsumuke written by @lvlypinkesworld
Behind gentle hands is a soul from another world, a gentle soul, a soul that cares for creatures. Said gentle soul meets the hardened heart of the last of the Trrong.
Word Count: 201,713 Including one-shots
Chapter 1: A Gentle Soul
Chapter 2: A Chance to Save a Life
Chapter 3: A Confusing Dream walker
Chapter 4: Blurring Lines
Chapter 5: Fragile Wings
Chapter 6: Yearning Hearts
Chapter 7: Quiet Mornings
Chapter 8: Where Home Is
Chapter 9: Fragile Moments
Chapter 10: Tired Eyes
Chapter 11: A Heavy Heart on A Tiresome Road
Chapter 12: This Soft Heart
Chapter 13: Aching Want
Chapter 13.5: Aching Want Part 2
Chapter 14: Heartfelt Gifts
Chapter 15: With Great Love Comes Great Fear
Chapter 15.5: With Great Love Comes Great Fear Part 2.
Chapter 16: The Next Step
Chapter 16.5: The Next Step Part 2.
Chapter 17: Forever
Chapter 17: The Adult version written by @revelutionize
Chapter 18: New Life
Chapter 19: The Zeswa
Chapter 19.2: The Continuation (18+)
Chapter 20: Morning After
notes arranged marriage, fated mates, hidden identity, mentions of toxic gender roles, mentions of revenge, doting husband neteyam, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis you had spent your whole life longing for a path that was yours to lead, yet even the choice of who to mate with was stolen from you, when you were told about a betrothal your father had engineered with the son of toruk makto.
word count 18.7k
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
The morning mist of the rainforest on this part of Eywa’eveng smelled just the same to Neteyam, like damp moss and the faint aroma of blooming orchids. But he knew that this was no ordinary forest. He’s heard many tales about this one, and how on certain seasons, the sun chooses not to grace it with light.
It makes no wonder to him how tales about the most fearsome creatures are tied to the name of the clan that inhabits these lands.
Neteyam shifted his weight, keeping his breathing steady as he surveyed the unfamiliar terrain. The Omatikaya delegation, led by his parents, had paused further back to let the scouts clear the path, but Neteyam had wandered slightly ahead toward the sound of rushing water.
But he didn't expect the forest to turn hostile so quickly.
He had barely just registered the clicking sound through the budge, but before he could even unsheath his knife, he was already seeing multiple strange creatures lunging for him. They were fast, with segmented limbs and jaws meant for crushing bone. They were the creatures who could swallow an adult Na’vi whole that his father’s scouts had warned them about.
Neteyam cursed under his breath. Unarmed save for his hunting knife, he ducked beneath a snapping jaw, grabbed a fallen, heavy branch and swung with all the force he could muster. The wood hit the creature with a crack, sending it flying yards away into the underbrush. But three more took its place, circling him, eyes gleaming with hunger.
Then, a familiar sound sliced through the chaos. An arrow pierced the eye of the creature, making it collapse instantly.
Neteyam blinked, snapping his head toward the ridge. Emerging from the mist was a rider on a direhorse, shrouded in a dark, heavy cloak. The figure moved with a fluid grace, guiding the mount while drawing another arrow. Two more of the beasts dropped.
When the remaining creatures swarmed, the rider drove the direhorse straight into the fray. As the animal leapt on a fallen log, the rider leaned off the side, pulling a blade and in one seamless motion, they sliced the throat of a leaping beast before landing perfectly back on the mount.
Neteyam stood frozen, a rare awe washing over him. The archery was flawless, the knife-work lethal, and the horsemanship... he had never seen anyone, not even the finest Omatikaya hunters, shoot a moving target from a galloping direhorse with that kind of precision.
The last of the beasts scattered into the jungle and he heard an anguished sound escape the rider. He immediately stepped forward, raising a hand in peace, his eyes locked on the rider’s back. “Warrior,” he began, his voice deep and breathless. “Thank you. I have never seen—”
“Do not thank me,” a voice hissed from beneath the hood. It was sharp, fierce, and distinctly female. “Do not wander around these lands again.”
Before Neteyam could even speak again, she wheeled her direhorse around and with a sharp kick, the beast galloped into the thick fog, leaving Neteyam standing by the waterfall, completely captivated by the ghost who had just saved his life.
As he watched the silhouette of the direhorse fade, the urge to give chase came both suddenly and too late. He wished he had brought his direhorse with him when he wandered... He tilted his head. Why? What will you do? he asked himself. He knew the answer. He would have followed her.
You took a sharp turn, pulling your direhorse’s reins to a full stop before you quickly dismounted. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs from what you thought would be an uneventful patrol. You had wounded and killed many creatures, though deadly and ferocious, they were still creations of the Great Mother.
You couldn’t help but look at the path leading back to where it happened, remembering how the man had called you warrior. It felt like a title stolen from a forbidden dream. No woman in your clan had ever been called one, for no woman was allowed to be. Your people placed a great belief in their men, taking pride in the fact that your clan had only ever produced male warriors and hunters, and how they protected the people from the horrors of the forest.
The wet leaves brushed against your shins as you led your direhorse to a hidden clearing, the silence of the forest doing little to calm your racing thoughts. If your father or mother ever discovered what you had done today, that you had picked up a bow or spilled blood, you didn't know what would happen to you.
In your clan, women were only ever allowed to be healers, cooks, weavers, wives, and mothers. These were sacred duties, and the elders firmly believed that such roles should never be tainted by blood and violence. You sighed heavily, quickly shoving your longbow and quiver into a hollowed-out tree trunk, covering it with ferns. You were pulling at the hood of your cloak when you heard leaves cracking behind you.
“You're late,” a voice sounded urgently.
You spun around to see Tarkul stepping out from the shadows. Your best friend, the clan’s youngest marksman and the only man who looked at you and saw a peer instead of a prize, looked pale. His eyes were wide with anxiety.
“Tarkul? What is it? I just did a patrol—”
“You need to leave. Right now,” Tarkul interrupted, grabbing your shoulders. “Your father... I overheard them. The Omatikaya are coming today—”
“I know that. Father told us to prepare,” you said.
“Yes, yes, they will come, but it wasn’t just for a regular treaty between alliances. Y/N, he has pledged you.”
Your head tilted back in surprise. “Pledged how?”
“He offered you to the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. That Neteyam,” Tarkul spat the name, his grip tightening. “An alliance sealed on your sacrifice. Your father is giving you away like property to ensure the Omatikaya’s loyalty. Your father’s warriors are already looking for you to prepare you for the arrival.”
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your chest. Your father had spent your entire life treating you and your sisters like a curse. A disappointment because you weren't sons to carry on his warrior lineage. And now, he was using you as a political pawn, reducing you to a broodmare for a strong alliance.
“No,” you whispered, fury igniting in your veins. “No! I will not let him do this. I am not a prize to be traded!”
“Then we run,” Tarkul said, stepping back and whistling for his direhorse. “We’ll go east. They won't find us.”
You scrambled onto your direhorse, your mind a blur of rebellion and fear. You tore through the underbrush with Tarkul right beside you, heading for the boundary line. Freedom was just past the tree line when a familiar sound sliced through the thick morning air.
A whistle of an arrow and Tarkul cried out as a blunt-tipped slammed into his shoulder, knocking him clean off his mount.
“Tarkul!” you screamed, pulling back hard on the reins.
Before you could dismount, four of your father’s elite warriors emerged from the canopy, their spears leveled at you. Their faces were grim, devoid of sympathy.
“The Olo'eyktan demands your presence,” the lead warrior said coldly. “Do not make this more dishonorable than you already have.”
You were dragged back to the village in tears, screaming at them to leave Tarkul alone. In the communal longhouse, your father stood like a statue of stone. He had never looked at you with wamrth, but the stern disappointment on his face as he lectured you about duty, the survival of the clan, and honor still felt like whips on your skin. To him, your tears were just a childish tantrum.
The transition between his scolding to your mother and her ladies moving around you in a flurry of hushed, anxious whispers felt like a nightmare blurring into reality. They bathed you in heavy, floral-scented water that smelled of sweet orchids. They brushed out your long hair, braiding the sides intricately but leaving the rest to fall in a sleek, beautiful half-up ponytail.
They dressed you in the finest loincloth and a matching top made of delicate beads. You felt exposed. Naked. Stripped of the cloak and weapons that made you feel safe.
“He is a great warrior, daughter,” your mother murmured, trying to soothe you as she adjusted the choker around your throat. “They say this Neteyam helped his parents take down the sky people when he was just a boy. He is disciplined. Respectful.”
You kept your gaze locked on the floor, your jaw clenched. You didn't care about his prowess. You hated him on principle.
“And his mother,” one of elder women whispered in awe. “Neytiri. She is a warror who rode into battle alongside her mate, Toruk Makto.”
That detail struck a chord deep inside you. A female warrior. A woman allowed to bleed and fight for her people, recognized by Toruk Makto himself as an equal. A bitter spark of hope flared in your chest, only to be crushed by the reality of your own situation.
“What an accomplished family, then,” your eyes snapped up to your mother. “You’re expecting a man raised by Toruk Makto and his warrior wife to look at our clan, a clan that doesn’t even allow its women to hold a knife; to look at me... and see a mate? Father said he has rejected every other chieftain's daughter before this.”
Your mother’s eyes hardened at the same time the older women around her froze at your boldness. “You are a proficient healer and weaver, daughter. Do not underestimate our clan,” she said in a hiss.
So, not his equal, your brow raised in a protest you chose not to voice out.
A horn blew at the entrance of the village, signalling that the guests had arrived.
Your mother took your trembling hands, her eyes pleading. “Smile, my daughter. Walk with dignity.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding slowly. You stepped out of the tent, walking a few paces behind your father as he went to greet the legendary Jake Sully.
As the Omatikaya delegation walked into the central clearing, your eyes scanned the crowd. There was Toruk Makto, and beside him, his fierce mate, Neytiri. And right behind them walked their eldest son.
Your breath hitched.
The initial shock threatened to paralyze you. Your fingers dug into your palm, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. It was him. The reckless, broad-shouldered warrior who had nearly been swallowed whole by the forest's demons. His long braids and cummerbund were now flawless, as though he had not faced a grave morning.
As the Omatikaya delegation drew closer, you forced your features into a mask of perfect, passive composure. You lowered your chin, casting your gaze downward just as the women of your clan were taught to do. You were sure he didn’t see your face, because if he recognized you, everything would be forfeit. You are not certain what they would have done to Tarkul, the person who taught you everything you know.
Neteyam’s eyes swept over the welcoming committee, lingering on you. Jake had told him beforehand that the Olo’eyktan of this clan had also pledged his daughter to him, and although he’d had enough of all these unnecessary offerings of maiden daughters simply for alliances, he found himself thinking that he might actually entertain this outdated idea if this was the lady.
He waited for you to lift your eyes up, but your head remained bowed, the image of a delicate, heavily beaded prize meant to seal a treaty. A faint feeling of disappointment flickered across his regal face, and he fell into step behind his parents, his posture rigid and distant as they walked past to finally greet your father and mother.
Finally, you lifted your head a little, only to train your sharp eyes on his broad back. Good, you thought triumphantly. Be disappointed.
The welcoming feast in the communal longhouse was a suffocating affair. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, sweet root brews, and the underlying tension of two vastly different cultures trying to find common ground.
You sat precisely where your father had commanded: a step below him, off to the side, acting as the perfect daughter. You kept your shoulders hunched, your hands folded neatly in your lap, and your eyes trained strictly on the woven mat beneath you. You played the part of the timid, submissive maiden to perfection. You wanted to ick him. You wanted this celebrated warrior to find you so utterly dull, so hopelessly meek, that he would do what he had done to every other chieftain's daughter before you: refuse the match.
Across the fire, Neteyam sat beside his mother, Neytiri. He was polite, offering respectful nods to your father’s boasts, but his energy was entirely checked out. During a lull in the drumming, you allowed yourself a single, brief moment of weakness. You peered through the thick fringe of your lashes, tracking the movement of his hands.
Neteyam was lifting a carved cup of brew to his lips. But he wasn't looking at his drink. His intense gaze was locked entirely on you. A heavy, consuming stare of a hunter tracking each and every move the prey does. It was a man’s look, raw and focused, and to your utter fury, you didn't feel degraded by it. Instead, a sudden, treacherous spark of excitement flared deep in your belly, the thrilling realization that despite your best efforts to be as dull as you could, you had his undivided attention.
Annoyed at yourself, your perfect act slipped.
Your jaw clenched and you leveled a sharp glare straight at him, smoothly rolling your eyes before snapping your gaze back down to your untouched food. Across the fire, Neteyam choked slightly on his brew. His eyes widened in genuine surprise, a sudden smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the realization that timid little ikran still had talons after all. He put his cup of brew down as he watched you slip back into your perfectly meek facade.
The traditional flutes began to play, signaling a time for the young people to mingle. You moved to stand up, and your eyes snapped up in front of when you saw the large figure moving to stand up, too. Your eyes locked with his, and for some reason, you couldn't take your eyes off as he rounded the fire to get to you.
You blinked when he was standing just a few feet away, coming to a sudden awareness of how large and tall he actually was. His hand reached out, his expression a maddening mix of formal politeness and hidden amusement. You clenched your teeth, feining a tremor before you looked fearfully at your father, who was already watching breathlessly. He gave you a firm, approving nod, and you placed your hand in Neteyam's.
As he led you to the edge of the clearing where the other youth were swaying, you purposely stumbled, letting your steps be clumsy and uncoordinated. “I apologize, formal dances are... not my strength,” you whispered, pitching your voice to sound soft and fragile.
“It is quite alright,” Neteyam said, his grip on your waist firm and steady, easily correcting your forced clumsiness. “The feast is grand. Your people make a strong brew. Though, I find the forest outside your walls far more interesting.”
You stiffened slightly. “Oh?”
“Yes. It is full of... strange, ferocious creatures,” Neteyam continued, his voice dropping to a low, conversational tone as he maneuvered you through the crowd. “I ran into a pack of them near the waterfalls this morning. Miserable things. Many legs. Very fast.”
You couldn't help yourself. The hunter in you took the bait before your mind could stop it. “Those were Agtik,” you said, your voice losing its timid edge as your wide eyes looked up at his. “They don't hunt in packs unless their head is wounded. And they are apex predators. If you hit them in the hide, your arrow will just bounce off. You have to strike the eyes, or beneath the throat where the thick plates separate.”
Neteyam stopped dancing. He stared down at you, his golden eyes burning with an intense focus, and you froze, realizing you had spoken far too much.
“Is that so?” he murmured, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as his fingers caressed the calluses on your fingers. “You seem to know a great deal about killing them...”
You quickly tore your hand from his, dropping your head back down. “I... I only know what the hunters say,” you lied breathlessly, stepping back into the crowd before he could press further.
The next morning, your mother burst into your sleeping alcove, her face flushed with excitement before the morning light even showed it. “Daughter... A betrothal has been struck. Neteyam has accepted the union. He wishes for you to return to the Omatikaya with them.”
You sat up in your woven sleeping mat, stunned. “What?!” you snapped carelessly, surprising your mother. You calmed down immediately. “That’s great...” you forced yourself to smile.
“I think he liked you last night, daughter. You were so prim and proper, a true woman of our lineage. You make me and your father proud, sweetheart,” she caressed your cheek.
You swallowed the dryness of your throat. You don't know what the man’s plan was... But he definitely didn’t like you because you were prim and proper. You looked down at your hands, hiding the calluses born from years of archery practice. Your initial shock had now faded, and a cold, calculating wave of relief washed over you. The Omatikaya. You’ve heard of their ways. In their clan, women were warriors. Neytiri rode into battle. If you went with them, you wouldn't have to hide in the shadows at dawn anymore. You could wield your bow. You could finally exist as more than what you were raised to be.
With newfound urgency, you helped your mother and sisters pack your things. When your mother turned her back, you swiftly retrieved your hidden longbow and quiver from where you had smuggled them into the yurt. You bound them tightly within your dark, heavy cloak, burying them at the absolute bottom of your deep leather travel box beneath layers of woven garments.
“I need to see Tarkul before we leave,” you muttered, heading for the exit.
“You are not permitted near the holding area,” your younger sister sneered, stepping into the yurt with her arms crossed, her eyes flashing with venom. “You should stop trying to see your lover. You are betrothed to the son of Toruk Makto now.”
“Tarkul is not my lover!” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.
“Please. You were going to run away with him yesterday,” she mocked, stepping closer. “If you hate this arrangement so much, why don't you just tell Father and back out? I can always replace you. I would gladly take your place beside Neteyam.”
“Armem, hold your tongue!” your mother’s voice barked from the entrance, sharp and commanding. “Neteyam agreed to this alliance because of Y/N. He would not accept a replacement if she backed out, and your father’s treaty would fall to ash.”
Armem huffed disdainfully, crossing her arms tighter. “Fine. But she was still ready to flee with another man. Who is to say she is even pure anymore? The Omatikaya might find they are receiving spoiled goods—”
“Armem!” your mother snapped, glaring at your sister.
“Do not speak of such nonsense,” you said coldly, staring your sister down. “Tarkul is a good friend of mine and I would not have you taint our friendship with your dirty mind.”
At dawn the next day, the Omatikaya delegation prepared to depart. You were allowed to ride your direhorse, your leather box secured to the pack beast behind you. Your parents stood at the gates of the village, offering stiff, formal nods of farewell, promising they would come for final mating ceremonies.
You didn't look back. You are leaving this clan, and those who believe in its sick ways can have the scraps that are left behind. You nudged your direhorse forward, and as the procession moved into the deep forest, a shadow fell alongside your mount. You looked up to see Neteyam riding his own direhorse beside yours. He looked at you, then down at the bulky, heavily wrapped leather box trailing behind you, a faint, amused glint in his golden eyes.
“Nice mount,“ he said jn a voice low enough so the others couldn't hear. “A lot of luggage, too, for a healer.”
You kept your eyes locked on the trail ahead, a small, defiant smirk playing on your lips. “A good healer always brings her most valuable tools, warrior.”
The journey to the Omatikaya territory took two days at most, a winding trek through ancient, massive trees that grew taller and wider than any you had ever seen in your home forest. When the delegation finally stopped in front of the largest tree you had laid your eyes on, you could barely breathe. Your lips parted as you looked up to its vast canopy.
“This is beautiful...” you murmured, craning your head to see all the huts perched on its thick branches.
“Do you have a fear of heights?” you heard a deep baritone speak and your head snapped to look at Neteyam.
He had already dismounted his direhorse and was now looking at you, his hand lazily holding his chest knife sheath. His head tilted as his eyes scanned your form on your mount before they settled on the beast. In the eyes of an outsider, like Jake and Neytiri who were now watching their son look at you as if you were the most interesting person in the bunch, this was just Neteyam staring.
But to you, it felt like he was trying to figure out where he had seen this beast. You quickly dismounted your direhorse, caressing its back as you cooed at it. “Are you excited to rest, boy? It was a long trek, I know, and you’ve gotten to rest some, but you’ve never travelled as far, haven’t you?”
Neteyam's head tilted slightly lower, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he watched your interaction with the beast. “He looks sturdy enough,” he noted, his deep voice laced with amusement. “You didn't answer my question. Are you afraid of heights? Hometree is a long way up.”
“I think I can manage,” you replied softly, peering up at him through your lashes with a quick glance.
Before Neteyam could press further, Jake and Neytiri approached. Jake’s sharp eyes darted between you and the direhorse, before he gave you a welcoming nod.
“Welcome to the Omatikaya,” Jake said, his voice grounded. “It has been a long journey. Your mount will be tended to and Neteyam will show you where you can rest.”
Neytiri stayed silent, but her piercing gaze lingered on you, evaluating the way you carried yourself. She was not one to doubt her children’s decisions, especially those of her eldest son’s, but she believed that Neteyam was deciding too prematurely on this union. There were previous matches made that suited her son better... The daughters whose parents had fought alongside them during the Great War, and daughters of clans with excellent reputations.
She didn’t want to judge you based on your parents or your clan, but she thought it a bold proposition when your father pledged a daughter to her son. In all honesty, your father was at the losing end of this alliance. Your clan was the one that needed allies against aggressive clans who might challenge your strength, and your people had very little military power, given that your clan only trains men to be warriors and hunters.
She had never expected her son to agree to this, and though she saw great beauty in you, she did not think that was reason enough for him to make such a choice.
Neytiri’s scrutiny did not escape you. You have felt it even on the night of the feast, have seen it in her eyes whenever she watches you... And the weight of it felt heavy enough to compress the air in your lungs. Now that she was looking again, you offered a respectful dip of your head, but Neytiri merely nod her head slightly before turning her shoulder, her long woven cloak swaying behind her as she stepped up onto the massive roots of Hometree.
“Do not let my mother's stare unnerve you,” Neteyam murmured, stepping into your personal space so seamlessly that his tail brushed lightly against your hip.
“What stare, warrior?” you mumbled, looking at him with a schooled face.
You do not wish to acknowledge Neytiri’s apparent dislike of you. You are going to earn your place even if she looks at you as if I have already failed a test. You know you haven’t really failed yet, because if she truly disapproved, you wouldn't even be standing here right now.
Neteyam shook his head, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “Come, then. Let’s see what you can manage.”
You pushed your lips forward, matching his pace as everyone began the long, winding ascent into the heart of the great tree. Up ahead, Jake paused on a wide branch platform, looking back down at the two of you with a knowing understanding. He, better than anyone, knew what it was like to be an outsider standing under the heavy judgment of the people.
As you rounded the final bend of the spiral pathway, the quiet atmosphere of the lower trunks gave way to sudden burst of light and noise. Your lips parted as your eyes wandered around the surrounding kelku structures and the sheer scale of the place took your breath away again. It was vast, so open and vibrant that it was a staggering contrast to the dim, claustrophobic atmosphere of your birth clan.
Dozens of people paused in their daily routines, their eyes instantly locking onto you. A heavy murmur rippled through the crowd and it was obvious that they know what you came here for.
“Neteyam!” a high-pitched voice squealed.
Before you could fully process everything you are seeing, a blur of energy came hurtling down a nearby woven walkway. A little girl crashed straight into Neteyam’s side, wrapping her small arms around his waist. “You're back!” the girl cheered, her bright eyes quickly darting up to look at you with unabashed curiosity. “Is this her? Did you finally choose a wife?!”
Neteyam’s ears twitched with slight embarrassment as he gently pried his little sister off his hip, placing a grounding hand on her shoulder. “Tuk, mind your manners. She is our guest.”
He introduced you to the little girl who had a bright smile for you, and suddenly, you felt the welcoming warmth you didn’t know you were looking for. Tuk walked with you two when Neteyam led you to the small kelku you were assigned, it was tucked into a quiet, upper tier of the village.
As you settled in over the next few days, you quickly realized that your new betrothed was an incredibly important figure here. Neteyam, as the Olo'eyktan's firstborn, was also his father's second-in-command, deeply involved in the daily strategy, security, and leadership of the clan.
Honestly, you secretly celebrated this fact. You figured his high status meant he would be far too busy to pay much attention to you, leaving you plenty of free time to slip away, unpack your hidden longbow, and explore the surrounding wilderness on your own.
You were wrong.
Before the sun had even fully risen on your third morning, you pulled back the woven flap to find Neteyam standing there, the early dawn light catching the beads in his long braids.
Your brows furrowed. “What are you... doing here?” you started your question hard, but catching yourself, you quickly softened your voice.
“I came to show you around,” he told you, his voice low and his eyes holding that same perceptive, curious glint from the feast, causing your cheeks to burn unbidden.
The crease on your forehead deepened, once again annoyed at your reaction to him. You couldn't find a reason to say no, and frankly, you were eager to see the layout of the village. As he led you through the pathways, he dutifully showed you the areas where the weavers worked their intricate looms, the communal hearths where the cooks prepared the daily catch, and the shaded pavillions of the healers. You played your part, nodding submissively and murmuring soft, polite words of appreciation.
But your true nature betrayed you when he led you past the training grounds.
You froze, your eyes widening in absolute awe. In the center of the clearing, young girls were standing in neat rows, laughing and competing as they drew bows and aimed at distant targets. Further back, older women warriors, some scarred from battle, were casually conversing with male hunters, checking their gear as equals before setting out on a scout.
You stared, your breath catching in your throat. It was a sight stolen directly from your wildest, forbidden dreams.
Neteyam paused, watching your face carefully. He didn't miss the way your jaw slackened, or how your fingers twitched at your side, instinctively mimicking the grip of a bowstring. His head tilted, a quiet, knowing smile tugged at his lips, but he said nothing, and when you turned to him, your talons subtly showed with your furrowed brows and sharp gaze, pretending you were not that amazed to the reality of a world where women were allowed to fight.
The days bled into one another until the day of the mating ceremony arrived. True to their word, your parents and a small entourage from your clan arrived, their faces proud and grim, and somehow, you felt ashamed at this. You know, that for the Omatikaya, this match felt less like a joining of two proud people and more like a political rescue mission. Neteyam was a prize, the future Olo'eyktan of a legendary clan who fought and defeated the demons who tried to seize Eywa’eveng for themselves.
And your father merely offered you up to secure a shield of Omatikaya warriors for his vulnerable borders. It was a cause of wonder why Neteyam agreed at all. Even you don’t understand.
The ceremony took place deep within the glow of the Tree of Souls. Even their sacred tree was breathtaking, its luminous, cascading tendrils rivaling the ancient, holy tree of your own homeland. The Omatikaya people gathered in a massive circle, their voices rising in a powerful, harmonic chant alongside the drums and flutes.
You were dressed in the finest Omatikaya fibers, your torso adorned with a stunning, intricately beaded top made of iridescent beads. Your long hair had been styled into a complex array of braids that cascaded down your back. As the chanting reached its peak, you and Neteyam knelt together beneath the glowing tendrils of the tree.
Neteyam turned to you. His large, warm hand reached out to gently cup your jawline. He leaned in, his forehead pressing firmly against yours in a quiet act of intimacy that seemed to shut out the noise around you two. His other hand reached for his kuru, bringing it forward and you did the same. He didn't waste another second to intertwine your kuru with his, as though he had no hesitation at all. Your entire body jolted. A sudden, overwhelming surge of raw energy and emotion flooded your consciousness as your body, mind, and soul locked into a deep, profound bond.
It was a sensory overload. There were visions, feelings, and memories rushing between you like a bursting dam.
Through the bond, you caught a sudden glimpse of his past. You felt the crushing weight of his responsibilities, the fierce love he had for his family, and the desperate, bloody battles against the sky demons. But then, a sharp, cold spike of terror and pain ripped through the connection.
You saw a flash of yellow light, heard the deafening screams of Neytiri, and felt the agonizing sensation of a bullet tearing through his chest.
He had nearly died.
Your eyes snapped open, your breath escaping you in a sharp, panicked huff. Blinded by a sudden, fierce protectiveness you didn't fully understand, your hand flew to his bare chest, your palm pressing flat against the scar on the left part of his chest.
Neteyam's eyes opened, burning darkly as he gazed down at your hand on his chest. He felt the sudden spike of your fear through the bond and somehow, he had forgotten what he felt during that moment. The only feeling that mattered was your fear for him and the surge of strength you sent him. Without a word, he tilted your head up, his lips catching yours in a deep kiss.
Your heart hammered as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding up the smooth skin of his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone up to his broad shoulder, letting him deepen the kiss and consume you. When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his golden eyes were dark with an intense, possessive heat that made your breath hitch. The intimacy of the moment was so heavy, so entirely real, that you simply pressed your forehead back against his, trying to steady your racing pulse.
Neteyam leaned in and kissed you again, harder this time, causing your head to tilt back.
Slightly breathless, you pressed your palm firmly against his chest, gently pushing him back. “My parents are watching...” you reminded him in a hushed whisper, your cheeks flushing as you glanced toward the audience.
The Omatikaya had broken out into loud cheering and rhythmic clapping, celebrating the union. At the edge of the clearing, you caught sight of your father, his face tightly masked, while your mother looked on with a rigid smile.
The celebration back at Hometree was a raucous affair. Mo’at blessed the two of you with sacred oils, the healers chanting long prayers for fertility and strength before the feast and dancing truly began. You and Neteyam danced the mandatory mating dance, circled by couples who had been married for a very long time.
During a quiet moment in the festivities, your mother walked up to you and Neteyam to greet, but the purpose for it showed when she tried to excuse and pull you aside. Neteyam’s hold on your hand tightened, though, pulling you back to him. His eyes searched yours, and you didn't know where the sudden complete understanding of his subtle looks came from.
It was as if you have known him for so long now, you could practically read his mind. You squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile to let him know it’s okay, allowing your mother to pull you aside near the edge of the structure. “You must remember everything I taught you, daughter,” she murmured, her hands smoothing over your beaded top. “Serve him. Everything he wants to do, you will do. Tonight... You will submit to him. Do not anger a warrior of his status.”
You bit your lip, and before you could think of anything to reply, your father stepped up behind her, his posture imposing and cold. “You belong to a powerful line now. You must do with him as best as you can. Do not bring shame to my name by failing in your duties as a wife.”
You swallowed the bitter retort rising in your throat, lowering your eyes to play the part one last time. “I understand, Father.”
When you finally excused yourself to rejoin Neteyam, you found him standing near a pillar, carefully watching the interaction from afar. Your eyes snapped to Armem who was currently standing beside him, talking about something. As you approached, Armem looked at you, flashing a sly smile before she slipped away. You got distracted when you felt Neteyam’s hand reach out, his large fingers catching yours. You let him pull you to him, looking up into his face as his arms locked around you.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes alert on your face.
You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
His eyes were snagged behind you one last time, and you had to force yourself to not look back, knowing you’ll see your parents. Your head snapped to the dais when you heard a beautiful rhythm of the laid gongs being played. The youth who had been dancing stopped, parting into two rows to clear a path directly toward you and Neteyam, their faces splitting into knowing, mischievous grins.
“What is that?” you asked, turning back to your husband, completely bewildered by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
Neteyam glanced at you, and for the first time since you had met him, he looked entirely caught off guard. His hand came up to his face, his fingers scratching his temple awkwardly as a dark flush crept across his cheeks.
“Uh, it’s... it’s for the blessing of our kelku,” he mumbled, clearing his throat and refusing to meet your eyes for a split second.
You blinked, but before you could question his sudden bashfulness, some elder women bumped at your side and on his side were elder men. Your eyes tried to scan the crowd, but you only saw Jake Sully and Neytiri still sitting on the dais, laughing at the sight, and it was so rare it took some of your inhibitions away.
They chanted prayers for fertility and the realization hit you like a splash of cold water.
In your clan, this part was usually a cold, transactional event where the newly mated woman was practically marched to her husband's tent like a prize. But here, the Omatikaya made it a celebration of life and passion. The drumming and the crowd’s chants faded as you walked up a series of woven pathways leading to a cozy, elevated hut. Mo’at and a few elder women led the blessing of the small space.
When you two were finally left alone, your eyes snapped up to Neteyam who immediately moved to light the central hanging firepot. The kelku was modest, slightly larger than the one that had been your sanctuary in the past weeks. This was beautifully structured, just large enough for a newly married couple.
“If you have any preferences for how it should look, or if you need specific tapestries and mats,” Neteyam said, looking around, “we will go to the weavers tomorrow to get whatever you like.”
A huge smile cut through your lips, nodding. “Thank you. I would like that.”
Neteyam went quiet for a moment, his gaze turning intense as he stepped closer to you. The playful, amused glint from the feast was gone, replaced by something much deeper.
“I don’t know if you wanted me to know this... but when we did the bond...” His eyes locked onto yours, completely unblinking. “I felt it, Y/N. I felt your strong emotions against your parents... Your people. Your home. The anger you held.”
You blinked. He felt it. The same way you had seen his memories and felt all his emotions. Through the bond, both of your shields had dropped entirely. You wondered exactly how much he had seen.
“I understand why you might not have liked it there,” Neteyam continued quietly, taking a thoughtful step back. “But I thought... well, perhaps I was wrong—”
“What is it that you thought?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you stepped toward him, desperate to know what he had deduced.
Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hands before raising his head with a resolute expression. “It does not matter now. This is your home. My people are your people. My family is your family. Do you understand that? You do not have to think about everything you left behind.”
You tilted your head, studying the sincerity in his face, and gave a silent, genuine nod.
“And besides,” Neteyam mumbled, a sudden, boyish smirk breaking through his serious demeanor. “I have something for you.”
He turned and walked toward the shadowed back corner of the kelku, reaching behind a stack of woven mats. When he stepped back into the light, your lips parted in utter shock. In his hands, he held a beautifully crafted longbow, complete with a leather quiver full of freshly fletched arrows.
“I got it... just in case you wanted to learn how,” Neteyam said, his smile widening as he raised the bow, his eyes twinkling with a brilliant, knowing light. “And... I saw a flash of it in your memory during the bond. You were practicing this when you were young. You were doing it in secret.”
His conclusion depended solely on the emotions he felt through the bond, but he was right about that and a sudden, overwhelming surge of emotion overcame you. The sheer weight of your past, all the hiding and the fear of your father's wrath, shattered completely against the simple kindness of the man standing before you. He didn't want a submissive, silent maid. He saw your fire, and he was handing you the fuel.
Tears pooled in your eyes, blurring the sight of him. Giving up on every single act of restraint you had practiced since meeting him, you ate up the small distance between you and threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.
Neteyam let out a soft, surprised breath before his large arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His hand moved up, his fingers gently caressing your long hair as he held you close.
“Thank you,” you sobbed softly into his shoulder, a genuine, radiant happiness blooming in your chest for the first time in your life. “Thank you, Neteyam...”
He held you tighter as he stroke your hair, his deep voice vibrating against your collarbone as he whispered, “I’ll be the one to teach you. We can start tomorrow.”
You bit your lip and nodded. You didn’t know how to tell him that you already know how to use this so you resolved to just tell him some other time. “Tomorrow?“ you chirped as you pulled back, your hands sliding down his arms until your fingers brushed against the smooth wood of the longbow still resting in his grip.
Gently, you took it from him and set it carefully beside your travel box, placing the weapon that symbolized your future next to the secrets of your past.
When you turned back to him, a soft, determined smile was on your face. The initial rush of your relief had quieted, leaving a heavy awareness of the space between you. The fire was casting a long, amber shadow across Neteyam’s broad shoulders and the sharp angles of his face, and your cheeks burned at how handsome he really was.
No man in your clan could have rivaled against him even if they tried. You stepped closer and his eyes dropped to the delicate river beads covering your chest, a sudden flicker of hesitation crossed his features. He remembered what he’d seen and felt through the bond. Your strong emotions against your parents and your people, the harsh words and suffocating rules. The rigid command that you must submit.
Neteyam reached out, his large hands gently catching yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. His eyes searched your face with an intense, fierce earnestness.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his deep baritone dropping to a rough whisper. “Listen to me. We do not need to do this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or any night soon if you are not ready.”
You blinked up at him, momentarily stunned by his restraint.
“Your parents no longer have a say on what you must do,” Neteyam continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “So, whatever yout mother told you or your father expects of you, none of that matters now. I want you to be comfortable here.”
A profound warmth bloomed in your heart, making your limbs all the way to your fingertips feel like it's made of jelly. The last lingering remnants of your defenses crumbled. This warrior, who had every right by your clan's rules to demand your compliance, was stepping back to give you a choice.
“Neteyam,” you spoke softly, your voice steady and entirely devoid of the timid persona you had faked for weeks.
You stepped into his space, breaking the distance he had purposefully created to give you room. You raised your hands, your palms pressing flat against his cheeks, your fingers sliding into the soft skin just beneath his ears. You tilted your head up, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, before moving to press another, softer kiss directly to his lips.
“I am not pressured,” you whispered against his mouth. You looked straight into his eyes, letting him see the fierce, unyielding certainty burning in your gaze. “And I am comfortable. I want to do this, Neteyam. I want you.”
A low, rumbling hum vibrated deep in his chest at your words. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. The carefully maintained restraint of a disciplined warrior giving way to the raw, possessive hunger of a man who had been captivated by you since the moment he saw you.
His hands moved to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulled you flush against his heat, his lips crashing down on yours in a deep, consuming kiss. You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his long braids, the beads clicking softly. Slowly, he reached for the ties of your intricately beaded top and with a gentle pull, the garment loosened, and he caressed it off you, letting the beads click softly against the floor.
Neteyam’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened as his gaze swept over your naked upper body, tracking the elegant curve of your waist and the steady rise and fall of your chest. The raw worship in his stare made you feel powerful, completely untamed, and so excited.
His large hands slid up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the sides of your chest as he leaned down to press hot, branding kisses along your collarbone, making you gasp softly. Your hands scrambled for his own gear, your fingers working through the fastens of his intricate cummerbund. You pushed the heavy gear away, your palms immediately finding the broad, smooth expanse of his chest, tracing the jagged ridge of his scar once more before bringing your lips to his.
He gathered you into his arms, his mouth never leaving yours as his hands worked on the ties of your loincloth around your tail. He pushed the fabric off your hips, caressing your soft skin before fluidly guiding you down onto the thick, soft layers of the woven sleeping mat. The cool fiber of the mat met your back, but you barely felt it beneath the crushing, intoxicating weight of his body settling over yours.
You bit your your lip as he hovered over you, his thighs bracketing your hips. You pressed your palm against his muscled abdomen and when he took in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth, you smiled at him, moving your hand down to tug at the rim lf his loincloth.
His head tilted, “You want it off?” he asked, tugging at your hand when you nodded unabashed. “Take it off, then.”
You bit your lip before pulling yourself up, coming face to face with his chest as you did. You kissed the soft skin at the center of it before your hand circled to untie his loincloth. He lowered his head down, both of his hands cupping your face as he pressed a hard kiss on your lips.
His loincloth came off with a hiss and he gently pushed you back down on the soft mat, deepening the kiss. His hand moved from your jaw to the back of your head, gently wrapping around the thick braid of your kuru. He pulled away from the kiss to meet your eyes, bringing it between you before he grabbed his own, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.
You moved his hands to bring the tendrils together, and the moment the tsaheylu sparked to life, a gasp caught in your throat. The overwhelming flood of energy from the Tree of Souls was replaced by something soft, intimate, and profoundly deep, like a warm wave lulling both of your consciousness into a singular, shared heartbeat.
Through the bond, you felt his absolute adoration for you. The radiant warm was so tangible you could almost touch it, and to see it reflected in his golden eyes made your eyes sting with hot tears. Neteyam let out a low growl of satisfaction through the bond, his lips catching yours again. The kiss was deeper now, amplified by the bond, every brush of his tongue and every stroke of his hands on your body echoing straight through your mind.
You kissed him back with equal fervor. His hand firmly pushed your thighs apart, fitting himself between them as his kisses trailed down your jaw and neck. You chuckled to hide a moan when his tongue traced a long stroke over the soft skin of your neck. He hummed against your skin and repeated the motion, making you arch your neck with a giggle.
He pulled back a little, his humored eyes staring into yours. “You're ticklish here...” he murmured, dipping his head to softly suck on that skin.
“Neteyam...” you pushed his head back and he chuckled, moving further down, kissing the side flesh of your breast.
You took in a sharp breath, arching your back and he enveloped its peak with the warmth of his mouth, earning him a loud moan from you. He squeezed your waist as he hummed, sucking at your flesh as he fondled the other one.
“You’re so soft, fuck...” he grunted as his lips nipped at your pebbled tip, licking his way to the other peak to give it the same attention.
You felt a warm liquid gush out of you, making you squirm under him. His hand moved from your waist to your center and the tickle caught you off guard that you bucked against his fingers. He groaned against your breast, his fingers caressing your velvety folds languidly.
“So wet...” he said in a low, gravelly voice, propping himself on one arm to hover over you again.
His knee pushed one of your thighs to the side to spread you wider as his fingers parted your folds exposing your slick heat to his gaze. He looked down at you, his gold of his eyes swallowed almost entirely by desire that made your pulse race. His face heated up when he stared down at your flush face and found your wide, trusting eyes looking back up at him. You could literally feel the heavy pulsing in the bond, telling you that he was feeling so much it was physically overwhelming him.
He bent his head, kissing you softly at fit, but it soon turned deep and hard. His mouth consumed yours, and under the cover of that distracting heat, he slid a single, long finger into your tight entrance. You gasped against his mouth, your body tightening, startled by the sudden penetration. Neteyam instantly stalled his hand. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face with fierce intensity, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort.
Instead of shrinking away, you leaned up and kissed him, your tongue boldly sliding against his to show him you were alright. A low growl vibrated in his throat, slipping a second finger into you. The sudden stretch made you bite his lower lip in a tight grip and he grunted, kissing you hard in retaliation as his fingers began to move in a slow, deep rhythm inside your slick heat.
You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and his other arm pulled your body completely flush against his muscled frame. The world narrowed down to the heavy friction in you and the overwhelming rush of his emotions pouring through the bond. Your kisses got sloppy and breathless as his fingers worked faster, making your hips tilt upward instinctively, your thighs quivering as the tension built.
Suddenly, Neteyam pulled his fingers away.
You let out a soft, frustrated whine, your hands immediately dropping to his wrist to pull his arm back down. “Neteyam...”
“I’ll give you something better,” he mumbled against your jaw, his breath hitching as he kissed his way down to your neck. You could feel his thick, rigid shaft resting heavily against your inner thigh, twitching with his own restrained need. He pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. “Are you sure about this, paskalin?”
You nodded quickly, reaching up to pull his head back down for a kiss, but Neteyam refused to budge. He held his ground, his face shifting into a deeply serious expression.
“I need your words,” he mumbled, his golden eyes locking onto yours.
You let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, your gaze turning just as serious, completely stripped of any games. “I am sure. I want to do this with you, Neteyam.”
The tension in his jaw broke, replaced by a dark satisfaction. He pressed a hard, bruising kiss on your lips, before his hands hooked firmly under your knees. He slowly pulled away, shifting his weight until he was kneeling directly between your spread legs.
Left exposed in the glow of the fire, you bit your lip, your eyes shamelessly tracing the powerful lines of his body. You reached a hand out, your palm sliding over his muscled abdomen again, feeling it contract beneath your fingertips. But you grew serious as soon as you felt the broad, blunt head of his shaft nudge against your warmth. You took a deep breath as he began to ease himself into you.
His thumb found the sensitive, swollen nub beneath your folds, softly and rhythmically caressing it to help him distact you. When your eyes rolled back and you helplessly bucked your hips upward to chase his thumb, Neteyam took the perfect opportunity to sink himself fully into you in one deep thrust.
A loud moan tore from your throat at the immense stretch of it, and at the exact same time, Neteyam let out a harsh, strained grunt through gritted teeth as your walls fiercely clamped and squeezed around him, resisting against his girth. He lowered his body down, desperate to soothe you with a kiss, but you were breathing in ragged, panicked breaths, your fingers digging tightly into the flesh of his back.
“Shh... baby, look at me. Breathe,” he hushed. Feeling how tightly you were gripping him, he made a slight movement to pull himself back out to give you relief, but you instantly wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place. You hugged him closer, burying your face in his neck.
“You’re so big...” you mumbled.
Neteyam groaned, the sound vibrating against your chest as he wrapped his massive arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “Sorry...” he whispered roughly, entirely sincere.
A wet chuckle escaped your lips despite the ache. “Are you really saying sorry because you have a big di—”
“Only because it’s making you uncomfortable,” he cut you off, his voice thick with embarrassment as he pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand tenderly wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead.
“Nonsense,” you huffed, a small, defiant smirk returning to your face. “I remembered I will be pushing out babies anyway, you know? I can handle the father.”
Neteyam’s dark eyes instantly lit up, coupled with a soft smile cutting through his lips, and at the exact same moment, a massive, explosive jolt of pure, euphoric warmth shot straight through the bond, nearly making your head spin. The sheer joy of hearing you speak of a future with him, of carrying his children, completely broke the last of his restraint.
You smiled, welcoming the deep, possessive kiss he crashed down onto your lips. He began to move as he kissed you, pulling back almost entirely, before driving back into you with a firm intensity. You moaned against his lips, meeting him at his pace and welcoming every single hard, bruising thrust.
The pace grew frantic and the glow of the fire casted your joined shadows against the woven walls of your new home. His large shadow has completely enclosed you, your legs in the hair as he gripped the back of your knees tightly, pushing them up to angle you perfectly, driving deeper and deeper until he was bottoming out against your core.
The kelku was filled with slaps of your skin meeting, your ragged moans, and his deep, animalistic grunts. Through the bond, a sudden, blinding wave of heat erupted from him. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his muscles locking up hard as he let out a loud, guttural roar against your neck. He buried himself to the absolute hilt as he came deep inside you, the thick, hot rush of his seed filling your core.
Your head fell back, crying out as your own release crashed over you in violent waves, your walls squeezing him tightly. Neteyam collapsed softly over you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck. Your own exhaustion lulled you to sleep just as Neteyam lifted his head to kiss you, making him huff in adoration as his eyes caressed your soft features.
“Out like a light,” he mumbled as he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “You’re so damn cute.”
The next day, the heavy, content silence of the morning was the first thing you registered, followed by the feeling of Neteyam’s large, muscular arm slung securely around your waist, pulling your body into a solid wall of heat that was his chest.
You shifted slightly and the gentle drag of your hair against his chin caused him to stir. Because the tsaheylu had remained connected through the night, the moment your consciousness cleared, a sudden, bright flare of pure excitement pulsed from his mind into yours. His eyes opened instantly.
“Good morning,” Neteyam murmured, his voice deep and rough from sleep. He pressed a warm kiss into your temple, his arm tightening around you. “How does your body feel?”
You took a long, dramatic breath and stretched your limbs, letting out a soft yawn that made his chest rumble with an adored chuckle. “A little sore,” you admitted, turning in his embrace to face him, a small, defiant spark in your eyes. “But I am still ready for the day. You promised me archery training.”
Neteyam smiled, his eyes sweeping over your face as he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck. “Archery can wait. The forest isn't going anywhere. Let's just stay here today.”
“We can't,” you laughed softly. Right on cue, the ring of the communal bells echoed through the upper branches of Hometree. “See? We have to go.”
“They will understand if we are late,” Neteyam mumbled against your skin, his hands lazily tracing the curve of your waist. “We are newly married. Everyone knows we were... occupied.”
Your cheeks instantly burned hot. “Neteyam!” You reached down and pinched his arm, hard enough to make him grunt. “That is all the more reason we must show up on time! I have a reputation to build here, and I will not have everyone looking at me knowing why we slept in.”
“Baby, I hate to break it to you,” he chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow, his long finger caressing the base of your throat, “but they are going to know anyway.”
Your fingers touched your neck, your eyes snapping up to him in question. “What?”
His finger trailed down to your bare chest and you gazed down, finding a distinctly tender purpling spot right above the swell on your left breast. You glared up at him, your hand raising to pinch him again, but Neteyam quickly raised his hands in retreat, a boyish, unrepentant smirk on his lips. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It’s just that... you’re so soft—”
“Well, it looks like a bug bite,” you pushed your lips forward, touching the marks and examining it, before peering up at him. “By a big bug.”
He chuckled, pulling you back to him. “Do we have an issue with big stuff?” he mumbled, his lips brushing your neck.
You shrink away from the ticklishness of his lips, moving to get your top instead. Despite his teasing, Neteyam helped you prepare by grabbing your loincloth and helping you with it. At your stubborn behest, the two of you walked down to the communal clearing for breakfast. Neteyam carried his heavy warrior's bow, but slung over his other shoulder was the beautifully crafted longbow he had gifted you, along with both of your quivers
You thought walking into the clearing would make you feel embarrassed, especially with how the youth started nudging each other and how the older hunters gave Neteyam teasing looks, but you felt nothing but pride as he held your hand as he led you to the high dais where his family sits. Tuk grinned and waved at you, while Kiri offered a teasing a smile.
You pursed your lips and kept your gaze low in front of your parents who are now conversing quietly with Jake and Neytiri, looking entirely out of place in the vibrant, loud atmosphere. Once breakfast concluded, you paid respects to both sets of parents, and you startled a little when Neytiri gently squeezed your hand, making you snap your eyes up to her.
She smiled, “You looked radiant, daughter.”
You blinked, throwing a quick sharp glance at Neteyam who chuckled before seriously nodding at Neytiri. “Thank you...” you mumbled.
As you stand there, your father’s sharp eyes instantly dropped to the two bows slung over Neteyam’s shoulder, then to the quiver of arrows resting against your hip. His expression hardened into a mask of pure, rigid distaste.
“Neteyam,” your father spoke, his voice carrying a heavy weight as he pointed at the weapons. “I hope you are not teaching my daughter that. Weapons do not belong in the hands of a chief's daughter.”
The air around the dais seemed to drop in temperature. Your mother looked at you with the same piercing gaze your sister was giving you, as though you were doing something so embarrassing, while Neytiri’s side eye dropped a temperature as it locked onto your father. Meanwhile, Jake sat back comfortably in his seat, waiting to see how his son would handle this.
You felt a familiar, cold instinct to shrink back, but before the fear could even take root, Neteyam stepped slightly in front of you, offering your father a calm, polite smile.
“That is exactly what I intend to do, Olo'eyktan,” Neteyam replied, his tone grounded yet carrying the absolute firmness of a future leader. “My wife is now the woman of an Omatikaya warrior. She is Omatikaya as much as I am. And in this clan, our women are trained in archery much like the next guy.“
Your father’s face went entirely pale, but his jaw eventually tightened, utterly paralyzed by the younger warrior's sheer insolence. In your birth clan, no young man would ever dare speak to the Olo’eyktan this way, but here, Neteyam answered only to Toruk Makto. You pursed your lips as you felt warmth spread in your chest, making you squeeze Neteyam’s hand.
Seeing her husband silenced, your mother stepped in, “And you, daughter? Do you agree to this? Is this what you want?”
You looked at your mother, then at your father, and for the first time in your life, you didn't feel the need to lie. You took a step forward, aligning your shoulder perfectly with Neteyam’s.
“I am a wife of the Omatikaya now, Mother,” you said as softly as you could, it sounded like a mock in your own ears, but your parents won’t know that. “I will listen to the will of my husband, and I will do my absolute best to learn under him.”
You chose your words wisely, ensuring that the very obedience they had drilled into you since childhood was what’s staring back at them now. Your parents were left speechless, knowing they would sound like hypocrites to command you otherwise. You are a mated woman now, and in their eyes, your husband’s words hold more sway than their own.
Neteyam didn't give them a chance to recover. He gave a respectful, brief nod to his own parents, ignoring the faint, amused smirk playing on Jake Sully's lips. “If there is nothing else, we will take our leave.”
As he turned and led you away from the dais, his large hand snaked around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side as you walked down the winding ramp.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered sensually, “You did well, baby. And there is indeed a lot of training under me.”
You blinked, your cheeks burning when you remembered last night. Once you were down the Hometree, Neteyam led you deep into a secluded clearing a mile away from Hometree, a training ground he had clearly set up just for you. At the far end of the clearing, several woven targets hung on trees.
“Alright,” Neteyam said, handing you your new bow. “Let me see your basics, baby.” He stepped behind you, his chest pressing against your back as his large hands guided your arms up.
You swallowed hard. This was the dangerous part. You had to play the part of a beginner. You had to act like you didn't know how to balance your weight, or how to gauge the wind. You pulled an arrow from your quiver, deliberately letting your fingers fumble slightly with the notch. You pulled the string back, purposely letting your left elbow sag, trying to remember what it was like when you were just learning.
“Like this?” you asked.
Neteyam didn't answer right away, his hands moving from your arms down to your waist, his thumbs tracing the alignment of your hips before he corrected your left elbow. “Yes. Try shooting,”
You gritted your teeth and pulled from your chest, keeping your elbow low again before shooting. Your arrow found its mark on the third tree, exactly as you intended. Neteyam’s hands tightened on your waist, lazily caressing.
“You know how to do this,” he whispered, low and entirely certain.
Your heart violently jumped into your throat, your hand gripping the bow tighter. He has a keen eye and it was your fault that you underestimated that. “I trained,” you mumbled.
“You’re not a beginner,” he replied, his head dipping low so his breath fanned across your neck, right over a dark mark he had left there.
Your lips twisted. “No, I’m not,” you said in a low voice, your head turning to him.
His eyes darkened as it looks through yours. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him. “Look at the target... and show me who you really are.”
You held his dark, intense gaze for a second before turning back to the targets. With a fluid, practiced motion, you reached into your quiver and nocked a fresh arrow, planting you feet firmly into the ground. You aligned your shoulders and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one smooth motion.
The arrow flew like a bolt of lightning across the clearing, passing the first two targets and striking the farthest one dead in the center. The woven target shuddered under the sheer force of the impact. Behind you, Neteyam watched with fascinated, wide eyes, a sudden rush of heat flooding his chest. You looked incredibly hot standing there, your posture unyielding and graceful.
He had always known you had fire in you. He had found you beautiful from the moment he first laid eyes on you, but seeing you like this, unapologetically in your element, made a massive swell of pride erupt through him. He had witnessed first hand what your parents were like, what your clan was like, and though he had initially thought that you were their perfect, submissive daughter, even then, he’d felt this spark in you.
It was only when you’d become one through the bond that he’d known the staggering depth of your resentment and anger toward your parents and your people. He had been determined to free you from their shackles and teach you whatever you wanted to know, but with this marksmanship you’re showing, you were already better than him and half the hunters in his clan, because you had achieved this excellence while being completely barred from it.
“Where did you learn?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer, suddenly realizing that a skill this sharp meant someone had to have taught you.
You turned to him, a genuine, fond smile breaking across your face. “My friend. Tarluk.”
The moment the name left your lips, Neteyam’s swelling heart staggered. A sharp, blinding spike of jealousy flared in his chest. Your sister had mentioned that name when she tried to corner him last night, but he was so worried about you, he’d paid little attention to it. Neteyam was never a jealous man, mostly because he had never been a lover before, and he had certainly never cared for anyone as fiercely as he cared for you. So, this sudden, possessive green monster rearing its head in his mind felt completely bizarre and unsettling.
“Tarluk...” he echoed, his jaw tightening slightly.
“Yes. He is a warrior back in my clan,” you said, your voice softening, turning mellow and tinged with a heavy layer of guilt. “He taught me everything he knows. And he is... imprisoned right now. That is how I repaid every bit of help he gave me.”
Some of his jealousy instantly evaporated, replaced by immediate concern. He smoothed his features, calming his racing heart. “Imprisoned why?”
“He tried to help me escape... on the very day the Omatikaya arrived,” you mumbled, looking down at your bow. “I didn't know my father was going to pledge me to you. In my clan, we have no say in who we mate with. My friends are alright with that life... but I was terrified. I tried to run away.” You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat before looking up at him with soulful, vulnerable eyes.
Neteyam stared down at you, his heart beating incredibly fast against his ribs as he traced the absolute trust written across your features. “And... are you still scared?”
You smiled softly, the warmth in your eyes answering him before you even shook your head. “No... I am not scared.”
A heavy, breathless huff of relief left his lungs. The tension completely drained from his body as he melted into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. He leaned down, pressing a deep, fiercely reassuring kiss to your lips. “You have nothing to be scared of, baby. Not here, and not as long as I am drawing breath. I will protect you from them. From everything.”
You smiled against his mouth, nodding against his chest. “There is something I want to show you once we are back home.”
You spent the next couple of hours in the clearing, completely shedding your facade. You showed him the extent of what you know, so he could gauge exactly what else he can teach you. By the time you walked back to Hometree, you were holding his hand, literally skipping cutely along the forest path, your old worries entirely forgotten. Neteyam watched you, a soft, lovesick smile on his face. Just as the two of you were about to break through the thick brush leading into the main clearing of Hometree, he caught your waist, pulling you back into the shadows for one more loving, deep kiss.
High above, standing on an empty platform, Neytiri stood beside Jake. She watched the two of you, a rare, incredibly soft smile touching her lips as she leaned into her husband's side, happy to see her eldest son so completely besotted.
Once you and Neteyam slipped back into the privacy of your kelku, you walked over to your leather travel box. You reached inside and pulled out the old longbow and the weathered quivers you had brought from your home clan, the ones you had kept hidden away.
Neteyam walked over, but the moment his golden eyes landed on the unique, intricate fletching of the arrows inside the quiver, he froze. His mind flashed back to the waterfalls near your clan’s lands, to the cloaked woman who had saved his life from an Agtik pack before disappearing into the mist just as he was gathering his wit.
He thought he was simply being irrational. He thought of the cloaked lady several times over the past moon, but his mind kept giving the lady your face. Even when he first saw you, he had a strong feeling that he knew whom he was looking at... It had surprised him, just as it had surprised his parents, when he decided to agree on your father’s plea for a betrothal before he had even heard the terms.
He was never one to decide on anything without thinking it through, but on this one, he had felt so certain it startled him.
“I knew it,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper of absolute awe. “It was you.” He looked from the arrows to your face, his eyes wide. “The cloaked lady from the waterfalls... it was you.”
You offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You knew how?”
Neteyam let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I was being imaginative, perhaps. But whenever I remember the lady at the waterfalls, I see your face. I thought it was just my mind reminding me that I am betrothed, but I almost felt certain it was you.”
You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to tell you... But I don’t want to hide anything from you,” you pushed your lips forward.
He felt like he was being allowed to walk through a secret passage leading into a room full of wonders. He had met you, had been saved by you, before he even officially knew your name. “Thank you for telling me,” he mumbled, pulling you to press a kiss on your temple.
Lo’ak had long found a mate among the Metkayina of Awa’atlu, and Neteyam had always wondered how easy it had been for him, that it had taken only one look. But now he understands. He understands what Jake and Lo’ak were talking about. You will see her and you will know. Thanking Eywa for the sheer providence and the incredible luck of hand she had given him would never be enough.
You were everything he had waited for.
A few days later, you watched your parents, your sister, and their rigid entourage finally prepare to leave the Omatikaya and was surprised to feel absolutely no sadness. Standing beside Neteyam as their direhorses turned back toward the woods, the only thing filling your chest was a profound, liberating sense of relief. You could hardly wait for the dust of their departure to settle.
As the days and weeks melted into moons, you and Neteyam fell into a beautiful, seamless routine.
Every morning, he would wake up before the dawn, his stolen kisses on your skin occasionally waking up up, but most times, he could successfully slip out for early border patrols without waking you up. And then, he would return hours later, waking you up with soft kisses before you both headed down for the communal breakfast.
Afterward, the two of you would escape to your private training ground. Because your archery and horsemanship were already flawless, Neteyam decided to teach you hand-to-hand combat skills instead. This was unknown to you. The Na’vis rarely fight using their bodies in close combats, but he explained that they were necessary skills taught by his father.
You took to it with a fierce, untamed focus, loving the feel of your body dodging his heavy frames, laughing whenever he used his weight to pin you to the soft grass, only to kiss you breathless as a penalty for losing.
By midday, when Neteyam had to report for scouting duties with his father, you spend your afternoons with Kiri and Mo'at, sitting in the quiet healing pavilion, learning the properties of healing roots, orchid poultices, and the spiritual songs of the Omatikaya. You found learning here much easier than learning under the rigid, highly paternalistic guidance of your mother.
Best of all, Mo’at listens to the healing knowledge and spiritual routines unique to your clan. These peaceful afternoons of study would bleed into quiet evenings that makes you feel that you were finally doing things to belong and not to conform.
When the next dawn broke, the rhythmic chirping outside filtered into the kelku, but you were already stirred by the familiar sensation of warm, soft lips pressing against your shoulder. A slow, lazy smile spread across your face, keeping your eyes closed.
When he sensed the shift in your consciousness, he lifted his head, his golden eyes dark and hooded with adoration. You felt his lips against yours and you kissed him back eagerly, your fingers tangling in the braids at the nape of his neck, pulling him flush against you. His large arm wrapped around you, almost lifting you to him as he deepened the kiss.
You broke away from the kiss to breathe, so his lips found the the sensitive column of your neck, trailing down over the slope of your breasts, lingering on your stomach, and finally, dipping lower. The past few moons had revealed this side of him, an obsession with your pleasure that bordered on reverent. In the beginning, you had been shy, overwhelmed by the fact that he would dare put his mouth there and the raw, uninhibited way he does so, but you had learned to love it.
Thus, you spread your legs, arching your back off the sleeping mat as he lapped at you like a man starved. His tongue and lips found your sensitive nub, sucking and licking until you couldn't help your moans, a sound that started low in your throat and grew sharper as the rhythm took you. You were biting your lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible, especially when he presses his tongue flat on you.
When you finally came, the release was a shuddering wave that made you gasp, and he licked every lingering essence as if this were the desert and you were a well of water. You lay there, sweaty and weak, your breath coming in ragged hitches as he moved back up your body, his mouth settling on the pebbled tips of your breasts, suckling with a possessive intensity. He finally pulled away to press a loving kiss to your forehead, his eyes searching yours.
Your hand instinctively dropped, grabbing at the heavy ridge of his crotch, feeling the sheer hardness of him. You let out a soft, mewling sound, squeezing him, and he let out a harsh, guttural grunt, closing his eyes for a moment to fight for control.
“I'll save this reward for later, baby,” he growled, his voice gravelly. “If I start now, I'll never make it to patrol.”
True to his word, he left for patrol, and you managed to drift back into a light, contented sleep. You only woke again when the sun dappled through the kelku, with the rustle of his footsteps coming in not long after. You looked up and smiled at him, pulling the covers off you and he groaned at the sight of you still naked.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said as he lowered himself down, leaning over you.
You pressed a hand against his chest, caressing his skin damp with the morning's efforts. You craned your neck to kiss him, and his hand slid over your waist. “I’ve been sleeping in too much lately. I need to train myself to wake up early again,” you mumbled against his lips.
“I’ll ask Mo’at for spice tea,” he responded, his head rearing back a little, his eyes fixed on yours seriously. “But you could always just sleep in. You’ve been working so hard with the healers...”
You chuckled, “You’re so serious,” you nuzzled your nose against his. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just adjusting.” You pulled him down for a kiss.
He let you kiss him, but he pulled back again, “But do tell me if it persists—”
“Yes, yes, I will. Now, kiss...” you cut him off, pulling him close again and he kissed you with more intent now.
Just as the heat grew heavier, the bells for the communal meal echoed through Hometree. Neteyam groaned, dropping his forehead against your collarbone, his frustration vibrating through his chest. You laughed, a bright sound that made his heart flutter. You pushed against his shoulders, and he knew better than to argue when it came to your reputation, he knew how much you valued being seen as a proper member of the clan and appearances during meals were your top priority.
You pouted at him, “It’s because you talk too much,” you said, grabbing your top.
His head dramatically fell back on the soft mat and you chuckled, your eyes dropping to his hard-on tenting at his crotch, clearly ready to burst but he knows it would have to wait. Almost immediately after the meal, you both headed to your the training grounds.
Moons of practice had transformed your hand-to-hand combat skills, proving to him just how fast you learn. But today, the training was secondary. You sat between his legs by a large root, finding a comfortable patch of moss to sit on. He broke open some sweet, nectar-filled fruits, sharing them as you talked about your childhoods: the lonely, quiet years of your past versus the vibrant, chaotic, and loud upbringing he had experienced with his siblings.
“Lo'ak was a menace,” Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head as he bit into a yovo. “When he was no bigger than Tuk is now, he decided he wanted to ride a syaksyuk. He climbed all the way to the highest branch of a tall tree, got stuck, and started crying because a mama syaksyuk started throwing sour berries at his head. I had to climb up and drag him down by his loincloth while Dad watched from below, just laughing.”
You laughed loudly, remembering the photo you saw of them as children. It allowed you to imagine a tiny, stubborn Lo'ak and an annoyed little Neteyam playing vividly in your mind. “You must have been such a serious little boy.”
“I had to be,” he smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “With Lo'ak trying to drown himself in puddles and Kiri talking to the plants, someone had to keep them alive. Kiri used to bury my daggers in the dirt because she said it ‘wanted to sleep.’ I spent half my childhood digging up the forest floor looking for my weapons.”
Your smile turned a bit wistful, a faint pang of envy twisting in your chest. “It sounds beautiful.” Your eyes dropped to the fruit in your hands, thinking of his youngest sister. “I feel a little bad for little Tuk, though. She didn't get to experience all of that chaos with you guys being so small together.”
“She makes up for it by being twice as loud,” Neteyam reasoned, his hand caressing a stray hair off your face.
You sighed softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the woven basket. “My sister... She was so much like my mother. I can’t remember a time we were ever... close,” you shrugged.
Armem is just one of the many women in your clan who think that everything about what is taught is right. The rules, the silence, the way women are expected to bend. She excelled at obeying everything and she knew you were just pretending, she just didn't know how to catch you in the act.
Neteyam’s arm pulled you tightly against him, his chest on your back rumbling with a deep, protective hum, his fingers sprawling over your hip.
“The night of our mating feast, moons ago,” he began softly, his voice dropping into a serious register, “I heard of Tarluk before you ever told me his name. Your sister told me about him when you were off talking to your parents.”
You froze, tilting your head up to look at him. “She did?”
“Yes,” Neteyam murmured, his jaw tightening at the memory. “She told me that you had run away with a warrior before the Omatikaya arrived. She told me Tarluk was your lover, and that you were coming to my bed dishonored.”
A heavy, mellow sadness settled over you. You rose slightly, propping your palm against his muscled chest to look directly into his eyes. “I can't believe she would tell you about it that way... Neteyam, Tarluk is not my lover.”
His large hand cupped your jaw with immense gentleness. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, his gaze steady and unyielding.
“I know, baby,” he whispered fiercely. “I believe you. I did not believe her one bit. I told her she should have been more loyal to you.”
You let out a long sigh, the final ghost of your past clan fading into the forest air. You pressed your palm flat against the heavy beat of his heart. “I never want to go back to my clan again... I never want to see that forest again.”
A slow, devastatingly handsome smirk grew on his face. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you a fraction closer. “You can't go nowhere without me now, baby,” he whispered. “You'll never go back there. This is your home. You belong to the Omatikaya. You belong to me.”
Your heart swelled so painfully with love that you had to look away to catch your breath. You smiled, deliberately breaking the heavy romantic tension by lifting a piece of the sweet fruit to your mouth, just as he was leaning in to kiss you.
Neteyam groaned, his eyes narrowing in playful frustration with that block you did. You chuckled at his reaction, turning the piece of fruit and pressing it against his lips instead. He paused, watching you with an intense, heated gaze, before he bit into it, chewing slowly without ever breaking eye contact.
You raised a brow, completely untamed and bold under his stare. Leaning forward, you darted your tongue out, catching a single drop of sweet juice that was rolling down his chin. His breath hitched, his hands instantly gripping your waist as a dark, possessive hunger flared in his eyes.
“You are testing me today,” he growled softly, his hands moving to your hips to maneuver you on his lap.
You caught his hand. “I have a question,” you asked as you pressed your back against his chest.
“Hm?” He buried his face on your neck.
“Why do you like doing...” you trailed, gesturing vaguely between your legs, your voice teasing.
“Doing?” he asked, his hand going where you gestured.
Your hips bucked, grabbing his hand. “I mean, your mouth. On there.”
Neteyam paused, angling his head to look at you with a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Is that really a question?” he asked as if it sounded like a joke.
“It’s an observation,” you barked but softly, cutely showing him your fangs. “It seems a bit... obsessive.”
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that made your skin tingle. “It’s like asking me if I love eating my favorite fruit,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips. “It’s what I crave. It’s what sustains me.”
“That’s dramatic. It’s not food,” you frowned.
His hug around you tightened as if he were suddenly getting cuteness aggression. “I love it, anyway. And think of my cock. You said you wanted to do things with it, right?“
You nodded, your pulse quickening a sudden, visceral thrill run through you at the thought of finally exploring that part of him.
“Suppose I want you to kiss it,” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, challenging hum. “Would you?”
“Yes,” you whispered, licking your lips.
He raised a brow, reaching into the basket and pulling out an utumauti. He peeled it, the sweet, earthy scent filling the air, and held it out to you. You stared at it, and instinctively, you moved your head to bite into it, but he gently moved it away, laughing at your eagerness.
“No,” he said softly, his voice thick. “Put it in your mouth.”
You blinked, your breath hitching. You looked from the fruit to his eyes, then nodded, opening your mouth wide. You took the fruit between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the sweet nectar before you wrapped your mouth around it, mimicking the depth he’d asked for.
He groaned, the sound raw and pained, as he watched you.
“Would you do that to me?” he asked again, his eyes searching yours for hesitation.
You pulled back, your heart hammering against your ribs. You looked at his loincloth, imagining the warmth and the power of him, and a desperate, hungry desire to give him that same level of pleasure he gave you bloomed in you
“I want to,” you breathed. Your tail, usually calm, began to wag behind you, a soft thump against the moss.
Neteyam let out a shaky breath, his expression softening into one of tender love. He leaned forward and kissed you, his hands trembling slightly as they went to the ties of his loincloth, stripping it away completely. Your breath caught in your throat. You had felt the sheer, heavy mold of him a hundred times over in the past moons, the thick, rigid heat that had driven you mad against your thighs and deep within your core, but seeing him completely bare in the daylight was breathtaking.
You pulled yourself up onto your knees between his legs, your hand reaching out, your fingers trembling slightly as you wrapped them around the base of his thick length. Neteyam drew in a harsh, ragged gasp as your thumb stroked up the underside of his shaft.
“Baby...” he choked out, his fists clenching into the dirt at his sides.
You looked up at him through your lashes, completely captivated by the power you held over such a powerful warrior. Slowly, you leaned forward, your lips parting as you pressed a soft, wet kiss to the very tip of him, catching the sweet, clear bead of his arousal on your tongue.
Neteyam let out a low, guttural roar that echoed into the canopy, his hips instinctively jerking forward at the agonizingly perfect warmth. You smiled against his hot skin, opening your mouth wider, and began to show him exactly how much you wanted to pleasure him.
You lost yourself in the rhythm of his pleasure, sliding your lips along the thick length of his shaft. Every dip of your head earned you a ragged, breathless praise from Neteyam, his fingers lightly tangling in your hair as he guided your pace. By the time your mouth filled with the hot, heavy rush of his release, his chest was heaving as a broken groan ripped from his throat. He pulled you up into a tight, crushing hug immediately after, holding you against his racing heart.
“Fuck...” he mumbled as he let out a broken chuckle. “You can’t do that again... I came so fast it’s embarrassing.”
You glared at him, but a naughty smile still cut through your lips. “But what if it’s my favorite now, too?”
The peaceful moons that followed seemed to blur into a soft, golden dream. You have now settled comfortably in the Omatikaya, especially among the children, that you spend some afternoons in the shade of the lower branches, watching Tuk and a few other children.
Tuk was in the middle of chasing a friend when she suddenly spun around, her tail swishing with sudden curiosity. “Y/N, are you pregnant?” she asked out of nowhere, her big eyes wide with innocent hope.
You blinked, a fierce blush instantly crawling up your neck. “No, Tuk, I am not.”
“Aww,” she pouted, kicking a soft patch of moss. “I thought you were. Leera’s mom is pregnant. She’ll have a playmate very soon!”
You watched her sprint away, but her words lingered in your mind like a persistent echo. You weren't exactly worried, but as the days passed, you couldn't help but wonder. It wasn't for a lack of trying; you and Neteyam were at it every single day, his possessive hunger never waning, yet your body remained unchanged.
To soothe your restless thoughts, you took up weaving again, a craft you deeply missed and hadn't practiced much since leaving your clan. Sitting alone in the kelku, your fingers worked mechanically, interlacing thick, soft fibers into a structured, sturdy pattern.
You were just finishing a section when the woven flap rustled. Neteyam stepped inside, his shoulders tight with a lingering trace of stress from a long council meeting. The moment his golden eyes landed on you, however, the tension visibly melted from his face.
Seeing the lingering exhaustion in his posture, you immediately dropped the what you were doing and stood up, reaching out to guide him down to the sleeping mat. Your fingers firmly moved on the tight knots in his shoulders, applying a soothing pressure to calm him down.
Neteyam let out a long, shuddering sigh, tilting his head back against your stomach. “What were you weaving, baby?”
“I am trying to weave a baby wrap,” you murmured softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But do not get too excited yet. I am not with child. I am just... preparing.”
A soft, boyish smile cut through his tired features, and his lips pushed forward, pressing a tender kiss into your temple.
“What is wrong?” you asked, your fingers slowing their movement on his shoulders. “You look heavy.”
“Nothing you need to worry about, baby,” he responded smoothly, reaching up to squeeze your hand. “Just a tense council meeting. Some border disputes. It is fine.”
In the weeks that followed, however, you realized it wasn't entirely fine. The reality of clan infighting across Eywa’eveng was beginning to seep into the edges of the Omatikaya. Yet, the Omatikaya were almost too chill about it, confident in their strength. You only noticed the subtle shifts: the increased frequency of hunters and warriors moving in and out of the boundaries, and the way Neteyam constantly seemed on edge.
The breaking point arrived on a stormy afternoon.
Shouts echoed from the lower canopy, frantic and laced with a terror you had never heard from the Omatikaya before. You rushed down to the lower platforms, your breath catching in your throat as a party of warriors moved through the crowd. They were carrying several severely wounded hunters.
And in the center of the frantic group, carried on a human-made stretcher, was Neteyam.
He was barely conscious, his skin a pale, sickly blue, his chest heavily stained with a thick, dark smear of blood. Your breath was knocked out of your chest as a suffocating, icy fear instantly seized your heart, dragging your mind back to the terrifying vision you had seen in his memory. Jake and Neytiri pushed through the crowd, their faces pale with panic. But as the healers began to move Neteyam toward the human biolab for emergency treatment, Neytiri suddenly stopped. Her fierce, golden eyes snapped to you standing in the crowd.
Before you could move, she lunged forward, her hand clamping onto your forearm in a brutal, iron grip.
“Did you know about this?” she demanded, her voice shaking, cold with an explosive anger.
“What?” your voice shook, your eyes wide with shock and confusion.
“Your people betrayed us!” Neytiri hissed, her fangs fully bared, her face inches from yours. “Your father shot Neteyam! He ambushed our patrol at the border! I knew this alliance would bring nothing good. My son dove into this headfirst, not even thinking, for whatever petty reason—!”
“Mama! Don't get mad at Y/N, please!“ Tuk screamed, sprinting through the crowd and throwing her small arms around Neytiri’s hips, crying.
Jake came rushing back out of the biolab doors, his eyes wide as he realized Neytiri hadn't followed the stretcher inside.
“Neytiri,” Jake called, his voice booming as he grabbed her elbow, pulling her away from you. He looked at your pale, trembling form, his expression turning into one of profound alarm. “Jesus, baby, what did you tell her?”
Neytiri let out a sharp, ragged breath, her chest heaving as she finally ripped her gaze from yours, staggering on her steps before walking away and going into the biolab.
Jake turned to you, his voice urgent but grounded. “Go inside, Y/N. Go see him. He’s alright, but you need to be in there.” He looked down at his youngest daughter. “Tuk, stay with her.”
You couldn't move. Your legs felt like lead, your ears ringing with the horrific revelation. Your father had shot him. The treaty of alliance, the marriage, the peace, it had all been a calculated deception to lower the Omatikaya's guard against other clans who wished to bring it down.
Tuk buried her face into your stomach, her little shoulders shaking with violent sobs. The sight of her grief broke the paralysis holding you. You slowly knelt on the damp wooden platform, pulling the little girl into a tight embrace, murmuring soft, comforting words against her hair until her crying began to slow into quiet whimpers.
Once she quieted down, you pulled back slightly, cupping her small face in your hands. You forced your voice to sound steady, invoking the very strength Neteyam always saw in you.
“Tuk, listen to me,” you said, your eyes locking onto hers with absolute seriousness. “Your braveness is needed right now. The Omatikaya is in chaos, and your brother needs a warrior to guard him. I need you to stay right here, by the laboratory doors, and make sure no one enters who shouldn't. Can you do that for me?”
Tuk sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, her small jaw tightening with a sudden, fierce determination. She nodded firmly. “I will guard him, Y/N.”
“Good girl,” you whispered, kissing her forehead.
You stood up, turning away from the laboratory. You didn't walk inside. Instead, you turned on your heel and moved swiftly, back up the winding ramps toward your kelku. The moment you stepped past the woven flap, the dam broke. Tears of unadulterated fear, pain, and burning rage spilled over your cheeks, hot and furious. You couldn’t even sob or wail. You wanted to be there for Neteyam.
Hold his hand and give him strength. But what you were about to do cannot wait. You moved with a cold, terrifying precision born of a lifetime of faking compliance.
You walked straight to the weapon rack. You gripped the smooth, dark wood of your old longbow and slung the weathered quiver over your shoulder, checking the heavy, sharp fletching of your arrows. Your father thought he had traded away a submissive pawn to buy himself time. He thought you were a weak, compliant girl who would weep in a corner while his treachery tore a clan apart.
He was going to find out exactly who you were.
You rushed down the hidden, less-traveled pathways of Hometree, bypassing the frantic crowds entirely. Breaking into the dark, rain-slicked undergrowth of the forest, you raised your hand to your lips and let out a sharp, piercing whistle.
Within moments, the heavy thud of hooves echoed through the brush, and your direhorse broke through the foliage. You vaulted onto its back, your fingers grabbing your kuru and connecting it to his in one swift motion. With a fierce tap to its flanks, you turned the direhorse toward the borders, tearing into the black, stormy night.
You were going back to your clan. And you were going to kill your father.
The wind screamed in your ears, tearing through your hair as the direhorse threw its powerful weight forward, kicking up wet earth and leaves. For hours, you rode through the stormy night without a single pause. The rain-drenched trees of the Omatikaya territory gradually gave way to the dark, clouded woods of the suffocating borders of your birth clan.
Your body ached, your muscles tightly coiled with exhaustion and a cold, lethal focus. By the time the distant glow of your old clan's cooking fires pierced the dark, the storm had settled into a heavy mist. You didn’t slow down to hide or sneak through the brush like a frightened girl. You rode straight into the heart of the main clearing, the heavy thud of your direhorse's hooves drawing the immediate, sharp attention of the night guards.
Several warriors stepped forward, bows raised, but they froze when the light allowed for a better view of you, drenched in rain and covered in mud. From the largest tent, a tall, imposing figure stepped out, a heavy mantle around his shoulders.
Your father’s sharp eyes locked onto you, but you could see in his eyes that he was not threatened. You gave that to him. But that will change. He stepped closer, stopping a few paces away, completely unbothered by the heavy bow in your hand. To him, you were still the girl who always had her head down, the girl who bent to her mother's rigid will.
“Is he dead? Is that what this visit is for?” your father taunted, a slow, dark smirk spreading across his face as he looked up at you. “If so, then that is good news for our council. Job well done, and you can finally come home, daughter.”
You remained mounted on your direhorse, your posture regal, unyielding, and completely still. Your eyes, normally soft and trusting, were now as cold and sharp as blade.
“I feel sorry that I had to sacrifice you...” he continued, his voice dripping with a sickening condescension. “Let you be defiled and used over and over again by that disgusting half-blood. I am glad to see that you're not pregnant... that is great. We can wipe away that stain, remarry you to a real warrior, and—”
“What a loud noise,” you interrupted quietly.
Your father paused, his brows snapping together in sudden fury at your insolence. “What did you just say to me?” He looked at the old longbow in your hand again, a mocking chuckle vibrating in his chest. “You dare bring a weapon into my presence? You think you can make an aim on me after your pitiful training sessions with that demon? The one I personally shot?”
“For the record, dear father,” you said, your voice entirely devoid of fear, a slow smile tilting the corners of your lips. “Neteyam didn’t teach me archery... I learned this from under your nose.”
In the blink of an eye, faster than any warrior in the clearing could even register, your hand blurred. You drew an arrow from your quiver, nocked it, and pulled the heavy string back past your chest in one fluid, terrifyingly practiced motion.
Your father's eyes widened a fraction, his breath catching in his throat as he realized, too late, the absolute precision of your stance.
“Look,” you whispered.
You let go of the string and the heavy arrow flew with blinding speed, striking your father dead in the left side of his chest. The exact, precise spot where he had shot Neteyam.
He let out a sharp, agonized gasp, staggering backward as his hand flew to the shaft buried deep in his flesh. His eyes bulged, filled with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of anger and shock. He opened his mouth to scream for his warriors, his foot stepping forward to lunge at you.
Before his foot could even plant into the dirt, another arrow tore through the air, piercing straight through his foot and pinning it deeply into the muddy ground. He shrieked, a raw, pained sound, his balance entirely stolen from him as he began to fall. Desperate, his hand flew down to the knife strapped to his thigh, trying to draw it.
A third arrow struck his wrist, completely shattering the bone and before he could even touch the hilt.
You looked down at him from the height of your direhorse, your expression completely detached as he writhed in the mud beneath you.
“My husband is not dead, but you will be.”
Without a single hint of hesitation, you nocked one final arrow and released the string. The final arrow struck cleanly between his eyes, causing his body to slump back into the dirt, his blank gaze staring up at the stormy sky.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
When the heavy sedation finally wore off, Neteyam opened his eyes to the harsh, sterile white light of the human biolab. His vision blurred, then sharpened, focusing on the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. The sun of midday was already dawning through the windows.
His first thought was entirely instinctual. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the one face that always brought him peace.
“Y/N...” he grogged, his voice barely a gravelly whisper.
The lab doors hissed open, and Jake stepped inside, his expression deeply lined with fatigue. Behind him, Neytiri stood, her usual fierce posture replaced by a rare, heavy layer of visible guilt. Little Tuk was curled up on a chair in the corner, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
“Dad,” Neteyam breathed, trying to push himself up on his elbows. His hand flew to his chest, feeling the thick, white bandages binding his skin. “My wife?”
A heavy silence blanketed the room. Everyone had spent the last several hours frantically combing through every tier of Hometree after Jake had ordered a full-scale search, desperate to find you before his eldest son woke up, but no one had seen a trace of you. Even Neytiri, now that her blinding panic had subsided and her mind was clear, realized the catastrophic mistake she had made by cornering you and implicating you in the ambush.
For the past several weeks, the Omatikaya council had had intelligence about a brewing conflict. Your birth clan apparently part of a larger, aggressive faction of clans seeking to destabilize Toruk Makto’s influence, viewing his family as “half-bloods” who didn't belong with the true people of Eywa. Throughout those tense council meetings, Neteyam had staunchly, fiercely defended you.
When the elders and even his own mother suggested that your betrothal was a calculated set-up to make him vulnerable, Neteyam had never wavered. He knew your heart. He knew that you knew absolutely nothing about your clan’s movements, and he had begged his family to let him handle it, to protect you from the clan's suspicion.
But Neytiri's explosive grief at seeing her firstborn bleeding had shattered that protection.
“Neteyam,” Neytiri stepped forward, her voice trembling in a way he had never heard before. “The night you were brought in... I lost my mind,” Neytiri confessed. “I confronted her. I told her that her father shot you, and I... I accused her. Tuk said she left not long after. We think... maybe she went to find them. Maybe she'll come back...”
“Left?” Neteyam echoed, the word ripping out of his throat like a physical wound. The monitor beside his bed began to beep in a frantic, erratic rhythm. He tore the IV lines straight out of his arm, ignoring the sharp sting of blood.
“Neteyam, lay back down!” Jake barked, rushing forward to plant his heavy hands on his son's shoulders.
“No! She doesn't want to go back there! She told me she never wanted to see that place again!” Neteyam roared, fighting his father's grip with a desperate, wild strength, despite the pull on his stitched flesh. “I have to find her—”
“I’ve already sent out scouting teams to track her trail,” Jake argued, his voice laced with helplessness. “But the storm washed away the tracks. Some came back empty-handed. We don't know where to look, son.”
Neteyam’s chest tightened, a suffocating mixture of physical pain and raw, blinding panic making his head spin. He was hoping against hope that you hadn't gone back to your birth clan. He knew how much you hated it.
Just as he was stepping off the bed, the lab doors hissed open again. One of the clan's seasoned tracking warriors stepped into the room, drenched in mud and breathing heavily.
“Olo'eyktan,” Navem reported, bowing his head to Jake but looking directly at Neteyam. “Word has just come from the western border. Korto... is dead. He was assassinated in the dead of night inside his own camp. They said it was his eldest daughter.”
The warrior glanced at Neteyam. He felt the air completely knocked out of his lungs. He staggered, his knees buckling slightly as he stared at the warrior in absolute, stunned disbelief. His mind reeled, completely torn between two overwhelming realities: the terrifying fact that you had ridden alone into enemy territory in the middle of a storm, and the realization that you had executed a flawless assassination entirely on your own.
Neytiri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
It was Jake who broke the stunned silence, his tactical mind instantly kicking into gear. “Looks like we have a lead,” he said, his voice grim but focused. “Tell the aerial teams to scour every border between here and the plains. We need to get ahold of her before her father's loyalists do.”
Neteyam didn't wait for his father to finish. Ignoring the burning agony in his chest, he bolted out of the biolab. Jake and Neytiri chased after him as he sprinted up the winding pathways toward the ikran roost.
“Neteyam,” Jake called, throwing the comms through the air. Neteyam caught it with his good hand. “Wait for the scouts to give you an update!”
“Thanks, dad,” Neteyam yelled back, his voice raw.
“Come home safely. Both of you...” Neytiri begged from the platform below, her voice cracking.
Neteyam leaped onto his Ikran, his bond snapping into place with frantic urgency.
The flight was a blur of agonizing waiting. Neteyam cursed himself for choosing his Ikran over a direhorse, realizing too late that the thick canopy made it nearly impossible to spot a single figure from the air. For thirty agonizing minutes, he flew in erratic patterns, his heart hammering against his ribs, until the comms clicked to life.
“Neteyam, we have a visual. She’s at the rocky creek near the old boundary. We are moving to secure her—”
“No!” Neteyam barked into the mic, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Do not approach her. Give me the coordinates. I will deal with my wife on my own.”
Receiving the location, he drove his ikran into a steep dive, landing the beast in a clearing a short distance from the water. He threw himself off the saddle, his long strides breaking through the damp ferns as he sprinted toward the sound of rushing water.
And there you were.
You were sitting on a wet stone by the edge of the creek, looking incredibly small, pale, and exhausted. Your eyes were heavily swollen and puffy from a night of what seemed like endless crying. Your old longbow lay on the moss beside you. You were crouched low, scooping cold water into your palms to wash your mouth, when the rustle of leaves caught your attention.
Your eyes snapped up, locking onto his towering figure across the shallow water. You gasped, instinctively flinching and rearing back.
New, hot tears instantly swelled in your eyes as your gaze landed on the thick white bandages wrapping his torso, and the dark red spot of blood seeping through his chest. A wave of profound, crushing shame washed over you. Your father had done that. Your bloodline had brought that violence to his family. It didn't matter that you had killed the monster; the stain of the betrayal felt permanent.
“Don't come near me,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you held up a trembling hand when he stepped straight into the freezing, ankle-deep water, his gaze brazen and unyielding.
“Why?” he asked stubbornly.
“It's just... you shouldn't be with me,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around your own torso as if trying to hold yourself together.
He tilted his head, his expression softening into something intensely possessive. “Too bad. I want to be with you.”
“Neteyam, please,” you cried, shaking your head violently as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. “It is a disgrace! My people are traitors. My father wounded you, he almost took your life! My blood is that of a traitor’s... and I am so scared... I am so terrified that this life inside of me will take after my blood—”
“What?” Neteyam stopped dead in the middle of the creek.
The word hit him like a physical blow. You were rambling, your words pouring out so fast that his head began to spin, a sudden, loud ringing filling his ears. His golden eyes slowly dropped from your face, tracking down the length of your body until they rested on your flat abdomen. He closed his eyes for a single, heavy second, drawing in a long, deep breath through his nose to steady his racing mind.
The gravity of what you had just done crashed over him. You had traveled a distance that should have taken days in a matter of hours. You had risked your life, riding alone into a hostile camp, carrying out a flawless execution under the noses of an entire warrior council. You could have been captured. You could have been killed.
And through all of that terrifying danger, you were carrying his child.
“You are pregnant?” he asked, his voice dropping into a small, breathless whisper as his eyes snapped open again.
“I... I didn't know,” you whimpered, your fingers wrangling together in a fit of nervousness. “I just learned it now. I threw up so much... I don't know, I can feel it...”
“You are pregnant,” he repeated, a massive, overwhelming whoosh of air rushing out of his lips.
That's it. He lunged across the remaining stretch of the shallow creek, his powerful legs churning through the water until he reached your side. Before you could even take another step back, his large, good arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward until your body slammed directly into the solid wall that was his body.
He pulled back just enough to cup your jaw with his fingers, tilting your face up, and kissed you hard. It was a deep, fiercely possessive, and desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his relief and love into your lips.
“Baby,” he breathed against your mouth, his forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved. “You are amazing. And you are lethal. You have always been. But I need you to never, ever do something like this again.” He let out a breathless, emotional laugh. “A bullet and an arrow haven't killed me yet, but you doing this might actually finish me off.”
You buried your face into his neck, sobbing uncontrollably as the immense weight of the last hours finally collapsed. “I wanted to be there last night,” you wept, your hands carefully gripping his shoulders, mindful of his injury. “I wanted to hold your hand so much... but I needed to catch my father at the very height of what he thought was his victory. I had to end it.”
Neteyam wrapped his arm tighter around you, burying his face into your hair, his own tears finally slipping down his cheeks. “I love you,” he mumbled fiercely into your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”
You pulled your head back, looking up into his golden eyes, your own twinkling with a mixture of exhaustion and profound love. You pushed up on your tiptoes, capturing his lips again, deepening the kiss as you mumbled, “I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much.”
When the kiss finally broke, Neteyam gently wiped the stray tears from your cheeks. “Do you want to go back home now?”
You nodded instantly, the word home finally feeling absolute.
“Are you... are you mad at my mother?” he asked softly, watching your expression carefully.
You shook your head, a soft, understanding smile touching your lips. “Mad? Why? I understood her anger, and I understood her reaction. She was simply a mother who was terrified of losing her firstborn child. I would have done the same.”
Neteyam’s chest swelled with an intense, overwhelming pride. The sheer capacity of your heart, after everything you had endured, left him entirely awed. He held you tightly against his good side as he guided you back toward his ikran. Your direhorse was left to be brought back by the Omatikaya warriors who had been tracking you from a distance.
When the ikran finally landed on the high platforms of Hometree, Jake, Neytiri, and Tuk were already waiting at the roost.
The moment the beast settled, Neytiri stepped forward, her face tense, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she prepared to offer a formal, deeply humbled apology to you, but Neteyam didn't give her the chance. The moment he dismounted, his large frame moved directly in front of you, shielding your body from his family's view.
“I need to take her straight to Mo'at,” he announced, his voice firm, carrying the absolute authority of a mate protecting his own. “She needs to be checked immediately. Especially given her... sensitive case right now.”
Tuk tilted her head, her big eyes darting around Neteyam’s torso to look at you. “Y/N? Are you okay?”
You smiled warmly, stepping out from behind your husband's protective shoulder to look down at the little girl. “I am okay, Tuk. And I have some very great news for a brave warrior who guarded her brother so well.”
The family followed in a quiet, tense procession as Neteyam led you straight to the quiet upper tiers where Mo'at sat by the hearth. She didn't even need to touch you. The moment her wise eyes landed on your posture, and the subtle, protective way Neteyam’s hand was resting against the small of your back, a knowing, radiant smile broke across her weathered face.
“You are here to confirm a pregnancy? I had been waiting to be asked for moons.”
Tuk instantly let out a joyous shriek, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “A playmate! I knew it!” she cheered, her laughter echoing through the quiet pavilion.
But while Tuk celebrated, the confirmation only made Neytiri’s chest tighten with a deeper, agonizing wave of guilt. She realized that your ride into danger had been undertaken at such a vulnerable state. Later that evening, as the stars began to blanket the skies, Neytiri found you sitting alone on the edge of the healing platform. She approached silently, her ears pressed back in true humility.
“Y/N,” Neytiri began, her powerful voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. “I have no words to excuse my behavior. I allowed my fear for my son to blind me and I am... deeply sorry for the pain I caused you.”
Your expression was entirely peaceful as you reached out, placing your hand over hers. “There is nothing to apologize for, Neytiri. We both had the exact same interest at heart. His safety amd protection. You reacted out of love for your son, and I reacted out of love for my husband. If I were in your position, I would have done far worse.”
Neytiri stared at you for a long moment, a profound respect cementing between the two of you as she squeezed your hand in return. “I have no doubt, daughter. I have no doubt.”
The rest of your pregnancy was a beautiful journey. Your bond with Neytiri had grown deeper as moons passed by, replacing the cold, rigid relationship you had with your mother. Although, there were times you missed her, there was no one in that clan you still wanted to see except for Tarluk.
The last of Neteyam’s intelligence reports regarding Tarluk said that he had escaped after your father’s assassination and the short period of anarchy that followed it. Neteyam assured you that he had sent word to allied clans to give him notice should a lone man wander near their borders.
You had refused to stress yourself further as your pregnancy progressed though. Not when Neteyam has became utterly insufferable in his doting. He refused to let you carry anything heavier than a piece of fruit and followed you to every single healing lesson with Mo'at.
“You are leaning too far forward,” Neteyam murmured, his deep baritone vibrating right against your ear. His large hand reached around your waist, gently but firmly pulling your torso back against his solid chest. “Mo'at said you need to keep your spine straight so the weight doesn't strain your lower back.”
You let out a soft huff, a small smile tugging at your lips even as you tried to maintain your serious expression. “Neteyam, I am grinding roots, not fighting an ikran. My spine is perfectly fine.”
“I am just making sure,” he replied smoothly, completely unbothered by your teasing. He took the heavy stone pestle right out of your fingers. “Here. Let me do the heavy grinding. You shouldn't be straining your wrists.”
And he did not miss an evening without pressing his face against your growing belly, whispering long stories to the life moving inside you.
“Pea is quiet tonight,“ he whispered, his voice incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he used with the hunters. He flattened his large palm over your skin, his eyes closing as he felt the steady, rhythmic pulse of the life inside you.
“This little seed was kicking all afternoon while you were at the border,” you murmured, your fingers gently tangling into the dark braids at the nape of his neck. “I think Pea misses the sound of your voice.”
Neteyam’s lips tilted into a proud, boyish smile against your skin. He nuzzled his nose against your stomach, clearing his throat quietly.
“Listen closely, little one,” he began, speaking directly to your belly. “Today, Papa flew high into the floating mountains. The wind was fierce, the kind that tries to steal your breath. I brought with me Mama’s longbow, and when you are big enough, I am going to show you the clearing where your mother showed me how fiercely she can shoot. She struck the farthest target dead in the center, the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.”
You felt a sudden, familiar flutter beneath his palm. A distinct, sharp little thump from the inside.
Neteyam’s eyes snapped open, his golden gaze lighting up with absolute, pure wonder. “Did you feel that? Pea heard me."
“As always,“ you whispered, your heart aching with a love so profound it felt heavy.
He leaned up, shifting his weight so he was hovering over you, his eyes dark with an intense, unyielding adoration. He pressed his lips to yours, a slow, deeply reassuring kiss that tasted of the sweet fruit you had shared earlier.
“You are everything,” he murmured against your mouth, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone. “Both of you.”
When your labor finally arrived several moons later, he had completely lost his cool. He was so frantic, so entirely out of his element, pacing the pavilion and checking your vitals every two seconds, that Mo'at and Kiri eventually had to physically shove him out of the tent because his chaotic energy was stressing you out more than the contractions.
But when the final moments came, he was right there beside you. He held your hand with a trembling grip, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of terror and absolute reverence as you gave one final, powerful push.
A sharp, clear cry echoed through the kelku, cutting through the warm night air.
Mo'at smiled, carefully lifting the tiny, squirming bundle and wiping her down before placing her directly onto your chest. Neteyam leaned over you, his hot tears spilling onto your shoulder as he looked down at his newborn daughter. She was perfectly made, a beautiful little girl with your delicate features, but he can see how she got his defined stripes.
Neteyam pressed his lips to your sweaty forehead, his hand resting over both you and the baby. “She is perfect and strong, baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking with an endless devotion. “Just like her mother.”
S: As a marine biologist, your love for the ocean can't be sustained by Earth, whose own oceans were plagued by death and pollution. So, when given the chance to, you go to Pandora to study its seas instead. But after you accidentally cross Metkayina territory, you find yourself caught up in a war you never could have prepared for.
And make promises you'll do anything to keep.
SPOILERS FOR AVATAR: FIRE AND ASH
cw: fem/afab reader, enemies to friends to lovers, language barrier, avatar/human reader, marine biologist reader, angst & fluff, childbirth, parenthood, adoption, fix-it fic, Ronal lives, nursing/lactation/breastfeeding, see full list on ao3
wc: 16.3k
part 1
The sun was at its peak when you were called to join Tonowari and Ronal the next day, and you were surprised to find the one and only Jake Sully off to the side, talking with them in low tones.
He looked at you as you came over and straightened, uncrossing his arms. By habit, instead of reaching a hand out for you to shake, he gestured to you in the traditional Na'vi way — fingers to his forehead, sweeping out, saying your name.
"You know me?" You questioned, brow furrowing. A bit delayed, you copied his greeting.
He shook his head a bit. "Only as much as these guys told me."
Oh. That was a bit embarrassing.
Floundering, you rubbed the back of your neck. "Right. Um…"
Fuck. What did you say to a man like Jake Sully? He was a living legend, and the RDA's most wanted fugitive. You saw his face plastered on walls and tablets alike, listing him as dangerous, wanted dead or alive. Avoid like the plague, contact the number provided on the posters.
Sensing your internal panic, Tonowari stepped in. "He will be coming with us to talk to the tulkun. His wife, as well."
"How come?" You asked.
"We need the tulkun to fight with us," Jake said. "They're passive now, but we're hoping we can get them to join the battle. For their own sakes."
You pressed your thumb into the center of your other palm, deeper and deeper until it hurt.
You wondered if it was possible. If it'd ever be possible.
You wondered this as you rode with Tonowari on his skimwing, clinging to his midsection. You wondered it as you came to a floating rock, which Tonowari helped you climb onto after Jake and his mate did.
Stillness surrounded you, on this shallow, floating rock. Not peaceful; an eerie muteness, the kind that came before a vengeful storm.
As you looked around, your heart pounded in your chest, against your ribs. Anxiety gnawed at you, your bones, your spirit. Your hands trembled at your sides, and you curled them into tight fists, pressed into your thighs. It was far scarier than when you ran to the village to warn the Metkayina of the oncoming attack. It was bigger than you — any of you.
An energy disrupted the lull, and your head snapped toward movement under the water.
Gigantic, colossal beasts emerged from the sea, rising and rising and rising toward the sky, the sun that lethargically drifted to its spot behind Polyphemus.
You sucked in a sharp gasp, whipping around as you heard more arrive. They towered over your group, incomparably mighty to the tulkun you had seen. They eclipsed the sky, casting shadows as large as them, harsh and encompassing. Like their reef Na'vi counterparts, they bore tattoos along their monumental bodies, but the one in the center differed in that impressive rings were pierced into its mouth, hanging in chains to connect further down to other piercings. Massive swaths of red fabric draped from the piercings, too.
The matriarchs.
Tonowari waved a hand at you for you to kneel, and you dropped down, afraid to insult them.
"Go. Tell them. I will translate," he said, motioning tersely to the great creature.
You swallowed thickly and cleared your throat, your trembling worsening. Now or never.
"Matriarchs," you called out, maybe too loudly. From your peripherals, you saw Tonowari signing your words to them. "I come bear— bearing a warning. The R— the humans, sky people, they plan to attack you. They will attack the tulkun during calf communion."
A rumble rippled through you, powerful enough to shake your ribs, knock you back onto your haunches.
"They want to kill you," you coughed out.
Jake took over.
"Great Matriarch," he summoned them, Tonowari following his every word. His voice was stronger than yours, more confident, more serious. "Wise elders. The sky people are coming. Here, today. Right now."
He took a breath.
"To kill our tulkun families."
The words bit at your heart like daggers, sharp tips piercing soft, vulnerable flesh.
"I beg you," he continued. "Fight with us."
The Matriarch thought on his request, then vocalized an answer in return.
Tonowari translated for her. "She said, 'we respect Toruk Makto, but our ways are ancient'." The Matriarch rumbled again, and he continued, "'We believe that killing will only bring more killing, in an endless, expanding spiral'."
Jake grit his teeth, his tail lashing behind him. "Hear my words. The Sky People will never stop. Not until the last of the tulkun is hunted."
The Matriarch bellowed, then began to slap her fins against the water, the others following suit.
Spooked, you looked around, and spotted… someone riding in upon a much smaller tulkun. Multiple someones, in fact, all children, teenagers.
"Lo'ak," Neytiri said, gasping.
Lo'ak's — the one at the front, you presumed — tulkun trilled, a pleading sound.
The Matriarch responded, slapping her fins harder. Without Tonowari to translate, you were completely lost.
"Stop!" Lo'ak shouted. "Stop."
"Lo'ak, what are you doing?" Jake growled out. "You can't be here."
"Dad," his son begged. "Dad, wait." To the Matriarch, he said, "I am Brother of tulkun. I have a right to speak."
A girl piped up, defending him. "Lo'ak speaks the truth. You must listen."
"Tsireya!" Tonowari yelled.
The eldest of the tulkun bellowed.
Tonowari frowned. "She says, 'his Brother is outcast'." He turned to Lo'ak. "You have no standing here."
Lo'ak's nose scrunched. "If he is outcast, then I am outcast."
"And I am outcast," Tsireya followed.
Ronal balked. "Daughter, silence."
"No!" Tsireya cried out. "You will never see me again."
You saw as fear, true and primal, struck Ronal.
Another boy piped up, "And I and my Brother are outcast."
"Ao'nung," Tonowari barked.
The last tailed the rest. "And we are also outcast."
Ronal put a hand to her chest, breathing shakily.
Behind you, the Matriarch clicked.
Tonowari took in a breath. "She says, 'you may speak'."
Like his father, Lo'ak started, "Hear my words. My Brother returned to his birth clan to defend them, but his clan was wiped out by the demon ships. Only Ta'nok survived, because she fought back!" He looked to the side, bidding one to join. "Come forward."
A tulkun that stayed submerged rose up and drifted inward.
You slammed a hand against your mouth to suppress a choke.
She, Ta'nok, was covered in scars, deep wounds that serrated her flesh until it could not heal over fully, exposing the pink of her inner body. Several spears stuck out of her back, and—
Her eyes. They were gone.
You tilted your head to the sky, fighting to restrain the tears that flooded your waterline and blurred your vision.
Ta'nok wailed.
With a heavy heart, Tonowari interpreted. "Ta'nok says, 'I speak for the dead mothers and the dead calves. I speak for my people and all our Songs'."
Ta'nok wept, mourning.
"'Gone'." Tonowari exhaled roughly. "'Forever'."
The Matriarch blinked slowly, silent.
Ta'nok proceeded, begging.
"She says, 'I am the last. The blind witness to our end'."
You could see the tears that filled his own eyes, how his throat dipped, a swallow to keep himself steady, resolute.
He sniffled, sitting up. "Ta'nok says, 'the tulkun way must change. Payakan shows our path'." Quieter, after her plea, he repeated for you, "'We must fight'."
Lo'ak echoed, louder. "We must fight!"
The Matriarch rumbled, then the elders began to descend beneath the water.
Panicked, you glanced at them as they retreated, a hand to your sternum. Did you fail? Was that it?
"What did she say?" Jake asked.
Ronal answered. "They will decide."
You pressed your lips together, your tears spilling.
In muteness, you returned with your group to the village, wondering what you could have done different, if there was something to be done differently. It wasn't an outright rejection, but it wasn't an agreement, either. A limbo you feared you'd fall into and never resurface from.
While you were gone, the clan had moved, relocating to a cave closer to where the communion was set to happen.
Where the attack would occur.
You were ushered toward the back of the cave and commanded to help the healers, who gave you tasks of their own. Specifically, Makani was the one ordering you around. Older and wiser than the rest, the others looked to her.
"Kämunge fay," she handed you a large bundle of gauze rolls. "Io tsatseng."
Despite the language barrier, you did as instructed, mostly following visual cues. Carry this here, bring this to her, go with so and so to gather herbs whose names you repeated over and over to yourself, hoping to memorize them.
Women sat in a circle sang together, working fibers into nets, bandages. Roots were ground into paste and covered with leaves. Fruit was cut open, or freed from a thick shell, juice collected inside a thick gourd. Sat to the left of Makani, she passed you dense cords of rope to knot and loop into a basket.
The song itself wasn't morose, but their rhythm was somber, words slowed and sung from deep in the chest.
Brows furrowed, you mouthed along, picking out bits and pieces. Words that repeated, that maybe you could replicate.
Makani noticed.
She observed as you fumbled over the sounds, the pronunciations, under your breath. She moved closer to you, and your mouth closed, ears tilted back. Warmth bit at your cheeks, the urge to apologize overwhelming—
"Ftu."
Your eyebrows pinched together. "What?"
"Ftu," she drew out the word.
It clicked. She wanted you to copy her.
"Fuu," you tried.
She huffed through her nose, the corners of her lips twitching. "Ftu."
"Ftu."
"Srane. Ftu ngeyä…"
"Ftu n— neyyyah?"
She opened her mouth and showed you how her tongue shifted to the back of her throat, covering it as she pronounced it, "Ngeyä."
Oh. Oh, that— that made sense.
"Ngeyah."
"Ä, ke a."
"Ngey…ä. Ftu ngeyä."
She grinned wide, nodding in approval. "Ftu ngeyä txe'lan."
She went slow as she taught you, showing you far more patience than you deserved. Whenever you messed up, she lightly corrected you, and showed you how she did it.
Tx took you a bit to learn. You had click your tongue against the roof of your mouth to make the correct sound. Kx was even worse, the click happening in the back of your mouth. Your attempts earned you a few snickers, but Makani maintained her patient instruction, letting you take your time.
"Ftu ngeyä txe'lan," You sang as she taught you. "What does it mean?"
Setting down the herbal remedy she was working on, she placed a hand to the center of your chest, on your sternum.
"Txe'lan," she said.
"My chest?" You mumbled, piecing it together. Then, your brows raised in understanding. "My heart? Txe'lan is heart?"
To confirm, you put your hand over hers and tapped it in a beat of two. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
She smiled. "Ngeyä txe'lan lu txur."
You copied her, saying it back. Fond, she brushed her hand over your shoulder, and went back to teaching you the song. Having no way to translate what she said, you were left wondering what she meant. At least you knew heart, now.
Txe'lan… what a pretty name for it.
A horn blew, and you lifted your head, confused.
At the mouth of the cave, warriors were mounted on skimwings (tsurak, Makani called them), lined in rows. Ready for battle.
Your teeth dug into your lower lip, chewing into the dry skin. You wished, more than anything, that you could do more to help, but the closest thing you had to any form of combat training was the movies you'd seen back on Earth.
You hated this feeling, this self-directed disgust. It dissolved the fragile lining of your stomach, bled into your veins, trickled into your marrow. It ate you alive, carving a place for itself in the core of your being, a throne of hatred and insecurity and diffidence. It spun a web, invisible and sticky, a predator setting an inescapable trap for its prey.
"Ayfo lu ne salew wem," Makani said, "ulte tìhawnu si ayfo. Tulkun aysmukan ulte aysmuke."
The war had come.
A quiet sort of chaos bloomed in the cave. Those left behind moved back and forth, preparing for the inevitable influx of injured warriors as the battle waged. It took less than an hour for the first of them to arrive.
The singing cut out, replaced by Na'vi yelling to each other, communicating. Warriors were brought in on makeshift gurneys, carried over shoulders, or dragged across the soil, healers racing from person to person to treat each as they came. A man screamed as stringy fibers were lodged into a bullet hole on his side. A woman fought against the healers, eager to return to the battle in spite of the gash running from her left shoulder to her right hip.
You—
You were stuck in place, frozen, unsure of how to help, what to do. Your heart thundered in your throat, clogging it, making it difficult to breathe.
What do I do, what do I—
Makani grabbed your arm, her face severe. "Za'u!" She shouted, and ran toward an opening at the side of the cave.
Unthinking, you went after her.
You took the path she did, nearly tripping along the way, your body unused to traversing the rocky terrain. Water spray hit your thigh and hip as you skidded outside, where two others were helping a hunter off of tsurak. He had a nasty wound on his back, and a metal harpoon spear had lodged itself in his upper arm.
"Mawey!" Makani said. "Munge tsamsiyu fìtseng!"
You ran into the shallow water, skirting around the tsurak (i.e. jumping over its tail) to get to the opposite side, where the warrior's foot had gotten stuck in the saddle.
The tsurak squirmed and thrashed, forcing you to cover your face so it wouldn't spray it. "It's okay, it's okay," you told it, a hopeless plea for it to calm down. Getting between its wing-like fins proved a lesson in futility in avoiding getting wet, and you clenched your jaw, lunging forward to reach the saddle.
You yanked the leather, allowing the healers to pull him free. The tsurak, sensing its rider was gone, slammed its tail harshly and kicked off into the water once more.
Wading through the water, you reached for the hand held out to you, fingers brushing.
A whistle sounded overhead.
One second, there was an impossibly bright light.
The next, you crashed into the sea, liquid barely having time to move out of the way. It enveloped you, drowned your senses until there was a swirling blackness you couldn't discern up from down in. A terrible bellow followed after the lightning, a thunderous roar that rattled your skeleton, left your ears ringing in pain.
Somewhere in the depths of your subconscious, you were aware that an explosion happened.
It detonated against the wall of the cliffside the cave was hidden under, and its shockwave blew you into the water, a temporary, entire loss of stimuli, a flickering in your brain as your head hit the water. Whether unconscious for a second or a minute, you were beneath the waves, dazed, floating along the brash current.
Your body twitched, sensation returning to your limbs one by one, yet true feeling remained elusive.
You were descending, lower, lower, clutched too tightly in vise you could not escape from. It sat on your breastbone, a gentle, downward push, encouraging you into a squeezing pressure that compressed your ribcage, threatened to puncture your hollow lungs with sharp bones.
Above you, flames dance on the surface, refracting into odd, geometric shapes. They broke apart and recombined, fibers split from a weft, then brushed back into a solid entity.
It mesmerized you.
Beautiful, in an otherworldly way.
Your fingers fluttered, longing to touch the fire, feel its warmth in this all-devouring frost.
To your side, glowing movement caught your attention.
You slowly turned your head, and saw yellow fish darting back and forth, their bodies illuminating the dark space around them. They led and followed each other in equal measure, traipsing their way to you. They circled you, then sprang away, back and forth. Some nudged your cheeks, your arms, your tail. They nipped your ears and toes until you chose to lazily, languidly, lethargically trail after them.
Weakened, you could only go so fast. They acted impatient, tickling your spine, the soles of your feet. You kicked in response, propelling yourself forward.
Up ahead, you could barely make out the shape of… something. Large, reaching too down to see how deep it went. Your hands contacted rough stone, and the fish dispersed, leaving you alone.
You broke through the water, coughing violently and wetly, sucking in chestfuls of air. You tasted the salt in your esophagus, the rough scratch of it on the sensitive mucosal lining of your nasopharynx. You lugged yourself ashore, knees and elbows scraped by the raw rock.
You were alive. Somehow, by some miracle, you survived the blast.
And… and the fish led you to safety. Or, relative safety, where you had a chance to recover.
Shaky, fawn legs climbed under you, joints protesting as you forced yourself to stand. You choked out excess mucus, spitting its salty adhesiveness onto the stones.
Looking around, you saw the fight blazing on the horizon, a massive battleship getting sucked into the flux vortex. Its hull was being torn apart, large chunks of paneling shooting into the sky.
Tulkun, too, were fighting.
They breached and twisted, landing their solid, heavy bodies onto smaller ships and boats, submerging them into a grim fate.
Then, to your right, you heard gasping.
You whipped your head towards it, and the world dropped out from under you.
Ronal was propped up against the rocks, a hand cradling her rounded stomach, the other clutching at a spear lodged in her collarbone.
You staggered towards her, her name leaving you in a frail, gravelly croak.
Kneeling beside her, she told you in no uncertain terms, "I am dying."
"No," you whispered. No, it— it wasn't possible, it wasn't.
Ronal was unbreakable, a fortress. Her castle walls touched the sky, their palisades sharpened into piercing points that would bleed out any enemy that dared approach.
"I am dying," she hissed. "But not before I deliver this baby."
You jolted into action, a puppet on strings, an unspeaking being telling you what to do.
Positioning yourself between her legs, you propped her foot up on your thigh and held the other open, tearing strips of her loincloth out of the way. She groaned, head tilting back to expose her throat as her stomach contracted.
You didn't know what drove you to help her. You didn't know what you were doing at all, but instinct steered you.
"I see it," you said, the babe crowning. "Push."
Ronal panted, and gave her all. Her strength was dwindling fast, too fast, and you clasped your fingers around hers.
"Again," you bid. "Again!"
For the first, and possibly last time, she listened to you.
With a cry, she pushed, and you quickly went to catch her baby.
Jesus, it was so small. A crumb. A new life.
You placed the newborn on Ronal's chest, supporting her arms as she held her baby.
"A girl," you said. "It's a girl."
Ronal shuddered, breathing shaky, uneven. "Pril. Her name is Pril."
Hazy eyes found yours, her pupils blown wide, lids heavy.
"You will protect her?" She asked you.
Whether it was out of trust, or because you were the only one present, it didn't matter.
"I promise," you vowed. "I'll protect her. I'll keep her safe. I'll get you back."
Ronal shook her head. "No. It is time for me to go. I cannot…"
You caught Pril a second time as Ronal went lax, her voice drifting off as she did. Cursing, you took the strips of fabric you'd ripped off Ronal's loincloth and made a shoddy, but functioning sling from them, one-handed at that. As soon as Pril was secured, you stood, and grabbed Ronal's arm on her uninjured side.
Grunting, you hauled her up, feet slipping on the wet rocks. She weighed too much for you, but you endured, resisted the gravity that threatened to splinter the joints in your knees.
"I will not let you die," you growled at her. Pril cried on your chest, and once you had Ronal's arm securely wrapped around your shoulder, you encased Pril's back in your palm, keeping her close as you bore Ronal's unconscious, slack weight, one step forward, the next, again, again, again.
The skerry you were on connected to the cave via a thin, submerged sand bar. Seconds, minutes, hours passed as you carried both Na'vi, your breaths coming in erratic, spasmic heaves.
At the edge of the cave, your voice echoed, breaking at its edges.
"Help!" You screeched, pleading, desperate. "Srung!"
The adrenaline could only carry you so far. You could feel Ronal's weight beginning to bring you down, your feet fumbling beneath you, slipping on the wet .
"I need help!" Tears were flowing down your cheeks, their paths searing you. "Please. Please, someone help me."
Just as you felt your knees were going to buckle, the dead weight becoming too much for you, it was lifted. You sobbed in relief, able to wrap both your arms around Pril's tiny body, cradling her to your chest.
Na'vi surrounded you, frenetically assessing the state of their tsahìk. Orders were shouted. One girl pressed a hand to Ronal's sternum, stock still.
"Po rusey!" She yelled.
All at once, havoc erupted. Multiple people helped carry Ronal, running towards the pop-up healing huts as quickly as they could without jostling her.
No sooner than you had been surrounded were you alone once more.
Only then did your knees give out, hitting the stone with a resounding crack. You hardly noticed the pain.
Pril fussed, wailing with all the might of her extraordinarily small lungs, squirming. You crushed her to your chest and cried, your face contorting from the effort.
"Oh, baby," you wept, pressing your ear to her head, bringing her to rest against your collarbone. "Oh, babygirl, my baby."
You cried, sat alone until someone came to retrieve you.
Tsireya.
Her eyes were wet, red-lined, brows furrowed, but she kept her tears at bay.
She knelt in front of you, her hands settling on your biceps.
"She lives," she whispered to you. "Because of you. You saved her."
You drew in a shuddering breath, and Tsireya sat patiently with you, not rushing you. She let you take the time you needed to calm down, for your cries to reduce to stuffy sniffles. As you calmed, so did Pril, sensing your heart slowing down and your breathing balancing.
"I can take her," Tsireya said, moving towards Pril.
She'll take her from you.
Panicked, you jerked back, causing the girl to blink in surprise.
"No," you rasped. "No, I c-can't. I can't. I'm sorry, I— I promised."
Her lips parted in understanding, and she nodded. "Okay. Okay, it is okay."
You exhaled, a leaden release from your core, and the exhaustion slammed into you like a massive wave, towing you under.
Saying no more, she helped you rise, her hands on your elbows as she walked backwards, guiding you further into the cave the village tucked away into. She led you into a different hut, the inside almost stiflingly warm. You sat down by the smoldering fire, instinctively rocking Pril.
Again, she reached for Pril, but did not take her. "May I?"
You opened and closed your mouth, resisting the urge to squeeze Pril tighter.
Seeing your reluctance, she clarified, "I will not take her from you. But I must check to make sure she is healthy. Only that, I promise."
You gnawed on your lip, looking down at the infant. She was so small, barely the size of both of your hands. You knew it was for the best to let Tsireya examine her, make sure there was nothing wrong, but it was hard to turn off the part of your brain screaming to never let her go.
Tentatively, you passed the baby over, obsessively ensuring her head was supported. Tsireya smiled at you placatingly, and rose, walking to a nearby mat.
For the moment, you slumped, exhaling a heavy breath. It came from deep inside, wrested from your very core.
It was all beginning to get to you, this all-devouring weight.
The adrenaline crash was brutal, winding you, and all you could do was sniffle and wipe at your eyes and nose with shaking, sore, tired hands. Your stomach clenched with nausea, being separated from Pril, but you tried to reassure yourself that she was right across the hut, not even ten feet away.
You watched, world-weary and beat, as Tsireya checked over her baby sister. She bent each of her little limbs at the joints, testing their range of motion. Skilled fingers massaged her tummy, feeling for any internal abnormalities.
Pril made small noises of discomfort, but did not cry or wriggle too much. Tsireya snapped her fingers beside each of Pril's ears, the appendages twitching at the noise in reaction.
Seemingly satisfied, Tsireya picked her up, and brought her back to you. Grateful, you took her again, immensely relieved to feel her featherlight weight settled on your arms.
"You must rest," Tsireya urged.
Once more, you sighed, peering down at Pril. The little one shifted, getting comfortable, then let out her own sigh. You smiled tiredly at the sound.
"Okay," you responded, too drained to fight.
The young girl helped you scoot over towards an open spot in the hut, tucked out of the way. She put down a fur hide for you, and propped up a few rolled up mats behind you for you to lean on.
"I will bring milk to feed her," she promised. You hummed in acknowledgment, and the girl rose up. She gave you one more worried, hesitant look, then left.
Fuck.
What were you going to do?
For some time, you sat with that thought, the words bouncing in an echo chamber that provided no answer, gave you nothing. You didn't know. You just… didn't know.
The quiet of the night was disturbed.
Tonowari burst into the hut, eyes rapidly darting around the space. He was panting, alarmed, until his gaze found you.
All at once, he deflated, his shoulders slumping.
On heavy feet, he closed the distance between you, and dropped to his knees. A hand settled on your shoulder, and for a long while, you both peered at Pril as she slept, taking in her presence, her little breaths, her curled fists. She was nuzzled into the cushion of your breast, allayed by the warmth of your skin.
Earlier, you removed your top, allowing the infant full contact. You figured the woven garment would be uncomfortable for her.
You couldn't find it in yourself to be embarrassed or ashamed, not caring that Tonowari could see your naked chest. You were sure it would haunt you for the rest of your life later, but at the moment, it didn't matter.
Eventually, he adjusted himself to sit cross-legged beside you, his hand absentmindedly drifting to the back of your neck.
"I owe you a debt I can never repay," he said, his voice drawn into a low rumble, wary of waking Pril.
You dragged your stare away from Pril, searching his expression. "What?"
"My mate, my other half," he hushed. "She lives because of you. Our daughter lives because of you. In this life and the next, I will never be able to repay this debt. No words exist to tell you how grateful I am to you."
You frowned. "No," you whispered. "No, it's— you don't owe me anything. I… I only did what anyone would."
He shook his head, insistent. "The People's tsahìk survived. A great loss has been prevented. A life did not have to be exchanged for another."
You blinked at him slowly, dry and heavy.
It did not feel as though you did something, anything, good. You felt like you were a failure. A mess. An ill omen on the People of this clan. Maybe, if not for you, Ronal would never have been injured. She never would have been so close to slipping into death's embrace.
You'd argue about the apparent debt later. Insist he owed you nothing. If anything, you owed him and his wife everything.
His rough, strong fingers massaged into the aching, tight muscle of your trapezius, and you held back a groan, the noise trapped in the bottom of your throat. He applied a heavenly pressure, one that you leaned back into, lashes fluttering shut.
Kindly, he continued, the painfulness beginning to ebb away under his skillful touch.
At some point, Tsireya returned, holding a small gourd with a narrow tip.
She passed it to Tonowari, who waited for you to reposition Pril before giving it to you.
Using your thumb, you rubbed her chubby cheek back and forth, coaxing her awake. She whined, twisting and writhing. Her mouth opened, and she took a few quick breaths, as if preparing to cry.
You placed the nozzle against her bottom lip, letting her find it herself. Once she closed her mouth around it, you tilted it up, allowing the milk to flow. She suckled, calming down as she tasted the milk and figured out what it was.
Nestled in the crook of your elbow, she drank her fill contentedly, so innocent and blissfully unaware of the evils wrought unto this world, the world she had been born into mere hours ago.
"I can't take care of her, not like this," you said softly.
Tonowari's brow furrowed. The fingers of his free hand lightly rubbed at one of Pril's feet. "What do you mean?"
You drew in a long breath. "This body. I can't… I can't take care of her if I'm trapped between two places," you explained, voice hoarse from your earlier crying.
"What do you suggest?" He asked.
The request sat heavy on your mind, for more reasons than one.
To start with, you didn't even know if he'd be willing to help you. You didn't know what went into the process to begin with, having only heard of it down the pipeline of rumors and through the proof of images.
Second, it was… hard to fathom, to reckon with.
The idea seemed so distant and far-fetched. It was like trying to visualize death, to imagine what it'd be like. Your brain just couldn't grasp onto the idea properly, viewing it as more of a dream than a possible reality.
And you'd be losing yourself. Forever.
Not you, but… you. The you that you had known all your life, the one you saw in the mirror, the one sleeping in a gel bed in some neglected shack on some one-off island. You'd be losing the part of you that was entirely you, not just 50% of your DNA spliced with 50% Na'vi DNA.
But in the short time that you had Pril, the hours you kept her to your heart, you knew you had to. You couldn't take care of two bodies while tending to a baby. You couldn't split yourself apart, live a life in that body and another in this. It wasn't possible in any existence.
You had to do it.
"Jake Sully," you spoke his name as if it was dangerous. It was dangerous. "I want to do what he did."
Tonowari's hand stilled on your neck. "The transfer ceremony?"
"Yes," you confirmed.
His jaw fluttered, teeth grinding together. "Are you certain? This is not a decision to be made lightly. It cannot be undone."
A single tear escaped, tracking down your cheek.
"I have to," you said with finality. "I have to. For her."
He lightly squeezed the back of your neck, persuading you to look at him.
"I will help," he promised. "It will be done."
You sagged in relief, your eyelids closing. You were terrified, of course you were, how could you not be?
But you were more scared of what would happen if you didn't. What would become of Pril.
She needed you.
Maybe you needed her, too.
"Thank you," you whispered.
Tonowari gave no reply, but he stayed with you, keeping watch. He stayed until Pril finished eating, and instructed you on how to burp her properly, praising you as you patted her back. The infant grumbled the whole time, and you two shared a quiet laugh at her displeasure.
Afterwards, he took the gourd, placing it aside. He coerced a stray piece of your hair to move away, unsticking it from the sweat and tears of your skin.
"Rest," he instructed. "In this body, and your human one. Tsireya will stay with you tonight to watch over Pril."
As he said it, the curtain over the door was moved aside, allowing Tsireya to enter. She was carrying a basket full of various materials, and though she looked tired herself, she certainly had much more energy than you.
"You won't take her?" You asked her.
She shook her head. "No. I will stay here. I will not go anywhere, and she will not either."
"And you won't allow anyone else to take her."
"I will not."
Somewhat eased, you mumbled your agreement, and let Tonowari help you lay down. For now, you were allowed to keep holding Pril, who had fallen back asleep.
"Tomorrow," he said. "At dawn. We will perform the ceremony."
It didn't give you much time to sleep, neither in this body nor the other, but it'd be enough. No matter what time, you'd be there.
"Thank you," you repeated your gratitude again.
He rubbed your bicep in farewell, then rose, saying something to Tsireya that was too soft for you to hear. You were quickly fading, anyway, the muted noises around you drifting away until blackness took hold.
And you were awake in your human body once more.
Dawn came slowly, too slowly, yet all far too soon.
You woke bleary-eyed and bone tired, sleep having evaded you all night. What was to come haunted you, playing in your mind on a broken track, looping at the part where you'd be separated from yourself to become a seed planted in a being only half yours.
You were going to die.
There was no two-ways about it. The truth of the matter was that at least one part of you was going to meet its end. If the transfer didn't work, then… then you'd truly die. And you doubted Eywa would welcome you into her arms to live amongst her children within her.
You avoided thinking about that outcome as much as you could, though it scratched at the inner walls of your skull like nails on chalkboard.
It wasn't a choice.
Pril needed you.
You promised.
You vowed to a dying Ronal that you would guard Pril with your life. Maybe becoming a pseudo-parent wasn't part of the request, but you meant what you said. You'd use your life, every fiber of your being, to be her sentinel, her shield against all in the world that would dare try harm her.
You'd worry about what came next when you reached it, bridges yet to be reached, uncrossed.
For now, all you could do was survive.
There were only two instances of an attempted transference of consciousness from human body to avatar. An abysmal pool to gather data from, but the coin flip was clear.
Heads or tails.
50% chance you die. 50% chance you live.
More or less.
For Grace Augustine, may she rest in peace, it was evident why she didn't make it. Even you knew the story of the great doctor and her attempt, how she was too injured, too close to the gateway between worlds, to endure the transfer.
You weren't harmed, your body was in one piece.
It didn't take away the fear. The terror.
You were afraid. Lying about it helped nothing, nobody, least of all yourself.
For Pril, you reminded yourself. For her.
For her mother, who could not cuddle and dote upon her daughter herself. For her father, whose threads were pulled near snapping by his duties as leader to a clan suffering from war.
And maybe, just maybe, for yourself, too. For a chance to live a life unburdened by the weight of what you were before you came to Pandora. What awaited you at the end of your rotation. For a chance to breathe this sweet air always, and never have to exist under the oppressive thumb of an organization hellbent on destroying everything they touched.
Resource Development Administration.
They certainly lived up to their name of developing resources. They just never told you that they happily scorched the lands of other planets, other worlds, to harvest what they wanted.
Unobtanium from the forest, amrita from the tulkun.
Life from the very Mother herself.
Running a hand down your face, you groaned, sitting up in the shoddy cot you slept on. Your back and neck ached, and there were deeply grooved impression lines all over your arms and legs.
You envied your avatar body, All it had to do to sleep was have you disconnect.
Though, you supposed that would change today.
As you got out of bed, ruffled and disgruntled, a tentative hand rapped on the window of the shack. You spotted a Na'vi outside, one of the two that guarded the shack and, subsequently, your human self.
Not bothering to eat, you donned an exo-pack and let the shack pressurize before opening the door and stepping outside.
It felt weird, being out here in this form. The air felt different on your skin, and breathing was harder through the mask, the filtered oxygen tasting vaguely dusty and of metal.
"Ayoe zene salew," He said. You barely picked out a couple words, but you knew what he meant.
A little ways off the beach, your other guard awaited, sat on an ilu. Another one was beside him, his hand lightly stroking its head.
The first man gently lifted you onto the back of the second ilu, then climbed on himself behind you, making tsaheylu.
"Niä sìn," he instructed.
You grabbed onto the two thick queues of the ilu, holding on as tightly as you could.
At once, they both dived beneath the waves. Instinctively, you held your breath until you no longer could, and exhaling sharply to suck in fresh air. You initially expected the mask to flood, drown you in your own contained sea, but it held steady, filtering air from the water to provide to you.
The ocean drifted past you. Fish and otterfins, zukzuk, swam in and out of large, bell-shaped flora, or twirled between stretching reeds. Sea anemonoids swayed to and fro, the tides merciful, too delicate to rend them from their perches on colorful corals.
A Nom's Delight proudly displayed its tendrils, teal blue and adept at catching plankton.
In the middle of it all was you, both so out of place and right where you belonged.
In another life, somewhere far from here, another universe, another timeline — you liked to think that in that life, you were born in the sea, and lived among its residents. A native to the boundless cerulean, at home where you were happy and free.
But that girl lived another life, and you lived this one.
This one where you were transported to the Metkayina's most sacred, valued place.
Their Spirit Tree was beautiful.
It swayed gently in the current, its fronds extending far and wide, glowing a mellow and serene violet. Pink veins ran along the middles of the fronds, spreading out in nourishing tendrils.
Tonowari was already there, prepared. Some healers were also nearby, as well as Ao'nung. You wondered where Tsireya was, then realized she was likely with Pril. You hoped, anyway. That was all you had, nowadays.
Hope.
Tonowari had brought your avatar with him. She was curled into a fetal position, eyes closed, her queue connected to one of the fronds. Periodically, she twitched, but otherwise did not move. You would have freaked out if she did, really. If she awoke without you in her, developing a soul of her own.
Leaving you behind, stuck in this body.
You slipped off the ilu when prompted to, and Tonowari took your hand, pulling you towards him and the Spirit Tree.
He made a strange gesture, expanding his chest without breathing in. It took you a second to figure out he wanted you to take a deep breath, so you followed suit, doing it as many times as he wanted you to.
Then, he nudged you towards the Tree, pressing your back against a frond close to your avatar. He pulled others closer, too, wrapping your body in them to keep you against the Tree.
You were sure it felt strange, wrong, for him to be doing this without his tsahìk and mate to guide the ceremony. You were immensely grateful he agreed to do it in spite of this. He must have known enough about it to know how to do it himself, with few others present.
Hope was all you had, and you could only hope it would be enough.
There was only one signed word Tonowari had taught you, in preparation for this. There wasn't enough time to teach you more, and you really only needed one.
Ready? He signed.
"Yes," you said back, and clumsily signed the word back.
He smiled at you, then drifted toward the Tree. He brought his own kuru from over his shoulder, allowing it to bond with it. The others nearby followed suit, lending their strength, their desire, to the living wonder.
You took one more deep breath, closed your eyes, and let the ocean consume you whole.
At first, nothing happened. There was darkness, and the faint pulse of the Tree at your back, but little else.
Just as you began to worry, you felt a zap go through your entire body, muscles stiffening before going completely limp.
You felt as though you had been pulled from your body, your soul ripped clean free and brought into a vast expanse where nothing and everything existed simultaneously, harmoniously. You floated here, a universe at your fingertips, yet so far away, untouchable.
You gasped, whipping around, searching for… something.
In the far distance, you saw it:
A light.
Tender, velvet violet, it thumped in time to a heartbeat, one you hadn't noticed until it was all you could hear, not your own breath, not your own heart.
A moth to flame, you floated to it, captivated and afraid and so deeply, immensely in love. Up close, it veiled everything else, vibrant and alive in a way you had no words to describe.
It was Pandora's nucleus, its essence concentrated into very foundational components.
Its pulse, what kept the land and sea and sky thriving and wondrous. It gave life to everything, and let the energy it gifted come back to it when the time came for the life bearing it above to return.
Was this Eywa? The goddess, the deity, the Na'vi spoke of? Their All Mother?
It called to you, whisper-soft words you couldn't discern kissing your ears, brushing over your hair, leaching into your bloodstream. Unable to resist, you stretched toward it. Your arm changed with each nictation of your eyes, alternating between normal and turquoise.
Come, the choir sang, not so much aloud as implanted in your mind, a coaxing siren you heard and didn't hear. Come to me.
As soon as your fingertips brushed the warm, lavender light, it engulfed you.
It entered your chest, your limbs, your head. It bled into your eyes and ears, and tore your being apart at the molecular level. You were shredded, atoms shorn to be rebuilt anew. The you that existed now ruptured, marrow separated from bone, breath separated from lung.
Sundered.
You shattered, soul and spirit and soma slivered into ribbons.
Death bit into your flesh to rip it to pieces. It entered your mouth, lodged itself in your throat. Your chest spasmed, unable to inhaled the oxygen you needed. Your heart pounded faster and faster, the muscle straining to circulate the cruor inside you. Its beats reduced into feverish pulses.
Then nothing.
Your corpse came to with something covering your mouth and pinching your nose shut.
Eyes snapping open, you glanced around in a panic, trying to find the source of your suffocation.
Tonowari floated before you, expression creased with concern.
He signed something, and you automatically reacted, calming down bit by bit. Once satisfied that you wouldn't thrash and drown yourself in your terror, he nodded to someone. They swam over and retracted an object at your back. Then, they placed a gelatinous form on your back, connecting it to you.
The burning in your chest abated, not quite gone, but muffled.
Pins and needles lingered in your skeleton, as if you were coming out of a long sleep. Your own anatomy was useless to you in the moment, so Tonowari pulled you with him to a tsurak. He sat on the saddle and put you at the front, arm looped around your waist to keep you in place.
The tsurak bolted upward, and you drank in a forceful, almost violent heave of air the second you broke through the ocean's shell.
Gasping, you dug your nails into the saddle, shuddering and lurching.
"Mawey," Tonowari yipped. "Mawey, tanhì oeyä. You are alright. Calm, be calm."
Easier said than done. It took you long minutes to settle down, and you slumped into his chest, wrung dry. Figuratively speaking.
"You did it," he told you. "You passed through Eywa's Eye and came back to us."
Spent, you asked in a weak cadence, "It's done?"
"Yes," he said, hugging you tighter. "It is done."
Relief and grief surged through you, a loss, a gain. Insurmountable, they left you wheezing and sapped of all energy.
You did it. You actually did it.
Had you the wherewithal, you would have cheered, celebrated. You would have supped the air and tasted its sweetness, appreciated the wind on your cheeks, the lapping waves at your ankles.
But you were beaten and worn, finding no more energy to do much but lean back into Tonowari.
"Rest. You survived," Tonowari congratulated you quietly.
So you let yourself relax completely, trusting he'd get you back safely.
The mothers of the clan, whose children weren't much older than Pril, had taken you in.
They taught you their Songs, their language. They laughed when you butchered words, but never at you, encouraging you to try again.
The more experienced mothers taught you how to properly hold Pril, supporting her head and neck. They taught you how to sit her somewhat upright during feedings, saying it was more comfortable.
You asked how, and Lo'koä demonstrated by laying down and drinking water as fast as she could. She started coughing, having to roll onto her side to hack out the excess liquid while the other women laughed hysterically.
"Kame? Ayoe heyn pehrr ayoe naer," See? We sit when we drink. "Nìftxan po sweylu, nìhawng." So she should, too.
Ah. Got it.
They shared their stories, clarifying the parts you didn't understand. You, in turn, shared yours in broken Na'vi. Like Makani had been with you, they were patient, correcting your mistakes with light nudges and accepting smiles.
You asked Ze'te, the main healer looking over Ronal, to call you whenever you could see her. Faithfully, about every three or so days, she'd steal you from the mothers' circle to visit Ronal.
The clan's tsahìk had been unconscious since you brought her, crying for aid.
But you sat next to her, Pril always with you, and spoke to them.
"This is your mom," you told Pril every time. "Sa'nok. She's sleeping right now, but she'll meet you soon. I'm sure she can't wait."
Pril made noises. Not really babbles, she was too young for those, but she grunted and grumbled, entirely uninterested unless it involved eating or sleeping. Oftentimes, your visits coincided with her feeding times, and you had a sneaking suspicion that she began associating the healers' marui with food. She'd wriggle and whine until you got her milk to guzzle down.
Trrva, a mother who, too, adopted a infant, suggested you try dribbling the milk down your breast and have Pril sort of pseudo nurse on you. It was weird, and tricky to figure out. She had to help you the first week you took her up on the offer, but you eventually got the hang of it.
She said it was important for a babe to feed from a nipple, rather than the stiff tip of a gourd. The hard wood could cause damage to her gums, and complicate the growth of her teeth in a few months.
While you weren't lactating, you made it work, too worried about causing her harm down the line to care about the odd arrangement. Whatever it took to give her a good life and the best chance at thriving
Sometimes Tonowari was there during your visits. His stays were shorter than yours, lasting the brief few minutes he could find in his busy schedule to see his wife. He'd sit next to you, hand on your shoulder, or the back of your neck. Mostly, he didn't talk, just sat and watched his wife breathe steadily. If he had time, he'd pray, but those days were rare.
You never missed a visit. You practiced your Na'vi where you had nobody to correct you, wanting to figure it out yourself, see if you could remember. The things you could remember you set aside, either to try again later, or to ask someone for help.
"Oeyä prrnen," you said, kissing her forehead anytime she fussed. "You have to be nice to your sa'nu when she wakes up. She won't be very strong, so she needs you to be strong for her, sran?"
When she slept, you turned your attention to Ronal, rubbing your thumb on the back of her knuckles.
"Wake up soon, okay? Your baby misses you. She needs you."
You always left after about an hour, when Ze'te came to take you back to the circle. It never got easier.
You hoped, prayed, that Ronal would wake up. Soon, later, whenever, so long as she did.
For the first time in weeks, Tonowari could let out a breath of air.
Recovering from a war was difficult, victorious or not. Many of his people had been lost, many more injured, nevermind the hundreds of others from fellow clans. Once more, Toruk Makto had led them to triumph against the sky people, the third Great Sorrow coming to an end, but that was only half the battle.
The other half came in the form of managing those that had survived; leading efforts to rebuild what had been destroyed, organizing hunting parties out of the warriors that were minimally injured and able-bodied. The healers needed resources to care for the wounded, homes needed restoring, debris needed clearing. Councils had to be held between the clans to discuss who needed help most and how aid could be distributed, the tulkun had their own troubles.
It was a lot. Took a lot out of him.
But, if only for a moment, there was peace.
Most of the clan had long since gone to bed, lanterns turned low and the curtain-doors of what maruis remained closed. A few stragglers remained; healers and guards on rotation that protected the perimeter, keeping an eye out for trouble. The war might have been won, but there was no telling what danger remained, if any. Tonowari had to be vigilant for the sake of his people.
Sighing, he ran a hand down his face, feeling the exhaustion weighing heavy on his bones as he stepped out of the commander's hut. All matters that could be settled for the day had been, emergencies and urgent matters tended to. The next council wasn't until midday, and he knew he needed to take the chance to rest a few scant hours before the work began again.
However, he felt he had one duty left to attend to. He'd be unable to rest otherwise.
His steps were silent on the woven pathways of his village as he passed by homes, periodically peeking in one to check on the recovering beings inside. All were sound asleep, lights extinguished as they lied in hammocks and on sleeping mats, some covered in blankets and others bared.
All but one.
The marui you'd been given in gratitude for saving his wife and child, and for siding with his people, was small, meant to house only one or two people. The shade on one window was lowered halfway, but the doorway was still bound open, letting the dim glow of a lantern bleed through.
As he stopped outside the door, a hand resting on the arch, he found you on the floor, rocking Pril back and forth. The infant fretted, squirming, her face pinched in displeasure.
You cooed at her, soft and low, and oh-so careful in how you carried her. You kept her close to your bosom, and Tonowari was subtly chuffed to see you wearing the clothes of his people, no longer dressed in demon's fabric. Not since that night you came to them, hysterical and risking your life to ferry a message. The skin-on-skin was vital for Pril, the warmth of your body acting as an innate comfort to her.
It was hard for him to believe you never had children of your own. It took a few short minutes of whispering and crooning to Pril for her irritation to settle down, something that took him and Ronal months to learn when their first came into this world. In his eyes, you were a natural at it, made for motherhood.
"That's it," you murmured when Pril's weeping quieted into even breathing, running your extra finger down the length of the baby's nose in a featherlight touch. "You're okay. I've got you."
Having yet to notice him, Tonowari cleared his throat, causing you to startle minutely at his presence.
"Oh— Tono— ah, sorry. Olo'eyktan," you stuttered awkwardly. "Is there something you need?"
"Just Tonowari is fine," he said, his accent softened by the night. "May I enter?"
You nodded immediately, as if the thought of turning him away hadn't crossed your mind. He walked into the small space, the distance between you closed in a few short strides of his. Languid, he crouched down in front of you, his eyes going to his daughter.
Pril was fast asleep, her cheek pressed to the top of your chest, ear occasionally twitching. Her stubby tail was relaxed, draped over the crook of your arm in a way that reminded him of when Ao'nung was her age. The boy never grew out of the habit of letting his tail hang over the edge of his hammock, undeterred by the amount of times it'd been accidentally stepped on in the middle of the night.
It struck Tonowari, then and there, that Pril being in your arms looked right.
She was hardly a crumb, astronomically tiny compared to her siblings, yet she fit in the cradle of your embrace so perfectly. Always meant to be.
Perhaps this is why Eywa led you to them.
At first, he only saw you as a dreamwalker, another one of them. Allowing you to side with them wasn't trust, it was to keep his enemy close, ensuring he could be there if you tried to sabotage them.
When he heard that you had stumbled into the camp with Pril on your chest and an unconscious Ronal on your back, he initially assumed you had killed them, and brought them back to taunt him. A stab directly through the heart of the Metkayina, taking them down by kicking out the pillar that held them up.
But you were crying. Begging for help, telling them Ronal was alive, dying, save her.
In the chaos of it all, he didn't have time to process what was happening. He had to focus on the battle, on finishing this war that the sky people started.
Tsireya told him that you bared your teeth at her when she tried to take Pril, then immediately softened in regret.
"No, I can't, I'm sorry," she relayed your words. "I promised I'd protect her."
In that moment, Tonowari knew he could trust you in his home, with his people.
With Pril.
A difficult decision in the heat of the moment, but relief overcame him to know it had been the correct one.
He didn't know what you said to Ronal before you brought her and Pril back, what you promised, but keeping Pril safe was evidently your main concern. You took the task to heart, never once letting the infant stray from your sight. It was for her sake that you transferred bodies, made the permanent choice to discard the life you lived and loved for one entirely stranger to you. You sacrificed everything you had for his daughter.
For that alone, he would forever be in your debt, and would always respect you as one of his own.
"Do you want to hold her?" You asked, shifting her.
He shook his head. "Another time," his voice rumbled. "You worked hard to soothe her. I will not ruin your efforts."
You smiled at him, tired but grateful.
His eyes moved from Pril to you, then to your hair, and he frowned.
It was a mess of tangles and clumps, neglected past quick, rudimentary washes between Pril's naps. It looked clean, but horridly dry and matted.
Right. You were alone, having nobody to take care of you while you had your hands busy with Pril. Your own needs had been taken off the flame and set elsewhere, forgotten entirely in the face of such troublesome times.
Taking a strand, he ran it between his fingers, his frown deepening at the tiny knots he felt.
"I will fix this," he stated bluntly.
You froze in place, mouth opening and closing in resemblance to a fish. Memories flickered behind your lids, making you grimace.
"Oh!" You breathed out, mindful of the sleeping bundle you carried. "No, no, that's okay! I know you're busy, I'll just deal with it in the morning, so—"
He leveled you with a flat look and repeated, "I will fix this."
You deflated, shoulders and ears sinking. Your tail, wrapped around the side of your body, twitched nervously. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I am sure."
"Okay," you conceded. "Thank you."
Giving you a firm nod, he let go of your hair and rose to his feet. "I will return shortly."
Your gaze followed him as he left, and you pouted, glancing down at Pril.
"What have I gotten myself into? Mm?" You muttered. She, of course, gave no response beyond a baby-sized snort in her sleep. A wispy laugh bubbled up, and you tapped the tip of her nose. "You're no help."
True to his word, Tonowari came back minutes later, bearing a small basket and some sort of folded cloth, which he set down on the floor as he knelt behind you. Curious, you peeked into the basket and saw a plethora of oils stored in small jars, combs, beads, shells, and feather-like accessories.
Skilled, weapon-worn fingers retrieved a bone comb from the basket, and you sat up straighter as he went right to work, not keen on wasting time. He grouped up your hair at your back and drew the comb through the bottom inches, making his way up. He was surprisingly gentle, pausing at each knot to methodically unwind it. He was swift, but careful, making sure he caused you no pain.
Practiced. He'd done this before, plenty of times, the movements as natural to him as swimming.
It was unexpected.
Growing up on earth, you learned that, if there was a lot of hair to be maintained, it was a woman's job. Your mother did your hair until you learned to do it yourself, the salons you visited were all run by women. The men on the street with extravagant styles and brightly-colored tresses hired women to do it.
Your own father had scoffed in your mother's face when she offered to teach him how to braid your hair, or put it in a proper tie. The one time he tried to brush your hair, he yanked the brush from scalp to end, tearing a section clean out. He later used it as proof of him being incapable of a job meant for mother, not father.
The dismissal was something that had persisted from old times, your mother told you. The people of the past, some 100-odd years ago, viewed women the same way they did in modern times; mules, workhorses, personal maids and caterers to the 'mundane' jobs that men did not want to do. It was something you grew up expecting from men, only allowing room for pleasant surprise when the odd one out offered to help you in whatever boring task you were doing.
Part of you unfairly expected Tonowari to be the same.
You never considered that the Na'vi did things differently, saw things differently. You forgot that tasks were to be divided among the clan by the capable, not by gender. It only made sense that Tonowari was raised along those ideals; everyone shares the load.
Your tightened muscles loosened one by one, the fear of him being careless and cruel dissipating alongside each thorough glide of the comb through your hair.
About halfway up, your exhaustion was getting to you, eyes heavy and dry. Your head tipped forward, and Tonowari nimbly put his fingers under your chin, angling it back up.
"Stay awake a while longer," he murmured. "I will try to be swift."
"Mhmm," you responded, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. Behind you, he chuckled, a noise you more felt in your spine than heard.
He smoothed out the remaining tangles disrupting your hair, able to pick up the pace afterwards. Skilled fingers drew the comb along your scalp, parting strands into even sections. The ones he didn't need at the moment got swept aside and loosely tied with a strip of reed thread. The rasp of callused digits splitting the first section into smaller pieces sent a pleasant shiver down your back, goosebumps rising in its wake.
In her sleep, Pril huffed, snuggling into the warmth of your breast, inherently trusting that you'd guard her against anyone and anything.
"She feels secure with you," Tonowari said, pausing to observe. "I fear if I took her, she'd panic, become afraid."
You blinked your eyes open, readjusting your hold on her. "S'not true," you mumbled. "You're her father."
He hummed in acknowledgment. "I have not been present," he stated rather calmly, though notes of regret came through. "She would not recognize me. All she knows is you."
You didn't have a rebuttal, not this late into the night, when you were drawn to your thinnest thread and hanging from it with all your remaining strength. As much as you wished to refute him, reassure him that his own flesh and blood would know him, you didn't have it in you.
You never had children of your own. You had no frame of reference, no way to tell what was and wasn't normal.
A traitorous little part of you whispered that he was right. You were all Pril had, her only reliable source of trust and comfort, the only one who could tend to her as she needed. If not for you, there would be nobody; her father was too busy managing the clan, her siblings too young, and her mother…
You slumped a bit, weary and long-suffering.
You had so much to think about, but the little one took up all your time. From dawn to dusk to dawn again, she was just as much your entire world as you were hers. Had you wrapped around her smallest finger and didn't even know it.
Her slow, steady breaths and Tonowari's careful weaving lulled you into a dozing state, still present to stay upright and continue rocking Pril. A mild, barely-there cadence, back and forth, back and forth, keeping her content as she slept, unaware of the greater world. Unaware of anything but you, the warmth of your bosom, the pulsing of your heart.
Coral jars clinked softly together as Tonowari moved some things around in the basket, your curiosity dulled by fatigue. Your scalp felt a little tight, but free in a way, too. Like you'd been wearing a thick coat in a desert and finally took it off. Air could circulate now and didn't stifle you, or give you migraines from heat getting trapped in the nest of hair you couldn't be bothered to fix.
You hear him spread a fragrant oil over his palms, then he gathered the rest of your hair at the back of your head, running his hands over it a few times to partially distribute the oil. Then, he separated it into sections once more, albeit much fewer this time.
He coated your hair in the oil as he pulled the tails together into a tight braid, periodically reapplying a thin layer as he went. He worked your kuru into the braid, not as part of the tails, but rather what they wrapped around.
Braid inception. Braids within braids.
You almost laughed; it came out more like a huff through your nostrils.
Tonowari must have taken it to mean you were growing impatient with him.
"I will finish in a moment, I promise," he said placated.
"'S okay," you mumbled back, hardly processing what he said.
He maintained his fixed pace all the way until he was done, using a leather strap to secure the end of your braid to your kuru.
"There. Finished," he said. "This will keep it out of the way, and prevent tangles. Come to me when it needs to be redone."
You inhaled and fluttered your lashes, trying to blink the sleep away. "'Kay, I will. Thank you, Tonowari."
He hummed in reply and busied himself with gathering what he used to return to the basket. You made to stand, but swayed lightly as you got to your knees. Sudden panic at the thought of accidentally dropping Pril or — Eywa forbid — falling on her seized you, and you gasped.
Instantly, hands were on you, big palms spread across your waist and hips to anchor you.
They were warm, and rough, but oh-so painfully benevolent, hardly applying any pressure, as if afraid you'd simply shatter.
"Easy," Tonowari rumbled. "Easy. I will help."
He rose to his feet, his hands shifting up your form as he went. He stepped around to your front and, with his fingers closed around your biceps, he aided you up. Even after finding your balance, he didn't let go, not fully.
Hovering an arm around your lower back, ready to catch you if anything happened, he patiently guided you toward your bed mat. Wherever his touch was needed, he let it settle there naturally; at your hip as you turned, at your elbow as you lowered yourself, and at the back of your neck as you sat, your tail slapping the woven floor in tired finality.
He watched observantly as you laid Pril on her back in the spot you designated as hers on your sleeping mat, doing your utmost to avoid rousing her. Only after you had her situated did you lay down yourself, an arm pillowing your head, a hand curled around Pril, tucking her close to your chest.
For a few seconds, Tonowari vanished from your line of sight, and you thought he already left. But he returned, unfurling a woven blanket. You realized, delayed, that it was the cloth he'd brought in with him earlier.
He draped it over you, the fabric whisper soft compared to the usual rough texture of woven Na'vi materials.
Diligently, he tucked it around both you and Pril, ensuring the edges wouldn't come loose. You blinked up at him, third eyelids not fully receding, your body too spent to control the muscles.
He crouched down at your head, his own tilting minutely to one side.
"Sleep," he whispered, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "You are safe here."
For the first time in weeks, it felt like everything would truly be alright. Like it was okay for you to get some rest, too, not weighed down by guilt or the never-ending swarm of thoughts that refused to abate.
You closed your eyes, and fell asleep before he could leave.
Ronal woke slow, groggy.
The world filtered into her consciousness in bite-sized pieces; the muffled sound of chatter broken by the far off woosh of waves. Dim light bleeding into her retinas through her sticky eyelashes.
She cycled like that, between sleep and conscious, dead and alive.
It was not easy.
There were moments where she was lucid enough to understand the healers as they asked her to blink, or drink herbal teas.
In different moments, she was half there and half not. Focused on a single, faraway spot, a star in a different galaxy.
Time was meaningless here to her.
It passed in increments between awareness and darkness. It moved regardless of her input, but controlled the speed at which she healed. Though she did not know exactly what happened to her yet, her memories foggy, she knew that she had been gravely wounded. She believed she'd die, believed she was dead.
Yet here she was, in pain, but very much alive.
Being a healer herself did not make recovery any easier. The very things she told her patients, she wanted to go against. When Ze'te helped her sit upright, she wanted to stand and get back to her tasks as tsahìk. She wanted to check on the clan, tend to the injured, stand beside Tonowari as they rebuilt what was broken and mourned what was lost.
Ze'te kept a close eye on her, though, thwarting her attempts at pushing herself too hard, too soon. Damn the woman. She was right, yes, but that did not lessen Ronal's inner wrath.
"I will pluck your eyes from your head," Ronal once threatened.
"Yes, tsahìk, as you wish. But only after you have fully healed. The other girls fear you."
"They do not fear me."
"You made Tsu'll cry when she offered you a drink."
"…After this is done, I will turn your liver into soup to feed the ilu with."
Ze'te had the nerve to grin cheekily at her. "When you have the strength to defeat me, you may."
"Bratty girl."
"Taught by the very best."
There was little Ronal could do but wile away the days, going a bit further each new dawn to test her limits.
Standing was… a challenge. A greater one than she anticipated.
Her legs shook beneath her like that of pa'li, or of toddlers using their parents' tails to test their balance. It was certainly comparable, given she needed Ze'te to support her anytime she needed to move to relieve herself. A lesson in humility.
Though she'd done the same for others many times, and always beseeched them to not feel ashamed, those same emotions plagued her.
It all had to come crashing down one day, though.
"Where is my daughter?"
Ze'te paused, halfway through grinding new herbs to spread onto Ronal's healing injury.
She hesitated, then answered. "She is with the dreamwalker."
Ronal froze.
"…What?"
Ze'te did not turn to face her. "Yes. The dreamwalker has been caring for her, day and night," Ze'te explained. "The mothers have been teaching her, too. She is doing well. Your daughter is healthy, and—"
Before Ze'te could finish, Ronal shoved herself to her feet, her expression twisted into one of pure, unadulterated wrath and disgust.
She stormed out of the building, disregarding Ze'te's cries of shock and pleas for her to return. She chased after her tsahìk, but Ronal only shook her off every time Ze'te tried to grab her, her grasp too lose in fear of hurting the woman.
Ronal stomped across the pathways between maruis, pouring all her focus into ignoring the agony radiating through her body. She was determined to find you, rip her baby from your arms, and curse you out until you preferably crumbled to dust at her feet.
At least, that was the plan.
A soft sound caused her to stagger, a hand shooting out to clutch at a nearby marui as she stopped. Her ears twitched forward, trying to pinpoint the sound. It was low and soothing, and her feet carried her towards it unconsciously, careful and quiet. As she rounded a bend, she realized the noise was coming from your marui.
From you.
Cautiously, she peeked in through an open window, back pressed to the side of the structure to stay hidden. You were none the wiser, and she could see why.
You cradled Pril so delicately that it made her stomach swoop. She was so small in your arms, and you seemed painfully aware of that at all times as you leaned back against the pillar in the center of the marui and held her with both your arms. Your chin was tipped downwards, your mouth forming around the lyrics of one of the tribe's songs, singing softly to the infant you embraced like you'd be torn apart without her.
Your Na'vi was rough, the words you weren't familiar with mumbled and garbled, but your voice was gentle and sweet. You were trying for her, for Pril.
From where Ronal stood, she couldn't see your face, your head turned away from her, but she could see Pril's.
Her baby was looking up at you with pure wonder in her eyes, her tiny mouth twitching into a gummy smile as she kicked her little feet. You laughed near-silently and cupped Pril's tiny face, brushing a thumb over her chubby cheek as her tail smacked your ribs. It'd be years before Pril gained proper control of the appendage, but it seemed you didn't mind in the slightest. If anything, it made you coo at her in adoration, rather than annoyance.
Humans were nothing but scum. They didn't care for their own home and Mother, they let her die, killed her. Why would they care for their young, let alone the young of others? If they had no respect for those that came before, they could have no respect for those who came after, no love, no desire to guide them to be strong and wise.
Of that, Ronal was certain.
But you…
Ronal could not make any more exceptions, not after Jakesully and his family arrived and brought their war with them. She could not find space in her heart to allow another vrrtep onto her land, her waters, into her home. Everything was sacred, every life and thought and breath. Demons like you trampled all over anything sacred; you were a pestilence, a disease she needed to excise. There was nobody, nobody—
Nobody like you, who sacrificed your time, all you knew, everything you had and wanted, for the sake of another's precious life.
You'd given away everything to uphold your promise, your vow, to Ronal, and did more than that. It was more than protecting Pril, bringing her to the village where she could be guarded and tended to by the People. It was you sitting there, bearing the weight of a newborn on your own. Hushing her as she put up a fuss after you stopped singing, and pressing your lips to her forehead in the most featherlight of kisses. Stroking two fingers over her belly to ease her discomfort, resting your thumb over the drum of her minuscule heart.
It was you.
Making no noise, Ronal stepped away from your marui. She walked away, the sound of your voice ringing in her ears like a bell. Ze'te welcomed her back into the healing hut with immense relief, but she paid her no mind as she helped her sit down.
"Be kind to the dreamwalker," Ze'te hissed. "You must be grateful. She saved you."
Ze'te checked over her wound to make sure she hadn't aggravated it in her stormy fury. She chided Ronal, but Ronal had already allowed her eyes to drift shut. She needed time. She needed to think.
And she thought best when meditating and praying to Eywa.
Ma'Eywa, 'upe si oe si?
All she had known was turned on its head in less than ten minutes.
She woke up after having been certain she would die. She learned she had been asleep for weeks, was told you, of all people, had saved her, and when she asked about her baby, it was one of her own protégés that informed Ronal that you were taking care of the infant. Had been for weeks.
She felt an anger like no other. Anger at herself for failing her baby, her family. Anger at Tonowari and the clan for allowing you to so much as touch Pril. Anger at you for daring to.
Yet, you held Pril like she was your own.
Ronal couldn't deny that you kept your promise, both of them. You protected Pril with your life, and somehow, some way, you brought Ronal back to the village. You saved her life. And in the time that Ronal was unconscious, fighting to survive and heal, you had taken Pril as your responsibility.
Ze'te told her as much. She told her that you visited Ronal every few few days, by your request, and told the infant stories about her mother as you did so. You cleaned her, burped her, and rocked her to sleep. You fed her yourself, using the technique Trrva used for her adopted child. You walked around the village with her when she got antsy and restless, and the few chances you got to sleep, you kept her tucked against you, embraced in your arms.
Safe.
Though— something didn't add up.
You were uniltìranyu; a dreamwalker. Whenever your avatar body slept, you were ejected back into your human body. Had you brought your human body to the village so you could keep an eye on Pril in either form? No, from her understanding, that'd require you to bring over a large skyperson machine that'd allow you to hop between bodies. And even then, your human body would need rest just as much as your avatar one did.
Just how—
Ze'te glanced at Ronal, reading her mind, and said, "She gave up her tawtute form."
Ronal's brow furrowed. "What?"
Ze'te shrugged slightly. "The day after she brought you back and began caring for Pril. There was a discussion with olo'eyktan, and he agreed to perform the ceremony."
Ronal sat with the information, processing it.
You… you rejected your human form, the body you had your entire life, your true self… just so you could take care of Pril?
It didn't make sense to Ronal. Why? Why would you give up all you had for the sake of one life? One that was not yours to begin with?
Why? Why why why—
Her thoughts were cut short when, as if summoned from the ether by her confusion, you walked in.
You stopped in place, eyes wide, you and Ronal staring at each other. Sensing the tension, Ze'te rose and left, delivering a light pat to your flank that caused your tail to jolt.
"Oh—" you stammered. "Oh, I— I'm so sorry, I thought— I thought you'd be asleep. I just— I wanted to— I'll leave."
As you went to step out, Ronal said, "Come here, dreamwalker."
You wavered, unsure, before walking further in. You gulped audibly as you lowered yourself to your knees in front of her, visibly wrestling with yourself to not tremble in her presence. You held out Pril towards her, an open invitation for her to take her daughter.
Ronal did not. You slowly brought Pril back to your chest.
"How— um, how are you feeling?" You mumbled awkwardly.
Ronal narrowed her eyes at you and chose to skip over your question. "You have been taking care of my daughter."
A statement.
Your teeth clacked shut, and you nodded stiffly. "Y-Yeah."
"Why?"
One hell of a loaded question, one you didn't know how to reply to.
You could list a million and one reasons as to why you'd tasked yourself as Pril's primary guardian.
They sat on the tip of your tongue, waiting to spill like an overflowing waterfall. You could tell her that you wanted to, or that it just seemed right, or that you had nothing better to do. That you were lonely, had no way to go back to the RDA now, not that you wanted to in the slightest. You had nothing but your love for the ocean, and this baby that you valued more than anything ever to exist, more than your passion for the sea and its inhabitants, more than your life.
In the end, what came forth was the truth.
"I promised," you said, mellow. "I promised you I would protect her."
"Protection does not mean taking her to treat as your own."
You frowned, her words harsh, but no less true than your own.
"I know," you responded, "but this is protection to me. Never letting her out of my sight. I can only know she is safe if I can see for myself."
Tsahìk huffed, her tail waving in agitation. "You sacrificed your demon body."
You fidgeted in place. "Yes."
"For a child that is not yours."
"…Yes."
"You confuse me, dreamwalker," Ronal admitted. "Your kind is evil. A blight to Eywa'eveng. This war has proven so. Why are you different?"
For a while, you had no response. You chewed on the question, no words seeming right in your mind. It felt like anything you could give her would piss her off. You tried to think of justifications for yourself, reasons on how you were different, deserving, worthy.
You weren't. Not to yourself.
"I am no better," you muttered, staring over her shoulder. "I'm human. I'm just as bad as they are. I can say I would never hurt anything, that I'd fight for this world, but I'm not that strong. I've hurt in the past. I can try my best not to, but I'll probably hurt something again in the future."
Your gaze went down to Pril, and you slumped, brushing a thumb over her cheek.
"But never her. I'd never hurt her. I'd sooner cut off my own tail than do anything to harm Pril."
Ronal left you in rigid, unyielding quietude, letting you stew over it. She took you in, from head to toe, ear to tail, weighing your heart on a scale. Of all judgments you had to fear, hers scared you the most.
She had every right and power to rip Pril from your arms and exile you, or order your execution. Her word was above Tonowari's; if she decided something, it was to be done, clan leader or not. Whatever she commanded was law, and to defy her was to defy life, declare it pointless, to be ungrateful. Because if she believed that you did not value your life enough, she would take it to return the energy to the Great Mother, so it may be used on someone more deserving.
Just as you were prepared for her to deliver the decisive, fatal blow, she stunned you by questioning you on something you never considered.
"Have you made tsaheylu with her?"
You blinked. "Wh— no, no! I didn't I swear—"
"You should have," she scowled.
"…Huh?"
"Tsaheylu is vital to a baby's life," she growled at you. You shrank a bit under her withering glare. "It is the first bond. It must be made as soon as possible to make a strong connection. She needs it to become familiar with her mother."
Your jaw dropped slightly, and you floundered. "But— but I'm not her mom. You are, you should be the one to—"
"You have been more of a mother to her than I have. She had bonded with you, and will not recognize me. It will do her more harm for me to make tsaheylu with her."
You deflated, sinking into yourself. "But…"
She jerked her chin at Pril. "It must be done. Come closer."
Obeying, you scooted into Ronal's space. She moved your arms to hold Pril up, and found her short kuru, pinching it lightly between two fingers.
You swallowed thickly, then tilted your head to bring your tswin over your shoulder. Careful to not jostle Pril too much, you freed a hand and took the end of your kuru, lifting it. You trembled, but blessedly, Ronal said nothing of it.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, you brought your kuru up to Pril's, and watched as the pink tendrils wound around each other.
The moment the bond was sealed, everything stopped.
You stiffened, lips parted as emotions you'd experienced before, but that weren't your own, drenched you. Goosebumps rose along your skin, and a blistering heat formed in your chest, like you drank a steaming cup of your favorite tea.
Curiosity, excitement, wonder, love. They all encompassed your thoughts, pure and unfiltered and so, so powerful. Brief flickers of images flashed behind your eyes, blurry and from the perspective of something too small to understand what anything was.
Belatedly, you realized they were Pril's memories, the few she had. Fleeting and fragile. For her, they'd fade away, forgotten before they could stick. But for you?
You'd never forget. Never.
A giggle caused you to reanimate, tension evaporating. Pril looked up at you, a wide smile squishing her eyes into crescents. She giggled again, her hands holding onto her feet as she refused to look away from you.
The sound broke you.
Tears welled in your eyes, too quick for you to fight back. Despite them, you gave her a watery smile, your voice hardly a whisper as you spoke to her. "Hi, baby. Hi. I'm right here. Mama— mama's here."
Until now, Pril hadn't laughed once. Tickling her, playing games, telling her stories, nothing got her to do more than smile. Now, she laughed freely, sweet and unchained, knowing nothing but safety and love, the care you gave and had for her. It was you she saw, you she knew, you she loved. You felt it in your very spirit, the unrelenting and unapologetic attachment she had to you.
A featherlight touch to your cheek startled you slightly, reminding you that you weren't alone with Pril.
You looked up, and found Ronal gazing at you, her typically harsh glare mellowed into something unreadable to you.
"You are her mother," she murmured, a fact you could no longer deny.
You sniffled and beamed at her, leaning into her touch as she cupped her palm against your cheek. She let you, continuing to wipe away tears that never seemed to stop.
"I'll take good care of her, I promise," you vowed scratchily.
"I know," Ronal responded. "Has she had her first communion?"
You shook your head. "No. I asked Tonowari to postpone it. I wanted you to be there for it."
Ronal sighed, but the sound was lighthearted, long-suffering. "You humans know nothing."
Sniffing stuffily, you gave her a wobbly smile. "Will you teach me, then?"
Ronal considered your request. Sincere, heartfelt, hopeful.
"I will teach you," she agreed.
To Ronal's chagrin (and, honestly, anger), it took her a few more weeks to heal until Ze'te allowed her to go to the Spirit Tree to attend Pril's first communion with Eywa. She was strictly ordered to keep her arm in a sling, and rely on an ilu to get her to the tree. In fact, Ze'te took to tying the sling in extra tight knots at Ronal's neck and back, ensuring that the woman would not be able to remove it herself. Asking Tonowari to do it was pointless, too, as he knew better than to indulge her requests if they went against a healer's orders.
Frankly, he was a bit scared of Ze'te himself. Ronal supposed she had nobody to blame but herself, seeing as she was the girl's mentor.
But, as tsahìk, it was Ronal's right and honor to be the one to connect a child's kuru to the Spirit Tree.
You floated as she came to you, smiling at Pril, who you had propped up by her armpits.
In respect, you bowed your head at Ronal, who returned the gesture.
She motioned you forward, closer to the Tree. Ronal brought a frond closer, too, and when she was ready, she connected Pril's kuru to it.
Pril's pupils expanded, and her lips spread into a gummy smile, squirming and kicking her legs. The Tree's light pulsed as the People celebrated, cheers muffled underwater, their joy for the baby and you evident.
Tonight, there'd be a feast, exorbitant and wild. The People will celebrate the victory of their war against the sky people, how the tulkun were not only saved, but convinced to change their ways, and the People will celebrate Pril's entrance into this world, recognizing her as the newest and youngest member of the clan.
But for now, it was just you, Pril, Ronal, and the Great Mother watching over you, welcoming you both into her embrace.
It was Ronal that insisted (ordered) you move into her and Tonowari's family marui.
She situated you in their room, rather than having you sleep in the main room, or in either Tsireya's or Ao'nung's rooms. She was going to set up a hammock for you, too, but you had timidly requested a mat instead, claiming you had gotten used to it. Preferred it.
"The swaying makes me a little sick, too," you admitted in a whisper, embarrassed.
So, she gave you a mat. And layered it in several furs. And blankets. And a couple more furs.
For Pril, of course. Nights on Awa'atlu got very cold, it wouldn't do for the baby to get sick because she wasn't warm enough.
Tonowari knew better. Knew before either you or Ronal that you would be their mate, in time.
His and Ronal's, the mother of their child, your child, in the ways that mattered most.
He saw how Ronal softened to you over time, how her gaze grew fond, how she kept a close eye on you — not out of mistrust, but because she wanted to be sure you were alright. She heckled you about eating, and lightly smacked the back of your head when you complained that your breasts had become sore after the method you used to feed Pril had induced lactation.
"It is a gift," she hissed at you.
"It hurts," you whined.
"Sustaining life is no easy task. But the reward for doing so is profound."
"How did you deal with it?"
"Prayed to Eywa that my nipples would not crack and bleed."
"They can do that!?" You squealed.
Ronal rolled her eyes. "Yes. But I will provide healing paste. Now go feed her before she decides you were too slow today and bites you."
Tonowari knew when her sharpness turned into playful bickering. When she gave you nutritious food and soothing gels unprompted, and when she woke first to comfort you if you suffered a nightmare, humming calming songs and rubbing your back.
He knew when he found her sleeping by you as you slept one evening, tuckered out after Pril had chosen to be a menace all day. Pril was laid beside you, having finally worn herself out on all that crying, snoozing like she hadn't caused her mother hell. Ronal's hand was on your head, absentmindedly stroking your hair, your forehead, your cheek.
Tonowari knelt to her right, touching your knee. You didn't stir, too deep in sleep to be woken so easily.
"You wish to mate with her," he said. A statement, not a question.
Ronal didn't say anything for a few seconds. She didn't react, didn't recoil at the thought of mating with a sky person. She merely kept watching over you and Pril, petting your head.
Eventually, she gave him the smallest of nods. Barely a murmur, she confirmed simply, "Yes."
He hummed.
She peeked at him. "And you?"
"Yes," he agreed. "She has proven herself to me. I can feel Eywa guiding us toward her."
Ronal breathed out softly, her shoulders sinking, relaxing. "We must ask her."
He kissed her temple. "In the morning. Let her rest."
"Of course."
He leaned over your sleeping body, and pressed his lips to your forehead.
"Sleep well, dreamwalker. We pray you will say yes, come the new dawn."
Warnings: Jake as a father, kissing, flirting disguised as arguing, injury, + chaos at the end
Summary: Tuk almost died because they weren't paying attention. Now Y/N and Aonung have to deal with the consequences. The guilt? Manageable. Admitting they're in love? Significantly harder. Well that's when the storm comes in the play.
The day had been going well, too well, really, which should have been the first warning.
Y/N Sully balanced effortlessly on the rocky outcrop, her bowstring taut between her fingers as she tracked the school of fish darting through the shallows below. The water was clear, the sun warm against her shoulders, and Tuk's excited giggles from where she crouched nearby were a constant, comforting hum beneath the sound of the waves.
Aonung, of course, ruined it.
"Your stance is off," he muttered just as she loosed her spear. It struck the water a second too late, and the fish scattered in a silver flash.
She clenched her jaw. "My stance is fine."
"Your spear arm wobbles like a newborn's," Aonung added, leaning against a nearby rock with that insufferable half-smirk. His own catch, three fat fish already strung on a vine, swung lazily from his hip while Y/N's fingers twitched at her sides, already preparing for a punch.
"Maybe if you shut your mouth for once, I wouldn't miss," Y/N snapped, whirling on him so quickly that her braids lashed against her shoulders.
His smirk didn't falter. If anything, it widened, infuriatingly unbothered.
Tuk giggled again, crouched far too close to the water's edge, her tiny fingers skimming the surface as she tried to catch minnows.
"You’re blaming me for your bad aim now?" Aonung drawled, rolling his shoulders as though he were settling in for a proper argument. The tide licked lazily at the rocks beneath them, but beyond the cove the sky had already begun to bruise purple along the horizon, the familiar warning of a storm gathering out at sea. Y/N barely noticed. She was too busy imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that smirk off his face with her fist.
Tuk's delighted squeal twisted suddenly into a sharp gasp, then a scream, high and panicked, cutting through the salt-heavy air like a knife.
Y/N spun toward the sound just in time to see her little sister's small hands clawing at the surface, fingers spread wide before she was dragged beneath the water with a violent splash. The sea churned where she vanished, bubbles bursting upward in frantic streams.
Y/N didn't think as she lunged forward, her forgotten spear clattering against the rocks as her knees slammed into wet stone and both arms plunged into the shallows. Her fingers brushed nothing but froth and the slick pull of retreating waves.
"Tuk!"
The name tore from her throat, raw and desperate.
Aonung's mocking smirk vanished instantly.
He was moving before Y/N could shout again, diving into the water in a clean arc, his body cutting through the waves with the effortless precision of someone born to the sea.
Dark shapes writhed beneath the surface.
It’s not a fish. It’s something larger and alive.
Y/N's pulse hammered against her ribs as she waded in after him, icy water climbing her shins while panic tightened around her chest like a vice. She couldn't see clearly through the churned-up water. Couldn't reach far enough. Couldn't do anything except watch.
Then Aonung surfaced.
He broke through the waves with a gasp, Tuk clutched tightly against his chest.
The creature, some eel-like monstrosity streaked with faint bioluminescent markings, still clung to her ankle, its jaws locked in a vicious grip.
Aonung snarled something low and wordless.
One arm remained wrapped around Tuk while the other drove his hunting knife downward.
Once.
Twice.
The water darkened around them.
The creature convulsed violently before going limp, its grip finally loosening as it slipped beneath the surface and disappeared into the depths.
Tuk trembled uncontrollably when Y/N gathered her into her arms.
Her sobs were muffled against Y/N's collarbone, her fingers digging into her sister's arms as though she feared she might vanish if she let go.
Y/N held her tighter.
"I've got you," she whispered, pressing her lips against Tuk's damp curls while her own breath came in ragged gulps. "I've got you, Tuk-Tuk."
Aonung waded toward them, his expression unreadable, his usual arrogance replaced by something strained and quiet.
For a moment his hands hovered uncertainly near Tuk's back, as though he wasn't entirely sure he had the right to comfort her now.
"She okay?" he asked, his voice rough.
Y/N swallowed hard before nodding. "Just scared."
She adjusted Tuk in her arms, trying to ignore the way her own legs shook from the rush of adrenaline.
"We need to get her home."
Tuk tightened her grip immediately.
"Don't wanna go in the water again."
The words twisted painfully in Y/N's chest.
She couldn't blame her.
Before she could reply, Aonung stepped forward, his jaw set with quiet resolve. “I’ll carry her,” he declared, his words carrying the weight of an order rather than an offer.
"You keep watch."
Something hot and defensive flared in Y/N's chest, but before she could argue, Tuk lifted her tear-streaked face and reached toward him.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice so soothing it silenced every protest Y/N could muster.
Aonung took her carefully, settling her against his side with surprising gentleness, one hand resting lightly against her back.
Within moments Tuk sagged against him, exhausted, her small frame finally surrendering to the aftermath of fear.
Y/N clenched her fists, feeling a surge of frustration. She should have been the one carrying Tuk, the one to pull her from the water. Yet, it was Aonung who had moved faster, who had saved her. The realisation left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Let's go," she muttered quietly.
Behind them, the first drops of rain began to fall.
The wind whipped the waves into frothing peaks behind them, and the first crack of thunder split the sky just as they reached the woven pathway leading to the Sully family's marui.
Jake Sully was already standing in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the glow of the hearth.
His expression darkened as he observed Tuk’s limp form in Aonung’s arms, the trembling of Y/N’s hands at her sides, and the unnatural pallor that had settled over both their faces. Rain slashed sideways through the open doorway, soaking the woven floor mats and bringing the storm’s scent inside.
“What happened?” Jake’s voice was low and dangerous, a tone that could make even the reef’s boldest predators retreat.
"It was a tsurak," Aonung said, his voice flat and his shoulders squared as though he were bracing for a blow.
Tsurak.
The creature slithered through Metkayina legends like venom through a wound, whispered about in hushed tones around dying cookfires. Elders spoke of bioluminescent streaks pulsing through the blackest depths and jaws capable of swallowing a child whole.
Jake's eyes flicked immediately to Tuk's ankle, where dark bruises were already beginning to bloom beneath the skin.
Something in his face went still.
Neytiri appeared behind him, her fingers curling around the doorframe until her knuckles whitened. Her gaze locked onto Tuk’s tear-streaked face before sharply shifting toward Y/N.
“Explain.” It wasn’t a request.
Y/N opened her mouth, but the confession lodged in her throat before it could form.
We weren't paying attention. I let her get too close. I was too busy arguing with him.
The truth tasted like failure.
Beside her, Aonung shifted Tuk's weight in his arms, his jaw tightening.
"She wandered too deep," he said more quietly. "The tsurak was hunting near the reef. It..."
"You were supposed to be watching her."
Jake stepped forward, rainwater dripping from his braids, his voice dropping into a low snarl.
The accusation wasn’t against Aonung; it was directed at Y/N.
She felt it land like a slap. She flinched to which Aonung stiffened immediately.
Behind Jake, Neytiri's tail lashed once, sharp enough to crack through the silence.
"It wasn't just her," he said, his voice rough. "I was there too. I didn't see..."
"Enough."
Neytiri stepped forward and took Tuk from his arms before he could finish.
Tuk whimpered but didn't resist, curling into her mother's chest like a frightened hatchling seeking shelter. Neytiri's fingers traced the bruises around her ankle, her nostrils flaring as she examined the injury.
The silence that followed settled heavily over the room, thick enough that it felt almost physical, pressing into Y/N’s ribs with every breath she took.
Neytiri did not speak at first. Her arms remained firm around Tuk, who had begun to quiet in her grasp, the earlier terror slowly giving way to exhaustion, her small fingers still curled tightly into the fabric of her mother’s chest as if she feared the world might take her again if she let go. Neytiri’s eyes, however, had not softened. They moved between Y/N and Aonung with a steady, unyielding focus, taking in every detail, every tremor of guilt, every drop of rain still clinging to their skin.
"You both failed," she said at last, her voice low and absolute, cutting cleanly through the lingering storm outside.
The words landed with a finality that made Y/N’s throat tighten painfully, because there was no anger left in them anymore, no heat to argue against or defend herself from, only truth, heavy and undeniable.
Tuk could have died.
The thought pressed into her chest until it hurt to breathe.
Jake exhaled through his nose, turning slightly away as though even looking at them a moment longer was difficult, his shoulders tightening beneath the weight of exhaustion and something deeper, something closer to disappointment than fury.
Y/N clenched her hands at her sides, nails biting into her palms as she tried not to let the pressure behind her eyes spill over, because crying would not fix anything and it would not undo what had already happened, and she knew, even without being told, that neither of them would accept excuses.
Aonung stood rigid beside her, rain still dripping from the ends of his braids onto the woven floor, his usual confidence nowhere to be found beneath the silence that wrapped itself around him. His jaw was tight, but he did not speak, and the absence of his voice felt almost unfamiliar in a way that made everything worse.
For a long moment, no one moved.
The storm outside filled the gap between them instead, wind pressing against the walls of the marui and rain striking the woven structure in uneven, restless rhythms that mirrored the tension inside.
It was Tuk’s small sound that finally broke it, a soft, tired sniffle as she shifted in Neytiri’s arms, her grip loosening just slightly now that she was safe again, though not entirely willing to let go. Neytiri immediately adjusted her hold, brushing damp hair back from Tuk’s face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the severity in her expression.
Jake finally turned back toward them, his gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment longer than Aonung, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he spoke again, quieter now, controlled but firm.
“We take her to Ronal,” he said.
After that, there was no discussion, only movement and the lingering weight of everything that had already been said. There was an unspoken understanding that nothing about this would be forgotten easily, not by any of them.
Tsahik's hut sat farther back from the shore, where the reef’s constant roar dulled into something steadier, like a deep breath held beneath the surface of the world. The path there was walked in near silence, broken only by the soft sound of Tuk’s occasional whimper as she shifted in Neytiri’s arms, and the steady rhythm of rainwater dripping from Aonung’s braids onto the packed sand beneath their feet.
Jake led the way without looking back, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made it clear this was not a walk, but a decision already made and being carried out. Neytiri followed closely behind, her grip on Tuk never loosening, as if holding her was the only thing preventing the moment from breaking further. Y/N walked slightly behind them, each step weighed down by the presence of Aonung beside her, though she did not look at him yet, not while her thoughts remained too raw to safely confront.
When they arrived, Ronal was already waiting.
She did not ask what happened at first, because whatever urgency had brought them here was already written across their bodies in salt, bruises, and exhaustion. Instead, she stepped forward with calm precision and took Tuk from Neytiri’s arms without hesitation, lowering the child onto a woven mat near the hearth where the light was warm and steady, untouched by the storm still raging outside.
"It was tsurak," Aonung said before anyone else could speak, his voice rough and immediate, as though the words had been sitting too long in his throat.
Ronal pressed her palm flat against Tuk’s ankle, her fingers spreading carefully over the bruised skin as she examined the injury with quiet precision, her touch steady in a way that made it clear she was reading far more than just what could be seen on the surface.
“Tsurak,” she murmured, her voice low and deliberate as she kept working, “do not hunt near the reef.”
Her golden eyes lifted then, sharp and unflinching, settling on Y/N and Aonung in a way that made the air feel suddenly thinner, as though the space inside the hut itself had tightened around them.
“They live in the deep waters. Far from here.”
Aonung shifted slightly beside Y/N, his tail giving a small, restrained flick against the floor, a rare sign of discomfort he did not try to hide but also did not explain.
“Then why—”
“They are drawn to noise,” Ronal interrupted without looking away from Tuk for long, her fingers pressing lightly again against the child’s ankle as though following something invisible beneath the skin, something only she could interpret.
“Loud sounds. Disturbances.”
Her gaze lifted again, slower this time, and lingered on Aonung before moving to Y/N’s hands, still clenched tightly at her sides as if she could hold the moment from falling apart by force alone.
“The tsurak hear it. They follow.”
Y/N felt it in her chest first, a pressure that made the memory come back too clearly, the raised voices, the heat of anger, the sharpness of every word exchanged too close to the water.
Aonung’s tail flicked again, the motion smaller this time, almost involuntary, and the tip brushed lightly against Y/N’s calf before he seemed to register it, both of them stiffening at the contact as if it had been far more deliberate than it actually was. He did not move away, but he also did not acknowledge it, only tightening his jaw and fixing his gaze somewhere beyond the far wall where the storm still beat against the woven sides of the hut.
Jake finally turned fully from the doorway, the shift slow but decisive, and his eyes, dark and unreadable, locked directly onto Y/N.
“You were fighting.”
Y/N’s throat tightened at Jake’s words.
“Yes,” she admitted, the word coming out rough, like it had to be pulled free. Aonung didn’t speak beside her, but his silence carried just as much weight, sharp and unavoidable in the small space between them.
Jake exhaled slowly through his nose. “You realize,” he said, voice low, “that one day, you’ll both be leading your people.”
Oh, believe us, we both know that.
Aonung’s jaw tightened slightly, his fingers twitching once at his sides before he forced them still.
“That’s why we train,” he muttered, the defensiveness quick to surface even if it didn’t fully hold. “To learn.”
Jake’s gaze shifted to him immediately. “Learn what?”
Aonung swallowed, his throat working as he tried to answer and didn’t quite manage to find one. Whatever confidence he usually wore wasn’t there anymore, stripped down to something tighter and less certain.
Jake’s hand flexed once against his thigh, then again before he let out a slow, controlled breath and turned away from them.
“We’ll talk in the marui,” he said, his voice low enough that it almost disappeared under the storm. It wasn’t offered as a choice, and the set of his shoulders made it clear there wouldn’t be space for disagreement.
Y/N swallowed, her throat dry despite the rain cascading down her skin and soaking through her clothes. She didn’t need to look at Aonung to know he was beside her, completely still, as if even the slightest breath might worsen the situation.
Then Jake added, quieter but sharper “Alone.”
Something shifted in Aonung at that, seeing that his posture tightened, though he still said nothing.
The walk back carried that silence with it.
Only the storm filled the space between them, wind pushing through the trees and rain hitting the ground hard enough to blur the path beneath their feet. Their footsteps sank into the mud in steady rhythm, but no one spoke to break it.
Halfway back, movement broke through the rain ahead of them, and Lo’ak and Neteyam emerged from the downpour.
“What happened?” Neteyam demanded immediately, his attention snapping straight to Y/N as he reached for her arm. “We heard—”
“Later,” Jake cut in without slowing, stepping between them and continuing forward as if the interruption had never fully existed. His hand came down on Lo’ak’s shoulder, firm and guiding, redirecting him without force but with no room to resist.
“I need to speak with your sister alone.”
Lo’ak opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but Neteyam caught his wrist before he could, holding him back with a quiet look that said enough without words. The protest died before it could fully form, swallowed by the weight in Jake’s voice and the tension in his posture.
Y/N kept walking, with her chest tightening, because even without turning around, she could feel all of them watching her go.
Kiri was waiting in the marui when they arrived, perched on a woven mat. She took one look at Jake's face and rose without a word. As she passed Y/N, she gave her elbow a brief squeeze, equal parts comfort and warning. The woven door flap fell shut behind her with a soft rustle, leaving Y/N alone with her father.
Jake stood by the centre of marui, his hands bracing against its edge and shoulders bowed beneath an invisible weight. Firelight cast shadows across his back, revealing old scars from battles Y/N had only ever heard about in stories.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough.
"You know better."
The words hit harder than any shout. Y/N dug her nails into her palms and replied, “I do.”
"Then why?" Jake turned to face her, his eyes reflecting the firelight. There was no warmth in them, only something sharper. "Why let it get that far?"
He remained still, rainwater trickling from his braids onto the marui floor, and spoke words that pierced deeper than any blade, without raising his voice or pacing.
"I'm disappointed in you, daughter."
Her stomach dropped. My own father says he is disappointed in me. I should have been better, I am supposed to be better.
Y/N's fingers twitched at her sides. Her throat tightened around a sudden, desperate urge to explain, but what could she possibly say?
That Aonung had provoked her?
That she'd lost control?
That none of it would have happened if he had just kept his mouth shut?
The excuses sounded pathetic the moment they formed. Childish.
"Your job is to protect her with your life," he said quietly.
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound nearly swallowed by the storm rumbling outside, before he turned away. The line of his shoulders remained rigid beneath the dark ink of his tattoos.
"Dismissed."
Y/N swallowed against the bitter taste of failure coating her tongue.
"I'm sorry, sir," she managed, the honorific scraping against her throat like sand.
It wasn't enough. It could never be enough. I will never be enough.
Still, the apology escaped anyway, small and desperate in the silence stretching between them.
Jake remained silent and unmoving. His broad back faced her, silhouetted against the firelight like a statue carved from disappointment and storm.
The rejection stung more than any punishment he could have given.
Unable to bear it any longer, she turned...and ran.
The woven door flap slapped against her shoulder as she pushed through it. Wind-driven rain lashed her cheeks like tiny knives, but she didn't stop.
Her bare feet pounded across the slick pathways, the storm's roar swallowing the strangled sound that escaped through her clenched teeth. Behind her, the warm glow of the Sully marui grew smaller with every stride, swallowed by darkness, rain, and the hollow ache spreading through her chest. Somewhere between the marui and the shoreline, her vision blurred.
Saltwater streaked down her face. Whether it came from the storm or her own tears, she couldn't tell.
It didn't matter.
The sea churned violently beneath the storm’s fury, black waves crashing against each other as the wind tore their crests into frothy white foam. Y/N barely slowed before diving into the churning water.
The cold hit like a punch to the chest, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Good.
Let it hurt.
Let it drown out the echo of dad's words.
Let it smother the memory of Tuk trembling in my arms.
Let it erase the image of Aonung carrying my sister to safety with steady, capable hands when I couldn't.
Y/N kicked harder, driving herself deeper beneath the surface. Salt burned her eyes as she angled toward a submerged cove she had discovered months earlier during one of her reckless solo dives.
She needed to escape everyone and the disappointment reflected in her father’s eyes. I want to run away from myself.
The cove wasn't marked on any clan maps.
A jagged fissure hidden within the reef wall, barely wide enough to squeeze through, opened into a secluded cavern where bioluminescent algae painted the ceiling in swirling shades of blue. Y/N had never shown it to anyone. Not even Lo'ak, with whom she is closest.
Especially not Lo'ak, who would have told Neteyam within the hour.
Now, with her ribs aching and her father's disappointment clinging to her like wet kelp, this small cove was the only place she wanted to be.
Y/N broke the surface with a sharp gasp. Her lungs burned as she wiped saltwater from her stinging eyes.
In that moment, she found herself utterly still, unable to move even a muscle. The cavern around her was bathed in a gentle, ethereal blue light, with delicate ripples of bioluminescence gracefully weaving their way across the surface of the water and casting shimmering patterns on the rugged, jagged stone walls that surrounded her. High above the tranquil pool, perched confidently on a rocky ledge, was a figure whose presence was immediately familiar to her, a sight that stirred a flood of recognition within her mind.
Aonung.
He froze, his hand halfway to a discarded knife beside him. His tail stiffened, and his eyes widened in surprise as they locked onto hers.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were the distant drip of water echoing through the cavern and the ragged rhythm of Y/N’s breathing.
“You…” Aonung’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and lowered his hand slightly, though his fingers remained hovering near the knife. “You followed me?”
Y/N let out a breathless laugh that sounded more like a wheeze.
"Into your secret hideout?" she shot back, hauling herself onto a ledge opposite him. Water streamed from her clothes and pooled beneath her feet. "Don't flatter yourself."
His brows furrowed as the blue glow cast shifting patterns across his face. The tension in his jaw and deepening scowl were illuminated. “Then why are you…”
"Because my father hates me," she snapped, wringing out her braids with more force than necessary.
The words tasted bitter and raw on her tongue. She hadn't meant to say them aloud, especially not to him.
Aonung’s tail flicked, creating ripples across the pool. Uncharacteristically, he had no retort. He simply observed her with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. The algae on the cavern walls pulsed softly, casting shifting shadows that made his features appear older and sharper.
"You come here often?"
Aonung's fingers twitched toward the knife resting beside him, the movement seeming more like habit than caution.
“Often enough,” he muttered, glancing upwards at the algae-streaked ceiling as if it held some hidden wisdom. His usual smirk was gone replaced by a more subdued expression. “When I need to think.”
Y/N snorted, shaking water from her ears.
"Must be exhausting for you."
She slumped against the damp stone drawing her knees to her chest. The cavern’s salty, faintly metallic smell, reminiscent of churned seawater, filled the air. The surprisingly comfortable silence was soon broken by Aonung’s expression.
He leaned forward with his gaze sharpened and his nostrils flared.
"You're bleeding," he said, his voice stripped of its usual teasing edge, that he has in their usual conversations.
Y/N followed his gaze to the shallow cut along her calf.
Blood, diluted, trickled down her skin and vanished into the pool below.
"From the rocks," she muttered, glancing away. "When I lunged for Tuk."
He crossed the small distance between them and crouched beside her, his attention fixed on the wound. His fingers hovered over her calf for a moment, as though weighing whether she would shove him away, before he pressed a damp strip of woven seaweed against the cut. The sudden sting made her hiss through her teeth.
"Hold still," he said, his voice lower than usual.
With remark behind her teeth, Y/N tensed instinctively, her fingers digging into the damp stone beneath her. Aonung's hands were rough from years of spear training and reef hunting, the skin calloused and worn, yet his touch was surprisingly careful as he adjusted the seaweed wrap and pressed it firmly against the wound.
Overhead, the bioluminescent algae pulsed softly, casting shifting patterns of blue light across the cavern walls. The glow illuminated the concentration etched across Aonung's face, highlighting the furrow between his brows as he worked.
There was something strangely unsettling about seeing him like this; not smirking, provoking or looking for a fight. He is simply focused and quiet. He looks wiser.
Without a word, he tore a narrow strip of woven kelp from the wrist wrap he wore and secured the seaweed bandage in place with practiced efficiency. The movement was so natural that it was obvious he had done this many times before.
He finally leaned back to inspect his work.
“There," he said. "It should stop bleeding now."
The silence between them felt heavier than the storm raging beyond the cavern walls.
Y/N found herself watching the way Aonung's hands moved as he secured the final knot in the bandage, his fingers quick and precise in a way that felt completely at odds with the lazy arrogance he usually carried around like a second skin. When he finished, he sat back on his heels, his tail flicking once behind him.
"It'll hold," he said gruffly. "Unless you plan on falling onto another rock."
Y/N flexed her leg, testing the bandage. The sting had dulled considerably, muted by whatever medicinal properties the seaweed possessed.
"Thanks."
I’d never thanked him before, not when he’d rescued me from a riptide during training or saved Tuk.
The realisation settled heavily in her stomach.
Aonung snorted and shifted back to his side of the ledge. "Don't get sentimental."
Then he picked up a loose pebble and tossed it into the pool, with a gesture that felt more absent-minded than mocking. Ripples spread across the glowing water, distorting their reflections beneath the bioluminescent light.
Silence settled between them once more. Y/N stared down at her reflection as the water stretched and warped her features with every passing ripple. Her braids hung loose and tangled from the storm, and there was still dried salt clinging to her skin.
I look awful.
"I should thank you."
Her voice barely carried beyond the steady drip of water echoing through the cavern. Aonung went completely still.
His fingers paused around another pebble.
"...What?"
Y/N swallowed.
"For saving Tuk."
She added, “If you hadn’t been there…”
The memory was still too fresh.
Too vivid.
Tuk disappearing beneath the surface.
The water closing overhead.
Panic.
Aonung looked away first, his grip tightening around the pebble as he stared into the glowing pool below them.
"If I hadn't been there," he said slowly, "the tsurak wouldn't have come at all."
The pebble left his hand with more force than necessary, striking the water and sending ripples racing across the cavern.
"My mother said it herself. Tsurak follow disturbances. Noise. Fighting. We were arguing like children, making enough commotion for every predator in the reef to hear us."
His jaw clenched. “We were behaving like fools.”
Aonung rested his forearms on his knees and continued staring into the water.
"I was pushing because I was angry, and you kept pushing back because you were angry too, and neither of us cared what was happening around us until it was too late."
Y/N exhaled slowly. “Yeah.” The agreement tasted bitter. “We were.”
She traced a finger along the edge of her bandage.
Aonung’s head jerked up in surprise but he quickly schooled it back into neutrality. He studied her for a long moment his gaze tracing the exhaustion in her slumped shoulders and the slight tremor in her fingers against the stone. The cave’s blue glow softened his usual sharp features making him appear younger and almost vulnerable.
"You're admitting fault?" he asked finally, his voice carefully neutral. "That's new."
Y/N scowled, picking at a loose thread in her makeshift bandage. "Don't make it weird." The words came out half-hearted, lacking their usual bite. "She could've died because of us."
The pebble in Aonung's hand cracked against the far wall with sudden violence, the sharp sound echoing through the cavern. "I know." His voice was raw, stripped bare of its usual arrogance. When Y/N looked up, his fingers were clenched so tight around another stone that his knuckles gleamed white in the bioluminescent light. "She trusted us. Both of us. And we—" He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound jagged. "We failed her."
Y/N swallowed against the lump in her throat. Outside, the storm howled against the cave mouth, waves slamming into the reef with enough force to send tremors through the rock beneath them. Inside, the silence between them felt heavier than the ocean's weight.
Aonung shifted abruptly, his tail flicking droplets of water across the ledge.
"Your father was right."
His jaw tightened as he added, “We’re supposed to be leaders, future leaders, anyway.” He let out a humourless laugh and shook his head. “And today we were just stupid kids.”
Y/N didn't argue.
Staring into the rippling water below, she gazed at her reflection. Salt had left her braids tangled and uneven, while dark shadows lingered beneath her eyes.
"I didn't even see it happen," she admitted quietly. "I was so busy being angry at you that I didn't notice Tuk wandering deeper until..."
“Until she screamed.” Aonung’s voice was flat and weary as he finished his sentence. He picked up another pebble rolling it between his fingers before dropping it into the water. “Same.”
Y/N glanced at him. Perhaps for the first time since they’d met, Aonung seemed completely stripped of his usual confidence. His shoulders curved inward and the rigid line of his spine held a tension no amount of posturing could disguise.
He looked exhausted too.
Aonung exhaled and rubbed his palms against his thighs as though trying to scrub away the memory itself.
"My father won't say it."
His gaze remained fixed on the water. "But he's disappointed too."
Y/N's eyes drifted to his hands as his fingers found the necklace resting against his chest. He traced the intricate weave absentmindedly, following its familiar pattern.
The same necklace Tuk had clung to while he carried her back to shore.
Aonung swallowed. "Not just because of Tuk." His voice dropped lower. "Because of everything."
Y/N frowned slightly. She'd never considered that Tonowari might look at his son and see the same failures her dad saw in her. That beneath Aonung's arrogance, there might be the same crushing weight of expectation.
"I guess we're both disappointments, then," Y/N said, watching a droplet of water slide down the cave wall.
Aonung's tail struck the stone ledge with enough force to send a spray of water into the pool below. The algae's glow caught the sudden tightness around his eyes before he turned his face away. "You were never a disappointment to me," he said, so softly the words almost drowned in the cave's echoes.
Y/N wondered for a moment if she had misheard him. Surely I had.
"What?"
Aonung didn't repeat himself. Just stared at the cave wall as if it held the answers to some unspoken question, his fingers tracing the edge of his knife sheath like a nervous habit she'd never noticed before. The bioluminescent algae pulsed slower now, their light dimming as the storm outside reached its peak, wrapping the cavern in an eerie, flickering twilight.
Y/N suddenly realised her heartbeat was too fast. Far too fast
"Then why—" She swallowed, the words sticking. "Why do you act like you hate me?"
His shoulders tensed. "I don't—" He drew in a sharp breath and dragged a hand across the back of his neck. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher, scraped raw. "It's easier."
"That can't be true," she said, her voice scraping low. "You definitely were disappointed when I kept falling off my ilu the first year we came here."
Aonung's tail flicked sharply against the ledge, scattering droplets. "That was different." His jaw worked around the words as if chewing through tough meat. "You were—" He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You kept getting back on, no matter how many times you fell. Even when the whole clan laughed." His ocean eyes flicked to hers, unguarded for once. "I wasn't disappointed...I was astonished."
Y/N's fingers stilled against her damp bandage. She remembered those early days; her knees bruised purple from ilu saddles, Aonung's mocking laughter ringing across the waves as she surfaced sputtering for the dozenth time.
"You laughed loudest," she pointed out, voice flat.
Aonung's shoulders hunched. "Because it was safer than telling you—" He cut himself off, tossing another pebble into the pool where it sank like a stone between them. "Doesn't matter now."
"It does." Y/N lunged forward, her bandaged calf scraping against rough stone as she grabbed his wrist. The bioluminescent algae pulsed overhead, painting their tangled fingers in eerie blue. "Tell me now" Her voice cracked like breaking ice.
Aonung's pulse jumped beneath her grip. For three heartbeats, the only sound was the distant roar of the storm and the slow drip of water down the cave walls. Then he exhaled like he'd been holding the breath for years.
"It was safer than telling you..." he whispered, the words barely audible above the cave's echoes, "how starstruck I was by you."
The words landed like a spear to the chest. Y/N’s grip slackened around Aonung’s wrist. The cave’s bioluminescent algae pulsed slower now, their dimming glow stretching the silence between them into something taut and fragile.
"Starstruck," she repeated, the word tasting foreign on her tongue.
Aonung’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the rippling pool between them. "By your... personality," he muttered, as if reciting a memorized list. "Courage. Ambition." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "And beauty too, I guess."
Y/N's jaw went slack. The cave’s bioluminescence flickered across Aonung’s face, illuminating the way his ears twitched backward. Her fingers, still loosely curled around his wrist, felt the rapid flutter of his pulse against her fingertips.
"Beauty," she echoed, voice hollow with disbelief.
Aonung’s tail lashed once, sending droplets skittering across the ledge. "Forget I said that." He tried to pull his wrist free, but her grip tightened reflexively.
"You were starstruck?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, half-choked on something between incredulity and the dawning realization that this was the missing piece. All those years of barbed comments, of him pushing her into the water during training, of lingering stares she’d written off as contempt.
His ears turned deeper blue. "I said forget it."
The cave’s algae pulsed dimly, painting the sharp planes of his face in bruised blues. Y/N exhaled shakily, her fingers loosening around his wrist but not letting go. "I... I looked up to you when we first came here," she admitted, the confession scraping raw against her throat. "You knew the ocean like it was part of you. I thought—" Her voice hitched. "I hoped I would have been able to learn from you. But you didn't even see me."
Aonung's fingers twitched beneath hers, his pulse jumping like a startled fish against her grip. The cave's bioluminescent glow flickered across his face as he exhaled sharply through his nose. "From the moment you stepped off that ikran," he muttered, his voice rough with something Y/N couldn't name, "I couldn't look away."
The cave’s bioluminescence pulsed slower now, the algae dimming as if holding its breath alongside them.
“You left me in the middle of that first spear-throwing lesson. Walked off like I was nothing.” The cave’s algae pulsed dimly, casting his flinch in bruised blue light.
Aonung’s throat worked. He didn’t pull away. “I panicked,” he admitted, voice gravel-rough. “My hands shook so badly I thought I’d drop the spear. Blushed like a hatchling seeing their first eclipse.”
"You... blushed." The words came out half-strangled. She remembered that day with crystalline clarity; Aonung tossing his spear aside mid-lesson, his retreating back rigid with something she'd mistaken for disdain. Not once had she imagined his ears burning beneath the surface or his palms slick against the harpoon's grip.
Aonung's fingers twitched beneath hers. The cave's algae pulsed weakly, illuminating the way his throat moved as he swallowed. "You were standing too close," he muttered, staring resolutely at the water between them. "Kept leaning over my shoulder to see the grip. Your braid kept brushing my arm." His tail lashed once, sending droplets skittering across the ledge. "It was... distracting." The algae suddenly lost their glow and they were met with darkness.
"You ran away," Y/N breathed, the realization dawning like sunrise over open water, "because you got a boner."
Aonung’s tail smacked the ledge with a wet thwap, his ears flattening against his skull. "I panicked," he hissed, yanking his wrist free with enough force to send droplets flying. The darkness hid his expression, but the sudden rigidity of his spine was unmistakable. "You—your braid smelled like—" His fingers flexed violently. "It doesn’t matter."
Y/N’s lips parted. "You panicked," she repeated, voice climbing an octave. "Because I smelled nice?"
Aonung exhaled sharply through his nose with a sound caught between frustration and something embarrassingly close to a whimper. The cave's algae flickered weakly back to life, casting his grimace in fleeting blue light. "Not just nice," he muttered, fingers digging into the ledge beneath them. "Like that stupid oil you rub on your spears and the yellow fruits you seem to never leave alone. Like—" His throat clicked as he swallowed. "Like you."
She remembered that day and the way Aonung had stiffened when she leaned in, which she had mistaken for disgust. "All this time," she whispered, "I thought you hated me."
Aonung's tail lashed once, violently, sending ripples across the pool. "I tried to." The admission came out raw, scraped from somewhere deep. "It would've been easier."
She looked at Aonung’s face; his jaw clenched tight, his blue eyes fixed stubbornly on the cave wall. Y/N’s fingers hovered between them, still tingling from the heat of his wrist.
"Easier," she echoed. The word tasted bitter. "Because hating me meant you wouldn’t have to admit—"
"—that I’m an skxwang," Aonung finished flatly. His fingers dug into the stone ledge, knuckles whitening. The algae’s flickering glow caught the tightness around his eyes. "My father told me to train you. Not to—" His tail lashed once. "Not whatever that was."
Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose. The cave’s damp air smelled suddenly of salt and something like ozone before lightning strikes. Her fingers twitched against the ledge. "So instead of teaching me," she said slowly, "you spent years being insufferable."
Aonung’s ears flattened. "Worked, didn’t it?" His voice lacked its usual bite. "You got good. Better than good. You surpassed me." The admission came out grudging, but not insincere. "Even if it wasn’t by my hand."
Y/N’s fingers traced the damp edge of the seaweed bandage still wrapped around her calf. The cave’s bioluminescent algae pulsed faintly, casting shifting shadows across Aonung’s face as she studied him—really studied him—for the first time. "I watched you," she admitted, voice barely above the cave’s echoes. "After you left me that first lesson." Her thumb pressed against the kelp weave, remembering. "Every spear throw, every dive, every time you adjusted your grip on the harpoon. I memorized it."
Aonung’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers remained pressed against the ledge, water trickling from his braids onto the stone between them.
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I practiced until my hands bled. Until I could outswim Rotxo, outmaneuver Tsireya." A pause. "Until I matched you."
Aonung’s throat worked. The algae’s glow caught the way his pupils dilated—black swallowing turquoise. "You watched me," he echoed, voice rough.
Y/N’s pulse thundered in her ears. "Every time." The confession hung between them, fragile as sea foam. She remembered those stolen moments; Aonung’s effortless grace in the water, the flex of his shoulders when he hauled himself onto the docks, the way his laughter carried across the waves when he thought no one was listening.
Aonung exhaled sharply, his tail lashing once. "Eywa," he muttered. His fingers uncurled slowly, brushing against her wrist where it rested on the stone between them. His touch burned hotter than the wound on her calf.
"You watched me," Aonung repeated, voice dropping to something low and rough. His thumb traced the raised veins along her wrist, following the path of her racing pulse. "All this time?"
She remembered moonlit nights spent mimicking his spear-throwing stance behind empty maruis, dawn patrols timed to coincide with his fishing routes. "Yes," she whispered.
The cave’s algae pulsed weakly, illuminating the way his gaze traced the line of her throat—like a hunter tracking prey, or a diver memorizing currents. "Why?" The word rasped out, raw.
"Because—" Her voice cracked. The truth clawed up her throat, sharp as coral. "I wanted you to look back. Even if only once."
Aonung went utterly still. His thumb froze mid-stroke against her pulse point, his turquoise eyes widening as the admission sank in.
"Look back," Aonung repeated, voice hoarse. His fingers tightened reflexively around hers—not painful, just present, anchoring them both. His thumb traced the ridge of her knuckles with a roughness that sent sparks up her arm. "All those times I turned away..." His breath hitched. "You were waiting."
Y/N swallowed hard. "Yes and you never did," she murmured. "Look back, I mean."
Aonung’s fingers twitched against hers. The algae’s flickering glow caught the sudden tightness around his eyes. "I did," he said, voice scraping low. "Every time."
"Don't lie to make me feel better," she whispered. To which Aonung’s fingers tightened around hers, pressing her palm flat against the damp stone ledge between them. "I counted your braids," he admitted, voice low, rough. The algae’s glow flickered across his face, illuminating the way his jaw worked around the confession. "Every time you turned away—fifty four. The way the light caught the beads when you moved."
Y/N’s breath caught. She remembered the weight of his gaze during training and how she’d assumed it was scrutiny, not this.
"I memorized the scar on your shoulder," Aonung continued, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist where her veins throbbed. "From the tawtute attack when you were twelve. The way it paled when you were cold." His exhale shuddered. "I watched the way you tied your hair back before diving—always three twists of the cord, never four."
"I saw the way you smiled when your siblings were happy," he admitted, voice rough as reef rock. His fingers flexed around hers, hesitant. "Always wondered what I'd have to do for you to give me that smile."
She remembered those moments; Tuk giggling as she braided flowers into Neteyam's hair, Lo'ak splashing Kiri with a well-aimed wave and her own laughter bubbling up unbidden. She'd never noticed Aonung watching.
Y/N's lips curled upwards at that and she ducked her face away, pressing her forehead against the damp cave wall to hide the flush creeping up her neck. The bioluminescent algae pulsed weakly, casting flickering blue light across the water behind them. She heard Aonung shift beside her, his tail lashing once against the stone ledge, droplets scattering like startled fish.
"You're laughing at me," he muttered emberresed, voice rougher than the cave's walls.
"I'm not," Y/N lied, the words muffled against the cool stone. Her shoulders shook once, betraying her. The mental image of Aonung—proud, infuriating Aonung—counting her braids like some lovestruck hatchling was too absurd not to laugh at. Or maybe it was the sudden, dizzying realization that all those years of mutual hostility had been... what? A badly played game of catch?
Aonung's fingers tapped impatiently against the ledge. "Your shoulders are shaking."
Y/N pressed her lips together, shoulders still trembling as she fought to compose herself. The algae pulsed faintly, casting flickering blue light across Aonung's scowling face when his ears were practically glowing with embarrassment. "It's just—" she hiccuped, wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist. "All this time, we could've been friends instead of—" Her breath hitched on another suppressed laugh. "Instead of whatever we were."
Aonung's tail smacked the ledge with enough force to send droplets flying. "Friends," he repeated flatly, as if the word tasted foul. His fingers twitched toward her before curling into fists against his thighs. "Is that what you want?"
The question landed between them with unexpected weight. Y/N's laughter died in her throat. She studied his profile in the dim light—the tension along his shoulders, the way his fingers dug into his own thighs. This close, she could see the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the one he'd gotten during their first ill-fated sparring match.
"No," she admitted softly. "No, not just friends."
Aonung went very still. The cave’s algae pulsed weakly, illuminating the way his throat moved as he swallowed. His fingers uncurled slowly from his thighs, hovering just above the damp stone between them. "Then what?" The question came out rough, scraped raw.
Y/N exhaled shakily, as if the very air around her was heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. She remembered those moonlit patrols, where she had matched his stride with deliberate care, just to feel the gentle brush of his tail against hers, a silent communication that spoke volumes. "You know..." she murmured.
The algae’s flickering glow caught the way his pupils dilated. "Say it." Aonung’s voice dropped low, a challenge and a plea woven together. "After all this time, you owe me that much."
The storm outside reached a sudden crescendo, waves slamming against the reef with enough force to send tremors through the cave walls. Y/N’s breath hitched as the vibration skittered up her spine. She lifted her chin. "I wanted you to look at me the way you do when you think no one’s watching," she said, "like I was something worth catching."
His fingers hovered above hers, trembling slightly before curling into fists against the ledge. "I did," he whispered. The words sounded scraped raw. "Every damn day."
The only sound was the gentle falling of water droplets from their bodies.
"It only took a tsurak attack," Y/N muttered, shaking her head as the absurdity of it settled between them like sea foam. "A near-death experience for Tuk. A storm. An accidental metting in a cave." Her fingers traced the damp edge of her seaweed bandage. "For us to admit that."
"I’m glad we did," Aonung murmured, voice rough as the cave walls around them.
The algae pulsed weakly overhead, casting flickering shadows across his face as he turned toward her, ocean blue eyes unguarded for once. His tail curled around the ledge, the tip brushing her thigh.
"Glad we almost got Tuk killed?" she asked, but the bite was gone from her voice. Her fingers flexed against the stone, her pinky overlapping his where they rested between them.
Aonung exhaled sharply through his nose. "No." His thumb traced the ridge of her knuckle, calluses catching on her skin. "Glad it forced us here. To this." His gesture encompassed the cave, the storm outside, the space between them where unsaid things hovered like bioluminescence in dark water.
Y/N ducked her chin, hiding the way her lips twitched upward. Aonung’s fingers twitched against hers. Then suddenly, decisively, he reached up, cupping her jaw with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, coaxing her face upward until the cave’s dim glow caught her expression.
"Don’t hide it," he murmured. His thumb lingered at the edge of her smile. "After all this time, let me see."
Her pulse hammered against her ribs as his palm cradled her jaw with unexpected reverence. Years of harpoon grips had made his fingers rough but they were impossibly tender against her cheekbone. The weakly pulsing algae illuminated the flecks of blue in his eyes – close enough now to count.
Her smile widened as his thumb traced the curve of her lower lip.
Then his fingers curled into her braids with sudden certainty, pulling her forward until their foreheads touched.
Before closing the distance.
The kiss was sweet at first, but then Y/N's fingers found the woven edge of Aonung's loincloth before her mind could catch up. She fisted the damp fabric and yanked him closer, hard enough for their foreheads to bump together.
Aonung grunted, his free hand slamming against the cave wall to steady himself while the other remained tangled in her braids. Around them, the bioluminescent algae pulsed with a faint glow, casting their intertwined shadows across the rippling water.
"Eywa's teeth," Aonung hissed, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he adjusted his grip on her hair, tilting her face upward as his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth once more. "Warn a man next time."
"Next time?" Y/N breathed, the words ghosting across his lips as her grip tightened on his loincloth. The coarse fibers dug into her palm, grounding her just as much as they held him in place.
Aonung's tail lashed once, before curling possessively around her thigh.
"Don't pretend you won't do this again," he muttered. Then his mouth was on hers again, hot and insistent.
By the time dawn crept across the horizon, the storm had softened, leaving behind only the hiss of retreating waves at the cave's entrance. Aonung's fingers lingered in Y/N's braids, as though afraid she would dissolve like sea foam if he let go. His thumb brushed the shell bead at the end of one braid, the gesture absentminded yet intimate.
"They'll be searching by now," Y/N murmured against his collarbone, her words vibrating through his skin. She could already hear the distant calls; Neteyam's voice cutting through the mist, Tsireya's higher pitch threading between the waves.
Aonung exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening momentarily before releasing her. "Dad will have the entire eastern reef combed," he admitted, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle.
The water hit Y/N's calves first—cold enough to make her toes curl against the slick cave floor. Aonung didn't hesitate, plunging in up to his waist before turning, his outstretched hand catching the dawn light filtering through the cave's mouth. His fingers dripped saltwater onto her wrist where their skin touched.
"You first," he said, voice rougher than the reef's edge.
Y/N sucked in a breath as the water climbed past her thighs, the chill tightening her muscles. Aonung's fingers flexed around hers, his grip firm enough to anchor but loose enough she could pull away. She didn't. His tail flickered beneath the surface, stirring up bioluminescent plankton that clung to their legs like scattered stars. And then they dunked.
The first breach of daylight stung Y/N’s eyes as they surfaced beyond the cave’s mouth. Saltwater sluiced down her face, mingling with the lingering heat of Aonung’s touch where his fingers had gripped hers moments before. He surfaced beside her with a sharp exhale, shaking water from his braids like an ilu shedding rain.
"Stay close," Aonung muttered, his free hand brushing the small of her back as a swell lifted them. His fingers lingered, just enough to steady her against the current, before he struck out toward the distant shore, his tail cutting through the water with practiced efficiency. Y/N followed, her muscles protesting the cold after hours in the cave’s stagnant warmth.
The reef passed beneath them in a blur of color—crimson fan corals recoiling as their shadows darted overhead, jewel-bright fish scattering from their path. Aonung adjusted his stroke to match hers when she faltered, his shoulder bumping against hers whenever the current threatened to pull them apart. It was nothing like their usual races; no taunting, no reckless dives to prove superiority. Just the steady push toward shore, his presence a constant against her flank.
The shore materialized through the morning mist like a dream half-remembered—first as a dark smudge against the horizon, then resolving into distinct shapes: the hulking silhouettes of warriors stationed along the tide line, the flicker of torches despite the dawn light. Y/N's stomach plummeted when she recognized the tallest figure. Her father's broad shoulders rigid with tension, his tail lashing violently against the wet sand. Beside him, Tonowari stood statue-still, his trident planted deep in the shoreline like a standard of war.
Aonung's hand found her wrist underwater, his fingers tightening briefly before letting go. "Brace yourself," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the waves.
They were twenty strokes from shore when the shouting started. Neytiri's voice cut through the mist first, quivering with something between fury and raw relief. "Skxawng!" The insult carried across the water, but the way her hands trembled as she waded into the surf betrayed her rage as fear in disguise. Behind her, Ronal gripped Tuk's shoulder with white-knuckled intensity, her healing kit strapped conspicuously across her chest like she'd expected to retrieve corpses.
The water turned shallow enough for Y/N’s feet to scrape sand just as Jake’s bellow rolled across the surf: "Get over here!" His voice cracked mid-command which she’d never heard before. Aonung’s fingers brushed her wrist underwater, fleeting but firm, before he straightened his shoulders and strode forward, water sluicing off his thighs with each step.
Y/N braced for impact as Neytiri reached them first. Her mother’s hands seized her face with terrifying gentleness, thumbs brushing salt-crusted cheeks as dark eyes scanned every inch of her for injury. The anger drained from Neytiri’s frame in a visible wave when she found only exhaustion and Aonung’s clumsily tied seaweed bandage. "Stupid child," she whispered when her forehead pressed against Y/N’s with bone-deep relief.
The weight of Jake's glare hit Aonung before the tide could fully recede from their legs. Tonowari hadn't moved but his gaze tracked his son with terrifying stillness. "Explain," he said. Just one word, flatter than stillwater.
Aonung's throat clicked audibly when he swallowed. "The storm drove us into the caves near Three Brothers Reef," he began, voice steadier than his clenched jaw suggested. His fingers twitched at his sides, still damp from their grip on hers underwater. "We waited it out."
Jake's nostrils flared. He looked between them; Y/N's seaweed bandage, Aonung's salt-crusted braids and the space between their bodies that had been nonexistent moments before. His frown deepened. "Waited it out," he repeated, voice dangerously low. His tail lashed once. "That's all?"
Y/N opened her mouth, but Neytiri's grip tightened fractionally on her shoulders. Behind them, Tsireya fidgeted with her armband, her eyes darting between Aonung and the fresh bruise purpling along Y/N's ribcage.
Jake took a step forward, his tail lashing hard enough to kick up sand. "You two—" His voice roughened, fingers flexing like he wanted to throttle something. "You nearly got Tuk killed with your—"
Aonung moved before the accusation fully landed. Three strides. He was positioned slightly in front of Y/N, not quite blocking her but angling his body to absorb Jake's glare. His shoulder brushed hers, warm despite the morning chill.
The entire beach stilled. Tsireya's hands flew to her mouth. Even Tonowari's fingers paused mid-air where they'd been gesturing for calm.
Jake's tirade cut off mid-word. His gaze flicked between them—Aonung's protective stance, the way Y/N's fingers had instinctively curled into the small of Aonung's back without realizing it. Neytiri's grip on Y/N's shoulders loosened slightly, her thumbs brushing the tension from her daughter's collarbones.
Ronal was the first to speak. "Well," she said dryly. "This is new."
Aonung's ears flattened. Jake's nostrils flared as he took another step forward, close enough that Y/N could see the way his braids trembled with suppressed fury. "You have exactly three seconds," he ground out, "to explain why—"
Aonung's fingers twitched at his sides. "It was my fault too," he admitted, the words rough like he'd dragged them over coral. "Our fighting—" He swallowed hard. "It drew the tsurak. I know that."
The confession hung between them like mist over the reef. His gaze flicked to Aonung's shoulder, still pressed against hers, then to Tonowari's impassive face.
Neytiri's fingers tightened briefly on Y/N's arms before releasing. "You admit this," she said slowly, eyes narrowing at Aonung. "Yet you stand together now?"
Y/N stepped around Aonung. "He saved Tuk," she said, voice clear despite the salt crusting her lips. "Tsurak would have taken her if he hadn't acted."
Jake's tail lashed once. Behind him, Tuk buried her face in Tsireya's side, small hands clutching the older girl's armband.
Ronal made a low noise in her throat as she nudged Tonowari's trident with her foot. "Told you," she murmured, too quiet for most to hear.
Aonung's tail twitched against the wet sand. "We talked." The words came out gruff, but his fingers brushed Y/N's wrist underwater.
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. He looked at Tonowari, who hadn't moved from his trident's shadow. "You hearing this?"
Tonowari's fingers flexed around his trident's shaft, his knuckles whitening against the polished bone. "I hear," he said, voice low enough to make the warriors behind him lean forward. His gaze flicked to Aonung—lingering on the way his son's shoulder still pressed against Y/N's, the way his fingers twitched like he was resisting the urge to reach for her again. "Do you believe it?" he asked Jake, not unkindly.
Jake's nostrils flared as he studied them: Aonung's seaweed-stained hip wrap, Y/N's salt-crusted braids, the space between their bodies that kept shrinking despite the tension thickening the air. "I want to," he admitted gruffly. "But after years of—" He gestured sharply between them. "This—you expect me to buy that one storm fixed it?"
Y/N's fingers brushed against Aonung's wrist under the water—not quite holding, just anchoring herself against the current of Jake's disbelief. The sand shifted beneath her feet as she straightened, meeting her father's glare head-on. "It wasn't the storm, dad," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "It was realizing we'd been idiots."
Aonung's shoulder bumped hers; half solidarity, half warning. His fingers curled around hers underwater, hidden from view but undeniable in their grip. "We needed a push," he admitted, jaw tight. "To see we're not..." His voice trailed off as his thumb traced the inside of Y/N's wrist down the same path he'd followed in the cave. "Not as different as we pretended."
Jake's eyebrows shot up, his gaze darting between their concealed hands and Aonung's suddenly vulnerable expression.
Jake's hand scrubbed down his face hard enough to scrape salt from his cheeks. "No," he growled, the word landing like a harpoon strike. "Absolutely not. It's too early for this." His tail lashed sideways, kicking up sand that pattered against Tonowari's trident and stomps away.
Neytiri's fingers tightened momentarily on Y/N's shoulders before releasing. She leaned close, her breath warm against her daughter's ear as she murmured in Na'vi too rapid for the others to catch: "Your father did not sleep. He paced the shore all night." Her lips twitched upward despite herself. "His tail wore a path in the sand."
Before Y/N could respond, a commotion erupted from the tree line, the distinctive thud of someone tripping over their own tail.
"He was worried you killed him! Now he is worried about different type of activities you two could have done!" Lo'ak's voice carried across the beach as he barreled through the shallows, arms pinwheeling for balance. He skidded to a halt in front of Aonung, dripping seawater onto the sand as he pantomimed a dramatic double-take at their proximity. "Oh eywa—are you two holding hands underwater right now?"
The moment splintered; Lo'ak's grin widening as Aonung's grip on Y/N's wrist tightened reflexively, his tail smacking the water's surface with enough force to splash Tsireya's knees. Tuk giggled into her hands from where she clung to Tsireya's side, her earlier terror forgotten in favor of this new, fascinating drama.
Y/N yanked her hand free with a splash that caught Lo'ak square in the chest. "Shut up," she hissed. Aonung's knuckles brushed her hip underwater.
Jake's groan carried across the beach as he came closer to them again, scrubbing both hands down his face. "For the love of—no, from now on there needs to be at least 15 feet between you two." His tail lashed once as he huffed.
Tonowari's trident creaked in his grip as he studied his son. He watched Aonung's shoulders square beneath the scrutiny and the stubborn set of his jaw before releasing a slow breath.
"I agree. I have no desire to become a grandfather yet. Son, if you are serious about this, you will follow the proper courting customs."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Aonung nodded. “Of course.”
Jake went utterly still.
Neytiri blinked.
Lo'ak made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke.
"Wait." Jake lifted a hand. "No. No, you don't answer that that fast."
Aonung frowned. "Why?"
"Because that's the answer of somebody who's already thought about it."
Another pause.
"I have."
Lo'ak doubled over so abruptly he nearly face-planted into the shallows. "OH, EYWA, HE'S SERIOUS!"
Y/N wished the ocean would open beneath her feet and swallow her whole.
Lo'ak then straightened so fast he nearly lost his balance again, eyes wide with delighted horror.
"Neteyam is still asleep."
Nobody liked the look that appeared on his face.
"Lo'ak—" Y/N warned.
"Neteyam is still asleep," he repeated, backing away through the shallows. "He doesn't know any of this."
"Lo'ak."
"I have to go tell him."
"LO'AK."
"This is the best day of my life."
He spun on his heel and took off toward the village.
"LO'AK!"
His laughter echoed across the beach as he disappeared over the dunes while Jake stared after his retreating son for a long moment.
"I liked him better when he was lost." Neytiri smacked his arm.
Tonowari cleared his throat, attempting to drag the conversation back under control.
"Then there will be supervision."
Jake's head snapped around immediately.
"Good."
"Strict supervision."
"Very good."
"No disappearing alone into the reef."
"Excellent."
Tonowari considered for a moment, tapping the butt of his trident into the sand.
"Three months."
Jake stared at him.
"Three months?"
"That is the customary courting period."
"Can we make it a year?"
Y/N groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Dad."
"A year?" Aonung echoed, genuinely offended.
"Two years," Jake countered immediately.
"DAD!"
Even Neytiri was beginning to lose her battle with a smile. Tonowari's expression remained admirably composed, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
"Perhaps six months."
"Done."
“Dad!” y/n exclaimed as Aonung opened his mouth.
"Do not negotiate," Jake and Tonowari said in unison.
The two men blinked at each other.
A beat passed.
Then Tonowari sighed.
For the first time in their time knowing eachother, he looked at Jake not as another clan leader, but as a father enduring a uniquely terrible trial.
From somewhere deep in the village came Lo'ak's triumphant bellow.
"NETEYAM!"
The shout echoed across the shoreline.
"THEY WERE HOLDING HANDS, NETEYAM! HANDS!"
A startled yelp then rang out from somewhere among the marui pods. Followed immediately by a heavy thud.
Tsireya winced.
"Did he just fall out of his hammock?" Tuk asked.
Another crash answered her question.
Lo'ak's cackling carried all the way back to the beach.
The Place the Eye Does Not See | Mangkwan!Jake Sully
This is a prequel to my fic, Ashes to Ashes. You can read this first if you have not read the other one!
Word count: 4.5k
Pairing: Jake Sully x f!mate!reader
Description: In the wake of disaster, you take extreme measures to ensure the survival of your clan and your mate's rise to power.
Content Warnings: AU where the Omatikaya took the place of the Mangkwan and became ash Na'vi. Deranged!reader, Tsu'tey lives, severed kuru, reader and Jake become insane and power hungry.
Author's note: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE! I love Mangkwan!Jake and this AU very much! Leave me requests in my inbox if you have any ideas for this universe! Thank you Lumi and Finnie for giving me feedback and helping me spot mistakes! I appreciate you both sm!! @lumilily @lejardinfleur
Your eyes felt heavy and laden with unshed sorrow as your attention was pulled up to the man standing in front of your seated form. Ash drifted through the stagnant air. The trees were bare and burnt, black bark now taking the place of colorful vines that used to grow in abundance.
The man you had once thought to be a demon, now looked more like an angel, as he crouched and handed you a cracked, hollowed out gourd of water. The liquid was warm and tasted like smoke, but it still helped clear your throat as it traveled down.
Jake watched with cold and steely eyes as you swallowed each drop, the water running down your chin and chest made rivets of blue appear through the ash that covered your skin in thick sheets.
“Home tree still burns,” he said lowly and you stilled at the news. “It’s spread for miles, it’ll be here in a few days.”
“Then we cannot stay,” you surmised and he nodded. You glanced around at the crowds of people still grouped together.
Your once mighty clan was now reduced to refugees and wanderers. The Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk were dead, one killed in the fall of Hometree, and the other dead from the missile that had taken down the Tree of Souls. Nearly two hundred more Omatikaya had joined them, most fallen in battle, others killed by debris or Hometree itself. What had once been your home, had become your graveyard.
Hundreds of Na’vi from other tribes were dead and wounded. Some still alive were scattered among you now, but the other stragglers had attempted to flee home. You would have once prayed for their safe return, but your faith in the Great Mother was diminished to ash, just like your forest. The thought of praying to her, after what she had done to you, made anger swell in your chest. What did you owe her that she had not already taken? What more was there to give?
Where was Eywa when skypeople shot at your kin? Where had she been when they had cut the Na’vi down as if you were blades of grass? If Eywa held her children in her heart, then you must not be one of hers. Perhaps she had forsaken the Omatikaya for a new love. She had picked a side today.
You hoped the skypeople enjoyed her favor as you once had.
If she would not save you, then you would have to save yourself. You felt the thought settle in your heart like comfort or something soft, the reminder that this fight was not over. Despite the bleeding gash across your shoulder, you were not dead yet.
“They need someone to lead them,” you whispered softly to Jake over the cries of grief and agony.
His eyes narrowed, “Tsu’tey is-” but you stopped him before he could get too far. You needed him to step up now, for all of your sakes.
“No, Tsu’tey is unable to lead in his condition. You are Toruk Makto,” you reminded him, nodding to where Tsu’tey laid on the scorched ground. Neytiri crouched over him as she used a dead Na’vi’s clothing to tie a tight bandage over his bullet wound. His fate was entirely up in the air, his condition wavering each minute.
“They won’t listen to a skyperson,” Jake argued, watching as a woman sobbed over a toy, her child no longer there to play with the wooden Pa’li (direhorse).
“They will listen to Rider of Last Shadow. Eywa is no longer in this place, the humans have driven her away. You are the last gift she gave us, our last hope now. You must lead,” you insisted. The evening sky used to draw out the light of Jake’s tanhì (bioluminescent freckles), but ash now blocked the glow.
His eyes fell down to the gray dirt, but you forced his chin back up with your knuckle. “You betrayed us before, so now you must stay to make amends. You were weak then, but you have changed. I have seen it grow in you,” you demanded. Jake’s jaw clenched in anger or shame, you were not sure, but either would serve you now.
“I will forge you into something better, something stronger. Listen to me, follow my words, and we will bring down the humans. We can lead this clan back to what it once was, but only if you are at my side. The people need you to be strong… I need you to be strong.”
He dragged his eyes up to meet yours and the resolve filling them now had hope flickering once more in your chest. “I am with you,” he said steadily. “I am always with you,” he promised and you nodded.
“Good,” you breathed, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “Then you know what needs to be done.”
He nodded, “Will you translate?” he asked.
“Yes,” you agreed, and he took your awaiting hands, tugging you up with him into a standing position. You led him to stand in front of the group of people, so small compared to your former strength.
He looked at you for reassurance, but you would not coddle him. Your steely gaze bored into him as you nodded. “Na’vi!” he finally called out to the people.
Weary, bloodshot eyes looked up to him as he gripped his hands into fists at his sides. “The demons have won this battle, but they have not won the war,” he started as you translated it into the language of Pandora.
The people shifted, their hollow eyes betraying how bone tired and weary they were, but they perked up at his words. “They have killed the Great Mother, caused her to flee from this land. But all is not lost, our strength is each other.”
As you spoke in Na’vi, you saw Neytiri stumble to her feet, leaving Tsu’tey on the hard floor as she looked at you both with a shocked stare. Jake continued as the people started sitting up.
He was visibly growing in confidence as he spoke and you felt something akin to relief or pride sweep over you. Perhaps you would not have to coach him so heavily, he seemed more ready than you had imagined.
“We need to regroup, heal, find shelter and food,” he listed, “All able bodies should step forward. The young and the old will have to look after the wounded. I need hunters to travel to find food and others to find water. We will need to build shelters,” he explained with a tone that demanded respect.
So the rebuilding began. Warriors who remained relatively unscathed had mounted their ikran to ride away from the skypeople’s fires to find any beasts to slay or plants to forage for food. Those who had minor injuries were sent to collect water from the river that once ran beside Hometree, but now they would have to travel far to reach it.
When you had turned to Jake for your own assignment, he just shook his head, “Stay here, Baby. Help the wounded and start on some shelters. Your shoulder doesn't need any stress on it,” he said and you bit back a protest.
You needed to be on his side completely, not show any resistance, play the long game. Besides, you needed time to think. You could do mindless work here while you planned your next moves. You nodded demurely, “Thank you, Jake. You take such good care of me,” you cooed, a hand finding his shoulder.
He gave a half-hearted smile, “of course, Baby.”
When he and the other warriors came back hours later, the supplies were few and you realized with sudden urgency that your people needed to move. They would die if they stayed here.
But before you could go, there was one thing that had to be done.
“Jake,” you asked softly, coming up to him where he was helping unload the sparse, bloodied meat that they had collected.
He turned to you, ears pointing up as his face softened. “Hey.”
You smiled back, although it was tight lipped. “I know you have gone through much today, but your human body must be dealt with,” you informed him.
“What?” he asked, looked taken aback by your current focus.
“You are weakened by it. As of now, you are tied to a body that depends on machines. Anything could go wrong, and regardless, soon, you will run out of air. We need to do a transfer.”
“I don’t know,” he said, looking torn at the prospect.
You stepped back, eyes wide at his hesitance. “Do you not love me? Do you not want to stay with me?”
“Of course I do,” he insisted, “That’s not it.”
“Then you will transfer today, or you will never see me again,” you ordered, turning on your heel to go find Neytiri.
You were pleased when Jake caught up with you, grabbing your wrist as he tugged you back. “No, hey, I’m sorry. You’re right. I'll do the transfer,” he relented and your lips cracked into a blinding smile.
“I knew you would make the right choice, yawnetu (loved one),” you fawned, leaning forward to peck him on the lips. “Come, arrangements need to be made.”
You and Jake found Neytiri in the same spot, tending to Tsu’tey and a few others who would likely not make the night. “Neytiri, we have a problem,” you said, as you and Jake sat next to Tsu’tey’s unconscious body.
“We have many problems,” she agreed. The Tsakarem’s eyes flitted between you and Jake as she nodded once for you to continue.
“My human body is on borrowed time. I need to transfer my mind like Mo’at tried with Grace, except this time… I really need it to work,” Jake huffed sardonically. Neytiri’s eyes widened and you rushed to speak.
“Will you perform the ceremony?” you asked, mentally pleading with her to say yes. “Is this even possible?” you asked, leaning in with furrowed brows as Neytiri nodded, looking resigned.
“Yes, but it will not be easy. The only connection with Eywa left in the forest is miles away, it will take hours to reach. Jake will not last long in this body,” she agreed. “I will do this, but we must go now,” Neytiri insisted.
“Then let’s get it done,” Jake agreed, slinging his gun over his shoulder by its strap and standing up. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You will have to travel in your human body,” you realized, chewing your lip nervously as you thought over the logistics.
“That won’t work,” he insisted. “My legs… I can't travel across this terrain.”
You cocked your head, “Is your faith in me so brittle? I think I have an idea.”
Several hours later, you were on a Pa’li, with Jake’s small human body pressed to your front. Neytiri was just behind you on her own Pa’li. Jake’s unconscious, Na’vi body was strapped to the back of her beast. You were both picking your way through the smokey haze of the forest, or at least, what was left of it.
Jake barely said a word through his clear mask and you did not say anything either. It felt too weird to see him in his pink skin and odd human clothes. It felt so much more real to be confronted with his humanity in this way. His metallic smell was a hundred times stronger like this, and the stench was giving you a headache.
You glanced behind you to where Neytiri was grimacing at the smoke in the air. A small part of you, the jealous part, was satisfied to see that not an inch of Jake was touching Neytiri and she seemed to not be paying him any mind.
You turned back to the small human that was supposed to be your mate. The sight of him made your stomach roll, but you tried to hide your disgust for his sake. You leaned forward to speak to him without Neytiri hearing. “Let this weak, human part of you die, Jake. Be reborn into something terrible and strong,” you whispered into the shell of his pink ear.
He paused, processing your words before he nodded. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be,” he promised.
Once at the tree, you set Jake down at its base before you helped Neytiri lower his avatar form to the ground. He was heavy and it took both of you to pull him to the root covered dais, but finally you placed his unconscious form into position. Jake moved to be laying the opposite way of his avatar and laid down with his back flat to the rock.
You knelt down beside him and leaned over his body. "When you see her, tell Eywa that I will not forgive what she has done," you hissed, eyes aflame with underlying, yet glowing rage.
Jake did not say anything in response. How could he even begin to know what to say? He just nodded grimly and pressed his lips together. You smiled kindly, a glimmer of the woman he had fallen in love with peeking through. “Thank you, Yawnetu. Come back to me.”
“I will,” he agreed, reaching up to cup your cheek with his small hand.
“We must begin,” Neytiri interrupted, and you nodded.
“Then begin.”
When Neytiri began chanting, the vines slowly began to glow and stretch over both of his bodies. They covered who he was and is and had yet to become, making your heart squeeze in anticipation for something new to emerge from the ashes of this defeat.
You waited as Neytiri pleaded with Eywa, something you refused to do. You would not ask her to do what you were already owed. It was her who should be pleading with you for forgiveness.
You hovered expectantly, caught between love and rage, as you waited for Jake.
It felt like an eternity, but Jake’s human body slowly stopped breathing. You placed a hand over Jake’s Na’vi heart, hoping for a thump, but there was only stillness. You waited a moment more, but eventually Neytiri stopped praying.
Your burning, panicked eyes flew up to her. “Why have you stopped?” you demanded.
“I am sorry, ‘eylan (friend). I do not think it has worked,” Neytiri said, dismayed.
You clenched your jaw, refusing to give in so easy to defeat. You gripped his chin, jerking it up so he would face you, but there was no breath on his lips. “No,” you muttered. If he was not to be born from love and patience, then he would be born from violence.
You took your other hand, balled it into a fist, and brought it down on his chest hard. “Jake, wake up, you skxawng,” you cried out in desperation. Neytiri leaned back, wary of your methods and your anger.
Still, despite your effort, his face was slack. Neither air nor a heartbeat had moved in either body for what was growing into minutes.
“You promised you would come back! You will not leave me this way!” you ordered. You screamed in frustration, ripped your hand away from his face and brought it down with your other fist, pounding on his chest with all the force in your body.
With a stuttering gasp, Jake’s eyes flew open and breath filled his lungs.
You let out a relieved sigh. Your rage had brought him back to you.
One month later:
You and Jake had begun moving the remains of your small camp forward. Less than a hundred Omatikaya remained, yet you had created a small community from the barren wasteland you had been left with.
Animals had been hunted, their meat used to feed the people and their hides creating shelter after being strung between dead, charred trees.
Other homes had been fashioned to stand freely and people found or fell into roles. The mantles of Tsahìk and Olo’eyktan were usurped by you and Jake. You did not ask permission or put it to a vote, you simply stepped into the role. Anyone who did not like it would be dealt with, but so far, no one had voiced their concerns.
You slathered a mixture of ash and clay and water on your skin, creating a paste that would absorb the harsh rays of sun. You had heard of people in the plains using paint and mud to keep the sun from burning their skin, but you had thought it to be strange at the time. You always had your forest to keep you protected with its lush canopies and thick foliage to shield you from the elements.
Now there were only stumps where the giant trees used to be. Only white ash where plants and life had once thrived. Your skin burned quickly if there was nothing between it and the sun.
“We need guns, equipment, explosives,” Jake mused, looking over the maps he had crudely drawn on animal hide.
You looked up from the bowl on the ground to your mate who was hunched over his plans. Your kelku was the largest in the small village. Jake had ordered it to be made precisely how you would like it, and much of the finer details were handled by him directly. You had quickly learned that he was a doting mate.
“Then it must be sought, Ma Jake,” you replied, rubbing a paint covered hand over your chest and shoulders.
He looked up. “A raid would be suicide,” he responded.
You cocked your head and beckoned him closer. He pushed aside his plans and padded over to you, letting you pull him down to his knees in front of your kneeling body.
You dipped your hands back in the paint, bringing them to his stomach and slathering the grayish paste over it.
“Does the fire balk or slow down at resistance? No, it takes what it needs to grow and it does not stop at the sight of its enemy. It pushes until it has conquered, as must you,” you explained, rising up to run your hands up his shoulders and neck, covering blue sin with ash until not even his tanhì would show through.
Jake narrowed his eyes, dipping his own hands in the paint as he mulled over your words. The paint was cold on your skin as his fingers dragged down your nose and cheeks. You shivered and you enjoyed the uptick of his lips at your reaction.
“We have been looking at the fire as if it was our destroyer, but I see now the truth of it. The fire did not destroy us. Our weakness did. We let the skypeople infiltrate our lands and mine our ground, and when they came for our destruction, we had no defense strong enough. It is time we learn from our mistakes.”
“The fire took everything from us, as we must now take everything from them,” Jake surmised, looking intently at you with gold eyes as if seeking your approval.
You smiled, hands matching pace with each other as they trailed up his neck and stopped at his jaw. “Precisely. Gather a war party, take what we need and let no skyperson stop you,” you muttered encouragingly, pulling his head down so you could kiss him. His hands roamed your back, spreading more paint on the expanse of it.
You pulled away from him when the ash on your lips got into your mouth, the taste of it bitter and cleansing.
“We will hit them when they transfer goods. That’s when they’re most vulnerable,” Jake said, eyes still closed as your foreheads rested on each other. His eyebrows were twisted in a way that you had learned meant he was strategizing in that brilliant brain of his.
“Hit them hard, give no mercy,” you said into the air between you.
“No mercy,” he agreed.
-
They rode out early the next morning.
Jake had set out a solid game plan. Scouts had reported a train carrying supplies was on the tracks, and Jake was quick to mobilize. A party of 30 flew out and all 30 were back an hour later. They arrived with weapons, food, water stores, and even human liquor. A success all around.
No skypeople had survived the raid. Every single one of them laid where they had died, and when the generals and commanding officers would arrive to investigate in the following hours, there would be no trace of the culprit. All arrows had been gathered from their targets and no Na’vi blood had been spilt.
The humans would have their suspicions about it being the work of the avatar defector, Jake Sully, but all they would see on the cameras was a red, gray, and black blur before the feed cut out.
In the makeshift Omatikaya village, there had been dancing and feasting that night, celebrating the small victory they had rightfully won.
When Jake had raised a handmade cup of what he called “Vodka” in the air and toasted to you, you had never felt more appreciated. “To my Tsahìk, who is the real cause of your victory today,” Jake smiled smugly down at you where you sat lounging near the fire. You smiled, grateful for his acknowledgement, even though it was rightfully owed.
Your eyes roved over the crowd of your people, taking in their delighted faces. Many cheered, but one man did not say a word. In fact, he did not even raise his cup. He stuck out to you like a ‘angtsìk (hammerhead titanothere) in a field of flowers.
“Atan,” you said, a smile still on your lips as you looked at the hunter who had been trained by Tsu’tey and was one of the best warriors in Jake’s party. All heads swiveled to him as he looked up at you in surprise at being called out. “You do not agree with Olo’eyktan,” you guessed.
He ground his teeth, but nodded. “We should not be attacking them. We do not have the strength to fight them off if they were to strike back,” he argued and your blood boiled.
“I see,” you said, handing your cup to the woman beside you and standing with slow ease. You did not let your anger show, not yet. “And what would you have us do to the demons who killed our mothers and our fathers, our sisters and brothers. Who killed our children?”
He hesitated, glancing up at Jake, who only stared back. “I- I would have bided our time. Found another clan to join. There is strength in numbers,” he offered.
“You think you know better than Tsahìk?” Jake growled, stepping closer and Atan’s eyes widened.
“I know war, Olo’eyktan. That is all I know,” he corrected.
“And we do not?” you asked, stalking up where your husband stood and joining him as a united force.
The clan waited with bated breath at Atan’s next words.
His brow furrowed and he finally stood on legs that did not shake. “When the old Tsahìk and Olo’eyktan died, there was a clear line of succession. Tsu’tey and Neytiri have a right to lead,” he argued.
Jake stood straighter, his broad shoulders stretching wider than any natural born Na’vi’s. He walked slowly forward, each step calculated and sure. He stood toe to toe with Atan, “That sounds a lot like treason, my friend,” Jake spoke low. “And traitors must be punished.” As quick as the wind, Jake drew his knife, reaching behind Atan and hooking it around his kuru. The braid created a loop around the blade, held taunt by Jake’s fist.
Atan’s eyes flew wide and he froze, back arched as he struggled to stay as still as possible. Pain from the action was evident in the way Atan’s eyes and jaw squeezed, but he did not cry out. Your eyes sparkled in wonder as you watched Jake perform his new role.
“Anyone else feel this way?” Jake turned to Neytiri and Tsu’tey, bandages still wrapped around the latter's torso. Atan whimpered as his feet shuffled with Jake’s movements, careful not to move more than necessary. “When you lay dying, didn’t you give up your title to me? Have I stolen what was yours, brother?” Jake looked down at the former Olo’eyktan in feigned confusion.
Tsu’tey stared up at Jake with a thick layer of fear in his eyes. He was quiet for a long beat that stretched into moments of tension. Finally he admitted the truth. “No, Olo’eyktan. I gave up my right to lead during the battle.”
“That’s what I thought,” Jake laughed, shaking his head, “And Neytiri, am I right in believing that as my mate, it would make sense for my wife to be Tsahìk? That is how the Na’vi do it, right? Would you wish to challenge her for the position?”
Neytiri looked terrified for Atan, her lips set in a thin line. She shook her head, “No, Olo’eyktan. I do not wish to take what is hers.”
“No, you wouldn't, ‘cause that would be treason,” Jake agreed and Neytiri nodded, her movements frantic to please him.
Neytiri knew in her heart she had failed her student when she had watched him fall for you, but had done nothing. Even as she saw the beginnings of who you would become, she had decided to leave it to Eywa. She now deeply regretted her compliancy all those months ago.
“So it seems like it’s just you, Atan.” Jake said to the man still in his grasp.
You smiled maniacally at the scene before you, even as your conscious screamed. This was the point of no return.
You walked up to Atan and he stared terrified back at you. “Treason cannot be tolerated, not anymore. That is the way of things,” you explained. You glanced up at Jake who raised his brow in silent question.
The look of horror on Atan’s face made the choice easy. You would help force him to be something stronger, something that did not rely on the old ways.
“You will not need it, Eywa has already forgotten you.” You laid a hand on his face in a way that you hoped showed him you were only doing what was in his best interest.
You looked up at your mate, and with the slightest nod of your head, Jake pulled his obsidian blade clean through the kuru.
Everyone stared in rapt terror as Atan fell to the ground and emitted a scream so curdling and piercing it would follow you the rest of your days.
Jake held up the kuru like a trophy and turned in a circle so all could see. “To my Tsahìk,” he roared, turning back to you and smiling wickedly, both sets of avatar fangs on display, “who is the real cause of our victory,” he repeated.
The crowd erupted into cheers, some forced and some earned.
You smiled back at Jake. He had proved himself to you tonight. He had been molded into something that would last, something that would protect. He had become what you had dreamed him to be.
The Great Mother had banished you to the place the eye did not see, and together, you had conquered it with roaring applause.
-you and jake have been best friends for years much to the displeasure of everyone who has ever been around you two. Even in your new lives you both remain insufferable.
word count: 2.4k
warnings: body shaming (jake calls reader 'tubby' once, they both call each other ugly)
a/n: this was supposed to be a small drabble but then i unfortunately started writing exposition…
You knew from the second you laid eyes on him, when he walked into the barracks with all that young bull swagger and an annoying smirk, that he was someone that would get on your nerves.
You weren't wrong. You just never expected that his sully charm would reel you in regardless.
You quickly became inseparable assholes together. You two were practically joined at the hip, eating side by side in the canteen every single day, and periodically landing yourselves in trouble with your childish arguments which often lead to toilet scrubbing and endless pushups. There was a time when you both had goofed off a little too much which led to the whole team having to clean the barracks with nothing but toothbrushes. Everyone hated you both for that.
When you first met Tommy, he joked that you were more Jake's twin that him.
"Maybe we were switched at birth" he had laughed.
Unfornately, unlike Jake who quickly fell into the disciplined marine life, following orders was never your strong suite. You often talked back to superiors, unable to withstand what you viewed to be unfair treatment. It was never your dream to join the miltary, you were just following the path that was expected of you. So it was no surprise to anyone when you had been discharged within the year for your inability to adapt.
Graciously, Tommy had taken you under his wing, introducing you to the avatar training program when you had nothing and no one to fall back onto. You never considered yourself someone who had an interest in space but there was something about pandora that callled to you. You had trained more rigourously for this than for anything you ever had before, spending sleepless night studying na'vi and reading most of grace augustines books detailing flora and fauna.
You and Jake kept in touch throughout. you wrote letters back and forth where he would tease you for being a science puke now. Your bond was still strong even when life got busy.
And when Jake was discharged after losing his legs, you did your best to be there for him, trying to keep some sense of normalcy in his life. You never tiptoed around him. Something he would later tell you he appreciated. You never treated him like he was a broken man. Because even under all the grief and the lack of legs, he was still just plain old Jake Sully.
After Tommy's death, you both had somehow gotten impossibly closer.
Life on Pandora with Jake had reminded you of your early days together where you both were nothing but a headache for everyone around.
Grace had looked you both over that first time and clutched her head as if just the sight of you both was enough to bring on tension aches. You remebered how she turned away, arguing about how she didn't need reckless marines. You atleast had the log hours to prove some worth.
She had little patient for Jake, let alone the both of you together, especially when you riled each other up with playful jabs and petty squables. There were times where Jake would jump you while in his avatar, taking full advatange of his newfound strenght. Your miltary training would kick in and you reciprocated tenfold.
Grace had threatened to send you both back to earth.
During your first mission together, you shouldn't have been surprised that Jake had mangaed to separate you both from the group—he had always been reckless—and then got you captured by the omatikaya. In that time you both became students under the chief's daughter and the future leader, Neytiri and Tsu'tey, much to their chagrin.
You would not describe them as patient teachers. Not at first at least. Neytiri was aggressive. Quick to annoy. She would often insult both you and Jake and would smack him when he did something wrong. But under all that irritation was a girl skilled in her ways of life. Despite her initial protests, Neytiri never skipped a day of lessons. She taught you like you were children now learning to live in your body. In a sense you were. And while you had more experience in your avatar than Jake, you still struggled at times. She never went beyond what you were ready for. She remained steady and reliable. And soon she became a friend.
Tsu'tey was a different story. He was hardened and set in his ways. A stubborn man who once he made up his mind was hard to shake. From the second he laid eyes on you two he decided you both were better off dead. That you were nothing but a threat to the forest and it's people. He was more unforgiving in his training. He fought like you were a supposed to know every step and when to dodge. He hissed insults every chance he got. When you stumbled, when your feet land wrong, when your breathing was too loud.
He reminded you too much of the sergeants during your training days. This lead to you often pushing back on his aggressiveness. You both were always at each others throats.
Eventually that tension would grow and change shape until it became something that was hard to describe. Touches became softer and words became less minced, and his patience grew with time. Not largely, just enough for you to notice.
It finally came to head after the great war.
Tsu'tey was gravely injured and had spent days in the tsahik's tent. Jake, who was already mated with Neytiri, would nudge you with a grin on his face everytime he caught you hovering over the sleeping na'vi. You refused to leave his side, too anxious at his state, even though you never admitted it out loud.
When he finally woke, you both had mated under the eye of eywa, no longer able to deny the affection that you held for each other.
Jake had teased you relentlessly the next morning. You punched him square in the chest, forcing him to double over.
Even now, a year later, your relationship hadn't changed.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!"
Jake clawed at your hands that pulled on strands of his hair.
"Still think I'm weak?" You grunted
You and Jake had been fishing in a nearby stream, filling baskets with enough to feed the clan at dinner. When it was time to haul the fish back to the clan, you, having spent most of your time with your newborn baby boy instead of keeping up with training, had struggled with lifting one of the baskets. And Jake with all his stupidity, decided that it was a good idea to poke fun at you. "Getting a little tubby, huh?"
Not the brightest thing to say to a new mother, especially if that mother was you.
The second the comment left him, you fully dropped the basket and tackled him to the ground, resorting to petty tricks like hair pulling.
"Apologize!!" You hissed, fingers unyielding around his dreads.
Jake despite the pain in his scalp said nothing. All he let out was pained yells.
At his silence you wrapped your legs around his neck.
"Ugk—"Jake choked. He tried the pry you off of him, digging his nails into your skin. You didn't waver. "Hel—help!!" He cried out slapping at your calves "Someone! Anyone!" Yet no one came even as his face turned purple.
Across the trees, within clan grounds, Neytiri and Tsu'tey sat together, each with a baby strapped to their chest. Their ears twitched at the familiar voice pleading for his life but neither made a move. They remained where they were, preparing spices for tonight's meal but the yelling continued.
Tsu'tey blinked " Your mate is calling"
Neytiri adjusted the starp on her shoulder "He will be fine"
And with that, they went back to work.
All long as their idiotic mates didn't wake the babies, they did not care.
"Tsaya" you cooed at your baby boy. He wiggled on his back, tiny arms reaching for you.
Next to you was Jake, who was bouncing a whiny Neteyam.
You glanced at him out the corner of your eye "You're doing it wrong"
"What?" He turned to you, hand on Neteyam's head "No, i'm not"
You just raised your brows with pursed lips and went back playing with a laughing Tsaya.
Jake stared at you, fighting the urge to give in and ask. He failed.
"What could I possibly be doing wrong?" He said with an attitude more suited to an angsty teenage girl.
"Oh so now you want my help?"
"Just tell me"
You hummed "I don't know. You were kinda rude. Maybe if you said please.."
He deadpanned. "Nevermind"
But Neteyam didn't stop fussing.
You rolled your eyes and sighed. "You are too aggressive Sully. Sway, don't bounce like a maniac. Have you learned anything from Beytiri"
He scoffed but listened anyway.
And finally Neteyam calmed.
Wventually both boys were fast asleep and so you placed them in side by side baby baskets.
Jake raised a brow at you, having felt your eyes on the side of his head.
Your eyes widened, urging him for something
"What do you want?" He asked
"Seriously?" You huffed in disbelief "You are so ungrateful"
"What?
"I mean it's my bad for expecting anything from you" You turned away
"oh my—"
You cut him off "Like, would it kill you to say thank you at least once? But I guess your ego can't handle admitting that I'm a better parent than you"
"Excuse me??"
You swiveled to face him again, hands on your hips "You heard me"
"You are not better than me. and—and I was a father longer than you were a mother" he argued
"By a few months!"
"Still counts"
" At least I can get a baby to stop crying" Your tail whipped at his leg.
"Oh please, Tsaya cries more than Neteyam. Probably 'cause he has to see your face everyday" He caught your tail and tugged sharply.
Before you knew it, you both were rolling around on the floor like two wild animals.
"Tiyawn—"
Tsu'tey was cut off by the sight of Jake trapping you in a headlock.
He suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion roll over his body as he stood in the kelku opening.
He glanced back, deciding whether to leave you both or to drag you apart. He choose to separate you two when he saw you open your jaw wide, no doubt with the intention of biting the skin off of Jake's forearm. His resulting yell would surely wake the babies.
"That is enough." He said firmly as if scolding children. It was only then did you two notice his presence. You both blinked at him stupidly. He sighed, stepping forward and physically yanking you from Jake's grip.
"Must you two always act like children?"
Jake got up, dusting himself off. You, whose arm was still gripped by Tsu'teys hand, looked up. It was a face Tsu'tey had seen countless times since meeting you. It was not a look of shame, but rather one that told him you were going defend yourself regardless of what the truth was.
"It's his fault" Your arm shot out in Jake's direction. Jake's jaw dropped at your audacity. "He should learn manners. Maybe then i wouldn't have teach him any"
Jake scoffed "That's rich coming from you"
Tsu'tey's thumb and forefinger came up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "I do not care who started it. If you must behave like fools, do it away from the children"
Neither of you argued.
Neytiri gently washed Neteyam in the stream as Jake hovered next to her doing nothing but watch.
"He's always so calm when you bathe him. When I do it, I end up the one covered in water" he said
She thumbed away at a speck of dirt on Neteyam's cheek "That is because he thinks it is playtime when you do it"
"Huh…well I guess it's a win he thinks i'm fun"
A laugh sounded " How'd you know his splashing isn't because he wants to get away from you?"
Jake's tail flicked.
The corner of Neytiri's mouth twitched. He saw.
"Don't encourage her" He said
"I did not say anything" Neytiri reasoned, scooping up some water and letting it fall on Neteyam's hair.
Tsu'tey called "Tiyawn, do not start. You will rile up the boys"
"What..I'm just saying" You shrugged before washing Tsaya's hair as Tsu'tey held him up.
Jake focused his attention on his son "You like papa, don't you boy?" he cooed "Yes, you do. Your aunt is just a meanie" Neteyam clapped at him. "Yes she is. and ugly too" the boy clapped again. Jake chuckled and ruffeled his hair " 'atta boy"
Then from across the stream:
"Uncle Jake is the ugliest isn't he Tsaya" the baby gurgled.
When Jake looked up you were already staring him. You both held each other's stare. No words were exchanged but invisble daggers were shot.
"Stop it you two, and make yourselves useful" Neytiri said, having enough of your ridiculous staring contest. She handed Neteyam over to Jake to dry off and the baby immediately started wiggling more than he did when Neytiri held him.
You snorted. "See?"
Neytiri, unable to help herself, let out a small laugh.
Jake looked down at Neteyam and pouted. "Everyone is against me…"
In yours and Tsu'tey's kelku, he set down a now sleeping Tsaya before making his way to your shared hammock where you had already stretched out to sleep. His eyes caught the sight of a half shapened dagger leaning against the wall.
He picked it up, turning it around in his hands. It was clearly not finished but each cut was made with care and precision. Next to it sat a small bowl of blue beads.
"What is this, tiyawn" He asked, looking up at you as you rubbed your eyes.
You peeked over at him, seeing the dagger in his hands. "A gift" you yawned " 's Jake's birthay next week. He's been complaining about his old one."
Tsu'tey hummed, carefully placing the item back where he found it and crawled into hammock. You settled into his arms, face nuzzeling into his chest. Tsu'tey smiled at the sight before closing his eyes.
Even though you and Jake were the most atrocious pairing to ever exist, it could not be denied that the bond between you was strong. Unbreakable.
notes reader is neteyam’s wife, workaholic neteyam, temporary separation, their son is the cutest toddler on pandora, groveling (if you squint), smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis a year ago, you made the painful choice to walk away from neteyam after he proved time and again that his duties to the war party came before you and his son. you knew he was only trying to be the dutiful soldier everyone expected him to be, and that he would have kept going that way... until your son unwittingly reminded his father of everything he was throwing away for the sake of duty and war.
word count 16.8k
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Your hand on your mount’s reins tightened as the sight of the clouded Hallelujah Mountains loomed closer and closer with each beat of your ikran’s wings. The flight from your home clan to the Omatikaya was over an hour long, but you were glad that the weather was nice enough for you to travel. Your other arm renewed its hold on the woven wrap strapped securely to your body, holding your son, his small hands gripping at your woven knife sheath, his large amber eyes wide with excitement.
He was two years old today. Two years since he came into the world, his cries echoing in the vast canopy of a home that no longer existed. His birth was closely followed by the return of the sky people who tore the sky open, burned your forests, forced the people to face a seemingly endless war, and took your husband from you.
“Mama! Look! Look!” Nevan chirped, his tail whipping excitedly against your hip inside the wrap. He pointed a chubby finger at the swarm of flying fkios. “Fkios flying so fast! Like me!”
You smiled, “Yes, sweet boy,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “They are going home, I suppose, just like us.”
He giggled when you tickled his ear with your nose. “Visit Papa?” he asked.
You clamped your mouth shut, pulling his body closer as if he wasn’t literally tied to you at the moment. “Ah, yes... Visiting Papa,” you murmured, but his attention was already back on the flying fkios, his dangling feet wiggling excitedly.
When your ikran glided down onto the landing ledges of the High Camp, the crisp smell of distant rain from high above yielded to the smell of heavy mountain air and some smoke from the resistance’s machinery. You dislodged your kuru from your ikran’s, trying not to look at the man standing at the edge of the platform.
He wasn’t wearing his warrior gear for once, only his chest knife sheath, but he still looked every bit the commander he had become since the sky people’s return. The role he allowed to step over his roles as a husband and a father, you thought cynically, but you immediately tried to quell it. What’s the use of thinking of it when it has already happened before your very eyes and it already ruined everything?
He was standing tall, almost like the pillar that he is to the clan, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his rigid posture faltered, but you tore your eyes off him when your son wriggled furiously in the wrap.
“Alright, alright, sweet boy,” you chuckled, dismounting your ikran and carefully unbuckling the woven wrap.
From your peripheral vision, you could see Neteyam walking toward you two, but as soon as you’d freed him, Nevan immediately scrambled down, his little feet pattering furiously across the ground as he ran toward his father. Neteyam dropped to his knees, his massive arms catching the boy, lifting him high into the air, making Nevan let out a high-pitched, joyful screech.
You watched Neteyam press his forehead against his son’s, closing his eyes as a fierce, protective rumble vibrated in his chest. But even as he held the boy, his eyes flew up, looking past Nevan’s shoulder, his gaze locking onto yours with a look that is so heavy, suffocatingly dense with a longing so profound it felt like a physical weight in the air between you. It was the look of a starving man staring at a feast he wasn't allowed to touch.
His eyes traced the curve of your jaw and the softness of your features, desperate to find even just a sliver of hint that you’re feeling what he’s feeling. But you didn't give him one. Carefully, you looked away, focusing instead on your son’s little kicking legs and on the way Neteyam’s large hands held him safely. You chose to see him only as a father, completely shutting out the man who used to hold you the exact same way.
It hadn't always been like this. That was the cruelest part.
Your marriage hadn't been a political arrangement or a hasty union, it had been a lifetime in the making. Your parents were part of Jake and Neytiri’s inner circle since before the first war against the sky people. Through the many times your parents would bring you to visit the Omatikaya, you had witnessed Neteyam grow from a lanky boy into the man he is now.
And he had known you were for him since you were children. Neteyam was never one to waste time or play games, so he had always stake a claim on you, and the moment you both came of age, he courted you with a fierce, unwavering devotion that made even your parents sigh. You were sweethearts as teenagers, inseparable and fiercely protective of one another. When he mated with you before his and your people, his eyes had held nothing but a future filled with you.
And, your pregnancy had been a dream. Neteyam was a doting, almost ridiculously attentive husband. He would spend hours rubbing soothing oils on your aching back, pressing his ear to your growing belly to whisper stories of the forest and your childhood escapades to his unborn child. He never left your side. You had no doubt, not a single one, that you were the center of his universe.
Then, the sky people returned.
And the man you loved was swallowed whole by the war. Suddenly, he wasn't just Neteyam. He was the firstborn of the resistance leaders, the commander, and one of the unyielding pillars that kept the people from being completely overcome by the RDA. He began leaving before the first light of dawn and returning long after you and the baby had fallen asleep.
For over a year, you lived as a ghost in your own home. You sat alone in the dark, rocking a crying infant, praying to the Great Mother that the next body brought back on a stretcher wouldn’t be his. You begged him, you cried, you pleaded for just one evening. “Just for a day, Neteyam. Stay. Be with me, be with our son...”
But his face would harden, that stubborn, unyielding Jake-Sully look taking over. “I am doing this for our future, my love. If I do not fight, our children will have no world to inherit.”
And then it all just crumbled on your son’s first birthday.
It was a simple thing, really. You had spent days gathering sweet fruits, weaving small toys, hoping against hope that Neteyam would remember. You waited until midnight. When he finally walked into the kelku, covered in war paint and soot, he didn't even look at the small, untouched feast on the woven mat. He just muttered about a successful raid on an RDA supply train and collapsed into sleep.
He had completely forgotten.
And you were hit with the realization that the man you loved was dead, replaced by a warrior who had no room left in his heart for anything but strategy and casualties. You had cried all your tears by then. The well was dry. You were just so profoundly, deeply tired. So, you talked to him about going back home, citing the safety your clan’s territory could provide for you and Nevan to make him agree.
“Baby, this is your home now...” he had told you then, his arms tight around you as he fit his head in the crook of your neck.
“I know, Neteyam. But the explosion was too close yesterday. I am afraid for Nevan. This is not a place where he can safely run around and... be a child. I do not want to lose him, too...”
“Too?” he had asked, his hands maneuvering you so you’d face him but you didn’t budge. “Baby, you didn’t lose me—”
“All evidence to the contrary, Neteyam. I haven’t shared a meal with you in so long, you weren’t there when Nevan first laughed or when Nevan first uttered the word Papa, you weren’t there when he took his first steps. I am a ghost in this home. It would make no difference if we are away, because you had been acting like you had no family to come home to.”
His arms tightened around you, his nose burying in your neck. “It would make all the difference. I am coming home to my wife and child safe and sound, and that was my solace—”
You struggled to remove his arms around you, but his arms were iron tight. Your heart throbbed with pain but you couldn’t even cry. “So, then let me go home. Nevan and I will be completely safe there, if that’s what you truly care about.”
“I can’t be away from you, yawne, you’re practically asking me to stop breathing. I cannot not see you and Nevan—”
“When was the last time you’d seen your son, Neteyam? You leave before he wakes up and comes back long after he’d fallen asleep. I think you can, Neteyam, you can stand not seeing us. As I said, it would make no difference if we were here, or we were back home.”
That was that beginning of you leaving him to his war. He hadn’t known it would be a full-blown separation... But he had long before set that distance between himself and you. You’d just gotten the memo late.
“Watch, Mama! My big splash!”
Nevan’s high-pitched voice snapped you back to the present. You sat on a smooth, sun-warmed rock by the riverbank, your hand propped on the soft woven mat laid beautifully on the grass. Around you were various food, pies, and fruits Neteyam had prepared. You could barely eat it without your throat closing at the grief of this not being a permanent thing.
You’d told him Nevan wanted to celebrate his birthday here, that he misses Jake and Neytiri, and he promised you it would be different this time. You told him not to promise you anything, and just show it to his son. So far, he had kept his promise. He had cleared his entire day, which is probably an unthinkable feat for the commander of the resistance. He had brought a mountain of gifts for his boy. Beautifully carved wooden toys that he probably spent the past moons making, a small bow, and a woven arm band.
Now, he was knee-deep in the crystal-clear water, his loincloth soaked, laughing as Nevan furiously slapped the water, sending a pathetic little wave toward his father’s shins. Neteyam exaggerated his reaction, falling backward into the water with a loud splash, making Nevan howl with glee.
For a moment, the illusion was perfect. You looked like a little family. Neteyam would look up at you from the water, a soft, hopeful smile playing on his lips, trying to pull you into the warmth of the moment. You would smile back politely, a distant curve of your lips that never reached your eyes. You were here for Nevan. Only Nevan.
Nevan waddled out of the water, dripping wet, and proudly held up a crudely constructed object from the pack you brought from home. It was a woven sheath of colorful leaves, bound tightly with vines, holding a cluster of bright purple orchids. You shook your head with a smile as you fixed the pack, wiping the puddle of water he left behind.
“Look, Papa!” Nevan beamed, shoving the wet flowers directly into Neteyam’s face. “A flower sheath! Uncle Maytel taught me how... how to twist the vines. They don't break!”
You searched for a dry towel in your pack, smiling as you watched your son speak, his little body trembling in excitement.
“Uncle... Maytel?” Neteyam echoed. The playful, warm tone in his voice vanished instantly, replaced by a low, measured cadence.
You blinked, your eyes snapping to him. Suddenly, you had become aware of how ugly that sounded in the ears of people who didn’t know. You froze for a moment, the air in your lungs suddenly feeling like liquid lead as you watched Neteyam momentarily narrow his eyes, the look of a formidable hunter spotting a prey. Or a predator sensing blood might be the better description.
“Yes!” Nevan replied excitedly, entirely oblivious to the sudden, deadly shift in the atmosphere. He had just opened a cage containing a predator, and he thought he was playing with a puppy. “Uncle Maytel... He makes the best ones! He is Mama’s friend... They talk all the time. See... This is pretty. Right, Papa? Look at Mama's hair. See? I can make that, too, Papa. I will teach you!”
Nevan pointed a chubby finger at you. You had indeed used a beautiful hair decoration to pin back your hair in a half ponytail, letting the rest of your wavy locks flow loose behind you, having no idea at all how the sight of you earlier today literally stole the breath from Neteyam’s lungs. You are so beautiful, always have been, but it hits him particularly hard now that he doesn't see you as often.
He has never been used to being away from you for so long. This is probably the longest he has gone without you, such that every time he sees you now, his heart starts doing the thing it did when he first realized he loved you: flipping inside his chest and then melting into a puddle.
You kept your face as blank as stone, waiting for Neteyam to look at youjust as his son instructed. Neteyam was standing up now, but he wasn't looking at the decorations on your hair. He was staring directly at you, and the look he gave you almost choked the air right out of your throat. He didn’t look mad, it also wasn’t the detached look of a commander. It was that intensely familiar, deeply possessive, primal look he used to give you when another hunter talked to you for a second too long during his youth. His eyes darkened, his lips tightening into a straight line as his gaze finally dropped to the decorations in your hair before snapping back to your eyes immediately.
“Is that so, my boy?” Neteyam said softly, his voice dropping an octave, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Yes! He says Mama is... is very beautiful!” Nevan cheered, completely ruining any chance of a graceful exit.
So for the rest of the afternoon, you made it your absolute mission in life to never, ever be left alone with Neteyam.
When you returned to the camp, you practically shadowed Jake and Neytiri. When Neytiri pulled Nevan onto her lap to feed him sweet fruit, you sat right beside her, suddenly intensely interested in what she has to say. When Jake took Nevan to show him the ikran roost, you walked right behind them, using your son as a shield as Neteyam followed like a shadow.
He stayed a respectful distance though, answering his son's hundred questions about the beasts, even the imaginary ones, coming up with the perfect answers for it. For a moment, you were back to being a teenager, annoying the golden heir of Toruk Makto with your silly questions and having him answer you with complete seriousness, as though he really thought about your silly questions like they were points for further research.
His eyes were a constant, burning pressure on your skin the entire time, and every time you glanced up with a neutral expression, he was watching you. Eventually, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purple. Neytiri, seeing how exhausted the toddler was, scooped Nevan up.
“He will sleep with us tonight,” Neytiri said softly, giving you a knowing, gentle look that made your stomach twist. She thought she was doing you a favor, giving you and Neteyam a night of privacy. “Go. Rest.”
“Oh, I can take him—” you started quickly, reaching for your son.
“No, no,” Jake chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Let his grandparents spoil him for one night. Go on.”
You stood there, watching Neytiri walked away, your son already fast asleep against her shoulder. Oh, boy. You watched the rest of the camp clear out as the rest of the people retreated to their homes. You didn’t turn to Neteyam, turning instead toward the guest tents, your pace brisk, but you didn't even make it halfway before a large hand gently but firmly gripped your forearm.
It wasn’t a harsh pull, but his grip was unyielding. “Our home’s here,” he reminded you.
You glared at him through your lashes. “I haven’t forgotten,” you said in a clipped tone, walking straight into the shadows of your old home, and seeing that nothing much had changed, only that he’d put up photos on the wall.
And from where you were standing, you’ve seen one from his unilatron many years ago. With him painted in swirling marks of white and you, standing beside him with a huge smile. Another, at your mating ceremony, and another, a photo of you heavily pregnant. The last one was a photo of the three of you, with Nevan as a newborn, cradled in your arm, both of your faces adorned with brilliant smiles.
Grief seized your heart and you had to physical turn away from it, your hands balling into fist.
“You've been avoiding me all day,” Neteyam stated, standing between you and the flap entrance, his large frame casting a long shadow over you.
“I was spending time with our son's grandparents, Neteyam. It's his birthday,” you replied, keeping your voice entirely light and normal. You walked over to the sleeping mats, untying your travel pack and organizing your things with practiced nonchalance.
“Who is Maytel?”
The question was sharp and direct, like always. Neteyam had never liked beating around the bush. You took a deep breath, turning around with a calm, casual smile. “A childhood friend from my clan,” you said.
“A childhood friend,” Neteyam repeated, his voice low, a dangerous rumble vibrating in his throat. He took a slow step toward you, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him. “Never heard of him before.”
“I have many friends back home, Neteyam,” you said. “There was no reason to bring him up. He's just a friend. He helps at home, and he’s good with Nevan. My friends have all been a huge help to me since I moved back.”
Neteyam stopped just inches from you. He was so close you could smell the familiar mint-y scent of him. All your senses were melting. It knew the smell so well, had even associated it with home and safety, and it tore at your chest, a cruel reminder of the husband you had lost. He leaned down slightly, and though he didn’t touch you, you were forced to look into his heavy, shadowed eyes. The possessive fire in them hadn't died down, if anything, it was burning hotter, fueled by the agonizing restraint he was forcing upon himself.
“He makes ornaments for your hair,” Neteyam murmured, his eyes dropping to the flowers on your soft hair. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and rip it from your hair, but he kept his fist clenched at his side. “He talks to you all the time—”
“To help. All my friends help me, Neteyam, you’ve seen Laika and Nira helping me last time," you countered smoothly, your eyes locking onto his, refusing to back down. “I am a single mother raising a little boy. I needed all the help I can get. Nothing more.”
His head reared back a little as if you’d hit him. The words single mother hit him squarely like a slap and you saw the visible flinch in his jaw, the way his chest heaved as he swallowed the bitter taste of his own failures.
He stared at you for a long, suffocating moment. He knew you were telling the truth about Maytel being just a friend. He knows you, he knows the woman he married, he knows that you would never violate the bonds of marriage, even a broken one. But that didn't stop the sickening, agonizing jealousy from clawing at his throat. Another man was filling his space. Another man was teaching his son how to weave. Another man was making his wife smile.
“You are not single. I am still very much here,” he said.
“I don’t want to argue about what here actually means,” you replied, tearing your eyes away and removing the decorations on your hair to free it from its bounds.
He watched you, choosing not to press further, but as he stepped back, his eyes remained devastatingly heavy on you. “He is a friend,” he whispered, his voice thick with an unspoken, desperate plea. “But he is not my son’s father. And he is not your husband.”
As he uttered those words, the reality of his hypocrisy came crashing back down on him. Maytel, indeed, was not Nevan’s father, nor was he your husband... But could he honestly say he was both of those things to you and Nevan? He visited the two of you as much as he was capable, but that didn’t mean anything. He was an absent father, and an even more absent husband, and he wondered completely how his son still held excitement and affection for him instead of distance.
And how the boy knew everything he was doing for the people. He knew that, even in your current indifference, you had thoroughly made the boy understand that his father had sacrifices to make for the benefit of Eywa’eveng. He watched you lay down on the sleeping mat, pulling a woven blanket up to your shoulders and turning your back to him. He sat down on the opposite side of the yurt.
He wouldn’t lie down, and you had noticed he never did once the two of you were alone in a space. Whenever he visited back home, he would do the same thing, sitting down far away from you, his heavy, burning gaze fixed on your back, mourning a home he had lost to a war he was still fighting.
The morning arrived with a crisp chill you hadn't felt in so long. The altitude of the floating mountain made the sun feel unreal. You shared a meal with Neytiri and Jake. Your son, having already bathed, wore a new loincloth with fine weaving, and you put a hand over your mouth as you laughing at him proudly showing it to everyone.
“Grandma made this, Mama!” he told you, munching on a sweet fruit as his little body leaned into Neteyam.
Neteyam held his wrist gently, kissing the side of his head. “No sweet fruit yet without a real meal, little boy...” Neteyam mumbled, replacing the fruit with a bite-sized piece of meat.
“Okay, Papa... But Grandpa said I can eat? I don’t eat this at home... Right, Mama?“ Your son turned to you, now munching on the meat Neteyam had given him.
You smiled softly. “I try not to let him eat too many sweets unless necessary to regulate his body,” you explained. “But Papa is right, Nevan. You must eat your food first before the sweet fruit.”
Neteyam glanced at you, his soft eyes smiling even as he tried to look serious for Nevan who nodded without a fight, even picking some vegetables off his leaf and eating happily.
Neytiri smiled at you. “He is a good child, Y/N. You are doing such a great job with him,“ she said, her eyes a little misty.
You smiled, caressing your son’s head. “Neteyam is, too, Mother. Despite the grueling demands of the war, he makes sure to find time for Nevan,” you said. You couldn't possibly leave him out, not when you knew he was trying his best.
After the meal, the peace you were feeling had dissolved and was replaced by the reality that you had a hazardous flight ahead of you. Outside the yurt, the camp was already buzzing with the low, mechanical drone of the resistance. You stood beside your ikran, adjusting the heavy leather straps of the riding harness, checking every buckle with meticulous care. Nevan was already strapped securely to your body in his woven wrap. He was heavy, but his warmth was comforting, his little hands clutching a newly carved wooden ikran that Neteyam had given him.
A shadow fell over you and you didn't need to look up to know it was Neteyam. He double-checked your ikran’s saddle, his movements deliberate and sharp, before he checked the saddle of his own mount, preparing to take flight alongside you. You stopped tightening the cinch of your saddle, your hand resting flat against the leather. You swallowed the dryness in your throat and turned your head toward him.
“Neteyam,” you called out, your voice quiet but steady. He paused instantly, his ears twitching forward as he turned his head to look at you, his golden eyes wide and alert, catching every syllable. “I think... It wouldn’t be safe if you come with us.”
A subtle, pained stillness took over his features. His chest expanded with a sharp breath, his fingers tightening against his mount's reins. “The skies are not safe, yawne. The gunships have shifted their patrol grids closer to the western border. I am accompanying you home.”
“Neteyam, I would like that, too.” you said, stepping closer so your voice wouldn't carry to where Jake and Neytiri were standing a few paces away. You gestured faintly to the sky, then down to the boy against your chest. “But the tension with the sky people is worse this moon. They know your ikran, Neteyam. They know you. You are the commander of the vanguard; your presence draws the kind of attention I cannot risk when I have our son with me.“
The words seemed to render him weak. Neteyam looked at you with eyes so deeply pained, so utterly crushed, it felt like a blow to the chest. He looked down at his own hands, then at his son's chubby legs dangling from the wrap, as if he couldn't fully comprehend the reality that his very existence, the fierce, formidable identity he had built to protect his people, was now a liability to the safety of his own family.
Nevan, completely unaware of the reason of the heavy silence, looked up at his father with wide eyes. He held up his wooden toy, making a little whistling sound through his teeth. “He’ll fly with us, Papa!”
Neteyam’s heart tightened so visibly you could see the muscle in his jaw clench as he forced a small, strained smile for the boy. He reached out, his large thumb gently tracing Nevan’s round cheek, but his eyes kept flickering back to you, searching your expression for any sign of hesitation. There was none.
Behind him, Jake and Neytiri exchanged a quiet, heavy look. Jake stepped forward, his hand coming down firmly on his eldest son's shoulder.
“She’s right, son,” Jake said softly. “The RDA has scout ships tracking your specific signature. If they spot you flying with your wife and child, we don’t know what they could do.”
Neteyam’s shoulders sank, the breath leaving him in a low, defeated hiss. He knew the logic was flawless. He knew it was the right tactical decision. But the soldier in him was currently losing a brutal war against the husband and father who desperately wanted to prolong his hold on both of you.
“I will send two warriors,” Neteyam muttered, his voice thick as he stepped back from his mount. "They will fly low behind you, out of sight. They will ensure you reach home safely.”
You nodded. “Thank you,” you said softly, genuinely relieved.
Neteyam stepped closer to the side of your ikran, his large body aching to simply reach out, to wrap his iron-strong arms around both of you and never let go. He leaned in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the top of Nevan’s head, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of his son one last time.
As he began to pull away, Nevan’s small fingers suddenly shot out, grabbing Neteyam’s long braids with a stubborn, toddler grip. He yanked, preventing his father from moving back.
“Papa kiss Mama!” Nevan ordered with a bright, demanding grin, his tail swishing behind him in a mischievous flick. “Good bye!”
Neteyam froze, his head tilted downward by the boy's grip. Slowly, his eyes lifted from Nevan’s face to yours. They were completely stripped of the commander's armor, now earnest, dark, and filled with a raw longing that made your breath hitch in your throat. He waited, silently asking for permission.
You looked at his lips, then at the desperate hope in his eyes, and felt the old, stubborn walls in your chest crack just a fraction. Slowly, you tilted your chin up, offering your lips to him.
The tension in Neteyam’s shoulders died instantly. A soft, ragged sigh escaped his nose just before his large, warm hand came up to cup your neck, his thumb on your jaw. He leaned down and closed the distance. You were expecting a brief, polite kiss of departure, but you should have known by the way he held you that it wouldn’t be like that.
The moment his lips touched yours, he held you there with the fierce, unyielding eagerness of a man who had been starving for a year. His lips were warm, firm, and thoroughly possessive, parting slightly as he kissed you, reminding your body of exactly who he was to you. A sudden, stupid heat flared in your stomach, your pulse spiking as your lips instinctively softened against his, responding to the familiar, intoxicating rhythm of his kiss.
He groaned softly against your mouth, his thumb caressing your jaw, pulling you just a fraction closer, trying to collapse the entire year of separation into a breathless second. But a sharp, high-pitched giggle broke the air. Nevan was squirming between you, his small hands clapping.
The sound snapped you back to reality. You pulled away, your breath coming a little faster, your cheeks flushed dark with a sudden surge of heat. Neteyam’s hand lingered on your jaw for a second too long, a low, deep rumble of impatience vibrating in his chest at the interruption, his eyes dark and heavy as he stared at your parted lips.
“Fly safely, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough.
You couldn't even form words. You simply nodded, mounted your ikran, and took to the sky, your mind in an absolute daze as the wind rushed past your face.
The flight back home felt like a blur. Even after you had safely landed on the soft, mossy platforms of your home clan and unbuckled an exhausted Nevan from the wrap, your lips still felt strangely warm, tingling with the ghost of Neteyam's mouth.
“My bestest friend in the world! You are back!”
The cheerful voice of Maytel broke your reverie as he walked down the wooden ramp, followed closely by Laika and Nira. The three of them had been your lifeline this past moons, always ready to help with the daily chores and Nevan.
Maytel practically bounded over to you, his face painted with a mischievous, gossiping energy. He didn't even wait for you to greet them before he leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me everything! How was the High Camp? My weekend went just as good! Do you remember that hunter from the clan nearby that I was eyeing? The one with the long arms? I swear, yesterday, we were together—”
“Maytel!” you hissed, your eyes widening significantly as you pointed them sharply down at your son who was rubbing his eyes but listening intently.
Nevan was an incredibly smart boy and his ears picked up on village gossip faster than a direhorse on the run.
Maytel immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, grinning apologetically. “Oh! Right. Hello there, little Neteyam. How was your visit to your Papa?”
Nevan’s ears instantly perked up, his fatigue temporarily forgotten as his eyes lit up with excitement. “We played a lot!” he chirped before holding his small arms out as wide as they could go. “Papa made big splash in the river! And gave me many toys! You’ll see, Uncle!”
Nevan eagerly held up the wooden ikran, bouncing on his heels as he babbled to Nira and Laika about the sweet fruits, the big mountain camp, and how his Grandpa let him touch a real ikran's snout. The three of them doted on him, laughing at his wild gestures until the boy's eyelids grew too heavy to fight.
You carried him down on his soft, woven cot, watching him with a doting smile as his tail curled peacefully. Even in sleep, his small forehead furrowed slightly in a way that looked identical to his father. It was a constant wonder to you how your boy could look so much like Neteyam, even with his soft baby features.
When you walked back out to the main platform, Maytel was sitting on a woven mat, repairing a fishing net. He looked up, a theatrical sigh escaping his lips.
“Now,” Maytel smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “What happened with the dear husband?”
You rolled your eyes, sitting down across from him and pulling a basket of fibers towards you to clean. “Nothing.”
Maytel groaned loudly, tossing a piece of twine into the air. “I do not know how you could do it, syulang! How you can resist all of... that! The last time he came to visit you here, oh, I couldn't even come near the house even if I tried. The air was so heavy! He is so large... taller than all the men in our village! And so handsome, too... Ah, those thighs... One could only imagine the beast he has inside that loincloth—”
“Maytel!” you shouted, your face burning as a sudden, vivid image of Neteyam’s muscular frame hovering over you flashed unbidden into your mind. Your stomach did a treacherous little flip. Oh, indeed, it was a beast. You cleared your throat quickly, trying to suppress the heat in your neck. “Perhaps you should have visited when he was here. Just yesterday by the river, Nevan mentioned your name to him, and it sounded so terrible. Neteyam thought you were my boytoy.”
Maytel’s eyes widened to the size of stones, his hands dropping the net completely. “What?!”
You rolled your eyes at his dramatic reaction. “Yeah. I should introduce you sometime, just so he stops looking like he wants to hunt something down.”
A slow, terribly mischievous smile spread across Maytel’s face. His amber eyes danced with glee. “Was he jealous, syulang?”
You shrugged, trying to appear completely indifferent. “Neteyam has always been very possessive. It is just his nature.”
“Of course he is!” Maytel grinned, leaning in close, his voice dripping with dramatic flair. “The way that man looks at you... Oh, he looks like a predator completely ready to pounce! Only that you’ve put him inside a cage.” He shivered, rubbing his arms. “We should rattle the cage, syulang.”
Your eyes narrowed instantly into a dangerous glare. “What are you talking about?”
He smirked, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, let’s see what happens if he keeps thinking I actually want you. You know? A little competition...'”
“No,” you said firmly, your voice dropping into a serious, unyielding tone that left no room for argument. “We will not play with my husband like that. He is currently in the vanguard, fighting a war for all of us. He has enough weight on his shoulders without us playing petty games with his mind.”
Maytel pouted, rolling his eyes as he picked his fishing net back up. “You are such a killjoy!”
When night finally came, the village fell into a quiet rhythm, the bioluminescent flora providing light in brilliant shades of cyan and deep magenta.
Inside your quiet hut, the small tablet you used for long-range communication emitted a low chime. Neteyam called almost every day when he wasn't able to visit, a routine he had stubbornly kept since the day you left.
You picked up the device, pressing the connect button and Neteyam’s face appeared on the small screen, the blue light of the monitor reflecting his sharp features, sitting in the dark of your yurt, looking exhausted.
“Papa!” Nevan’s voice cut through the quiet as the boy scrambled from his cot, his small hands immediately snatching the tablet from you.
You let him take it, stepping back. The memory of the kiss from this morning was still burning in your chest, and the ridiculous things Maytel had said earlier kept echoing in your mind. Hearing the deep, gravelly texture of Neteyam’s voice through the speaker seemed to tickle something deep within you, sending a slow, persistent heat crawling up your neck.
You watched from a distance as Nevan babbled to the screen, showing his father the toy again, telling him about the fish he saw in the river. Neteyam listened with an intensity that made your heart ache, his expression soft and full of a quiet, reverence for the boy.
“Go to sleep now, son,” Neteyam’s voice softened as Nevan yawned heavily, his little eyes fluttering shut as he rested his head against the mat, the tablet propped up beside him. “Good night, Nevan.”
“Night, Papa...” the boy murmured, completely out.
The screen shifted slightly as Neteyam adjusted his hold on his end. He knew you were still in the room. Even though he couldn't see you in the dim light of the hut, his voice dropped into a low, intimate frequency that felt like a warm hand sliding up your spine.
“Good night, my love,” he whispered into the quiet. “I love you so much.”
The line went dead with a soft beep.
You stood there in the dark for a long time, the silence of the room suddenly feeling incredibly loud. Your skin felt hypersensitive, your heart drumming a strange rhythm against your ribs as you carried the tablet back to the shelf and finally lay down on your own sleeping mat beside your son.
When sleep finally took you, it didn't bring the peaceful, dreamless rest.
It was a dream that seemed familiar to you. It was real... More like a memory haunting you. You were under a canopy in a forest that was so green and vibrantly alive. Your vision focused and you saw Neteyam in fromt of you. He looked so young, entirely devoid of the rigid exhaustion the war brought. He was grinning, a look that made your heart jump.
He had you pinned against the smooth bark of a giant root, his large hands mapping the curves of your body with a desperate fervor. You were both shivering, caught in the reckless, consuming heat of youthful desire. His fingers were knuckles-deep inside you, the slick, wet heat of you coating him as he moved frantically in and out, stretching you beyond relief. It was a tight, intense friction, but even in the haze of the dream, you found yourself thinking that it was a far gentler stretch than the thick, heavy length of his cock, which your hands were currently fisted around. You pumped him in tandem with his rhythm, his weight leaning heavily into you as a ragged groan escaped his throat.
“I missed you, my baby...” he mumbled against your skin, his lips trailing a path of burning kisses from your collarbone up to your jaw before crashing onto your mouth, tasting of pure adoration. His fingers moved faster, driving you closer and closer to a cliff you wanted to fall off of.
You let out a soft, breathless chuckle against his lips, your fingers tightening around his length. “Missed me? We are always together, ‘teyam...”
But the moment the words left your mouth, you watched his face fall, a profound sadness washing over his golden eyes. “Not really, no...” he whispered, his voice cracking with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “You are so far away from me right now...”
Panic seized your heart, sharp and sudden like an arrow to the ribs. “What...?” you gasped, reaching for his face, but his image was already dissolving like smoke in the wind. “Neteyam—”
You woke up with a violent gasp, your eyes flying open to the quiet, dark interior of your hut.
Your heart was hammering a frantic, echoing rhythm against your ribs, and your breath came in ragged bursts. The cool night air swept over your bare skin. Between your thighs, the phantom ache of his fingers was still vividly there, a throbbing warmth that slowly turned cold as the reality settled in. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to force the image of his younger, unburdened smile back into the dark.
You missed him so much.
This wasn't the first time. You had dreamed of him many times in the past moons. But they were never dreams that hasn’t happened, they were always memories, beautifully cruel and vibrant, haunting you even in your sleep. Your dreams weren’t showing you what could be, it was torturing you with what used to be, a reminder that while you had successfully run away from the war, you had never truly managed to run away from him.
The lingering mix of heat and longing from the dream stayed with you for days, but lately, only the heat seemed to have stuck. And it’s annoying. You were glad you didn’t have to see him for the time being, because it often happens every time you see him. Fortunately, you somehow at least manage to overcome the trials and tribulations of being a woman who chose to separate from the man she loves so much.
By midday, you were sitting on the main platform of your hut, the basket of fibers in your lap serving as a distraction while Maytel sat cross-legged opposite you. He was at it again, his fingers weaving river-grass and glossy feather-like fibers into an intricate hair crown. It wasn't for you this time, because Maytel has always been the unofficial beautifier of the clan's young women, and right now, he was carefully crafting a piece for a girl from the lower terraces.
“I am telling you, syulang, he nearly fell out of his hammock when I walked past,” Maytel was wheezing, his tail thrashing with dramatic delight as he recounted his latest encounter with his long-armed hunter. “He tried to act so smooth, but the poor thing was blushing so hard his stripes almost turned purple!”
You let out a loud, genuine laugh, shaking your head as you tossed a cleaned fiber at him. “You are terrible, Maytel. Leave the poor man alone before you break his spirit entirely.”
“Never! A little torment keeps the blood pumping,” he grinned, his fingers flying through the weaving.
“Mama! Mama!”
Nevan’s high-pitched voice shattered the lighthearted bubble. You blinked, looking toward the main walkway, expecting to see Nira or Laika chasing after your hyperactive son.
Instead, your breath caught squarely in your throat.
Walking just a step behind Nevan, his massive frame practically shadowing over your son, was Neteyam.
He was in his full warrior gear, wearing his cummerbund, his chest knife sheat, and his heavy longbow strapped to his back, looking thoroughly prepared in case he gets attacked on his way here. He looked terrifyingly formidable, and a little out of place, too. Everyone in your clan knows of his reputation as a warrior leading the resistance with his parents, and they have always treated that as something to celebrate.
Your eyes snapped straight to his face after a quick sweep of his gear, your heart jumping to your throat at the sight of his eyes narrowed into slits. To anyone else, he just looked like the stoic, fierce commander of the Omatikaya, carrying himself with his usual rigid authority. But you? You had known him since you were children. You had held him in the dark. You knew every subtle twitch of his ears, every micro-expression of his jaw.
There's your angry man.
He was staring directly at Maytel, his eyes tracking the way Maytel was sitting so comfortably close to you, sizing up his competition with a cold, calculating precision.
“Oh, Great Mother,” Maytel muttered through entirely gritted teeth, his smile freezing in place as he deliberately kept his lips from moving. “Is this your view every day? If yes, how dare you leave him, syulang? If I had one of that at home, I would never think of this clan again.”
You threw Maytel a furious, warning glare. Those seem like the perfect digs, because this isn’t your view at all, you barely even see him. You also didn’t have one of that at home... Literally, because the man was rarely home. You stood up, looking at Neteyam with look of genuine confusion. Before Maytel could even speak again, Nevan reached the steps leading to the platform, throwing his little body against your legs before turning around and pointing proudly at his father.
“Papa surprised me at the ledge, Mama!”
Neteyam stepped onto the platform, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. Without a word, he bent down and effortlessly scooped Nevan up into one massive arm, propping the boy against his hip. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek as he looked down at you.
“Neteyam,” you said, your voice tilting up. “You... you weren't due to visit until next week. The patrol schedules on the tablet said you were in the western valleys... You should have sent word, I haven’t prepared anything.”
His brows raised slightly, his tail twitching in an agitated flick behind him. He adjusted his grip on Nevan, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly tone. “A word to visit my wife and my son? Do I need that now, my love?”
You blinked, completely caught off guard by the sheer pettiness dripping from the commander of the Omatikaya vanguard. A tiny, involuntary rise twitched on your brows. “N...no, of course you don’t,” you stammered slightly, trying very hard to keep your face neutral. “But what brought you here? Are the people alright?”
“The people are perfectly fine,” he answered, his eyes darting back to Maytel who was currently staring up at him with wide, completely unbothered eyes. In fact, Maytel looked like he was watching a theatrical performance, his gaze tracking Neteyam’s shoulders and the broad sweep of his chest with shameless appreciation.
You pursed yourself to stop a chuckle from escaping you at the realization that Neteyam had absolutely no idea what Maytel's true self was. To Neteyam, this was simply the man who was staying way too long talking to you, helping you, and weaving flowers into your hair.
“Neteyam,” you cleared your throat, stepping between them to cut off Neteyam's death stare before he accidentally declared a one-man war on your village. “This is Maytel. The one Nevan was telling you about.”
Neteyam shifted Nevan to his other hip, his posture locking into an intensely rigid, formal stance. He looked down at Maytel as if he were interrogating a prisoner of war. “I see,” Neteyam rumbled, his voice dripping with an absurd amount of authority. “I hear you have been a great assistance to my family, Maytel. I couldn’t thank you enough.”
Maytel blinked, a slow, highly amused smirk tugging at his lips. He stood a full head shorter than Neteyam, but showing absolutely zero fear. Instead, he let his eyes lazily trail down Neteyam's torso, before going back up to his face.
“It is no trouble at all,” Maytel purred, his voice smooth. “Your wife is my absolute favorite person to spend my days with and little Nevan here is just a joy to watch grow. You can’t take your eyes off of kids these days, they grow up so fast!”
You gritted your teeth, widening your eyes at Maytel, and having him glance at you with that confident I-can-handle-this look.
Neteyam’s ears threatened to flatten against his head. His nostrils flared as he looked at Maytel, his jaw locking hard as he absorbed the thinly veiled barb about being an absent husband and father, but the aggressive tension in his shoulder dissolved as quickly as it came. In its place emerged the smooth grin of a boy you had grown up with. Neteyam has never been one to take a slight seriously.
“Is that right?” Neteyam asked, his grin widening into something effortlessly dangerous. He patted Nevan’s back, his tail flicking behind him in slow, rhythmic moves. “Well, I can’t blame you. My wife is an excellent company, and my boy is easily the best part of anyone's day. I appreciate you keeping them entertained while I was away.”
Your lips twisted at how easily Neteyam was able to ride over that wave. Meanwhile, Maytel glanced like you, his eyes communicating ooh, the man can bite and you rolled your eyes. Neteyam caught the way Maytel glanced at you and your dear friend immediately tore his eyes off.
His plan to rattle the cage? Forget that. Neteyam looked physically capable of tossing him off the platform like a sack of dried grass, and as much as he would love to support you to the ends of the world, with the way your husband was sizing him up like a tactical competition, he decided he valued his life. It was time for a very graceful, very immediate exit.
“Oh, don't mention it. Taking care of Y/N and Nevan is the least I can do to contribute to the war efforts... Since you are too busy in it," Maytel said. You closed your eyes, shaking your head with how that once again landed like another dig!
Fortunately, a voice called out to Maytel several yards away and you saw how relieved he looked to have an excuse to get out of here. Your ears perked up, too, ready to send him away so you can finally deal with your husband.
“Oh, as much as I would like to stay...” Maytel sighed, “I think I shall leave you three to your... family time.”
“Right. Thanks, Maytel...” You said, widening your eyes at him when he sneaked in another once-over on your husband’s body.
With a theatrical swish of his tail, Maytel sauntered down the wooden ramp. Neteyam didn’t break his stare from the walkway until Maytel’s silhouette vanished into the lower terraces, but the moment he was gone, Neteyam’s golden eyes snapped down to the corner of the platform. His gaze locked onto a bundle of fibers that Maytel had carelessly left behind, a habit born from being used to coming here whenever he pleased.
“He leaves his things here,” Neteyam muttered, his tone dropping into a low growl. “Like he knows he can just walk back here anytime he pleases.”
“Maytel is harmless, Neteyam... if you’d only open your eyes to see,” you told him.You couldn’t possibly tell him what Maytel really was for that wasn't your secret to share, so you felt conflicted. You didn’t want Neteyam to think you were just allowing random men into your home.
“He is my friend. He can come back. He helps here, so he’s here almost every day.”
You saw Neteyam’s jaw tighten at the words every day and you almost groaned out loud at how you seemed to be cursed with the exact same syndrome Maytel just had: pissing off Neteyam with your choice of words.
“But that is not the point,” you quickly followed, cutting off his impending tirade before he could even start. You stepped closer, looking at the sheer exhaustion hidden beneath his rigid posture. “What’s the reason for this sudden visit?”
Neteyam looked down at Nevan, who was currently occupied with chewing on one of his father’s arm bands. Slowly, deliberately, Neteyam set the boy down on the woven mat. “Will you go inside and play for a while, son? Papa needs to speak with Mama.”
“Okay!” Nevan chirped, completely oblivious to the tension between his parents.
Once the boy was out of sight, Neteyam turned to you. The rigid, unyielding commander of the Omatikaya resistance seemed to slowly fracture, his shoulders dropping. He didn't look like he was preparing to leave. In fact, he had unbuckled his heavy longbow, setting it carefully against the weapon rack by the door, a gesture of permanence that made your heart skip a beat.
“It’s not a visit,” Neteyam said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I am staying.”
You blinked, a sudden wave of confusion washing over you. “What do you mean, you are staying? For how long? A week? Neteyam, the raids in the west—”
“I have handed the command of the western vanguard over to Lo'ak and Rey’to,” he interrupted, his voice steady. He took a step toward you, his large hand reaching out as if to touch you, before he caught himself and let it drop to his side. “I am staying here. With you. With our son. For as long as you are here. Even if it takes years.”
Your breath hitched. You stared at him, your mind frantically trying to process the words. The golden heir of Toruk Makto, the boy who had been groomed since birth to carry the weight of his people, the commander who had chosen the war over his own family... had walked away from the vanguard.
“What... What about the resistance?” you whispered.
“I left it,” he whispered, his eyes heavy on you, but for the first time in years, he looked so unburdened. “I don’t expect a pie for it, baby. I know I have a lot of things to make up for. To you, to Nevan, and to our family. There is nothing more important to me in this world but you—”
“Neteyam, y-you cannot do that. Your father, the people, they... need you. You are one of the pillars keeping the people from falling to the demons—”
“And who is keeping us from falling?” he uttered, his voice filled of a raw, desperate emotion breaking through his warrior’s facade. He stepped closer, completely invading your space, his familiar scent clouding your senses. “I spent the entire flight here realizing the hypocrisy of my own words. I told you that Maytel was not Nevan's father, and that he was not your husband... but Eywa help me, I haven't been either of those things to you in years.”
He looked at you with eyes so heavy with longing it made your throat close up with grief.
“My father told me that a leader makes sacrifices for the future,” Neteyam murmured, his hand finally defying the distance, his long, warm fingers gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw. “But if the future means I have to stand in an empty home, realizing that the woman I love, have loved my whole life, looks at me like a stranger... then the war has already taken everything worth fighting for. I am choosing you, and I didn’t think it could be that easy. Baby, I cannot lose you...”
You held his eyes as his words hung in the air, your throat working silently as your eyes mapped the familiar contours of his face. The rigid, hyper-vigilant set of his shoulders was still there, and perhaps it always will be there, but the desperate, raw vulnerability in his eyes sent an ache in your chest. The thumb on your jaw trembled just slightly, a rare display of fear from the Omatikaya’s most formidable young commander.
He was giving you everything you had spent a year aching for. He was giving up the vanguard. He was setting down his bow. He was choosing to be a husband and a father over being a war legend.
Yet, as you looked at the set of his jaw and the sharp knife strapped to his chest, a sudden grounded clarity washed over you. You couldn't help but peek past his shoulder toward the lower terraces where Maytel had just vanished. Your eyes narrowed as you stifled a knowing smile, cutting through the heavy emotional fog.
“You are a very foolish man, Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice dropping into a soft cadence that made his ears twitch in surprise. “You fly all the way across the forest, hand over your lifelong duty to your brother, and declare an end to your warrior days... and a significant part of it is because your son said something about some guy making hair decorations for me.”
Neteyam’s posture stiffened instantly. His nostrils flared, a faint, dark flush creeping beneath his cheeks. He tried to maintain his solemn, deeply romantic expression, but the telltale twitch of his ears betrayed him.
“That’s not—I did not leave the vanguard because of that,” he muttered with a defensive, stubborn scowl that reminded you of your son, melting away at your icy defenses.
“No?” You tilted your chin up, your eyes dancing with a quiet, knowing light. “You didn't look at Maytel like you wanted to feed him to your ikran? This wasn’t prompted by the thought that someone else was here, helping me with everything and teaching your son stuff while you were away in the trenches?”
Neteyam closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a long, defeated hiss through his teeth. When he opened them again, the fierce commander was entirely gone, replaced by the intensely possessive, fiercely protective man you know very well.
He sighed. “I hate imagining and seeing him here... seeing another man's things in our space, knowing he gets to hear our son’s first morning words while I am decoding scout reports... I hate it, yawne. It made me realize that while I have been busy holding up the sky for everyone else, my own world was moving on without me. I am a warrior, yes. But I am your man long before I became one. I am Nevan's father. If I have to crawl to get your forgiveness, I will. Please, just do not tell me to leave.”
The sheer honesty of his words struck deep within your chest, like a lightning bolt cracking at the frost that had settled over your heart during the year of separation. You love him very much, and you knew he could easily get you back if he showed you how regretful he was, but you didn’t want to make it completely effortless for him.
You tilted your head before slowly moving away to let his hand drop from you. Neteyam’s fingers flexed against the empty air, a pained, searching look crossing his features as he watched you move a pace away.
“You can stay, Neteyam,” you said softly, your expression turning serious. “You can stay and be a father to our son. You have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
Neteyam’s chest expanded with a deep, profound breath of relief. You didn’t mention anything about how your relationship will go from here, but that only made a determined, unyielding fire lit up in his eyes. He will work hard to earn you, to replace the time he wasted letting you carry the burden of his absence alone with the reminder that he is still very much here, and that he will never leave again.
“I will earn it back,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Every single day.”
And surprisingly, Neteyam kept his word with a relentless, quiet devotion that left no room for doubt.
For the first few weeks, you remained intentionally wary. You kept your distance. You expected the long-range communication tablet on the shelf to chime at any moment, expecting Jake’s stern voice or Neytiri’s desperate call to summon him back to the battlefield. You expected Neteyam to pace the platforms at night, staring longingly toward the mountains like a caged predator.
But the summons never came, and Neteyam never looked back.
While he still kept a strict routine of waking up before dawn to check his longbow and spending an hour on his tablet giving quiet, tactical advice to Lo'ak or coordinate defensive tactics with his father, the moment the sun broke over the mountains, he belonged entirely to his family.
Nevan, unlike you, required absolutely zero groveling. To your son, having his father home every day was a miracle straight from Eywa. The little boy practically attached himself to Neteyam’s hip from the moment he opened his eyes.
“Look, Mama! Papa taught me how to make the ikran call!” Nevan chirped one bright morning, running into the hut with his arms spread wide, letting out a surprisingly accurate, high-pitched screech that made you laugh.
Neteyam walked in right behind him, carrying a massive basket of freshly gathered jungle fruits and roots for pie. He had stripped off his heavy war gear weeks ago, now wearing only his daily clothes. His long braids were freely dancing, and his skin lacked the harsh black soot of the vanguard. He looked exactly like the boy from your dreams... unburdened and happy.
“He is an apt hunter, yawne,” Neteyam smiled, setting the heavy basket down near your cooking hearth. He paused, his golden eyes locking onto yours, admiring the way you look in the morning with that steady, intense warmth that always made your pulse quicken. “Though he still needs to work on his stealth. He gasps too much when he spots a prey.”
“I don’t, Papa!” Nevan protested, throwing his little body against Neteyam’s sturdy thigh. “I am silent like the wind! Right, Mama?”
You couldn't help the soft, genuine laugh that bubbled up from your throat. “I supposed you are, my little breeze. Now go wash your hands before breakfast.”
As Nevan scrambled toward the water basin, Neteyam stepped closer to you. He was never an impatient lover. Even when you two were younger, he had always made sure you were comfortable with the pace he was taking. It was actually you who was impatient, pushing him to his limits and challenging the rules he set for himself.
Now, he didn't exactly invade your space aggressively, but he came close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached into the basket and pulled out a single, perfectly bloomed night-glory flower, its petals glowing a vibrant, brilliant shade of blue. Without a word, he gently tucked the stem behind your ear, his knuckles brushing against your cheek just a second longer than necessary.
“Your son said this matches the pattern of your stripes,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, meant only for your ears. “He seems to have memorized your patterns like I have when I was a boy... I think every part of me loves you, baby. That includes Nevan, because he’s a part of me.”
Your face burned a sudden, dark shade of violet. You batted his hand away with a playful, frustrated sigh, though your fingers instinctively came up to touch the cool petals. “Neteyam... You are supposed to be helping with breakfast, not picking flowers and uttering pick up lines like a flustered young hunter trying to win his intended mate.”
Neteyam’s lips curved into a slow, utterly devastating grin, the exact same cocky, confident smile that had stolen your heart when you were teenagers. “Who says I am not? I am courting you, yawne. I told you I would earn my way back.”
“You are ridiculous,” you muttered, turning back to the hearth to hide the massive smile breaking across your face.
As the moons bled into one another, Neteyam’s quiet crusade to win back your heart took on a life of its own. He stayed and showed no interest in going back at all, integrating himself so deeply into your daily life that the memories of your lonely year apart began to fade like mist under the scorching sun.
Every single day seemed like an adventure with Neteyam and Nevan always making sure you were at the center of it, but today, your son had miraculously stayed behind when Neteyam went out to hunt. Both of you shared a laugh at the fact that the boy was obviously having a lazy day.
Nevan was sitting cross-legged in front of you, his tiny tail curling in a calm concentration. You had a shallow clay bowl filled with crushed, vibrant purple berries between your knees, using the thick juice as a makeshift paint.
“Like this,” you murmured softly, dipping the tip of your finger into the dark juice. You gently pulled his small hand into yours, guiding his index finger into the bowl. “Gently, my boy. We do not want to drown the wood.”
Nevan let out a soft, eager chirp, his ears pinning back in focus as you helped him press his finger onto a flat piece of smooth wood. Together, you dragged his finger down, leaving a thick streak that was meant to represent the neck of a direhorse. The moment you lifted his hand, Nevan gasped, his golden eyes going wide as a bright, toothy smile split his face.
“Pretty, Mama! Look!" he squealed, his little tail swishing frantically against your thigh.
You couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped your lips, leaning forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss right to the tip of his nose. “Aren’t you just Mama’s little artist?”
Nevan giggled, squirming happily against your legs before leaning his small head completely against your chest. He was getting bigger every day, but in moments like this, when he curled up against you and let out those tiny purring sounds, he was still just your little baby. You wrapped your arms securely around his small frame, resting your chin on the top of his head, gently rocking him side to side as you hummed a soft, ancient lullaby, your hands continuously working on the paint.
Unbeknownst to you, Neteyam was standing completely still in the threshold. He had just returned from his hunt, his muscles aching and his heart still filled with the adrenaline of it. He had been prepared to strip off his boundary gear and weapons, but the moment he stepped onto the platform and saw the two of you, the breath completely caught in his throat.
He couldn’t move, he couldn't possibly break the absolute sanctity of the scene before him. His eyes, usually so sharp and vigilant on the battlefield, softened until they were thick with a profound reverence. He watched the way your long hair fell over your shoulder, framing the gentle, fierce love on your face as you cradled his son. He watched how comfortably Nevan fit against your chest, completely protected from the harsh, violent world outside these walls.
He thought about all the days he missed, the quiet days you and Nevan spent together just like this, and a wave of emotion hit him squarely in the chest, so overwhelming and pure it made his throat tighten. Suddenly, his whole world shrank down to just this sight of you humming in the golden light, with his son safe in your arms, and a fierce, blinding clarity washed over him.
Nevan shifted, his little ear twitching as he caught the faint rustle of Neteyam’s movements. The boy's head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes lighting up. “Papa!”
You blinked, breaking out of your peaceful daze, and turned your head to see him just standing there.
Neteyam offered you a soft, utterly devastating smile, the last remnants of his exhaustion melting completely off his features. He stepped into the alcove, immediately welcomed by Nevan’s insistent chirping.
“Papa! Papa, look!” Nevan babbled, squirming in your grip so he could proudly point his purple-stained finger at the piece of wood. “Mama and me made... a pa'li! A big, big one! See the long neck? Like a real one? It eats through the big trees!”
Neteyam let out a low, rumbling chuckle before leaning back to press a kiss on Nevan’s head before his large hand came down to cup it, his thumb gently smoothing back the boy's twitching ear. “Wow, doesn’t this look fiercer than Agre, Mama? Papa has an own pa’li back in the forest... Mama and I loved going for a ride. One day soon, we’ll go see him,” he told Nevan, the little boy’s eyes perpetually twinkling. “Tell me more about this masterpiece.” Neteyam comfortably sat down near you.
“I— I... I didn't drown the wood!” Nevan continued eagerly, his hands gesturing wildly, completely unbothered by the purple juice drying on his skin. “Mama said do it gently. Like a hunter when you hunt the big yerik, Papa!”
As Nevan kept rambling, acting out the hunt with tiny, dramatic lunges of his hands, Neteyam’s gaze slowly drifted up from your son to meet yours. His hand slid from Nevan's head to rest against your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheekbone with a tender, heavy pressure. He was looking at you as if you had personally handed him the stars and the silence between you filled with a shared devotion for the beautiful, bubbly life you had created together.
You leaned into his palm, tilting your head up to press a soft kiss into the center of his hand. Neteyam’s smile widened, his heart hammering a heavy rhythm against his chest. You are his whole world. The little hands holding his braids right now holds his entire world. And he couldn’t believe he lost sight of that.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“Please come! The river is very big today, Mama!” Nevan pleaded one afternoon, tugging furiously at your hand while Neteyam stood by the doorway, holding a woven utility basket.
“I have to finish mending these, Nevan,” you replied gently, gesturing to the tangled fibers in your lap.
Before you could even protest further, Neteyam walked over and effortlessly scooped you up from the floor, basket and all, setting you firmly on your feet. He took the fibers from your hands and tossed it onto the shelf.
“These can wait,” Neteyam said, his golden eyes dancing with a mischievous spark. “The commander orders a family excursion to the falls. No exceptions.”
Your lips parted for a moment, curling into a smile of disbelief. “You cannot use your commander voice on me, Neteyam te Suli. I do not report to your vanguard.”
“No,” he whispered, leaning down so his warm breath brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine. “You are the only one I report to.”
You rolled your eyes, still smiling as you let your shrieking son drag you out of the hut, but your eyes lingered on Neteyam as you walked past, glinting with a mischievous light he hasn’t seen in over a year, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared that he decided he had just conjured it.
At the river, you waded in the shallow waters, watching Neteyam teach Nevan how to float on his back, the air cool and misted with the spray of the waterfalls cascading down the upper terraces. Your son splashed his little feet wildly, creating cute splashes that made Neteyam chuckle.
“You need to calm down, son. Make your body light... Think you can remain unmoving for a few seconds?” Neteyam asked, and you watched your son look up at his father with twinkling eyes.
“I can! Watch, Mama!” Nevan said proudly.
Neteyam slipped his large hands under Nevan’s small back, gently lifting him until the boy lay flat on the water's surface. “Relax your shoulders, Nevan. Look up at the sky, not at your feet,” Neteyam instructed, his voice low and soothing.
Nevan stiffened at first, his tail twitching underwater, causing him to sink immediately with a loud gasp and a splash. Neteyam caught him instantly, pulling him up with a warm laugh.
“Again, son. You must trust the water... and Papa. I won’t let you go.”
It took a few more tries. On the second attempt, Nevan held his breath too hard and tipped sideways. On the third, a stray splash hit his nose, making him sneeze and sink. But by the fourth try, you saw a quiet determination take over your son’s eyes, much like the one you often see in Neteyam’s eyes, as he took a deep breath and relaxed his tiny frame, letting the river hold him. Neteyam slowly lowered his hands away. Nevan was floating all on his own, his ears twitching in delight.
“I'm doing it? Mama, look!” Nevan squealed, the sudden movement breaking his balance and sending him plunging back into the water.
Your eyes widened, but he surfaced sputtering and giggling, and you couldn't help but laugh, too. Neteyam caught him, knowing he couldn’t really swim on his own yet. You waded closer to them and Nevan reached for you, his little arms wrapping around your neck. Neteyam grinned at you, his large hand cradling his son’s head.
“Let’s see you do it again, boy,” you grinned at him and Nevan splashed his hand in the water excitedly. You laughed, peering up at Neteyam, “He’s like one of those Terran toys Norm used to show us before.”
He tilted his head, “Robots?”
You chuckled, “No? Those stuff with a string you pull... And then it does something,” you said, helping your son lay flat on the water.
“Pull string toy? That one that talks?” he asked, already laughing.
You nodded, laughing with him as you turned to your son who is now relaxing his little body and letting the water carry him. You slowly let go of him, allowing him to float on his on.
“Calm down, Nevan... Mama will do it, too,” you mumbled, slowly letting yourself fall backward into the cool water, perfectly buoyant.
Neteyam grinned, dropping down right beside Nevan, his long limbs stretching out effortlessly. The three of you drifted together in the shallow waters, staring up at the canopy. Nevan let out a bright, bubbling laugh at the ticklish sensation of the water rushing past his ears, and the sound was so infectious that you and Neteyam burst out laughing too, your voices echoing alongside the waterfalls
The river soon became the site for your family’s almost daily bondings.
Nevan learned to swim in no time, but you still cautioned him against going to the river to swim on his own. Your son might be bigger than average kids his age, but he was still only two, and you worried he would run off to the river unsupervised.
Nevan splashed wildly in the shallow pools divided by smooth stones from the body of the river, chasing after the tiny, bioluminescent fish that darted beneath the surface. You sat on a smooth rock at the edge, watching him with a soft, content smile as you prepared the food for lunch. Nearby, Neteyam moved through the water with a fluid grace that vividly reminded you of his younger self, when he worked so hard to master his stealth as a hunter.
He was a good hunter, and an even better warrior.
He had been so skilled back then that he was grouped with older, more experienced warriors because he always seemed to know what to do. His parents took pride in how he outdid Jake in everything at an even younger age; there was no doubt at all that he would make a great Olo’eyktan. He was the golden heir who had bent his back to the crushing weight of his people’s expectations, carrying it all without a word of complaint.
And he had exceeded all of it, right up until the day he decided to leave everything behind to show you that he’s choosing you.
The thought settled heavily in your chest. You love him so much. Not once, even during the bitterest moons of your separation when you felt hollowed out by his neglect, had you stopped loving him. You had loved him as a wide-eyed child visiting Hometree and chasing him through the roots, you had loved him as a fiercely protective teenager, and you loved him now, as a woman who had given him a son.
But as you watched him move with a breeze of a warrior he will always be, a sudden, sharp ache of guilt pierced your heart.
You had taken him away from what he spent his whole life preparing for.
You were supposed to love every piece of him, just as he loved everything about you. Yet, when the war demanded too much of the man you loved your whole life, you had given up on the warrior entirely. You had forced him into an ultimatum between his duty to the people and his duty to his heart.
This realization plagued your mind for the days that followed. You watched him closely, searching for any flicker of resentment, any lingering gaze toward the horizon where the sky people’s metal birds still flew. But you found nothing. He looked entirely settled, his focus anchored completely on you, on Nevan, and within the confines of your family's hut.
In fact, the only thing that seemed to break his hard-earned peace was the occasional appearance of Maytel.
By midday, you were back on the platform, organizing a fresh basket of weaving fibers. Nevan and Neteyam had just climbed the ramp, returning from a short trek to gather wild spices for your recipe.
Neteyam had barely stepped onto the wood before his golden eyes laser-focused on Maytel, who was currently standing across from you, chatting about the latest village gossip. Under normal circumstances, the sheer intensity of Neteyam’s possessive glare would have made you stifle a laugh. But because you’ve spent days with the weight of your thoughts about him made the humor fade.
Maytel giggled at you, “You never did tell me anything, syulang! It’s been moons! With the way your husband looks at you, I was thinking you’d be round with child but now, but, oh well! You’re too slow,” he rolled his eyes, handing you the small, securely wrapped clay dish.
“Shut up,” you whispered, watching Neteyam and Nevan approach.
“Uncle Maytel!” Nevan excitedly greeted, waving a hand and skipping excitedly.
“I brought over some berry pie I baked this morning. I know how much you like this, little boy.”
Nevan peered up at him happily, his eyes twinkling as his hands clasped. “Thank you, Uncle!”
“Thank you again, Maytel,” you said smoothly.
Maytel straightened himsef up himself gracefully, his eyes darting toward Neteyam’s rigid frame. “Well, I must be off. I have a date with a certain long-armed hunter down by the shallow banks, and if I keep him waiting, he might snap another bow string out of pure despair.”
He gave you a dramatic wink, but Neteyam’s expression remained entirely hard, calculating, and intensely territorial. He stood frozen until Maytel’s silhouette finally disappeared down the main walkway.
“Mama! Look at the big leaf I found!” Nevan babbled, showing it to you.
You examined it with great curiosity, admiring its beautiful patterns. “The patterns looks like the canopy at Hometree, son,” you smiled at him.
“Wow...” Nevan looked down at his leaf with wonder before scrambling past his father’s legs and running into the hut to add the leaf among his toys.
With the platform suddenly empty, you stood up and crossed the small distance between you and your husband. For the first time since he had arrived moons ago, you stepped directly into his space, your hands coming to rest flat against the warm skin of his chest where you immediately felt the heavy thudding of his heart beneath your palms.
Before he could speak, you slid your hands up to his shoulders, tilted your chin up, and pulled him down into a deep, lingering kiss.
Neteyam froze, his breath catching sharply in his throat. He looked utterly stunned, his ears twitching back in absolute surprise before the instinctual hunger took over. His large hands came up to grip your waist, anchoring you against him as he kissed you back with a sudden, dark intensity that sent a wave of heat straight to your core.
When you finally pulled away, your lips were tingling, and his golden eyes had darkened with something different.
You let out a dramatic, teasing sigh, a faint smile breaking through the serious fog of your mind. “They always told me my husband possessed the keen eyes of a viperwolf... but it has been moons, my love, and you still haven't caught on.”
Neteyam blinked, his forehead furrowing in confusion. “What?”
You let out a soft giggle, your fingers tracing the strong line of his collarbone. “Maytel just said he has a date with his hunter, Neteyam. He is trying to get on with a man, not with your wife.”
A sudden, staggering silence fell over him, his mouth opening slightly, his ears lifting as the pieces finally clicked together. You chuckled as you watched the fearsome commander of the resistance suddenly looked incredibly flustered, a violet flush creeping along his neck.
“He... with a hunter?” Neteyam muttered, clearing his throat roughly.
“Yes,” you laughed softly, leaning your head against his chest. "There was never any reason for you to be jealous, ‘teyam. I never looked at another while I was away from you. How can I possibly ever replace you? Even when I was trying my hardest to act like I didn't care, I would never betray you like that.”
Neteyam’s gaze softened, his large hands smoothing down your back, pressing you closer to his warmth. “I know that, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Not once did I ever doubt your faithfulness to me. It was... the men I did not trust. But... I suppose I should thank Maytel. Not just for watching over you and Nevan when I was too blind to be here, but because the mere threat of him made me straighten myself up.”
You smiled, looking at the scars on his chest. “Well... about that. Maytel was never a threat, you see. It is just... you left the vanguard for this. You left everything you worked hard for—”
“No,” Neteyam interrupted firmly, his forehead furrowing as he caught your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Do not think that. I did not leave the vanguard simply because I was jealous, I left because I was terrified of losing you completely. I have missed so much of our son’s life, yawne. I didn't even know how to make up for all the time I lost. I will carry the regret of that lost time for a very long time...”
A wave of emotion rose in your throat, making your lower lip tremble a little. “I was so hurt during those moons, Neteyam... but I wallowed so deeply in my own pain that I failed to see how hard you were struggling, too. You were keeping up with the two lives you were living, carrying the future of this world on your shoulders, and instead of being there to be the support you needed... I walked away. I left you alone, Neteyam—”
“Don't,” Neteyam commanded softly, his thumb sweeping across your cheek to cut off your words. “Don't you ever blame yourself, or think your choices were wrong. Baby, I wasn't keeping up with my lives. I was living fully as a warrior, entirely forgetting that I had a wife and a child who needed me to be a man, not just a leader. I was a terrible husband. I was a failure of a father. Do not deny that.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.
“Your decision to walk away did me a favor, baby. I was too blinded by my duty. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't put me in my place early on, if I had kept believing that everything was perfect while you were breaking in the dark?”
You stared at him, your throat tight, unable to find an argument. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Then let us settle it,” you murmured. “We both made mistakes. I should have spoken to you clearly instead of expecting you to know exactly what you were doing wrong... And you should have remembered that the war isn't the only thing worth fighting for.”
He breathed a huff of relief. “I am so scared, baby... I cannot lose you. You are half of me,” he whispered.
“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you mumbled, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.
He was quick to shake his head, looking almost angered. “I don’t want you to forgive me. I will not accept that. I want to remember this moment in our lives when I have let you and our son down. I would sacrifice and leave behind everything just to make sure this won’t happen again.”
You smiled. “Then I supposed I shouldn’t ask for forgiveness, too, for my selfishness—”
“You are not selfish and I have nothing to forgive,” he countered fiercely. “You only wanted what’s good for you and for our son, I’m glad you made that your priority. Can you imagine what younger me would have thought of me now? He would beat me up, baby, I’m willing to bet...” he pressed his forehead against yours.
Both your hands came up to hold his jaw. “We are allowed to make mistakes, my love... Both of us are still learning. What’s important is that even with what was happening between us, we were still good parents to Nevan.”
He smiled, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his son. “He’s a very resilient boy, my love... It makes me even more guilty that he just... loves me very much despite my absence.”
Your brows furrowed a little even as you smiled softly. “I guess Nevan is just a reflection of my heart. He’s a part of me, too, and every part of me loves you very much,” you caressed his jaw, pressing a soft kiss in his lips.
“I love you more. I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips, before he delivered a harder, more desperate kiss. It was a release of all the months of unspoken grief, longing, and the lingering heat that had built up between you. Neteyam groaned deep in his throat, his grip on your waist tightening until your breaths mixed into one frantic rhythm.
“Oh, Great Mother!”
The loud, dramatic gasp broke the air, making you pull away from Neteyam in an instant, breathless and flushed, only to see Maytel standing at the edge of the platform, his eyes wide with a look of pure, devious glee. He had caught you both completely red-handed, and you could practically see the chaotic, mischievous gears turning in his head.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt this moment, syulang, Neteyam... Well, I forgot my weaving shuttle... Just coming back for it...” he carefully tiptoed before getting what he came here for. “Got it!”
Maytel sneaked a smirk at you, his tail swishing with absolute triumph. Before you could hiss at him, Nevan bounded out of the hut, his little ears perking up at the sound of Maytel's voice. “Uncle Maytel! You came back?”
“I did, little star,” Maytel grinned, kneeling down to Nevan’s level while deliberately keeping his eyes locked on your flustered expression. “In fact, I am on my way up to the upper terraces to visit your grandparents. Would you like to come with me and help me pick some wild ferns?”
“Yes!” Nevan answered way too quickly. “Mama, Papa, can I go?” Nevan squealed, bouncing on his heels as he looked up at you and Neteyam.
Neteyam, still entirely dazed by the intensity of the kiss and thoroughly eager to get you back into the privacy of the hut, patted his son's head, nodded wordlessly.
Maytel giggled. “And I guess you will stay there until tomorrow, little boy...” he threw you an incredibly wicked wink. You're welcome, his eyes screamed.
“Bye, Mama! Bye, Papa!” Nevan cheered, snatching Maytel’s hand and dragging him down the ramp.
You stood on the platform, your face burning a violent shade of purple, completely aware of the heavy, dark promise in Neteyam’s gaze as he slowly turned his massive body back toward you. The platform was entirely quiet, your son was snatched away by Maytel, and the commander seemed very ready to claim a year-worth of action from you.
You bit your lip as you sensed his body turn toward you, making the air feel heavier with the thick tension you know will have you inevitably under him before the day ends. You finally turned to him when he stepped forward, his shadow falling over you, his broad chest rising and falling in deep breaths, his eyes dark as he tracked the soft features of your face, the flush your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, and the curves of your waist down to your shapely thighs.
“See you inside?” you said in a small, seductive voice, stepping backward with your eyes locked onto his while you were retreating into the hut. Neteyam followed you like a predator stalking a familiar territory. He stopped at the edge of your sleeping alcove, his tall frame blocking out the fire from the hanging firepot, casting you entirely in his shadow.
With a slow, challenging smile, your hands came up to the knot of your top, holding his unblinking gaze as your fingers untied the cords, letting the feather-like fibers slip until it pooled at your feet.
You followed it by untying your loincloth behind you, shedding it off until you stood before him entirely bare, the soft dim light catching the gentle curves of your body. You knew exactly what you looked like to him. Completely vulnerable, yet entirely in control of his sanity.
Neteyam let out a low, ragged growl through his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the wooden partition. His chest expanded, his nostrils flaring as he took in the sight of you. You looked so innocent standing in the quiet of your home, yet the mischievous, heavy heat in your eyes was pure sin.
“Do you mean to torture me, baby?“ he rasped, his voice deep and rough as his hand grabbed his crotch to give his aching hard on a squeeze.
“Torture?” you echoed innocently. “Who says you can’t touch, warrior?”
He blinked, as if it took time before he realized what you said. He stepped into the alcove, his eyes never leaving you, his hand aggressively shedding his loincloth off, as he walked toward you. You opened your mouth to tease him, but before you could do that, his large hands were already on you, his grip firm as he lifted you effortlessly and pressed you back onto the soft furs of the sleeping mat.
You reached for your kuru behind you, biting your lip when his calloused hands parted your thighs with an authoritative, heavy pressure to fit himself between them. You relished the familiar weight of him on you, the warmth and heaviness of his cock grazing your thigh. “Hello,” you mumbled, smiling as you caught his kuru that he let fall over his shoulder.
He watched you darkly, his hand prompting your hands to connect your kurus together. You gasped as the burning intensity of his emotions that surged through you, enveloping your soul with a familiar warmth you’ve never felt in almost a year. You breathlessly pulled him down for a kiss and his mouth enveloped yours right away, swallowing your breaths, kissing you hard and desperately. His arm wrapped around your frame to pull you against him until your soft mounds were squished against his chest, his large hand cupping your jaw.
You kissed and kissed, and you were reminded with just how much you loved kissing him. When you two were younger, making out with each other had been your favorite thing to do. Every lovemaking starts with what seemed like hours of making out sessions, and this moment brought you back. You licked at his lower lip and kissed him with more ferocity than you had earlier, moaning against his lips as your hands roamed the hard planes of his body.
When you pulled away to breathe, his lips found your jaw, leaving burning kisses until he reached your neck. He licked and nipped at your skin, his hand now coming down to your breast to knead and fondle, before his lips followed, filling his mouth with your flesh as he suckled on your pebbled tip.
“Oh, baby...” you cradled his head, your hand grabbing a fistful of his hair.
His kisses slid down your body, his lips kissing every inch of your skin reverently until his face reach between your leg, his hot breath brushing your slick center. You bit your lip as he kissed the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his lips wet as it sucked a bit of your flesh into his mouth before it trailed down to bury his face between your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat when his tongue swiped upward in one long stroke.
He suckled on your sensitive nub and you shrieked when he playfully nipped down on it, your hands instantly flying into his thick braids as your hips bucked violently off the mat. The sharp, electric heat hit your sensitive nub, and Neteyam hummed a low, vibrating sound of pure satisfaction against your skin as he felt you tremble. He used his tongue relentlessly, sucking and lapping at you until your breath came in ragged, broken sobs.
Desperate for the weight of him, you tilted your pelvis upward, grinding against his mouth, begging for more. Normally, he’d insert his tongue in you, and you can’t understand why he’s being greedy with his tongue now. He paused, lifting his head just enough to look up your body, his lips glistening in the dim light. He let out a low chuckle, kissing the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
“Baby, I know you love it... but I won't put my tongue in, hm? My cock will be jealous. Your best friend hasn’t been in you for a year... you see, he hadn’t known a life like that since I was seventeen.”
You groaned loudly, throwing your head back against the furs as the teasing drove you mad. You kicked his chest lightly with your heel, though it lacked any real force. “Then fuck me already! What are you waiting for?”
Neteyam caught your ankle instantly, his grip tightening as he pulled your leg over his broad shoulder. He nipped fiercely at the tender skin near your knee, making you gasp. “So bossy,” he drawled, a wicked spark returning to his eyes. “Just for that, I’d add another thirty minutes to this...”
“Neteyam, please...” you whined.
“Give me one more, baby... I am so parched,” he said dramatically, his handsome face pulling into a mock pout before his mouth came down onto your pussy again.
He didn't give you a chance to protest. He lifted your hips high off the mat, wrapping his powerful arms beneath your thighs, draping your legs completely over his broad shoulders, before burying his face deep between your legs, using the rumbling vibrations of his voice and the flat of his tongue to drive you over the edge. The pressure on your swollen, sensitive flesh was too much, that within seconds, a violent wave tore through you, making you scream his name into the empty hut as your muscles clamped tightly around his mouth.
He held you through the tremors, lapping at your release until you were thoroughly cleaned. He eased you back onto the furs, your eyes closed, completely whited out by the intensity of your recent climax. Your skin was slick with sweat, your long hair sticking to your neck, but Neteyam only seemed to burn hotter at the sight.
You felt the heavy weight of his body settle over yours, his warm mouth moving down to claim your breast, his large hand firmly pressing your knees wider.
“Eyes,” he commanded, his voice dropping into that soft, unyielding tone he only ever used on you.
“I'm so spent...” you breathed, your eyelids fluttering as you weakly pressed a hand against his muscular chest, trying to find your breath.
Neteyam chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated straight into your bones. He kissed the tight line of your jaw before capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. “You practically kept me in a cage, woman...” he drawled against your lips, his hard length pressing demandingly against your aching center. “And now, you’ve let me loose...”
Your eyes flickered completely open, staring up into the golden fire of his gaze. You pushed your lips forward, leaning into him, and you watched him hold his breath as he realized you were completely his.
“Fuck, I missed you so much, baby...” he whispered, his thumb caressing your slippery folds before he gathered your wetness.
You watched him lather your wetness on his throbbing length as its wide tip nudged your entrance, and with one heavy, agonizingly slow thrust, he slid inside you. Neteyam let out a ragged, guttural groan deep in his throat, his arm snaking behind your waist to pull you up as he buried himself to the hilt, earning a pleasured cry from you.
He froze for a second, his head burying into the crook of your neck as his entire body shuddered, absorbing the intense, tight heat of your walls clamping around him. “Fuck, you're so tight, baby...” he choked out, his breath scalding against your skin.
Before you could fully catch your breath, he lifted himself back up on his hands, his golden eyes finding yours again, refusing to let you look away. Slowly, he began to move. He pulled nearly all the way out, letting you feel every ridges of his length, before driving back in forcefully, making you whimper. Your head rolled back against the furs as your back arched.
His hand instantly came up to cup your jaw, his fingers firm but gentle as he guided your face back to his. “No, look at me,” he commanded, his breath hitching as he started moving.
You bit your lip, but your pleasured whimpers find their way out of your mouth as his large hand caged your jaw to make sure you won’t look away from him as his pace picked up. Your moans grew louder when his thrusts turned deeper and harder, striking the very center of your pleasure. Your breaths came in jagged huffs, mixing alongside your cries and his deep groans.
“Fuck, baby...” he moaned, his eyes closing for a moment.
You pressed a palm against his chest. “Open your eyes,” you commanded, pushing him back a little. “Watch yourself take me.”
He groaned, a huff of weakened and humored laugh escaping through his nose as he lifted himself on his hands, looking down at you with eyes filled of unadulterated hunger. His humor died in his throat the moment he saw the look in your eyes. He was the commander, yes, but right here, pinned beneath the weight of your gaze, he was entirely at your mercy.
“You like to play the general now, do you?” he rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous register that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.
His large hand slid from your jaw, his fingers tangling tightly into the hair at the back of your head, anchoring you firmly to the furs. With his other hand bracing his massive weight over you, he delivered a frantic, brutal, and deep pace into you. You stared up at him, your chest heaving as your breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps. You watched the way the veins in his neck strained, the way his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped, and the sheer worship bleeding from his eyes.
He was completely undone, sweating and growling like a wild creature, stripped of all his rigid discipline until there was nothing left but his love for you.
The friction was driving you insane that you were literally reduced to a moaning, crying mess under him as your hips began to meet his every thrust instinctively, the coil of heat in your lower stomach tightening to a breaking point.
“I love you so much...” he moaned.
“Oh, baby... ‘teyam, I am so close, I can't—” you wept, your hips twitching away from his relentless thrusts but you only seemed to burn even more when his hand grabbed your waist to keep you in place.
“No, stay with me,” he rasped, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to keep you grounded. He picked up the speed, his movements becoming a blur of friction as he drove himself into you so hard that the entire world shrank down to your pussy. “Look at me when you break, baby. Give it to me.”
You couldn't hold it anymore. With one final deep plunge, the dam broke in a violent, white-hot explosion of pleasure rippling through your core, your walls seizing and pulsing around his girth. You cried his name, your eyes squeezing closed as your climax tore through you. Meanwhile, the tight clench you’re holding him with was the final blow to his restraint.
Neteyam let out a low groan as he threw his head back, burying himself to the absolute hilt, pouring his heat deep inside you while his body shuddered violently against yours. He collapsed over you a moment later, his frame curling a little so he could fit himself in your smaller frame, his face buried in the valley between your breasts.
His breath scalded your skin before his mouth moved to kiss your skin. He stayed buried deep inside you, his long arms wrapping securely around your waist, holding you so close it felt like he wanted to press his very soul into yours. You cradled his head, your other hand squeezing his shoulder when he sucked on your pebbled tip hard.
You groaned, “What about rest?” you mumbled.
He lifted his head. “Rest?” he raised a brow as if that was a foreign word.
You pushed your lips forward. “See, I was... undisturbed for moons, Neteyam. I think my stamina needed practicing,” you mumbled.
He smirked. “Now might be the best time for practice.”
You bit your lip, your hand cupping his nape to kiss him. “On the side note... You’re right,” you squeezed around him. “I miss you very much.”
He smiled, his lips coming down on yours. The hours dissolved into the shadows of the hut. The clan had grown quiet as the night went on, but neither of you noticed as though the world outside your hut didn't exist. There was only the rhythmic, heavy slap of skin against skin, his low, breathless groans, and your desperate cries of his name echoing in the quiet room.
By the time the bioluminescence outside began to glow with the midnight moons, the frantic heat had finally settled into a soft, exhausted warmth. You lay on top of him, your chin sitting on his chest as his arms wrapped securely around your waist. You were tracing the smooth, familiar lines of his chest, your breathing finally matching his steady rhythm.
Suddenly, a loud, deep rumble echoed through the quiet space.
You blinked, a bit dazed and Neteyam let out a low, amused chuckle. You pouted, pushing yourself up a little, his large hand slid down to caress the soft, slightly damp skin of your flat belly.
“Fuck, I forgot dinner,” he said, his eyes widening a little.
You blinked, lazy, satisfied smile spreading across your face. “Huh... I strangely feel full.”
Neteyam’s hand paused on your stomach, his fingers rubbing a warm, slow circle over your skin as a knowing, utterly devastating chuckle escaped him. He leaned over, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips.
“I sure hope so,” he grinned, his golden eyes flashing with a playful, wicked heat. “But let’s feed you first, my love. I’m not done with you yet.” He reluctantly sit up, lifting you up a little by your waist and gently plopping you down the furs with a hard kiss on your lips. “Don’t get up.”
He came back with the dinner you had prepared earlier and Maytel’s berry pie, both of which you devoured, occasionally feeding each other small bites while sitting cross-legged on the floor, unashamed of your nakedness. The moment the last of the food was cleared, Neteyam didn't give you a chance to think about cleaning up.
He moved to clean it all away quickly. True to his word, he wasn't done with you. The lovemaking that followed was slower and sweeter, full of whispers and quiet giggling. By the time you two settled back into a soft, exhausted warmth, you lay tucked against his side, your cheek pressed flat against his muscled chest, listening to the steady thudding of his heart while his long arm wrapped around you, anchoring you to him.
You stared into the soft darkness, tracing a light circle over his chest. “What do you think about going back to High Camp?” you asked softly.
Neteyam stiffened instantly beside you, his breath hitching before his eyes snapped down to look at you, wide and suddenly laced with absolute horror. “Baby, surely you are not kicking me back to High Camp?” he asked, his voice rough and panicked. “We have just reconciled. I want to stay. I am staying. I will never leave again. Besides... what if you get pregnant and I am not here?”
The sheer dread in his tone made you stifle a smile, but a soft chuckle eventually escaped you. You shifted, resting your chin on his chest so you could look at him properly. “I will be with you. Me and Nevan... we will all go back to High Camp together. What do you think of that?”
Neteyam blinked, entirely caught off guard, his ears twitching in confusion. “I... I don't know,” he murmured softly, his hand coming up to gently smooth down your hair. “You are safer here, baby. You and Nevan. And I don’t want to be away from you ever again...”
A sudden wave of warmth made your eyes tear up. “That is why we are coming,“ you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You will never be apart from me again. From us. But... that doesn't mean you have to stop doing what you worked your entire life to prepare for,” you stared at him, “I fell in love with a warrior, Neteyam. I mated with a warrior. You are a leader to the people, and I shouldn't have made you choose between your duty to them and your duty to your heart. I meant what I said earlier, baby. We are all learning. I will always be here to support you now, and I will never leave your side. So... I think we should go back. But only if you want it.”
Neteyam stared at you, his own eyes growing misty in the dark. The crushing weight he had carried seemed to fully lift, replaced by a profound peace. Without a word, he pulled you up by your waist, bringing your lips down to his in a deep kiss that tasted of absolute gratitude and a love that grew even deeper and larger.
The next say, Maytel returned your son the moment the morning sun broke over the terraces. His teasing, knowing eyes were incredibly annoying as he took in your flushed skin and Neteyam’s completely relaxed posture, but you chose to ignore his smirks, focusing instead on your son who was as bubbly as ever, practically throwing his little body into your arms, eager to tell you everything about sleeping at his grandparents’ as if it was a vacation.
While you held Nevan, Neteyam stepped forward, his expression serious but entirely respectful. “Maytel,” he said, his voice deep. “Can we talk for a moment?”
Surprised, Maytel’s smirk faltered, his eyes darting quickly to you. You offered him a warm, reassuring nod and a smile, letting him know it was for something good. The two stepped outside onto the platform, and though you couldn't hear the words, you watched as Neteyam clasped Maytel's shoulder in a gesture of gratitude.
Once the air was fully cleared, Maytel left with a promise of more pie for your son, who had just discovered that his parents completely finished off the pie Maytel brought yesterday.
“What would you like for breakfast, my little sun?” Neteyam asked, playfully tickling Nevan’s belly.
Nevan giggled, patting it as his chest puffed proudly. “I ate many smoked fish and... and kelp soup!”
You watched Neteyam chuckle, feigning surprise for his son’s entertainment. “Oh! You already ate, huh? No wonder your belly’s so rooound.” Neteyam bent down a little to blow air into Nevan’s belly, sending your son into a fit of giggles as he threw his head back in laughter.
You leaned your cheek against your son’s small arm, looking at Neteyam as you sat down on the mats of your receiving area. “Nevan,” you smiled, smoothing his little ear back. “How would you like to go on an adventure? We are flying back to Grandma and Grandpa.”
Nevan’s eyes went completely wide, his little tail swishing frantically against your leg. “To see the big ikrans? With Papa?” he squealed, jumping straight into Neteyam’s arms and hugging his neck tightly.
Neteyam melted against his son, his eyes crinkling with absolute adoration that made your smile grow wider. Later that night, you trekked up to your parents’ hut to bring a pie you made and to discuss with them your plans to go back to High Camp. Neteyam took his time sincerely apologizing to your parents who kindly dismissed his apology, gently reminding him that your forgiveness was the only kind that mattered and it clearly seemed like you had given it.
The flight back to High Camp was long and carefully calculated. Neteyam took no chances with your and Nevan’s safety, choosing to fly his ikran yards ahead of yours, scouting the valleys first, taking a much longer, winding route to completely avoid the coordinates he knew were patrolled by the RDA.
When your ikrans finally landed on the rocky ledges of High Camp where you were welcomed back with a small, joyous celebration. Jake and Neytiri were the first to embrace you, their eyes shining with relief to see their eldest son whole again, while the council looked on with relief to have Neteyam back into the fold.
But the moons he spent just learning the rhythm of the world with you and Nevan seemed to have ingrained themselves deeper than his warrior routines. Now, he couldn’t leave the hut without sharing breakfast with you, his large hands gently guiding his son’s tiny fingers over his food to teach him how to eat on his own before heading out to the scouting decks.
Then, he would return at midday to spend the eclipse with you, helping put Nevan down for a nap before heading back out to coordinate the perimeters. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he was home for the night, stripping off his weapons and warrior gear to belong entirely to you.
He still couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. Even though you had forgiven him, insisting that you both made mistakes because you were still just learning, he believed he should have known better. Now that he was able to manage both of his lives so seamlessly, he couldn't understand how he had let the war consume him so completely before, letting years pass making you feel neglected and thinking he had chosen his duty over you, his heart.
There are nights though, where the weight of his duty still clawed at his shoulders. After an armed encounter with the RDA during his patrols, he still tried to come home as early as possible, his body rigid and vibrating with tension. You had already blew the firelight dimmed by the time he arrived from the council, his movements hurried and when he saw that Nevan was already asleep in his hammock, you saw his shoulders slumped, his face crumpling in controlled distress.
You stood up, welcoming him to help bim remove his cummerbund and weapons, hanging them on a rack. “Has he been asleep long?”
“Only because he played too much with the other kids earlier,” you told him, chuckling as your hands caressed his shoulders. “He could barely eat his dinner, his eyelids were already drooping.”
He looked down at his son, his large caressing the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, I came home late...” he mumbled.
You bit your lip. “Neteyam...” you hugged him from the side, kissing his shoulder, feeling the tension in them soften a bit. “I heard of the encounter. Tell me what happened...”
Your hands gently worked through the knots in his shoulders as he spoke, his voice dropping into that low, tense cadence. “The skirmishes have escalated, baby,” Neteyam muttered, his jaw tightening as he stared blankly at his hands. “It’s only been three moons since we came back, and the RDA patrols are pushing further into the southern valley. Earlier, they nearly pinned my scouts against the ridge. I almost called in a full air strike, but the canopy was too thick. I had to pull them back. Lo’ak thinks we should ambush their next supply line there, but... the risk is too high.”
You stopped massaging his shoulders and shifted, angling your head so he had to look at you. “You did the right thing by pulling back,” you said softly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from you in all the years I’ve known you is that you are not impulsive. You are not a warrior who wants only victory. I think... they are baiting you and they are expecting an ambush on their supply line. Eywa has given us enough to fight the demons, ‘teyam. Perhaps you could change your flight paths, lead them toward the weeping bogs where their heavy metal suits can't tread. Let the forest do the fighting for you.”
Neteyam blinked, a sudden, quiet clarity washing over his stressed features. He let out a long breath through his nose, his lips parting as a humored, thoroughly impressed smile broke through his tension. “See, this is why I’m not performing well in the moons you were not with me...” he pulled you for a kiss.
You smiled, “And that’s completely my fault, I think,” you whispered. “Mind if I make up for it?”
His eyes narrowed a little as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him. His breath hitched in his throat, his hands coming down to rest heavily on your shoulders as your hand moved to his loincloth to palm his hard on, biting your lips when you found him already hard, responding to your show in an instant. You stroke it for a moment before moving the fabric aside to let the thick, throbbing length spring free.
You wrapped your hand around the base of his girth, sliding your palm up to feel the heavy ridges snaking along his length, looking straight up into his eyes, you leaned forward and opened your mouth, sliding your lips over the wide head of his cock. Neteyam let out a low, ragged groan, his knuckles turning white as he gripped on the nearest rack.
You kept an unbroken, intense eye contact as you took him deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate his impressive length, pumping your hand at the base while your mouth worked relentlessly, sucking the sensitive head before sliding all the way down until your nose pressed into his pelvic, the heat of his cock filling your mouth.
“Fuck, baby...” he choked out, his head tossing back for a second before your firm gaze anchored him right back to you.
His large hand came down, caging your jaw to keep your face tilted up toward his. His eyes darkened as he began to move his hips, delivering restrained thrusts straight down your throat. You took every inch of him, your eyes watering slightly from the depth, but you never broke your stare. You sucked harder, swirling your tongue around the ridges, driving him absolutely mad with the tight, wet friction of your mouth.
His breathing turned into frantic, ragged huffs as his thrusts became faster, deeper, completely losing his hard-earned discipline warmth of your mouth. “Fuck, you're so good to me...”
The veins in his neck strained, his jaw clenching as he reached his limit. He delivered three deep plunges into your mouth before his whole body stiffened, his thick, hot release pulsing down your throat. You swallowed every drop of his heavy warmth, your throat moving refusing to pull away even as he pulled you back.
When you slowly slid your mouth off his length with a squelching sound, he shivered, thinking it was over but when you dragged your tongue up to lick him entirely clean from base to tip, your eyes still locked onto his blown-out gaze, his knees buckled.
Neteyam looked entirely undone, his chest heaving as he stared down at you in pure, reverent worship. You licked your lips, smiling at him, while his hands lifted you up effortlessly. His arm wrapped around you, his lips crashing down on your lips at the same time your body landed on the hard planes of his. He groaning as silently against your mouth, his large hand groping your chest down to your waist and hips until it wrapped around the back of your thighs.
He lifted it up and knowing what he wanted, you hooked your arms around his shoulders before wrapping your other leg around him. His hard length was already hardening again against your thigh, and with a swift wipe aside of your loincloth, he drove into you, fucking you with a ferocity that made you feel exactly the tension that was engulfing him the whole day.
You pursed your lips to and buried your face face against the crook of his neck to muffle your pleasured sounds as his fingers dug into your hips, relentlessly moving your over his cock.
“I love you,” he groaned, way louder than he should.
“Neteyam!” you whisper-shouted, your fingers on his scratching.
He chuckled, his head angling to press his lips against your cheek, groaning as muffled as possible, but still letting you know how good he's feeling as your warmth enveloped him tightly. You let out a pleasured huff when he shivered against you, spilling his warm seed inside you, and triggering your own release.
He groaned again, but as silent as he could now, his hand working on the ties of your loincloth behind you, shedding it off you without removing himself from you. He lowered you down on the soft furs, his cock slipping out a little when he removed his own loincloth. He spread your legs wider to slip it back in though, lowering himself to kiss you softly.
Hours later, the frantic heat had settled into a soft, exhausted warmth. You lay tangled together on the messy furs, your head resting on his chest while his arm was around your waist.
“Thank you, my love,” Neteyam murmured into the dark, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your arm.
You let out a soft, sleepy giggle, pressing a light kiss against his bare chest, listening to the steady, peaceful rhythm of his heart. “Someone has to keep the commander grounded.”
The peace in the weeks that followed was a precious, yet stolen gift, because with the encounters along the borders growing increasingly volatile, you knew it would soon reach a tipping point. What began as scattered, desperate shootouts quickly spiraled out of control, and Jake found it better to lead an offensive attack before the demons pushed deeper and harder against the resistance.
So, when Toruk Makto took to the sky once more, High Camp emptied. Neteyam kissed your lips until they were bruised and held Nevan so tightly the boy let out a confused whimper, before taking to the sky on his ikran, his jaw set with the determination of a man fighting to make sure that his children would never know the shadow of a gunship.
While the sky in the distant horizons burned with the smoke of explosions, you remained in the deep caverns of High Camp, sitting among the circle of women, your fingers tightly interwoven with Kiri’s, while Mo’at led the low, rhythmic chanting, praying to the Great Mother for the battle’s success.
Every breath you took felt heavy, not just from the fear for your husband, but from the secret you had yet to tell him. You had known for a few weeks now. You were pregnant.
You chose not to tell him at the height of the planning the offense, wanting him focused entirely on staying alive, but Nevan had practically been manifesting it. Ever since one of his playmates’ mothers had given birth to a tiny, squirming infant, your son had been absolutely obsessed with the concept.
Just days before the warriors marched, Nevan had sat on the mats, badgering you both with endless demands. “Want one of those at home, Mama! To play with!”
Neteyam had just laughed, sweeping the boy up into his powerful arms to cradling him against his broad chest like an infant to distract him. “But you are still our baby, my boy,” Neteyam had teased, his voice thick with affection as he brushed the tip of his nose against Nevan's. “You are always Mama and Papa’s baby.” Nevan had thrown his head back, giggling frantically, completely forgetting about the talk.
Now, clutching your flat stomach in the dim light, you whispered a prayer to Great Mother Eywa to bring that doting their father back to you. Whole and safe. You didn’t realize how much of a pressure it would be to be his wife during a major battle. Even in your distress, you needed to put on a calm facade and show the other women the tranquility that should belong to a wife of a warrior.
Fortunately, even before night fell, Eywa answered your prayers in the thunderous, victorious roars of ikrans echoing through the mountains.
The people had won. The clans Toruk Makto had united once again cleansed Eywa’eveng of the evil the sky people brought upon your world. Tuk roamed around chirping about reports on how the war party blew up Bridgehead, crushing the RDA’s main stronghold and ensuring they won’t bounce back as quickly as they usually should, with Jake leading the talks to force them back to the sky.
High Camp exploded into a frenzy of celebratory flutes and drums as the warriors touched down, their wives and children welcoming them with tears. Through the crowd, you spotted him. Neteyam leaped off his ikran, covered in soot and paint, his braids wild. The moment his eyes found yours through the throng, his fearsome warrior mask completely shattered, walking faster to get to you.
“Papa!” Nevan sprinted toward him and Neteyam caught the boy in his arms, before colliding into you with a force that lifted you off your feet, his massive arms wrapped around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent, desperate to replace the stench of burning metal.
“I'm back, baby,” he choked out, his voice rough against your skin.
You held his face, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kissed him desperately. Nevan was already pulling at his father's braids, forcing him away from you, making both of you laugh. Neteyam pressed fierce kisses all over the boy’s face, and you did the same, making Nevan giggle, his neck scrunching in ticklishness.
The celebration for the victory began as night fell, all the torches and firepots were lit, glowing brighter than it ever had before. Even the moons cast down a glow different than the ones you’ve had in the past years, as if they were breathing more peacefully, too.
As the drums beat steadily in the background, Neteyam sat with you at the edge of the gathering, his arm anchoring you to his side while a thoroughly exhausted Nevan curled up asleep against his thigh. Neteyam looked down at his son, a soft, content smile resting on his lips, before his eyes drifted back to you, brimming with an unburdened, quiet adoration.
“We can build anything now,” Neteyam whispered, his large hand lifting to cup your nape, massaging a little. “A real future. Just you, me, and our boy.”
You smiled, your heart hammering a joyful rhythm against your ribs. You took his large hand, slowly guiding it away from yours and placing his wide palm flat against your lower stomach.
Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hand on your belly, then back up at your face. He froze, his ears twitching as he caught the blooming, emotional heat in your eyes.
“Baby...?"” he breathed, his voice suddenly trembling, the fierce commander completely replaced by the image of a stunned, hopeful boy you had grown up with.
“I can’t believe you’re surprised,“ you playfully widened your eyes at him.
He chuckled, and even through that, you saw a tear slipped down his cheek. “Right. Like I wasn’t actively aiming for that.”
You huffed a chuckle through your nose. “Nevan is going to get his wish,” you whispered, “You are going to have to practice cradling another baby very soon, Neteyam.”
A breathless, ecstatic laugh erupted from his chest. He didn't care who was watching; he leaned forward and captured your mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, his large hand trembling where it rested over the new life you were carrying.
“I will be here now. Always. To hear her first laughs, first words, and to watch her first steps...” he mumbled against your lips.
Doggy style in a headlock while dami kisses all up on our neck and back hand me a cig
- - - I don't smoke so have this instead <3 It's technically prone not doggy oops.
You couldn't even hear his little "tt", too busy trying to muffle your moans in your pillow as he pressed a hand down on your lower back, pushing your stomach against the mattress and making you feel just how deep his cock could reach.
You let out another muffled whine, fingers digging into the sheets. The unfamiliar angle creating new sensations, reaching depths that had you soaking the sheets beneath you, sucking his cock in and out with lewd, slick sounds.
He curls his fingers between yours with his free hand, wrenching the sheets from your grip. His voice is haggard yet firm,
"Ya Rouhi, stop hiding from me."
You replied with a muffled groan and a shake of your head.
He brings his hand to your jaw, turning your head to easily slip his tongue past your lips. You're unable to hide a deep moan when he sucks your tongue like how your pussy sucks down on his cock.
It's too much. You're too loud and it feels too good and your moans sound ridiculous and he must think the spit running down your chin is gross and your neighbours can probably hear and you're so close again and it's too much.
You pull away and stuff your head right back into your pillow. Face hot and eyes wet, the cool sheets act as a refuge if only for a moment before becoming suffocating. You squeeze around him, arching your back, hoping he'll just let it go and let you cum in the stuffy comfort of your hiding place.
Instead he sighs, head nuzzling against yours before he readjusts himself, parting your ass cheeks slightly to bury himself as deep as possible in your soaked pussy, keeping his chest close to your back, sweaty skin sticking together.
He kisses up the back of your neck and then slinks his thick arm around your throat just under your jaw, bringing your face up and sliding your precious pillow down to settle under your hips creating a perfect little arch in your back. The other hand brushes some hair from your face and some tears from your cheeks before digging into the mattress for more leverage. He gives your cheek a sweet kiss before bullying his cock into you with new enthusiasm.
Your nails dig into his bicep and forearm as you struggle to keep down the chocked, "Ah ah ah," from your throat, perfectly in time with the wet slaps of his hips slamming down on your ass and the squeaking of the bedframe.
His arm is wet with your spit already so when a stupid, embarrassing squeal is forced from your dry throat, you immediately bite down on the bronzed skin with a force hard enough to muffle anymore ugly noises from crawling out of you.
He groans loudly, both from frustration and the pleasurable pain of your teeth sinking into his flesh. Hip hips only stutter for a moment.
His free hand cards through your sweaty hair and tugs on the roots at the base of your skull. When you don't release his arm, he bites down on your shoulder, forcing your jaw to loosen in a surprised yelp. He uses that moment to slink his other arm around your throat, securing you in a firm headlock.
You're completely surrounded by him now with nowhere to hide. You can feel every muscle in his arms flex to keep you right where you are, the heat radiating from his skin like warm, thick blanket. His own groans get louder as his pace increases, his sounds urge your teeth to let go of your lower lip, letting free eager moans as your body and mind become lost in the way he fucks you.
He's forcing you to lay bare everything you are for him like you both know you want to. The pillow under your hips forces you to feel every single inch of him inside you as more and more sounds are forced out and into the hot air and your mind is forced to care less and less as your high approaches.
Hot, wet kisses trail up your jaw, as your moans turn into full on cries and screams of pleasure-- Sounds you'd probably scoff and roll your eyes at had you heard them in a porno but your inhibitions have been almost complety fucked out of you at this point.
The louder you are, the harder he fucks you, trapped in a cycle of desperate pleasure that just keeps climbing higher.
Your bare clit rubs against the pillow with each thrust, your toes curl and legs kick against the bed as the intensity builds. Your nails dig dark crescents into his arms and his hold around you tightens when you writhe under him just as his hips start to stutter against the raw skin of your ass.
You both cum together, voices melding in a beautiful, lewd symphony, ebbing out into shared, laboured breaths as you slowly come down.
He shuffles so that you're both laying on your side and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, your hot breaths mixing in the now quiet room. You kiss the bruising bite mark on his arm as he rubs a thumb on your lower back, somehow knowing exactly where to press to have you let out a croaked hum.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
You freeze up at the angry knocking from the other side of the wall your bed is currently up against and you curl into yourself, mortified whine muffled by your hands hiding your hot face.
His hushed laugh from behind you does nothing to soothe your embarrassment.
- - - Congrats anon, you successfully distracted me from working on literally any wips until I could finish this shit.
cw: lower caps, smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), eiffel tower, threesome
you aren’t sure how you ended up in this position. naked, in the middle of the forest at night, sandwiched between none other than toruk makto and the olo’eyktan of your clan.
what you did know was that you weren’t complaining.
jake’s hands press firmly into your hips as he guides you into position— your torso bent forward, ass raised high, legs spread just enough. tsu’tey steps in front of you, his eyes locked on yours, dark with hunger. “shhh…”
you immediately notice the bulge straining against the fabric of tsu’teys loincloth, and you bring your hand up to give it a good squeeze.
tsu’tey inhales sharply as you grip him through his loincloth, his eyes rolling back slightly. meanwhile, jake positions himself behind you, running his hands over your hips before spreading you open. “hold onto tsu’tey.” jake commands, his voice deep and authoritative.
you placed your hands on tsu’teys thighs, holding on tightly.
tsu’tey watches you intently, his jaw clenching as jake slowly pushes inside you from behind, making the both of you moan loudly. he’s big, filling you up completely. tsu’tey reaches down, gently tilting your chin up towards him. “look at me.”
you meet tsu’teys eyes, gripping onto his thighs as jake starts to move.
he sets a steady rhythm, thrusting deeply into your pussy while you face tsu’tey. each thrust makes your body move forward slightly, pushing you against tsu’teys bulge. “fuck, she feels so good...” jake grunts behind you.
tsu'tey lets out a strained groan as you suddenly lean forward and nuzzle your face against his erection, his hands coming down to rest on your head.
he watches as you hook your fingers into the ties of his loincloth, making quick work to undo the fabric. tsu’tey lets you, his cock springing free and slapping against your cheek. jake watches over your shoulder as you begin to explore his length with your hand.
tsu’teys eyes are pools of desire as he watches you stroke him, his hips twitching forward slightly. he’s big— even bigger than jake. he reaches down and grabs your wrist, stopping you. “put it in your mouth.” he orders, his voice low and commanding.
you dont hesitate. you eagerly take his cock into you mouth, placing your hands on his thighs to steady yourself as jake continues fucking you from behind.
he watches as you suck tsu’teys cock, your mouth stretched wide around him, the sight making him thrust even harder into your pussy. “holy shit...” jake mutters.
your grip on tsu’teys thighs is almost bruising as he starts to thrust into your mouth, his hands gripping your hair tightly. jake matches his pace, fucking you hard from behind as you're sandwiched between them. the area fills with the sounds of wet flesh slapping against flesh along with their grunts and moans.
jake leans forward, wrapping an arm around your waist and lifting you slightly to change the angle of his thrusts. his hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he pounds into you.
tsu’tey hits the back of your throat with each thrust, his cock swelling in your mouth. they’re both close— you can feel it in their movements and the way they're breathing heavily.
you moan around tsu’teys cock, making his eyes roll back in his head, the vibration sending shivers down his spine. jake groans behind you, feeling your pussy clench around his dick as you suck tsu’tey harder. “haah-shit, im gonna come...”
jakes words only spurred you on. you wanted them to come. wanted them to fill you completely.
tsu’teys hips jerk forward sharply as he releases, moaning loudly as his cum fills your mouth. you swallow every drop, moaning around his cock. jake’s grip on your hips tightens painfully as he slams into you one last time and releases deep inside your pussy with a loud groan.
after a moment, tsu'tey pulls out of your mouth, his softening dick hanging heavily between his legs as he allows you to catch your breath.
jake stays buried inside you, his forehead resting against your back as he comes down from his high. after a few moments, he gently pulls out, leaving you dripping with his cum.
you stand back up slowly, your back aching slightly from being bent over.
jake runs a gentle hand over your back, soothing the sore muscles. “easy there...” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your spine. tsu’tey watches you stand, his eyes lingering on your body appreciatively.
without warning, jake and tsu’tey switch places. tsu’tey moves behind you, replacing jake’s position. he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you slightly. jake steps forward, positioning himself in front of you, their bodies moving fluidly as they prepare for another round.
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.”
only talking to sukuna's stomach mouth when he pisses you off
Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’.
Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face.
But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body.
Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days.
But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside.
When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?”
You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”
Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.
He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all.
His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.”
He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.
“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”
“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.
“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.
“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”
“I intend to,” his maw replies.
Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”
You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him."
“I’m warning you, do not–”
“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”
Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself.
And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him.
So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.
You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”
“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.
“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”
“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.
“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it.
“Well, I was thinking about it and–”
“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”
“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.”
“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”
“No. This ends now."
In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”
“…”
“The answer is both of them.”
Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.”
a/n: idk why the mouth is referring to him in third person...js to be annoying ig lol
genre & warnings. fluff — reader is a mother of three. reader is joyful & fun wifey. reader is very curious, blunt, has little knowledge of the sky people. jake overusing the nickname 'baby'. cute moments - watching old videos of jake and filming each other. | smut — sex tape. voyeurism. semi-public sex. oral sex (f_receiving). jake being a tease. dirty talk. binding & doggystyle. spanking.
note. imma include my main icon beyoncé in everythingg, the act iii theories are draining mee😭 don't ask how i got this idea just by listening to the song.. i might as well introduce her to pandora- anyway enjoy this juicy fic & watch my mind put in work!! ☺️🩵
Once the morning loitered for too long, the ritual began for sanitizing the Sullies sanctuary.
No one couldn't escape it, your three little rascals especially. Polishing multiple decors, watering flowers and plants, foldaway rags. Legs were shredded from the labor which led for the endless nagging from your children to go outside finally snapped your patience, then the marui was wrapped in silence and now it was you and your husband Jake.
Chores were completed anyway, and at last you could rest your swollen feet, the ache of the day finally settling into something bearable. Until you saw the unfinished banana fruit on top of Jake's kit you knew your youngest son was eating. And you knew you told him to dispose the waste. More than twice.
"Ta'txo..." You clenched your jaw so tightly, cursing mentally before disposing it eventually.
It gave you the opportunity to look inside Jake's kit to see if anything else needed care, yet this odd machine caught your naive eye.
It was half-buried in dust and debris, but the dust was only your translation for the dull particulate shimmer around it. Its surface didn't reflect the world back to you the way natural things do. Instead, it absorbed patterns of light like it was swallowing them.
What you perceived was a layered stillness, an artificial focus-point that feels too deliberate to be part of the environment, a constructed gaze. It stored you, held the shape of your environment including your face of confusion and refused to release it.
Mated with a sky person was a challenge especially discovering new metals every day. You took the device in your palm before asking Jake, "My love, what is this?"
His ears perked up at your voice as he turned from polishing his guns. His eyes widened slightly when he saw what you were holding, his old video camera, its black plastic casing dulled by years of neglect.
He wiped his hands on his loincloth and crossed the room in a few strides, reaching out to take it with gentle reverence. The weight of it in his palms felt familiar yet foreign, like holding a relic from another lifetime.
"Oh, this?" He chuckled softly, thumb brushing over the lens cap. "It's a video camera. From my old life." His voice dipped, softening with nostalgia. "Humans used these to record moving images and capture memories."
Your eyes flickered with intrigue as you leaned closer. Your slender fingers hovered near the 'video camera' but didn’t touch, you were hesitant to mess up a forgettable past, but fascinated to know more.
He then pressed a button on the side, and the screen flickered to life — a grainy, faded image of jungle foliage, shaky from his demon-blooded hands. You gasped softly in delight.
"That was from my first days here," he murmured, scrolling through clips — Neytiri teaching him to hunt, Tsu'tey’s scowling face, the Omatikaya gathered under the Tree of Voices.
Then it shifted to the footage of younger Jake, human-Jake, grinning into the lens before the screen went dark.
"You were different," You said softly, in awe.
"Yeah," Jake admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "That was before Eywa gave me this body. Before I became one of you."
This was just the beginning of your acknowledgement on this piece of plastic, it felt like sin to understand more about its concept.
"Show me more." You wished in such an eager tone that made Jake laughed, "You wanna see more?"
Your tail curled around his leg before your fangs glinting as you grinned. "I want to see you." That was all the invitation he needed.
Time continued until the early afternoon, you sat cross-legged on the woven mats as the camera was between you both. Jake flicked through more videos, sometimes pausing to explain something. Telling you how he felt about you, how he learned to ride on his Ikran for the first time. He showed you moments of laughter, moments of pain, all captured in pixels and flashes of light.
Through it all, you listened, your gaze rapt and your questions endless. You took a hold of the camera once again, examining this small object that could keep memories forever, it was like a time machine, you didn't know if this was a blessing or curse from Great Mother but you knew you will keep this thing close to you like your songcord, unless you took good care of it.
"Can it take me?" You switched your gaze to Jake in wonder.
"Yeah, it can." He scooted closer, "Want me to show you?" Immediately you passed the camera over and leaned towards him, your expression was a blend of excitement and curiosity.
As Jake fiddled with the buttons, his heart fluttered unexpectedly. He angled the viewfinder to frame your surreal face, his thumb hovering over the record button. "Go ahead and chat, baby." he commanded softly, his voice barely a whisper.
Your eyes sparkled with anticipation. Jake looked through the viewfinder, a strange feeling curling within him. He'd filmed friends and family, landscapes and wildlife, but never like this. You were the one that stood out most, now he wasn't gonna let this camera go.
"Okay," You started by standing up and balancing allure with clumsy charm to make Jake snicker. "Hello. I'm ___. I'm Toruk Makto's wife. I love my babies-
Jake chuckled, the camera shaking slightly as he tried to hold back a smile. "You're boring me out," he mumbled. "Try again, but... less dramatic this time."
You feigned offense, "Dramatic? I am simply introducing myself to your magic human-box," You retorted.
"It's called a camera, baby. Not a magic human-box." His thumb hovered over the record button again, this time with an amused but expectant look. "And less posing. Just be natural."
You scoffed, "What should I say? 'Hi, I'm ___. Goodbye'." Plainly sarcastic.
Jake rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "You realize you're supposed to say a bit more than that, right?"
"Like what?" You shrugged.
He leaned back, one ankle crossing the other, his gaze drifting to the camera's screen. You in focus: your sharp features, playful gleam in your eyes and your slight pout. The sight made his heart skip a beat.
"I don't know," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "How about something more personal?"
He was stalling now, and he knew it. But he wanted to capture more than just your physical appearance. He wanted to capture this moment, he wanted more.
"Fine," You huffed dramatically, tossing your braids over one shoulder but then you softened, exhaling through your nose. Your gaze flicked to the camera, then past it, to Jake's face. Something unguarded flickered across your expression.
"Okay," You started. "I’m ___." A short pause. "I rode with Toruk Makto. I laugh when my children pretend to be warriors. Mmmh-" You took a moment to add another fact, "I chose you. Every day. Even when you forget where you put your spear."
"You forgot one thing," He murmured.
You tilted your head in wonder. "Hmm?"
"That you're the most stunning creature on this whole damn moon."
The camera jostled, capturing the blur of your movement, the sound of your shared laughter. "You like what you see? That's why you are videoing me?" You teased slightest.
"Damn right I do," Jake admitted shamelessly, zooming in slightly just to watch the way your purple blush darkened under his attention. "You’re gonna make this whole recording about yourself, huh?"
You smirked, striking another exaggerated pose, one hand on your hip and the other dramatically tossed over your forehead like some human soap opera character Jake must have accidentally described to you once. "Of course. Isn’t that the point of your magic human-box?"
Jake snorted. "It’s called narcissism, sweetheart."
As the moment unfolded, you slowed down, choosing to savor it with quiet attention. This magic human-box could take reality and keep it forever — to view it as memories, watch moments over and over again...
You had to ask.
"Can it show how we make love?"
Jake nearly dropped the camera, "Huh?"
Your gaze was unflinching, you were completely serious.
Jake took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "You wanna do that on camera, baby?" His voice cracked slightly on the last word, his throat suddenly dry.
"Yes. I want to see you. If I feel good, it must look good to watch over and over again." You smiled warmly, almost innocently, even as the request carried a risqué edge.
"You realize that's a very private thing, right?" He informed.
"Yes." You nodded in agreement as you swayed your way to Jake before sitting close, your hands resting on his chest. "It's your camera afterall. Your eyes only."
Your sweet, luring tone made him swallowed hard, the heat of your touch and closeness made his head spin even more than your words. He'd be a fool to deny you anything.
Jake chuckled before biting his lip at the thought, some quiet voice that had been whispering in the back of his mind now was speaking loud and clear. Shit, why not...?
He exhaled, slow and deliberate, before positioning the camera flat on the floor as he turned it toward you both, the lens capturing the tangled closeness.
"It’s not just my camera," he murmured, voice thick. "It’s ours now."
Jake took hold of your neck to bring you close for a steady kiss, the camera continued to record as your bodies moved against each other, the touches and kisses a blur of passion and desire. The sounds of your heavy breaths and the sound of your lips meeting again and again, the lens captured every shift.
He needed to be closer, his large hands guided your hips to straddle his lap. You pushed his dreads gently that once rested on his shoulders to rest your arms there, his beefy arms were a cage around your waist to balance you.
It was something that excited you about the camera capturing this moment, you could watch it anytime you wanted, facing the camera too, seeing how your husband kissed and touched you.
You caught in the heat of the moment, he captured your chin, tilting your face upwards and to face him. "Look at me." You obeyed instantly. You saw the raw desire burning within you both, the possessive edge that always made your heart skip a beat. You two have been together like this countless times, but this was diverse.
"I'm looking." You gasped softly.
"Good." He leaned in, voice a growl against your mouth:
"Now let’s give the camera something real to remember."
A sudden clash of lips, a battle of tongues, a storm of need. He didn't hold back, his body pressing into yours, his hands roaming freely, knowing exactly where to touch to make you shudder and feel satisfied.
The camera caught it all: the way his hands traced the curve of your hip, the way your body responded instinctively to his, the sounds of the mingled breaths. He broke the kiss, but only to trail his mouth down your neck. You gasped for air, a low moan escaping your lips, and the sound echoed in the small space, picked up by the camera's microphone.
He lifted his head then, his gaze locking with yours. "You like this, sweetheart? Like being watched, huh?" His hand slid down your leg, fingers tracing the inside of your thigh that made you inhaled sharply, a shudder running through you at the question.
"I love it..." You soughed.
"Yeah?" His voice was so dark with a teasing rumble. His hand moved higher, closer to hid under your loincloth for his fingers to be warm by your lower lips. He was drawing this out, making you wait, and the camera was catching every second.
You hated him for his bothering habit yet loved him for it at the same time. But in that moment, there was only one answer you could give. "Yes," you repeated.
"Good girl." His own gaze was hooded, the hunger in them intensifying. He was enjoying this far too much — the power, the control and the knowledge that he could bring you to the edge and back again, all caught on his magic human-box.
His hand moved higher, his touch both torturous and pleasurable, drawing closer to your center. The camera caught it all: your ragged breath, the way your hips lifted slightly, desperate for more. Yet he held you there, teetering on the brink, until you were trembling with need.
Your back arched slightly, and he watched in fascination as the camera captured every tiny reaction: the way your lips parted on another soft gasp, how your tail lashed against his leg in restless anticipation. He increased the pressure slightly, his fingers moving with practiced ease, he knew exactly where to touch, how much friction to give.
Your breath came in shallow pants now, and Jake could feel the tension coiling in your body like a spring about to snap. "Lick. Lick me, Jake." Your words stumbled out in broken pieces, unfamiliar and unshaped, and he couldn’t help the quiet fascination that flickered in his gaze.
Without hesitation, he lowered himself between your legs, still kneeling on the woven mats and hooked his fingers into the waistband of your loincloth. He made sure both of you were seen, you especially, sitting up by your elbows as you eyed him below.
With one smooth motion, he slid it down just enough to expose your damp lower lips. The camera remained pointed in your direction from its spot beside you as Jake leaned in and pressed a slow kiss on your slit with gentle pressure before dragging his tongue upward in one long stroke.
There was no reason to rush, he took his time tasting you with intentionally, savoring the salt, tangy savour of your deep universe. His tongue moved with skill honed by years of loving you like this, knowing when to tease and when to press down hard enough for a real reaction.
And he was killing it, just by the judge of you bringing your hips closer and lewd sounds escaping your lips.
Your eyes were challenging the camera, knowing and seeing yourself being fucked so well. Somehow with this camera made you feel devastatingly sexy, you knew your worth. How your husband glanced up at you through half-lidded eyes, smirking by the fact of your clear enjoyment before lowering his lips again to really get to work this time.
Licks and flicks. Swirls and curls. It was an entire messy devotion.
He was relentless, alternating between deep thrusts of his tongue and quick flicks over your clit, the piercing adding textured friction that had you seeing rubbish.
"Pussy still taste so sweet, baby." Your entire body jolted at the filthy praise. It caused your hips bucking up against his mouth involuntarily. That human word, that rough tone — Jake knew exactly what it did to you.
You cutted yourself off by the sudden detachment from Jake's lips, sitting up to get himself undone. Garbs hit the floor in a hurry from Jake’s loincloth falling to you shrugging off your feathered top with impatient hands.
He pulled you against him by your puny waist and kissed you once more, it was deep and filthy now that there were no barriers left between you both. Tongues tangled, naked chests pressed together, every point of contact burned like wildfire under Eywa's glow outside.
Your bodies slotted together perfectly, now skin on skin. The camera kept rolling from its spot on the mats — capturing Jake's hungry gaze as it traveled over your bare, lean figure: those sharp collarbones, the swell of your breasts, all his to devour and worship.
His hands mapped every inch of you: your back, the dip of your spine, the curve of your ass before he positioned himself behind you. You twisted to kiss him over your shoulder, messy and open-mouthed while Jake's other hand slid around to cup one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over your excited nipple.
He lined himself up, teasing you both with that slow, torturous drag of his cock against your slick heat. Every sweep sent sparks through him; he was painfully hard, aching to be inside you but savoring this moment first. Watching your back arch under the sensation, he exhaled sharply through his nose at the grasp of his dreads by you.
You gasped sharply as the first inch of him breached you, stretching you perfectly. Your fingers tightened in his dreads, grounding yourself as you adjusted to the feeling.
But he didn't move yet beyond that initial press, letting you both breathe through it. The intimacy of this moment was so strong and intense. The lens traced how your thighs trembled slightly where they framed his hips as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, he composed despite how badly he wanted to thrust in deep at that moment.
At last, he pushed in completely. A slow, deep slide that had your breath so brittle and his own jaw clenching at the overwhelming sensation of being you. His hips experimentally, testing how it felt to move together after all this buildup. The movement was slow at first, he withdrew just slightly before pushing back in, a shallow roll of his hips that made you whimper.
It felt bizarre how good it was, how your body welcomed him, the heat and tightness around him. Jake bit his lip to stifle a groan, focusing on keeping the pace steady despite every instinct screaming to take. He kissed your shoulder blade and then traced bites down your spine as your bodies began finding rhythm: soft pulls and gentle thrusts that built the tension.
The footage preserved the way Jake's hands slid up your sides as he kissed your shoulder, how your back arched into him with each slow thrust. The breathing was synced: deep inhales when you both stilled and soft exhales on the outstrokes.
But constantly, you were tightening around him, that was your signal for much solidity and his hips finally answered by pushing in deeper with a little more force this time, a test run for what came next.
With a low groan, he gripped your hips and began moving in earnest, deeper thrusts now, each one punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. The shot centered on the bounce of your body with every drive forward, his meaty biceps flexing as he held you steady for his rhythm and the connection from between your legs as his full sack kissed your clit repeatedly.
The marui was packed with the sounds of passion: panting breaths, whispered moans, the rhythmic slap of bare skin. His hips snapped faster, his pace turning urgent and chasing that sweet friction, that perfect angle where you would gasp and clench around him.
He could feel it building: the coil in his stomach tightening with every thrust; the heat pooling low in his gut. His mouth found your ear to growl: "Fuck, you feel so good baby." You whimpered at the praise, your nails digged lightly into his forearm.
Suddenly, Jake shifted quickly, guiding you onto your hands and knees before positioning himself behind you. The camera was still dutifully rolling and capturing the smooth transition, your back arching gracefully as you braced on all fours with his hand running down the curve of your spine to give a soft squeeze of your ass, admiring how perfectly your bodies fit like this.
Once again, his cock aligned with your entrance, but from this animalistic angle, the view was even more intense than before.
Jake exhaled sharply as he sank fully into you from behind, the new angle sending a fresh wave of sensation through you both.
It made you drop your forehead to the mats, a soft moan escaping your lips as you adjusted to the different depth. Jake gave you a second before his hands found purchase on either side of yours and he began moving again.
This time, each thrust was deeper, much deeper, hitting places inside you that made your vision explode behind your closed eyelids.
He set a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips driving him deeper, harder. The camera swallowed the nasty chaos whole of your braids swayed with every thrust, your fingers twisted into the woven mats beneath you, his biceps bulging as he braced himself above you.
The slap of your skin echoed through the marui, wet and loud yet neither cared who might hear. The intensity between you both peaked and every movement, every breath synced in perfect harmony. His penetration became more erratic, his control fraying as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his gut.
You were just as far gone, from moans to desperate little cries with each deep stroke, you gazed at the camera, watching the hypnotic sway of your ass with every one of Jake's pounds that eventually made you earn a light smack. Your expression were glazed-over, equally mesmerized and aroused by the sight.
And he noticed where your were looking and smirked — oh yeah, this was hot for both of you. So he deliberately slowed his movements for a second, making each stroke longer, more exaggerated, showing off the connection like a performance just for the camera and for each other.
It was filthy. It was beautiful. And you were loving every second of being recorded like this.
Jake snapped his hips faster again to reach the sweet friction that would tip you over the edge soon. His hands slid up to grip your waist tighter, holding you steady as he drove into you relentlessly.
The camera shook slightly from the force of the intense movements now, the passion was too strong to stay perfectly still…
"I'm feeling it!" You warned, it was your explanation to say you were close to your release.
"Fuck, me too," he rasped, his own release barreling toward him like a runaway banshee. He adjusted slightly, angling his hips to hit your sensitive spot, his pounding turned erratic now; there was no rhythm left, completely pure need.
A cry tore from your throat as your orgasm ripped through you, wave after wave of white-hot pleasure. Your muscles clenched around Jake in rhythmic pulses, dragging a ragged moan out of him as he felt it too. That was all it took.
He followed right after, his hips stuttering before he buried himself deep inside you with his warm release.
Still, the camera was rolling. You managed to giggle through your heavy pants, gazing at the camera once again. "Oh that was fun, my love."
Jake laughed breathlessly against your skin, his lips curling into a lazy smile. "Fun is an understatement, baby." he murmured, pressing one last kiss to the curve of your shoulder before reaching for the camera.
He finally stopped recording, pressing a button on the side to pause it and set it aside gently. Then he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so you rested half on top of him as your limbs intertwined.
"Best video ever," Jake declared smugly… and then yawned like a man who’d just been thoroughly loved.
Pairing: Jake Sully x toddler!daughter
Warnings: fluff, toddler tantrums, minor sibling mischief, Jake being a total softie.
Summary: being the youngest member of the Sully family means learning a few bad habits from the older brothers.
In the center of the family pod, the youngest Sully was currently engaged in a protest. The crime? Being told she could not ride an ikran.
"No! I go! Daddy, my go!" she shrieked, stomping her foot against the woven flooring. She had already managed to knock over a basket of dried fruit and was currently eyeing Neytiri’s favorite weaving loom with intent.
Jake let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He loved his kids, but his babygirl was an entirely different beast when she was being capricious. "That’s enough. Look at me."
The toddler paused, her tail lashing behind her. She looked up, her eyes wide and defiant.
Jake dropped to one knee to meet her at eye level, putting on his best seriuos face. "We don't throw things, and we definitely don't yell. I said no. Stop that. Sit. Now."
For a moment, it looked like he’d won. The little girl’s lip trembled, and she went stiff.
But then, a memory flickered in her mind. Just yesterday, she had watched from the shadows as Lo’ak and Neteyam got into it over a lost spear. When Neteyam had pulled the older brother card, Lo’ak had leaned forward and delivered a gesture of such profound disrespect that the toddler had been entranced ever since.
She took a deep breath.
She shoved her tongue out as far as it would go, scrunching her nose and narrowing her eyes just like Lo’ak had.
Jake froze. The stern lecture died in his throat.
Behind him, he heard a muffled sound. He turned his head slightly to see Lo’ak standing in the entrance of the pod, eyes wide with horror, quickly covering his mouth with both hands. Neteyam was right behind him, looking between the toddler and his father with an expression that said I’m not involved in this.
"Did you just..." Jake turned back to his daughter. "Where did you learn that?"
The toddler did it again. Pffft.
"Lo'ak," Jake barked, not looking away from the tiny rebel.
"I didn't—I, I didn't teach her!" Lo’ak protested.
Jake looked back at his youngest. She was still standing there, looking incredibly proud of her new weapon. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Alright, listen here, you little menace," Jake muttered, reaching out to scoop her up. She let out a squeal of protest as he tucked her under his arm like a sack of grain. "If you’re going to act like your brother, you can follow him. Both of you are on dish duty."
Jake’s resolve lasted exactly four seconds.
As soon as he reached the cooking area and set her down, her little face crumpled, her eyes flooding with tears. A heartbroken sob escaped her.
"No... no dish," she wailed, her tiny hands reaching up for him. "D-Dad..."
Jake was a warrior, a leader, but he was absolutely weak for his crying daughter.
"Hey, hey, no, okay. Shhh," Jake muttered and scooped her back up, this time pulling her firmly against his chest. He felt her wet face tuck into the crook of his neck, her sobbing breaths hitching against his skin.
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry," he whispered, pacing in a small circle and rubbing her back in the way that always calmed her down. "No dish duty. I was just kidding, babygirl."
From the edge of the pod, Lo’ak watched the scene, his jaw dropping. "Oh, seriously? I do that and I get grounded for a week! She sticks her tongue out and gets a hug?"
Jake shot a sharp look over his shoulder. "Not another word, Lo’ak."
As his son grumbled and retreated, Jake felt the toddler’s grip tighten around his neck. Her crying began to subside into small sniffles. He pulled back just enough to look at her, using his thumb to wipe away a stray tear from her cheek.
"You can't do that to me, kiddo," he sighed, his forehead leaning against hers. "You’re going to be the death of me."
She looked at him, her eyes still watery. "No dish?"
"No dish," Jake promised, defeated. "But if you stick your tongue at me again, I’m telling your mother."
The toddler let out a tiny giggle, burying her face back into his chest. Jake knew he was being played, and he knew he was setting a terrible precedent for discipline.
So'lek x Trr'ong!reader // Na'vi!Reader x Platonic!Sarentu
Summary: You did not choose motherhood, it chose you.
Cherrie's Notes: My love, Z...sorry for the delay, hope you like this! This is a F!reader I hope that is okay.
AFOP Masterlist
The first time one of the Sarentu survivors called you “Ma,” it felt as though the entire forest stilled.
The sound came from Teylan—half-asleep, trembling in the wake of a night terror. He was taller than you, all long limbs and growing strength, but in that moment he folded into himself, trying to make himself smaller. Safer.
You did not hesitate.
You guided him gently down, gathering him into your arms as your own mother once had. You rocked him slowly, humming beneath your breath, an old Trr’ong song, one you had not sung in years. One neither you nor So’lek had heard in what felt like a lifetime.
Still… it felt right.
“I am here,” you whispered, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “You are safe.”
The word came then—fragile, instinctive.
“Ma…”
You froze. Not from rejection, but from the weight of it. What it meant.
Across the shelter, So’lek saw it happen. He said nothing. But something in his chest tightened… and then slowly settled.
After that, it became natural.
They gravitated towards you without thinking, drawn by something they could not name. Ri’nela sought you out to braid her hair, asking you to weave small decorations through it with careful hands. Nor lingered nearby, quietly asking for your voice when doubt crept in. Tamtey asked for nothing at all—only your presence beside him, silent and steady.
You gave it freely. Because you understood. There were wounds no medicine could reach. After Teylan, the others followed.
“Ma.”
“Sa’nu.”
The names came easier each time. And you never corrected them. Never told them they were too old, too strong, too anything for that kind of tenderness. Because you knew better. Survivors did not outgrow the need to be held. You hadn’t.
“You coddle them.” The voice cut cleanly through the moment, sharp, controlled, artificial in a way that never quite felt alive. Alma Cortez stood at the edge of the camp, her dreamwalker form unnervingly still. Watching. Measuring.“They do not need you to play mother,” she continued. “Not you.”
You did not look up, only pausing briefly in your weaving. “They need to feel safe,” you replied simply.
Alma’s expression tightened. “They are not children. They are not your children.”
“No,” you said softly, finishing the weave with careful precision. “But they are not yours.”
That ended it—for now. But the tension lingered long after she left.
So’lek found you later, away from the others. You sat in the stream, hands submerged as the water carried away the remnants of the day. Quiet. Guarded. He approached without sound, as always. And as always—you knew.
“You carry them as though they are yours,” he said, crouching beside you.
“They are not,” you murmured. “But they have no one who is.”
A pause. Then, softer—more vulnerable than you usually allowed: “And I remember what it was to have no one.”
So’lek studied you—the strength in your posture, the gentleness in your hands. The way both existed without contradiction. He reached out, brushing a stray bead back into place along your braid. “You are… different with them,” he said.
You huffed faintly. “Is that your way of calling me soft?”
“Yes.”
You turned to him, mock offence flickering briefly—but it faded the moment you met his gaze. There was no judgement there. Only quiet admiration.
“I like this softness,” So’lek said, his voice low.
Your breath caught. “You do?”
“It is not a weakness,” he replied. “It is… something we nearly lost.” His hand found yours, rough palm against rough palm. “You remind them what it is to be cared for. To belong.” Silence settled between you—but it was not empty. It was full. Steady. Safe.
“They call me Sa’nu,” you admitted after a moment, almost shy.
“I know.”
“It should not mean so much.”
“But it does.”
Your gaze drifted back towards camp, where distant laughter echoed through the trees. “I do not want to replace what they lost,” you said quietly. “I only want them to feel they are not alone any more.”
So’lek shifted closer. “They do not see you as a replacement,” he said. “They see you as what they need now.” His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles. “And so do I.”
That made you look at him properly. Not as a warrior. Not as a survivor. But as himself. “You?” you asked softly.
He nodded once. “You bring life where there was only survival.” Your lips parted—but no words came.
The forest hummed around you.
Alive. Listening. Waiting.
“When the RDA are gone,” So’lek said quietly, as though testing the thought, “what will you do?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “I… do not know.”
A small, rare smile touched his lips.“I think you do.”
Your heart stumbled. “…Say it.”
He leaned closer, his voice lowering to something meant only for you. “Perhaps you will not only care for those who were left behind,” he murmured. His gaze softened—open, unguarded. “Perhaps we will have little ones of our own.”
The world seemed to still. Your breath hitched, something fragile and bright unfolding in your chest. “You would want that?” you whispered.
So’lek did not hesitate. “Yes.” Simple. Certain. Like everything he meant.
Your fingers tightened around his. “Then we survive,” you said, steadier now. Stronger.
“For them,” he agreed. “And for us.”
From the distance, a voice called— “Ma!” You smiled before you could stop yourself.
“I should go,” you said.
So’lek released your hand, though reluctantly. “I will watch over you.”
You squeezed his fingers once before slipping away. “I know.”
And as he watched you return to them—kneeling among them, laughing softly, gathering them close as though they had always belonged to you— he allowed himself, just for a moment, to believe they truly did.
He stood where you had left him, the cool water slipping past his ankles, his gaze fixed on you amongst them. You did not stand above the Sarentu. You folded into them—into their laughter, their quiet questions, their unspoken needs—as though you had always been meant to fill that space.
Not as a leader. Not as a warrior. But as something far rarer.
“Sa’nu, look—” Ri’nela’s voice carried first, bright and eager as she held up a small cluster of woven fibres she had clearly attempted herself. Uneven. Crooked.
You took it as though it were something precious. “It is good,” you said gently, adjusting a strand with careful fingers. “But here—tighten this, or it will come apart.”
Nor lingered close, watching, before speaking low enough for only you to hear. “It is quieter today,” he said. “In my head.”
You glanced at him, something soft and knowing in your expression. “Good,” you murmured. “Then we will keep it that way.”
Tamtey said nothing, only settled beside you, shoulder brushing yours. That, too, was an answer.
So’lek exhaled slowly. He had seen many things in his life—war, loss, survival carved from nothing—but this…This quiet rebuilding.This fragile, stubborn healing…It was unfamiliar.
And yet, he found himself unwilling to look away.
“You stare again.” The voice came from behind him this time—sharp, measured. Alma Cortez stepped lightly across the ground in her dreamwalker body, though there was nothing natural in the movement.
So’lek did not turn. “I observe,” he said evenly.
Alma followed his gaze, her expression tightening almost imperceptibly. “They are becoming dependent,” she said. “It will weaken them.”
“No,” So’lek replied. “It will remind them they are not alone.”
“They cannot afford that kind of attachment.”
“They already have it.” That made her pause.
“They need discipline,” Alma insisted. “Focus. Not this… illusion of family.”
So’lek’s jaw tightened slightly. “It is not an illusion.”
Alma’s gaze flicked back to him. “You think this will last?”
“I think,” he said slowly, “it is the only reason they will.”
She did not answer immediately. And in that silence, the distance between what she understood—and what she refused to—felt vast.
“They are not children,” she said again, quieter now.
“No,” So’lek agreed, his gaze never leaving you. “But they should have been.”
That left her with nothing more to say.
By the time So’lek approached the group, the light had shifted.You looked up as he neared—always aware, always attuned—and something in your expression softened further.
“You have come to join us?” you teased lightly.
“I have come to see if they will allow it,” he replied.
Ri’nela brightened immediately. “You can sit.”
Nor gave a small nod.
Tamtey shifted just enough to make space.
You smiled at that—soft, pleased—and reached out, your fingers brushing briefly against So’lek’s wrist as he settled beside you. A small touch. But grounding.
“They were telling me about their training,” you said.
“Were they?” So’lek glanced between them.
“Yes,” you continued, amusement threading your voice. “Though I suspect some details were… altered.”
Teylan looked mildly offended. “They were not.”
Nor muttered, “They were.” Ri’nela laughed. And just like that—lightness.
So’lek watched you again, but this time from within it. The way your laughter softened the edges of everything around you. The way they leaned into it. The way he did, without even realising.
Later, when the others drifted away one by one—drawn by food, rest, or the quiet pull of evening—you remained where you were, your gaze following them until the last disappeared into the trees.
“You worry,” So’lek said quietly.
“I care,” you corrected. A pause. “…But yes.”
He shifted closer. “They are stronger than they were.”
“I know.”
“And they are not alone.”
Your shoulders lowered slightly. “I know,” you repeated, softer.
The sky dimmed above, the forest settling into its night-song. For a while, neither of you spoke.
Then, quietly: “If we have children…” Your voice wavered—not with doubt, but with the weight of hope itself.
So’lek turned slightly towards you. “They will not know this kind of fear,” he said. It was not a wish. It was a promise.
You studied him, something deep and searching in your gaze. “And if they do?”
“Then they will not face it alone.”
That settled something in you. He could see it. The same way he had seen it that first night, when a single fragile word had changed everything.
“Sa’nu!” The call came again—faint, but insistent.
You huffed softly, though your smile returned just as quickly. “They will not let me rest.”
“No,” So’lek said, a trace of warmth in his voice. “They will not.”
You rose, brushing your hands lightly against your thighs before glancing back at him.
“Come with me,” you said. It was not a request. So’lek stood without hesitation. And this time when you returned to them he did not remain apart. He walked by your side.
pairings aged-up!neteyam x metkayina!female reader
notes arranged marriage, reader is the youngest daughter of ronal and tonowari (someone requested a ronalxtonowari daughter grieving ronal’s death hehe), opposites attract, reader is literally a mini ronal, neteyam is a hardcore yearner even when reader is mean and rude to him, ao’nung and tonowari the matchmakers <3, smut (p in v), oral (f receiving)
synopsis hardened by the grief of losing your mother and fueled by the rage you have for both the sky people and the sullys— who brought their war on your shores— you made it your mission to avoid them at all costs. unlike your siblings, you never softened up to them, and you loathed the fact that neteyam, their eldest, just wouldn’t stay out of your sight.
word count 20.3k
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The water was too red.
That was always how the dream started. In your memory, the ocean of Awa’atlu was a perfect, piercing turquoise, but in your nightmare, it turned the color of blood. You saw the skimwing first, its rider’s face blurred, and then the body draped on the skimwing’s large body, unmoving and lifeless swaying rhythmically with the waves.
“Mother?” you tried to scream, but no voice seemed to come out of your mouth.
You heard your father’s loud gasp, his feet moving instinctively. You watched him lift your mother’s body off the skimwing and onto the sand. Your father bellowed in pain and you fell on your knees, looking around, not knowing who to ask for help. Your mother was wounded! She was bleeding!
When the Tsahik is wounded and dying, who do you ask for help?
You saw the Sully family standing just a few paces away, their golden eyes wide with a guilt that won’t bring your mother back. Then you felt a hand on your arm and it felt so real. You knew who it was. Your head swiveled back and saw Neteyam. He was looking at you, his face etched with a pity you didn't want.
You remembered screaming at him then, but your dream was cut short when you bolted upright in your hammock, its woven ties creaking at your sudden movement. The smell of moss and sea attacked your nose, overpowering the smell of blood your brain had conjured during your dream, as if to completely horrify you. For a moment, you stayed perfectly still, waiting for the pounding of your heart to calm down.
You were nineteen now. The soft roundness of the fourteen-year-old that your mother will always remember has long yielded to the sharpened lean of a huntress. The same dream had plagued you for years and you knew your entire day would be shrouded with grayness. You stood and grabbed your spear, its blade carved from crystal coral.
You didn't look at your older sister who was still sleeping peacefully next to your hammock. You didn't want Tsireya’s comfort, because it always came with a plea for forgiveness and understanding for the Sullys. The morning mist was thick as you made your way to the docks and saw that you were not the only one up. Near the edge of the water, a figure was preparing his mount.
Even from a distance, you recognized the way the man carried himself with a different strength and grace you don’t see among the men of your clan. “You're late for the patrol check,” you said, your voice cutting through the mist.
He turned, now a man fully grown, his braids longer and his stature a mimic of his legendary father. He simply tightened his grip on his ride’s harness. “The sun hasn't broken the horizon,” he pointed out.
You lifted your chin up, looking down at him who is already submerged in the water while you’re still on the woven pathway. “The sky people don't wait for the sun. I bet you know that,” you snapped. You tried to look past the way the morning light caught the patterns on his skin. The patterns you once thought Eywa had spent extra of her precious time on... You still think that, and it’s annoying.
“I understand. It won’t happen again,“ he said softly. His voice had deepened over the years, becoming a calm anchor that usually soothed others. To you, it only sounded like he was avoiding an argument by placating you with words.
“See that it doesn't,” you said, turning your back on him and walking to the other side of the village to dive into the water.
The cold water of the reef was the only thing that felt honest anymore. As you dove, the pressure against your skin comforted your from your nightmare. You spent the morning in the deeper currents, hunting for a silver-finned fish. It was solitary work, the kind that allowed you to sharpen your focus until the world was reduced to the tip of your spear and the shadow of your prey. But the solitude didn't last.
Breaking the surface for air, you saw them. A patrol of Metkayina warriors moving in a synchronized glide, and right at the center was Neteyam. Even among your own people, he stood out, riding his skimwing with a disciplined, military precision that is so distinct compared to the fluid nature of your people.
You saw his head turned, his eyes locking onto yours immediately despite the distance. You don’t know why he's always had his eyes on you but you felt the familiar heat of irritation rise in your chest all the same. You know that your siblings constantly worry for you, your father even more so, and this heavy, watchful gaze from someone you know had always been the guardian felt like an insult.
He guards you on behalf of your siblings, you have long concluded. So, with a sharp roll of your eyes, you tugged your mount's reins and dove back into the water, leaving nothing but a mocking splash in your wake. Much later, you had returned to the village with a successful haul, but the grayness of your morning had turned into a desperate, hollow boredom and so you found Kxat by the mangroves. He was your second “interest“ just this moon, a boytoy, if you will.
You don’t even like him. He was simply a man with strong arms and a head full of empty flattery. He was merely a distraction, and more importantly, he was a way to watch your father’s forehead crease in silent disappointment and your brother’s jaw tighten with displeasure. You are not your perfect sister, alright. You are just you, the one they left behind when they took on mature duties following your mother's death.
As you led Kxat into the thick shadows of the woods behind the village, you felt the thrill of the hunt. Not for any prey, but for a reaction. You pushed him against a moss-covered trunk, the air thick with the scent of damp soil so different from the smell of the salt air from the sea. He leaned in to kiss you and you kissed him back, his hands wandering with a clumsy boldness toward your chest.
But before he could fully touch you, the sound of a dry branch snapping under a heavy foot alerted both of you to a presence. You can’t help but smirk as you moved your lips away from Kxat. Like clockwork. You pulled away slowly, smoothing your hair with a practiced nonchalance as you turned to find the intruder.
Neteyam stood ten paces away. His face was a mask of stone, his scarred and broad chest on display. He looked like the perfect image of a warrior carved from stone, unmoved by the intimacy he had just interrupted.
“Your brother is looking for you,” he said, his voice dropping into a cold clip. He didn't even spare Kxat a look, as if the other man didn't exist. He turned his back, ready to walk away.
“Can’t that wait?” you called out, your voice dripping with honeyed venom. You leaned back against the tree. “You see, I’m having fun here.”
He stopped, turning back slowly, his eyes narrowing until they were slivers of molten gold. “No, it can’t,” he said, his gaze finally flicking to you. “And I doubt that. You looked nauseous.”
The insult hit like a physical slap, but before you could snap back, Neteyam shifted his focus to Kxat. He simply looked at him, standing there with the quiet, terrifying authority of a commander, a look that always reminded everyone that while the Metkayina were his hosts, he is still the firstborn son of fearsome war leaders.
Kxat, who had been acting so bold with you only a minute ago, withered. He lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping as he wrangled his hands. “I... I should go,” Kxat stammered, not even looking at you before he scrambled away.
You watched him go with a sneer of pure disgust. Weak. Another one. You turned your fury back on Neteyam, who was already starting to walk away again. “You have no right!” you hissed, stepping after him. “You don’t get to scare off the men I’m with just because you’ve decided to play babysitter!”
Neteyam didn't stop. He didn't even look back to see how angry you are. “I don’t care who he is to you,” he said over his shoulder, his voice firm on. “If he were half the man you pretend he is, he wouldn’t have run. You’re wasting your time on cowards who probably wouldn’t be able to stand in front of your father and ask for your hand. Your brother expects you, princess.”
He left you standing there, your chest heaving with a rage that felt dangerously like something else. He was infuriating. He was so arrogant. And the worst part, the part that made you want to scream, was that he was right. All of those men were weak. No matter how many men you brought to the woods, they all crumbled the moment Neteyam te Suli appeared to remind you who you are to this clan.
You stomped through the village, the woven walkways yielding against the soles of your feet. You didn't care who saw your temper. The gray cloud from your nightmare had turned into a storm cloud over your head. You found Ao’nung near the training sands, sharpening a set of practice spears. He didn't even have to look up to know it was you, the crass way you approached him gave you away.
“Tell your watchman to leave me alone!” you hissed, slamming your hand against the wooden rack beside him.
Ao’nung blinked, looking up with a confused frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Neteyam!“ you snapped, pacing the small space. “He’s a parasite! Every time I turn around, there he is, looming and acting like he owns the woods. Did you order him to watch me? Did you send him? Did you tell him to go find me and ruin my afternoon?”
Ao’nung set the spear down, a slow sigh escaping him. “I didn’t send him to do anything specific. We were discussing patrol routes. He just... offered to go get you. It’s not intentional.”
“Offered to go get me?” you growled.
His eyes narrowed then, his protective brotherly instincts finally catching up to the context of your anger. “Wait. You were with someone? Again? While the sun is still up?” He stood to his full height, his face hardening into an expression that looked like your father’s. “You’re fooling around again?”
“Oh, for the Great Mother's sake,” you groaned, flicking a hand dismissively. “Is it such an issue? I’m nineteen, Ao’nung. Mother was already mated and pregnant with you at this age. I’m just living.”
“That is exactly the point!“ Ao’nung stepped closer, his voice an angry rasp. “Mother was mated! She chose a warrior of honor. You have no interest in actually taking a mate. You’re just fooling around to make a point. You are a daughter of the Olo’eyktan! These worthless, spineless men do not deserve to even stand in your shadow, yet you let them touch you just to spite us!”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, moving past him to sit lazily on a pile of woven mats, looking bored. “Are you done? Or do you have more rehearsed speeches about my virtue? Tell me what you called me for so I can go back to having fun.“
Ao’nung went quiet. He looked at you, then looked toward the path where Neteyam had likely returned from. A strange shadow of realization crossed his face. “I... I actually didn't have anything urgent to say to you,” he admitted slowly.
Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing. “Then why am I here?”
Ao’nung tried to remember what had happened. Neteyam came to talk to him about the western reef patrols. He couldn’t even remember how the conversation veered to you, but he remembered Neteyam telling him he needed to speak with you for some reason and when he said he’d talk to you when he sees you you next, the man had looked him right in the eye and said, ’You can talk to her now. I saw where she is.’
Ao’nung tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you with a sudden, sharp enlightenment. He remembered how many times Neteyam had happened to be the one to find you, he’d practically lost count of it over the years. He remembered how Neteyam’s jaw would set whenever your name was mentioned in relation to the village boys. You had always been very restless, hot-tempered like Ronal, that Tonowari himself had long given up in his attempts to straighten you up.
They all have, to be honest. You were of age, after all. It was only Neteyam that seemed to still guard you, which is funny, because he doesn’t even guard his own sister. A slow, knowing smirk began to tug at the corner of Ao’nung’s mouth, a look that made you feel suddenly very anxious.
“What?“ you demanded, feeling a prickle of unease. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing,” he said, his tone suddenly much lighter, almost playful. He picked back up his spear, his anger seemingly vanished. He just found the perfect solution so that your ‘boytoys’ will no longer be a worry for them. It seems you’ve already met someone who has the guts to challenge you. You just haven't realized it yet.
“What is that supposed to mean?” you barked, standing up.
“Nothing. Just...” he looked at you again and stifled a smirk. “Go on with your day.”
He turned on his heels and walked away. If you want to keep fooling around, you might want to find a place where a certain Omatikaya warrior isn't constantly watching your every move. But he doubts such a place exists.
You were with Neteyam and several hunters in the next morning patrol near the reef. You were on a long range scout in the southwest, having parted ways with the team so you could patrol each corner of the reefs, when you heard the familiar groan of engines, a sound that always made you tremble in anger.
You gritted your teeth at the sight of a small gray vessel. A familiar large weapon on its deck, followed by a larger black vessel. They were too close to the tulkun calving grounds.
“Stay low!” Neteyam’s voice commanded over the waves. He was leading the wing, his skimwing cutting through the water toward you. “We observe and report. Do not engage unless they cross the reef line.”
Observe and report. The words grated in your ears and it made you tilt you head. You looked at the metal ships and sniffed, knowing that inside those metals were the same demons who killed your mother. Your vision blurred red.
“Observe this,” you hissed under your breath.
You tapped your skimwing into formation before it drove into the deep water. You have never been a rule follower, but you try. However, you can’t possibly let a situation like this slide... your blood demanded a debt be paid. As the scout vessel turned to track the unusual movements underwater, you broke the surface, locking a spear into your thrower and throwing it with all the force your arm can give.
You saw it punch through the glass of the scout’s cockpit, impaling the pilot and making the boat swerve violently. You saw four men with guns looking for where it came from. One of them saw you, but you didn’t wait for him to aim his rifle, launching another spear, catching the man in the chest.
“Y/N, back off!” You heard Neteyam scream, his mount cutting through the waters with lethal efficiency.
You ignored him to throw another spear for the man on the deck who was trying to deploy a sonar buoy. The kind that deafened the tulkun. The spear hit him square in the neck and you felt a grim satisfaction upon seeing him fall into the water, the water blooming into the same crimson shade as your nightmares.
Your trembling hands reached for another spear but a heavy weight slammed into your side. Neteyam had driven his mount right into yours! Before you could even look at him, his large hand had already gripped the reins of your skimwing to force it into a deep dive. You squirmed in protest but the sight of bullets piercing through the waters like lethal hailstones made you drive you skimwing deeper.
The muffled sound of bullets passing through the water above you made you look back to Neteyam, seeing him drive his skimwing faster to follow you. You both didn’t stop until you were far enough, breaking the surface for air. But Neteyam continued moving until you both reached the shore near the village.
You were shaking, and you know that it didn’t have anything to do with the fear, but from the sheer electricity of the kill. This isn’t the first time, because you had killed a few before, in the battle years ago... But this, it provides the thrill of revenge.
Neteyam vaulted off his mount and waded toward you, his face no longer a mask of stone. It was a mask of fury. You saw his arm bleeding and your eyes widened. “Neteyam—”
“You are careless!” he roared, his hands frantic on your arms, checking for any wound as if he wasn’t wounded himself. He was literally heaving, closing his eyes to calm himself down after he’s checked your arms, chest, and shoulders for anything. “You could have been killed! They had a turret tracking you!”
You were breathing as heavily as he does, shoving his hands off you. “I killed three of them! They were going to the calves!”
“I know,“ he said, his voice calmer now. “But you cannot risk yourself like that. You are the daughter of the Olo’eyktan—”
“I am the daughter of the woman they murdered!” you screamed, your voice cracking with the weight of grief. You stepped closer until his breath fans your forehead. “You can hide behind your discipline, because I know that you're scared, Neteyam. You've been scared since the day you ran from the forest from whence you came. But I will not hide from the demons who filled the sea with my mother’s blood!”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Neteyam’s jaw tightened so hard you heard his teeth gritting. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes, his nostrils flaring.
“You think I'm scared?” he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that made the hair on your arms stand up. “You think I don't want to kill every one of those demons until they are all gone?”
He stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming you that you unconsciously stepped back, a move that brought heat to your cheeks. Shame!
“I am trying to keep you alive, you stubborn, arrogant girl. Because unlike those boys you lure into the woods, I actually know what it's like to lose a world. And I will not let you be the next thing the ocean takes.”
Your nose flared. “Stay out of my way,” you hissed, though your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs for an entirely different reason.
“I can’t do that,“ he said, his voice soft but terrifyingly firm. “And I won’t. I will not obey you.”
He turned away to walk, and you watched him glance at his arm, and probably only saw then the wound on his arm. You heard him hiss and your hands trembled. He is annoying. Infuriating and meddlesome and a parasite. But as you watched him walk with his arm bleeding, you felt a pinch in your heart and some anger for yourself for having caused that.
Neteyam made his way back to the village, going straight to the healer’s tent, walking with a bravado that didn’t belong on a wounded man. He heard Lo’ak’s voice mingling with Tsireya’s, hissing under his breath that the two had to be here at this hour. He was aiming for a random healer to tend to him, so he won’t be asked any questions.
He moved the beaded curtains and walked inside, making Lo’ak snap his head to his direction.
“What happened, brother?” Lo’ak asked, his eyes wide with panic as he saw the state of Neteyam’s arm.
Neteyam didn't answer immediately. He was standing like a pillar, his face still that infuriating, stoic mask even as blood trailed down his bicep. But the moment you stormed in, he whirled around, his golden eyes widening, flickering with surprise.
“Give me your arm,” you commanded, your voice hard enough to crack stone.
“Did you shoot him?” Lo’ak blurted out in horror, his gaze darting between you and his brother.
Your head snapped toward him, a snarl curling your lip, but Neteyam’s voice boomed before you could lash out. “No!”
"Then what happened?" Lo’ak pressed.
Tsireya moved closer, her hands reaching for a bowl of clean water. “It is a bullet wound. Thankfully, only a graze. Let me see it, Neteyam.”
“No. I got him,“ you said, stepping toward him and he met you halfway, his gaze never leaving yours. You reached out and Neteyam offered his arm with a heavy submission that made your heart stutter.
“Does she even know how to treat that?” Lo’ak muttered, his worry making him bold. “She doesn’t have formal healer training.”
“She is a Tsahik’s daughter, Lo’ak. Of course, she had training.” Tsireya whispered, before her eyes met yours with a soft, knowing look. “You got it, sister?”
You nodded firmly and you gave Lo’ak a final, lethal glare until he withered.
“Well, then... I guess we’ll leave you for now,” Tsireya said, her voice laced with a strange, quiet satisfaction as she grabbed Lo’ak by the elbow and dragged him toward the exit.
“What if she purposely causes an infection or something—”
“She won’t do that!” Tsireya hissed, her voice fading as they disappeared behind the beaded curtain.
Then, there was only the two of you.
Neteyam didn't need to be told, he lowered himself onto the mat, and you followed, your knees hitting the floor. Up close, the graze looked worse. There was an angry jagged wound in his skin where the metal had hissed past, leaving the flesh raw. You bit your lip so hard until you tasted a metallic tang. You deserve that.
You worked in silence, cleaning the wound with meticulous care, your fingers, usually so steady on a spear, trembling just enough that you hoped he wouldn't notice. You applied the poultice, the cool herbs to make him feel better. You were so careful, so precise, treating his skin as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.
Meanwhile, Neteyam was so still you wondered if he were even breathing. He watched your face, savoring the fact that he was this close to you. You can’t believe you were a little too conscious about it though, because you could feel his gaze like it was a physical touch. On your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.
Finally, you bound it with a gauze softer than it required.
“Thank you,” he said softly, as you were cleaning the supplies. You supposed you were guilty... But in truth, you cannot shake off the anger you have for yourself right now that he was wounded because of your recklessness. You could barely breathe with how tight your chest feels.
“I’m sorry...” You expected the words to feel like stones in your throat, but you didn't feel the weight you expected. Instead, you felt a burn on your cheeks so embarrassingly hot that you couldn't stay a second longer. You didn't wait for his reaction. You stood up abruptly and bolted out of the tent, the beaded curtains clattering violently in your wake.
Inside the tent, Neteyam remained on the mat, his lips parted in a breath of pure disbelief. It was as if a tornado had just swept through and left him in the eye of the storm. He let out a huff of a laugh, his chest deflating as he leaned back. The anger he had felt on the reef, the exhaustion of the patrol... It was all gone. Just two words. You had given him two words, and he felt as though he were melting into the floorboards.
He closed his eyes, his heart hammering a slow, rhythmic drum against his ribs. He had spent years receiving the sharp end of your anger, guarding you, and watching you from the shadows. And now, as the warmth of your apology enveloped him, you got him deeper on his knees on the sand, ready to crawl for whatever you can give.
Remember that seed that sprouted in Ao’nung’s head weeks ago? It didn’t simply just sit there, it took root, and grew vines. Vines that now reached Tonowari, because Ao’nung had not been anything but a constant buzz in his father’s ear, pitching the idea of a union like a trader auctioning a rare pearl.
At first, Tonowari had been hesitant, thinking of your volatile temper and the respect he has for the Sullys. He wanted a good match for you, yes, but the Sullys, no matter how long they had been here, living the ways of his people, are still his prime guests. Neteyam is the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. And you... You had not matured yet, not at all. You loved fooling around and the Sullys are a witness to your behavior.
But then, he started looking.
And he couldn’t believed just how much he missed out on you. And on those who have watched you from afar. One quiet evening, Tonowari had been walking the outer docks, seeking tranquil of the tides when he spotted a figure sitting on the sand far enough that he almost couldn’t recognize who it was. But he knew.
It was you, sitting there with your knees pulled to your chest, staring out at the horizon where the sky met the sea, the spot where your mother had never returned from. You looked small and for the first time in years, you looked like the fourteen-year-old girl who had lost her world. He felt a pinch in his heart.
He had been so blinded with your snappy wit, your laughter, and the temper you’d gotten from your mother, that he didn’t see how lonely you were while he, Ao’nung, and Tsireya all faced a bigger duty than they did before. He thought he’d done his part by making sure you were not burdened with duty and expectations... But you were certainly burdened with something else entirely and none of them had seen that.
Tonowari moved to step forward, fully intending to go to you, and give you comfort. But he stopped when he realized he wasn't the only one watching.
Neteyam was standing in the shadows of a nearby tree. His stance told him he wasn’t going to approach you and he remembered how years ago, when Ronal died, Neteyam tried to hold you and you snapped at him... Blaming him and his family for what happened. Tonowari thinks that Neteyam seemed to know better now, but he was still there, leaning against the tree, his eyes fixed on your back with a look of such profound, aching tenderness that it made Tonowari’s breath catch.
From where he stood, he could see that Neteyam sees past the troublesome or wanton daughter that the village gossiped about. He watched the way you wiped your cheek, and Tonowari saw Neteyam’s hand twitch, his fingers curling into a fist as if he were physically fighting the urge to go to you and pull you into his arms.
The came the day at the training sands. Ao’nung wouldn’t stop whispering in his ears. He had seen it, alright, Neteyam at least. But he wasn’t sure if Neteyam were simply empathizing with you, or if it stemmed from somewhere deeper in him.
He watched you stand at the edge of the training sands, ostensibly there to sharpen the blade of your spear. Both your father and brother watched from the shade of the pavilion as Neteyam led a group of young hunters through spear drills, his blue skin glistening with sweat, the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders rippling with every strike.
They saw the way you stood perfectly still, your eyes traveling shamelessly on the muscles on his broad back, and the strength in his arms. You were ogling him, plain as day, biting your lower lip just slightly when he lunged. But the moment Neteyam sensed your gaze and turned around, wiping sweat from his brow and offering a small, questioning tilt of his head, your face contorted into a mask of pure annoyance.
“What are you looking at, forest boy?” you had barked, loud enough for half the beach to hear. “Correct your grip! You’re swinging that spear like a clumsy child!”
Neteyam had only blinked, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he looked back to his students. Meanwhile, you have sassily turned your back on him, looking over your shoulder probably to check if he looks at you again, and he did. He looked over his shoulder the same time you did. You snarled and Neteyam quickly turned his back like a child caught not sleeping during siesta.
Ao’nung giggled. “You see, Father?” Ao’nung had whispered then.
Oh, Tonowari had seen, alright, and he definitely shouldn’t have, for Eywa’s sake. He wish he had Ronal with him in this moment. He wondered what his wife would have done after seeing her youngest daughter practically ogle a man, and act like she doesn't know whether to kiss him or spear him. And the man? He is the only one who doesn't flinch when she screams.
Several days later, the village was gathered for the communal dinner. The smell of roasted fish filled the air and the fire roared at the center of the circle. You were in the middle of your rowdy group instead of sitting at the dais among your family, being louder than necessary and aughing with your head thrown back.
Ao’nung sat close to Tonowari, leaning in as the firelight danced in his eyes. “Watch,” he prompted.
And so Tonowari watched, feeling a little ashamed with how invested he is with this. Neteyam was sitting with the warriors, his posture straight, and his face impassive. It was in moments like this that showed how beyond his years he seemed to me, a man who had grown up too fast in the shadow of war. He was listening to the warriors talk around him, but his eyes were fixed across the fire, just... watching. Something Tonowari and Ao’nung are both so aware now.
They both felt stupid having not noticed something so obvious before, especially when Neteyam looks as though he is guarding a treasure he hasn't even claimed yet. He doesn't even look at any of the other girls this way. Not even the ones who actually try to get his attention.
Across the fire, you were in the middle of a story, gesturing wildly, but every few seconds, your gaze would break away from your friends, snapping to where Neteyam is, and for a heartbeat, your rowdiness seemed to vanish. Your laughter dying down unconsciously, your hand dropping to your lap. You realized you were staring and quickly rolled your eyes, tossing your hair back and snapping a rude comment to the boy sitting next to you.
But the effect was clear: Neteyam’s attention had literally made you behave. Neteyam looked down at his food, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t know about you, Father,” Ao’nung said, his voice a low rumble of conviction. “But I see a match. And remember what Mother thought of him? Even when she was wary of the Sullys, she favored him.”
Tonowari leaned back, his massive chest expanding as he took a deep breath. He watched you. His youngest, his wild skimwing, and then he looked at the stoic, unbreakable young man who seemed to be the only one capable of clipping your wings without hurting you.
“Neteyam is a man of honor,“ Tonowari agreed, his voice thoughtful.
Ao’nung grinned. “Betroth them. It settles her, it secures an alliance with Toruk Makto’s bloodline, and most importantly... it gives her someone she can't scare away.”
Tonowari nodded slowly, his decision solidifying. You, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of what schemes were cooking in your midst. The morning after the communal dinner, you found yourself in the family pod with your sister. Tsireya was the image of Metkayina grace, her hands moving gracefully as she sorted through dried medicinal herbs. She was the good daughter, and sometimes, looking at her felt like staring at a mirror that only showed you what you lacked.
“You were loud last night,” Tsireya said softly, not looking up from her work. “Even for you, little sister.”
“Better than filling it with the silence of the absent.”
Tsireya paused, her eyes lifting to yours, shimmering with a pity that made you want to snarl. “It has been five years, sister... Mother would not want you to live your life like this... She would want you to find peace. Perhaps even... a partner to share it with."
“I have plenty of partners,“ you snapped, standing up and grabbing your crossbow. “Ask Ao'nung. He seems to have a list of them to lecture me about.”
“Those boys are not partners,” Tsireya countered, her voice gaining a rare edge. “They are distractions. You choose men who are easy to break because you are afraid of someone who might actually hold you together.”
“I don't need holding together!” you snapped, your voice echoing as you stormed out before she could respond, feeling both irritated and guilty for feeling it.
Tsireya didn’t deserve your anger. You had both lost your mother and she had to take on a role no fifteen-year-old was ever ready for. You stopped on the walkway, looking over your shoulder and debating whether to go back and say sorry... But you were still angry, and you think it wouldn’t be so sincere to force yourself to do it now.
So you headed for the tide pools, needing the cool water to relieve the heat in your blood. But fate had other plans. Neteyam was there, knee-deep in the shallow water, repairing a broken Ilu pen. He was alone, his long braids slightly pulled back, his brow furrowed in concentration. As soon as you saw him, the irritation from your talk with Tsireya found a new target.
“We have the people for this,” you called out, stalking toward the water's edge. “Or are you so desperate to be useful that you’ve taken up the work of laborers?”
Neteyam didn't flinch or look up. He simply pulled the fibers taut and knotted it. “The pen was broken. I have hands. It seemed a simple equation, princess”
You stepped into the water, the cool waves splashing against your calves, and marched right up to him. You were shorter than him, but your chin tilted high.
“You’re doing it wrong,” you lied, reaching out to swat at the rope he was holding. “The knot needs to be beneath the crossbar, otherwise the tide will fray it. But I suppose a forest dweller wouldn't understand how the sea eats away at things.”
Finally, Neteyam looked at you, still not angry or intimated. He looked at you with that same calm, steady intensity that always made you feel so exposed... As though you were naked.
“Then show me,” he said, his voice low. He held out the rope toward you.
You blinked, caught off guard by his lack of resistance. “What?”
“Show me,” he repeated with challenge in his eyes. “If I’m not doing it right, then teach me the right way. I am a fast learner.”
You stared at him with narrowed eyes and he met you with the usual intensity, making you roll your eyes, grabbing the rope from his hand, your fingers brushing against his skin. The contact sent a jolt through you that you chose to interpret simply as annoyance. You began to tie the knot with aggressive, jerky movements, your breathing heavy.
“You think you're so patient,“ you hissed, not looking at him. “You think if you just stand there and take it, I'll eventually stop biting. You’re wrong.”
He watched you, his head tilted. He knows this. You are the daughter that took so much from Ronal. He knows you will not soften easily. He expects you to sharpen even more.
“I know whose daughter you are,” Neteyam said. He had moved closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.
You didn’t know why it made your insides shiver. You gaslighted yourself it couldn’t possibly be excitement. But... He wasn't backing down, at all. And you know he will did and he never will. Most men in the village would have retreated by now, but Neteyam stood his ground like a mountain resisting a gale.
“I don't want you to soften,” he whispered, his voice for your ears only. “The sea isn't soft. It’s hard and dangerous. But it also gives life.”
You froze, the knot half-finished. You looked up at him, a sharp retort dying on your tongue. His face was inches from yours, his golden eyes searching yours with a terrifying honesty. “You are a nuisance,” you managed to whisper, though it lacked its usual sharpness.
Neteyam let out a short, quiet breath that sounded like a laugh. He reached out, his hand hovering near your waist before he seemingly caught himself and pulled back. “And you,” he replied, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again, "are not as difficult as you believe you are.”
You let go of your half-knotted ropes and stepped away, the water splashing around you. “You begged me to teach you, but you're doing everything but listen. Finish that. I’ll check it when I get back.”
You turned and whistled for your skimwing, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You didn't look back, but you didn't have to because you could feel his eyes on your back, steady and unyielding, watching his treasure as it tried to run away.
The ride out into the open sea was supposed to clear your head, but all you could feel was the phantom heat of his skin against yours. How dare he move closer to you?! You groaned and dove deep, pushing your skimwing until your lungs burned, trying to drown out the sound of his voice calling you that stupid word you don’t even know the meaning of. Princess. What was that word?
He’d call you that for years and you had no one to ask. Your pride won’t allow you to just go and ask Lo’ak or Kiri about it... Especially because they’d almost certainly know who had been calling you that.
For the next two days, you went out of your way to avoid him, which was nearly impossible in a village built on connected walkways. And now, you found yourself back in the woods at the back of the village, your path lit by the bioluminescence of the plants and the moon filtering through the thick canopy. You held O’nun’s— or was it Ralu?— hand, pulling him closer to you. His hand wounded in your curly hair, leaning down so he could kiss you. Your lips curled before you welcomed his kiss, your ears tuning in for any unusual sound around you.
Ralu’s hands moved lower to your waist, and you pulled away from the kiss, craning your neck, and just then, you saw a shadow detached itself from the darkness. Your eyes widened a fraction and you felt an urge to push Ralu away as his ragged breathing fanned your neck. You watched Neteyam stand there, a tower of solid muscle and silent menace, with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't even look at the man you were with. He looked only at you, his eyes glowing like two orbs of sun in the dark.
Ralu felt the weight of that gaze before he even saw him and his hands froze on your waist. He looked over, saw the silhouette you were seeing, and his face went pale even in the bioluminescence. He looked at you and you rolled your eyes when you saw how he’s almost ready to bolt, and without a single word of apology to you, without even a backward glance, Ralu scrambled away. He practically tripped over a root in his haste to disappear back into the village.
Weak, you thought. You turned your fury on the dark figure still standing in the clearing. You walked to him, “Tell me, warrior, do you take pleasure in this? Or is it just a hobby now?“
You remembered then what the hunters had been whispering. During combat drills, in which Neteyam is the head of, any man who he had recently seen in your company found themselves at the business end of Neteyam’s fist, hitting them harder and more frequently than anyone else. Now, he didn't need excuses to scare them away anymore; he has weeded them out quite successfully. No man in Awa’atlu wanted to be the next one whose ‘defense’ Neteyam pierces through with an elbow to the ribs.
You walked toward him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. You stopped inches from him, your breath hot against his neck, and pressed your palm flat against his broad chest. You felt the protruding, hard muscle of his chest jump beneath your touch.
“Do you want me only for yourself, warrior?” you taunted, your fingers curling slightly into his skin, caressing the heat of him. “You stop me from having fun... you bar me from every experience. Do you intend to provide my fun instead?” You rose onto your tiptoes, your lips nearly brushing his jaw, challenging him to break.
But Neteyam was a mountain. He didn't move until you tilted your head to kiss him, and then his hand shot out like a vine, settling on your waist, his grip firm and grounding.
“Do not kiss me with the same lips you just kissed another man with,” he said. His voice was deep, and vibrating with a possessive rage that made your insides shiver.
You flared instantly, your pride screaming at the slight. You shoved at his chest, trying to wrench yourself away. “Alright! I’ll go find someone else then! I’ll kiss every man in this village if I please! I am an unbounded woman!”
His other hand caught your opposite arm, pulling you flush against him so quickly the air left your lungs when you landed against the hard wall of his body. “Is that so?” he asked. There was no humor in his voice, only a dark, palpable anger that felt like a storm breaking.
He knows he should feel ashamed with how possessive he’s feeling about you. But it was what he was feeling... And for the first time in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He’s watched you for years, guarded you from your own recklessness... He’s not going to let some spineless boy have what you’ve been promising him with every look you throw his way.
He leaned down until your noses were a hair breadth away from each other, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying honesty. “Go on then,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “See if any of them would dare.”
You opened your mouth to snap back, but your voice failed you. You were trapped between the tree and the man who had effectively cleared your world of everyone but himself.
At the same time back in the village, the atmosphere between Tonowari and Jake Sully was much more formal. Tonowari sought Jake out, and now, a look of grim amusement adorned the face of the legendary war leader as he listened to your father’s proposal.
“You're serious?” Jake asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “My son and your daughter? Tonowari, your daughter... She does not take well to my son. You’re sure you’re not thinking of Tsireya and Lo’ak instead?”
Tonowari shook his head, stifling a chuckle. “I have seen it, Jake Sully. Believe me. My daughter... She has a strong personality. But Neteyam sees her, do you know this?”
Jake’s gaze looked thoughtful. He knows that. He knows his son. “Yes, he does. But your daughter... Wouldn’t she be forced into this?”
“No. She sees him, too, Jake Sully. Trust me,” Tonowari replied.
Jake looked out past the village, into the woods behind the mangroves, where he could just barely see silhouettes of two people, one definitely was his first born. You were stomping back to the village, looking back to Neteyam and seemingly snarling at him, but he saw the sheer amusement in his son’s eyes. He was enjoying this.
He sighed, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Alright,” Jake said, holding out his hand to seal the pact. “Let’s see if they survive the announcement.”
You had only just stepped onto the woven floor, your breath slightly hitching when you saw your father and Jake Sully standing together in a way that felt far too intentional.
“Great. You're both here,” Tonowari said, his voice booming with a finality that made the hair on your arms stand up.
“What is it?” you asked, shifting your weight. You gave Jake a polite nod but your eyes immediately darted to Neteyam, who had followed you in like a shadow.
As Tonowari laid out the arrangement, all the words hit you like a physical blow. “I I have spoken with Jake Sully,” Tonowari said, locking eyes with you. “To secure the future of our leadership and to ensure the blood of our protectors remains strong, you will be joined. Neteyam is the firstborn of Toruk Makto, a warrior of proven honor. Your union will hold our people together against the coming storms.”
“Joined?” you repeated. “Father, what are you saying?”
“I am saying that you are betrothed, daughter,” Tonowari said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The ceremonies will begin with the next high tide.”
The silence that followed was deafening. You felt as though the floorboards had turned into thin ice, sending shivers up your body, not of anything resembling anger or betrayal, but of surprise. You looked at Jake, who was watching you with a weary, knowing sort of sympathy, and then finally, you let your gaze snap to Neteyam.
“What?” The word escaped your mouth. Again, not from the feeling of betrayal from your father.
You just simply couldn’t believe it. You hadn’t even thought of this as a possibility. Neteyam... Your mate. That is crazy. Jake watched your face. He’s not stupid to not know your dislike of his family, of the chaos they have brought. Compared to your siblings who have taken to his children well, you were distant and sharp-tongued toward his sons. But right now, he sees no actual protest in your eyes. In fact, your eyes were twinkling, and you were stammering, your lips parting to say something that just wouldn’t come out.
“It is a match of great benefit. It is settled.” Tonowari said, testing your waters.
Neteyam cleared his throat, the sound rough and low. He didn't look surprised at all, he looked like a man who had just been given the coordinates to the only destination he ever wanted.
“Can I say no?“ you asked, though the usual sharpness in your voice was wavering, replaced by a breathless tone.
“No,” Tonowari answered firmly.
You looked at Neteyam, and he met your gaze with a challenge that made you roll your eyes.
“Do you agree to this, Neteyam?” Tonowari asked.
“Yes,” Neteyam couldn’t have answered faster. “If it is the will of the Olo’eyktan... and if it is okay with her.”
You let out a dramatic, frustrated huff, throwing your head back. “As if I have a choice,” you said sharply, trying to hold your reputation tightly. “Fine! Do as you wish!” It was delivered so half-heartedly that you had to turn on your heel to march out before they could see the heat rising to your cheeks.
As you disappeared into the night, Tonowari looked at Jake and let out a short, huffed laugh. “You see? If she truly hated the idea, my ears would still be ringing from her screams. She is going to the docks to poute, and to wait for him to follow.”
Jake smiled, watching his son, who was already shifting his weight, eager to give chase. “Go on, son,” Jake murmured.
Outside, your mind was a chaotic storm. Your were wrangling your fingers, and a ticklish, electrifying heat was blooming in your chest. You wanted to scream, but not in rage—you wanted to scream because the one thing you had been fighting for five years had just been handed to you by decree. When will the mating be? the thought popped into your head, unbidden and traitorous. Also, why are you excited?!
A hand caught your elbow, firm and warm. You were maneuvered around to face him.
“You okay?” Neteyam asked, his eyes searching yours.
You quickly wore your mask. “It is my duty,” you said sharply. “To the clan. To my father. I do not have the luxury of whim.”
You were acting as if you were forced into it, when the fact was clear as day. It took you like a few seconds to agree. His eyes went dark, a predatory heat settling in them. He didn't care about the politics Tonowari was talking about, he only cared that the barrier he’d been punching through for years will finally be gone. You are his.
The communal dinner the next night was a blur. When Tonowari announced the union, the village erupted. Tsireya squeezed your hand, her eyes misty, while Ao’nung leaned over with a smug grin. “This is a long time coming, sister.”
As you and Neteyam stood on the dais, you do not feel any weight on you. In fact, this is the lightest you've ever felt... You could practically float, but you won’t admit that, not even to yourself. Neteyam stood like the dutiful warrior he is, stone-faced but you knew him well by now. There was no denying the smug light in his eyes. He leaned toward you, his breath hot against your ear.
“You are bounded,” he whispered, the words a low, possessive rumble.
“Not yet mated,” you hissed back, keeping a fake, sharp smile plastered on your face for the crowd.
In one smooth motion, he wrapped a heavy arm around your waist, hauling you flush against the heat of his side. The contact making your knees weak. “Do not let me catch you,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, morbid promise, “or this clan will mourn a brother.”
Your eyes widened, snapping to his face. You expected a joke, but his expression was deadly serious. You never imagined him to be this morbid... He was always the upright and no-fun Sully brother to you. Now, you could feel the back of your nape warming from how blown his pupils were.
Before you could retort, a chorus of hoots and whistles broke out from Lo’ak and the other young hunters, demanding a kiss to seal the betrothal and since you were already looking up at him in shock, Neteyam didn't hesitate. He tilted his head and leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a chaste, firm kiss. It was brief, but it electrified your entire body more than every empty kiss you’d ever shared in the mangroves combined.
You reached down and pinched his side as hard as you could, but he didn't even wince, he just tightened his grip on your waist and gave the crowd a huge smile that showed his pearly whites.
The fortnight leading up to your mating were a blur of sensory overload. Everyone was on you. Tsireya and Kiri were busy collecting whatever bright seaweed and shells and pearls they could find, and Tuk was begging for the honor to braid your hair because apparently, she has a particular vision for it, said she’ll braid only the front and put an iridescent seashell she had found in the center. She swore it will make you look like a princess.
“What is that word?” you asked her, thinking this was the perfect opportunity. Tuk is only ten, she wouldn’t piece two and two together. “Princess, I mean.”
She giggled. “It means a beautiful girl in beautiful dresses. The daughter of a King, my Dad told me,” she said.
“What is a King?” you asked.
“A leader, I think. Like my Dad, back in the forest. And like your Dad here, I think,” she said, and she did look thoughtful. “My Dad said my Mom is also a princess, you know? My grandfather was Olo’eyktan. Dad used to tell us a story about a warrior who met a princess and fell deeply in love with her.”
You smiled softly, putting a hand over her small head before your nimble fingers continued weaving luminous sea-grass and pearls into your ceremonial shawl. She’s adorable and very talkative besides. “Alright... I’ll trust your vision. Make me a beautiful princess on the day of my mating,” you said.
She squealed and jumped on the balls of her feet, hugging your neck. “Oh, I will not let you down, sister! My fingers are made especially for braiding. I braid my family's hair! All of them!”
“Even Neteyam’s?“ you blurted out. You can’t imagine his large sitting down in front of his little sister, patiently waiting for her to finish braiding all the strands of his hair.
She grinned. “Yes! He's the most behaved, actually. He doesn’t complain at all,“ she said, smiling to her beads.
You pushed your lips forward. Now, that you could imagine. You can’t imagine him losing his cool. You remembered getting irritated with Lo’ak several times when you were young... You’ve seen how Neteyam looks out for him, how Neteyam takes the blame for his transgressions, and how in turn, he would rebuke Neteyam and call him the perfect and dutiful son, as though they were insults meant to slight. And you saw how they did hurt Neteyam, for some reason.
Of course, Lo’ak had grown past that now.
But as you think of this now, you cannot help but think of your own behavior. How your older siblings had done nothing but look out for you, and how in turn, you showed them the lengths of your ungratefulness. You thought you were useless for not having the same duty they had to carry after your mother died, but you didn’t see how hard they worked to not tip the scale on your side, to not burden you with anything.
You are ungrateful. You wallowed in your pain, in your hatred, and in your grief, but you were not the only one who lost a mother. Your head snapped to the beaded curtains when it clanked, seeing Tsireya with a woven basket of whatever she’s collected. She was humming softly, and she smiled at the sight of you. Hot tears pricked at your eyes and you put your materials down to hold her hand.
She was surprised, obviously, but she quickly put the basket down to let you pull her into a hug. You broke into a sob, hugging her tightly, saying I’m sorry repeatedly, like a little kid. Tuk watched you two with pursed lips, not knowing what to do, but she thought she needed to go and join the hug, so she did, her small head cradled on your head.
“Sorry, what for, sister? You have nothing to say sorry for,” Tsireya said softly.
“There are a lot, sister, believe me. I was so ungrateful to you and Ao’nung... To Father. I thought the world should look at my grief, at how angry I was... That I have forgotten to see the three of you...” you said.
She looked at you with soulful eyes, smiling softly. “We all grieve differently... And I am thankful to whatever measure you took to ensure you would still be here. Mother would be happy to know you are in my arms right now, crying as you would always do when we were kids...”
You sobbed even harder, not even noticing that the curtain had once again clanked to signal a new arrival. It was only when Ao’nung’s voice boomed that you two looked up.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his hand immediately on your shoulder to pull you back and check your face. His face crumpled at the your tear-stained face, and then his head reared back. “Does this match bother you so much, sister? Do you not want it? I will talk to Father, we can always stop this— Ow.“
He stopped talking when you jumped in his arms, throwing your arms around his shoulders to sob. “No,“ you sobbed. “It does not bother me and I do want it!” you said.
He hugged you back, his arms tight around you to pull you as close as possible. “Then why are you crying?“ he asked pointedly.
“I am just very sorry... For everything,“ you said. “I am ungrateful. I am so mean to you and Tsireya and Father... I think only of myself...“ you sobbed.
“Err... And I am handsome and hot..?“ he uttered, his voice laced with humor.
“Ao’nung!” Tsireya’s voice boomed with an unusual fire.
“What? I thought we’re listing facts here!” he said, laughing and wiping your tears as you giggled at what he said. “Come on... I mean. You are mean, but only a fool wouldn’t understand. We lost Mother, and you were practically her tail. Losing her, to you, meant losing half of you. And we understand, you know? Besides, it’s not like nothing's new. You’ve always had that mean girl in you.“
You laughed at what he said again, but your tears were still falling. Tsireya smiled softly, riding hug the two of you, pulling Tuk into the hug because the kid was determined to belong. You sobbed and renewed your hold to include Tuk. Eventually, you all calmed down and Ao’nung had to leave for the training grounds.
The skies were beginning to be a battleground between purple and orange by the time Neteyam returned from his long-range patrol. You were now huddled with a sleeping Tuk, while Tsireya continued your work on your shawl, both of you laughing as you reminisced moments when you were children. But as the beaded curtains clattered, your laughter quiet down.
Neteyam stood there, his eyes immediately finding yours, and you saw the exact moment he registered your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from the afternoon’s emotional purging.
He didn't say anything, but his jaw tightened, offering a polite nod to Tsireya while a small, tired smile formed on his face at the sight of Tuk huddled next to you, but his gaze were heavy on you.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked softly.
You glanced at Tsireya and she teasingly smiled at you, making you roll your eyes. Neteyam had subtly been courting you in the past days, and to be honest, the only thing stopping him from going all out was your preference. He wanted to savour the courtship days, and he thinks it was moving too fast, but he also wouldn’t complain, especially because it’s leading to your mating.
You stood up, followed him out onto the beach. For a while, there was only the sound of the crashing waves.
“Your eyes,” he finally spoke, his voice barely louder than the waves. He stopped walking and turned to face you. “You have been crying. A lot.”
“I have,” you admitted, lifting your chin. “It was... a family matter. We were speaking of Mother.”
Neteyam’s expression softened, but still, a look of genuine, gut-wrenching worry crossed his features. “Is that all it was?” he stepped closer. “Y/N, be honest with me. If this is because of the mating... if you feel the weight of my father and yours pressing you into a life you do not want... tell me now.” He looked down at his hands for a second, then back to you. “I can speak to your father. I will take the blame. I do not want you to look at me and see only a cage.”
The thought of him calling off the mating, the thought of losing the very thing that had secretly kept your heart beating for five years, hit you like a physical strike. You didn't even think before your nose flared.
“No!” You hissed, your fangs almost baring as you stepped into his space.
Neteyam blinked. “I am trying to give you a choice—”
“Are you?” you barked. “Or are you just saying that because you actually do not want to go through with this? You’ve been forced into this duty, and now you’re looking for an exit!“ You narrowed your eyes. “Is it because of some little forest girl you’ve left behind back home? Some quiet, dutiful Omatikaya girl who doesn't hiss when you look at her?”
Neteyam stood there, his mouth slightly agape, looking utterly dumbfounded. He could barely keep up with how fast you’ve turned the conversation a whole 360 degrees, and you’ve thrown in a silly assumption there, too. He tried to speak twice before the words actually came out. “What? A girl back home?” He let out a breathless, confused sound that was almost a laugh. “No, of course not. Where would you even get such a thing? I have spent my life training to be a warrior, I did not have time for that. I didn't leave anyone behind because there was never anyone else.”
He took a step forward, closing the distance until you had to look up at him. “I want to go through with this. I want to be your mate.”
Your face softened, but then you forced a scowl. “Then don’t ask me that question again!" you hissed, though your voice didn’t hold its usual bite.
He stared at you, his heart hammering so hard he was sure you could hear it. He wanted to reach out, to pull you against him and quiet the frantic energy in your body, but he stayed still. He was trying to piece together your outburst. The little forest girl? A part of him wanted to laugh. Could it be possible that you were jealous?
He didn't dare say it out loud. He knew you well enough to know that if he teased you now, you might actually beat him up to a pulp.
“I won't ask again,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “If you are sure, then I am sure. Three days, princess.”
And three days later, you found yourself at the Cove, wading deep into the water to reach the Spirit Tree, mesmerized by its particular glow tonight. The village elders and your families swim in the surface, watching you two dip further into the waters.
Neteyam reached out and you looked at him with a glowing smile, giving him your hand, his fingers lacing through yours with a grip that promised he would never let you drift away. You faced each other by the time you reached the tree, but its glow rivaled the one in Neteyam’s eyes. You smiled at him, reaching for your kuru, your movements a little shaky, but Neteyam held his halfway, waiting with an agonizing, respectful patience. It was you who closed the distance, guiding your queue to meet his.
The moment the bond snapped into place, your back arched as a physical surge of electricity jolted through your spine. Your pupils dilated until the teal of your eyes was nearly swallowed by black and for a moment, your eyes were marred by streaks of white as you felt a large ball of warmth spread through you.
It was an explosion of color and feeling.
You felt him. There was a devotion so deep it felt like the ocean itself, and an attraction that provided you warmth in the chill of the water. Some visions began to flow. In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself through his perspective. You saw a version of yourself from years ago, riding your ilu through the crest of a wave, laughing with a carefree joy you’ve never known since. You were beautiful, radiant, and in that memory, you felt the exact moment Neteyam’s heart had been captured.
But as the bond deepened, you felt as though the waters had flowed into uncharted territories and the golden glow yielded to grayness. You felt his crushing grief for you when your mother died. You felt the weight of his guilt for being who he is, for being part of the reason your world had shattered. Your eyes snapped open underwater, seeing his features crumpling in pain as he absorbed the sheer magnitude of your own feelings.
His heart was beautiful. And you know that yours was ugly.
His end of the bond was flooded with what you had carried. Anger, resentment, and the bitter hatred. It was heavy, toxic, and you felt him taking it all, letting your poison flow into him without a single flinch of rejection.
You let out a breath, forgetting that you were underwater until the air bubbled in your face. Unable to bear the sight of his suffering, you dislodged your kuru. The connection snapped, and you saw a flicker of pure, exhausted relief cross Neteyam’s face before he masked it with his usual warrior stoicism.
He could barely look at you but he never let go of your hand, and shame embraced you like thorn vines. As you two swam back to the surface, the people’s voices boomed in celebration before they began to whistle for their mounts. You didn't call for your skimwing. Instead, as Neteyam climbed onto his, you slipped into the seat behind him.
He turned his head, his eyes wide with a silent question. You didn't give him the fire he expected. You looked at him like a child who was caught breaking something precious. “I’m riding with you,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his thick, muscular waist and pressing your cheek against his broad back.
Neteyam’s posture softened instantly. “Oh,” he breathed, his lips pulling into a small, private smile.
As he led the procession back, his large, warm hand reached back to cover yours where they were clasped over his abdomen. You stared at the back of his head, your heart aching with a new kind of pain. Shame. He had seen the darkest corners of your soul and his first instinct was still to never let go of your hand. Perhaps he was used to ungratefulness; he had faced it from Lo'ak for years anyway. But you realized then that you didn't want to be another burden. You wanted to be his peace.
Later at the village, the celebration of your mating was a riot of colors and music. The drums were louder now and the dancing more frantic. You and Neteyam were seated on the high dais, the center of every gaze. As tradition dictated, you dipped your fingers into a bowl of rich, spiced fish sauce to feed him.
Some drops of it dripped on your fingers and before you could pull away, Neteyam’s hand caught your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the sauce from your skin. He never broke eye contact, his eyes dark and molten, reflecting a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
It felt like someone had accidentally made a spark in a forest filled of dry leaves. You felt your breath hitch, your earlier shame melting into a fierce, desperate need. You leaned in, your movements no longer a performance for your audience. You reached up, twirling a finger into one of his braids, anchoring him to you so he couldn't retreat just in case he decides to tease you.
You leaned close, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth as you licked a stray bit of sauce away. “I want you...” you whispered, the words trembling against his skin. “Do you want me?”
He let out a huffed sound, a mix of a laugh and a growl. “I’ve always wanted you,” he rasped, his hand moving to your arm to pull you closer. “Since the day I saw you on the docks. I have wanted nothing else.”
You know that now... You know. You pressed a hard, demanding kiss to his lips, tasting the salt and the spice and the promise of the night to come. “Show me,” you challenged, your voice dropping to a seductive tone as you smirked.
You stood up, your beautiful shawl flowing behind you as flawlessly as your curled hair, all of which are extremely captivating for Neteyam. You pulled his hand up, looking back at him with sultry eyes before dragging him away. You don’t even care about the hooting young men and the laughing crowd knowing just what you two will do next.
You dragged him to the eastern side of the village where your new pod is, smelling of fresh weave. The air between you and Neteyam was thick with a tension that made the drums at the festival sound nothing compared to the thrum of your heartbeat behind your ears. You stood in the center of the room, the embers of the fire in the hanging firepots casting a soft, ethereal glow over his dark blue skin.
You watched him as he began to shed his warrior gear. His hands, usually so steady and precise, moved with a slight tremble as he unbuckled the Omatikaya cummerbund he had recently commissioned. He had refused to replace it with a Metkayina chest guard and honestly, you respected his unwavering loyaty.
You reached for the ties of your own top, practically breathless as you watched his muscles ripple with every movement. You let the ceremonial pearls clatter softly as it fell to the floor. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his eyes focused on you with a hunger that made your skin prickle. You are so excited you’re literally a live wire. You walked toward him, and he met you halfway, his large hands reaching out to claim you.
He leaned down, and when his lips met yours, you felt like both of you melted into each other.
He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, his hand firm at your nape, tilting your head to gain better access. He was clumsy at first, and you could tell he doesn’t usually do this... or didn’t do it at all, but you didn't mind. He was so cute, because he was just going by instinct, so you guided him, your tongue dancing with his, showing him what you had learned from years of being the rebellious daughter. When he realized how skillfully you were kissing him, a low, guttural groan vibrated through his chest, a sound of both frustration and desperation.
He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the soft furs on the floor. His kisses descended, tracing the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, and lower to your chest. You let out a loud moan when his mouth enveloped your pebbled tip, while his hand fondled the other, rolling and pinching your nipple. You shivered at how good it felt, squeezing his large upper arm as you melt into the furs.
While he was busy literally feasting on you, you managed to bring your trembling hands behind him, your fingers wrapping around his tail and caressing it. “Ow!” your back arched when, in shock, his teeth clamped down around the flesh of your breast.
“Fuck, sorry...” he mumbled, his tongue popping out to lick around the flesh and you mewled, your hand gripping his tail.
Your fingers persevered to untie his loincloth despite the fact that you’re literally bordering on delirious with what he’s doing to you. He helped you shed his loincloth, and the weight of his arousal against your thigh made your own breath hitch. Your hand snaked down, your fingers brushing against the heat of him, and his hips buckled.
In the heat of the moment, you reached for your kuru, the shimmering white fibers seeking his. Neteyam stopped at the sight of it, his eyes looking at yout queue as if it were a predator. He let out a ragged breath and you saw the exact moment he was reminded of what your kuru had brought him. He didn't want the shared pain of your past right now; he didn't want the ghosts of your mother or his guilt to intrude. He wanted you and the reality of this moment.
You understood. You let your kuru fall back, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of surrender. He ran his fingers through the strands of your soft hair, his hands caging your head as he kisses you, hard and punishing, for what seemed like eternity. You loved kissing him, and it might just be your new addiction.
He kissed his way down your body again, and when he moved between your legs, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, you arched your back, your fingers tangling in his braids. The first time his tongue flicked against you, a loud, unbridled moan tore from your throat, echoing off the woven walls of the pod. You didn't even care who heard you.
His fingers joined his mouth, determined to watch you come undone with every kiss and suck. You grabbed a handful of his braids, not knowing whether to push him away to relieve you from the bizarre stimulation he’s making you feel, or harder on you to indulge yourself with the feeling.
“Neteyam!” You shouted, pushing his head away, but he won’t budge, his large hands pushing your legs further away.
It was too much, but you find that you wanted it, too. You fisted on the soft furs, moaning louder than you did earlier, your back arching as you felt a knot inside you break and explode. Your foot tried to push him away again when you felt a warm liquid gush out of you, but his mouth only sucked and licked, making sure no drop was wasted.
Your limbs fell on your sides weakly, your eyes a little unfocused until you saw him rise, his large frame covering your view of the hanging firepot. He hovered over you, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and nerves. He kissed your jaw.
“Was that good?”
You gave a lazy grin, but also, you remembered that he was good. How did that happen? Your features turned a little sharp with awareness, your eyes narrowing. “Who?”
His face previously hazy with lust and desire snapped to attention, “What?”
“You are good. It was good,” you said. “Who’s the woman?”
His forehead creased and a weakened breath of laughter escaped him. “No one,” he said, his lips grazing your cheek. “No one. I do not touch women who are not mine. And I do not let them touch me,” he said, emphasizing the last words.
You pushed your lips forward, catching that stray. “Well...” you pushed your lips forward. “For what it’s worth, I’m a virgin, too, you know? But I know how to kiss. See, it helped us earlier. Your teeth were bumping against mine—”
His forehead fell against yours as he shook with laughter. You groaned.
“I’m telling the truth! No one has touched me where you’d touched me! You don’t believe me?” you said, your voice rising in slight.
He was pressing a kiss against your neck but his head quickly lifted up. “No, no. I do believe you,” he said, his eyes widening a little in his conviction. “I believe you.” he repeated, his eyes softening, lowering down to your parted lips. “And it doesn’t matter, I think. I just need to know names, if so.“
“Names?“ you echoed.
“Names of the men,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
You squeezed his shoulder. “No one,“ you replied. “I mean, beyond the kisses...”
He pressed his lips to yours, his tongue sliding in when you parted your lips, exploring with a tentative curiosity that made your toes curl into the soft mats. As his hands wandered down your body, grazing the curves of your hips before he lifted his head up again, his eyes caressing your features, admiring the intricate tattoos on your face.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. He can barely breathe watching you from afar, and now, you were under him. His mate. His wife now. He has all the time in the world. With you.
“Then stop looking and start doing something,” you teased, your voice so womanly it made him shiver.
He chuckled, positioning himself properly between your thighs. His cock felt heavy against your pussy. You’ve felt him earlier, felt the weight of him. He was thick and long, and despite your fear, you were more excited for when he finally enters you.
“Tell me if it hurts,” his deep voice grated.
“I want you inside me,” you whispered, spreading your legs. “Now.”
He bit his lip, fisting his cock and pointing it at your pussy and your fingers balled in anticipation. Its wide head nudged you with a slow, agonizing precision, his wide eyes watching your face. You gasped, your back arching as the initial stretch of his girth filled you. Your breathing was jagged, your hand clamped on his shoulder as you clenched around him unconsciously.
He patted your thigh, wincing. “Baby, you’re squeezing me...”
You groaned and tried to relax as he pushes more length into you. Just when you thought it’d be over soon, you made the mistake of looking down and seeing that he’s only halfway in. “This can’t be serious.” Your head fell back on the soft furs.
“Why?” His hand caressed your hip, and when he moved, seemingly to dislodge himself from you, you tightened your legs around him and pushed your hips up.
In that single move, the remaining length of him disappeared in you, making you quiver as if you’d reached the same high he's given you with his mouth earlier. You are incredibly sensitive.
“Oh, Great Mother,“ you moaned loud, the sound ripping from your throat. “You are so big...”
He kissed your jaw softly. “I’m sorry...” He then began to move in shallow thrusts, his lips peppering your face with kisses. Each slide of his shaft sent jolts of pleasure through your core, and as the friction built, loud sounds begun to escape your throat. Moaning and wailing in pleasure. You weren't shy. You had never been shy.
“Yes! Ah, right there! Oh, Neteyam, so good!” you screamed, your voice carrying to whoever knows where.
Neteyam’s face slightly crumpled, a little embarrassed, but a grin tugged at his lips as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming steadier, deeper. You didn't hold back. Every time he thrusts hard, you let out a loud, unabashed shriek of pleasure.
“Neteyam—” you gasped, your voice breaking as he drove into you. “Great Mother. Neteyam... please.” You pressed a palm on his lower abdomen as he continuously hammered into you.
He didn’t slow down. If anything, your pleasured screams only fueled the predatory fire in his eyes. He leaned down, his large hands caging your head in place. His mouth muffled your sobs as be kissed you, and your eyes rolled back to your head, feeling delirious about everything.
“What does my princess want?” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick and dark.
“I don’t know...” you sobbed. “So good...”
He kissed you again before he rose to a kneeling position between your parted thighs, grabbing one of your legs and hiking it up his shoulder, before slamming into you with a series of forceful thrusts that made your screams sound jagged. Scandalous wet sounds filled the air as he hammered into you. You were a mess of sweat and saliva, your breasts bouncing with every thrust.
You were so loud, and so lost in your pleasure, that you didn’t even notice the pause in the rhythmic pulsing of festival drums in the distance. It was only when Neteyam slowed down that you noticed, you looked at him through a hazy vision and saw his head tilting to the direction of the village’s communal area. His eyes snapped at you and you chuckled, still panting.
“I think they heard you,“ he said, lowering his body to kiss you.
“It will serve the clan to know that the newly mated woman is being mounted... hard,” your teeth tugged at his lower lip. “Happy wife, happy life, you know?”
He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment before it opened again to meet yours. The joy in them made you feel like someone offered you a blanket during a storm. “I will make you happy... Always.”
You smiled. “I will make you happy, too, Neteyam... I promise.”
A smile broke through his facade and it made tears prick in your eyes for some reason. “You being mine is enough. I need only to remember that to be happy,” he said.
“I am yours,“ you replied quickly. “In all the ways you could think of.”
He kissed you, losing himself in the heat of you. He pushed deeper, the sound of your bodies meeting creating a wet, squelching noise. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he hit a spot that made your vision blur. With a deep push, he shuddered, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled his seed. You followed him seconds later, your internal muscles clamping tight around him in a series of violent spasms.
He hugged you, as though you’d slip away if he didn’t. Your hand moved up to caress his braids, kissing his jaw. “I am here with you, Neteyam...“
The next day, you woke up to the sight of morning sun filtering through the woven walls and beaded curtains of your marui, casting a warm light over everything. You didn’t need the weight of the heavy arm draped over your waist to remind you where you are. Neteyam had been awake for an hour. He had spent the time simply watching the way your chest rose and fell, noticing how the bioluminescent freckles on your skin seemed to dim in the daylight, and memorizing the intricate tattoos on your face. He’d admired the blooming purples and reds of the marks he’d left behind on your neck and chest, and wondered if you’d complain about it later.
When your teal eyes finally fluttered open, the instant flash of joy in them made his own heart skip. Without a word, you rolled over witha lazy grin spreading across your face as you draped an arm over his chest to pull him to you for a lingering morning kiss. It felt so natural, if only his heart won’t stop kicking violently against his chest. It was as if you had been waking up in his arms for years instead of just one night.
“Hungry?“ he murmured, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
“Yes,” you yawned and stretched your body a little, your face snuggling in the crook of his neck. Your throat felt raw and your voice came out hoarse, evidence of your screaming last night.
You bit your lip, closing your eyes at how comfortable it felt. He chuckled, his eyes sparkling even if you were not looking. You are a mated woman now... The memory of the night rushed back in your mind in a heated wace. The way he had looked at you like a predator let out of its cage. The way he had held you so devoid of the politeness he’d shown in the past years... The way he mounted you.
Oh, Great Mother. You felt so giddy, you couldn’t help but shiver in his arms.
“Why?” he asked.
“I was just remembering last night,” you said shamelessly.
He softly kissed your foreahead. “Why shiver? Are you getting shy?“ he asked softly.
Your eyes widened. “No,” you lifted yourself up, the soft fabric of the blanket falling off your shoulder and revealing your naked form to him. “What should I be shy about?”
He looked at you with hazy eyes, as if you’d used some booze on him and his eyes were just pupils blown wide now as they caressed your form. “For one, you were so loud last night...”
You raised a brow. “Eh. I’m not abashed... It’s normal to be loud when you’re feeling good,“ you smirked.
Besides, does he know just how many girls and women in this clan wished they’d give them attention? Your eyes narrowed, thinking of all those village women who used to sigh when he walks past. You hoped they’d heard just how good you were getting it from him last night.
“Are you bothered?”
“No,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep, possessive register.
You smirked, grabbing your top to wear it again. He sat up, his muscles flexing from all his movements. His large hands hovered over your shoulder, surprisingly gentle as he helped you tie the fastenings and adjust the pearls over your chest. As the blanket slipped away from his lap, your eyes caught the sight of him. Already hard and erected.
Without thinking, your hand darted down to touch it, but he was faster, catching your wrist. “No. Breakfast first.”
Your nose crunched in a pout. “I just want to touch it. It looks... lonely.”
“Maybe later...” he said, his voice strained as he reached for your loincloth to help you dress.
“But it's hard now,” you pouted, looking at him through your lashes.
Neteyam let out a long, shaky breath, looking away. “It will pass. It’s always like that,” he said.
“Always like that?“ you asked.
“When you’re around,” he admitted, his jaw tight.
Your eyes widened, a triumphant smile tugging at your lips. “Really? Even when I was being mean to you?”
“Yes. Sometimes, even when you weren't around... I’d think of you,” he confessed, his ears twitching in a rare show of vulnerability.
“What? But wouldn't that be painful?” you asked, glancing at his crotch, which he has now hidden beneath the fabric.
“I relieve myself,” he said bluntly, watching you tilt your head in confusion. He then made a quick up-and-down motion with his hand, his eyes locking onto yours. “And I think of you while I do it.”
You felt a surge of heat so intense you thought you might actually turn purple. The idea of the perfect and dutiful firstborn son of Toruk Makto, alone where no one could see him, losing his mind over thoughts of you, was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever heard. “What do you think of? Tell me. I think we can... make it happen now.”
Neteyam leaned in, his shadow towering over you as he whispered in your ear, his voice a dark, detailed rasp. He described a vision of you arched over a forest branch, the way he wanted to feel your hair against his skin while he took you from behind, and the way he imagined your face would look when you’re feeling good. He’s seen it last night, and it beat all the fantasies he had.
By the time he finished, you were breathless and burning.
“We are definitely doing that tonight,” you whispered, leaning toward him to kiss the side of his lips.
Days later after you were more properly settled in your pod, Jake and Neytiri hosted a dinner, inviting your father and your siblings. Now, you knew you were never shy... But also, these are Neteyam’s parents. And they’ve been witnesses to how volatile and difficult to deal with you could be compared to your siblings.
You were never welcoming. You were aloof. And now, you are mated to their most prized son. Because of this, the thought of sitting in the same table as Neytiri filled your blood with cold dread. You sat with your spine perfectly straight at the dinner table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, a sharp contrast to the wild, snarling huntress they usually saw on the docks.
Next to you, Neteyam looked like the picture of the perfect warrior, but there was a glint in his eye that made you uneasy. He knew exactly why you were acting so stiff.
“You look beautiful tonight, daughter,” Neytiri said, her golden eyes scanning you with a terrifyingly intensity.
“Thank you, Neytiri,” you replied, your voice soft. “It is an honor to be at your table.”
Neteyam let out a short, soft huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. He leaned closer to you, ostensibly to reach for a bowl of fruit, but his shoulder lingered against yours.
“She is very practiced at the proper daughter look,” Neteyam murmured for only you to hear. He turned his head to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips as you glared at him.
Tonowari finally cleared his throat, shifting his gaze between you and Neteyam, his expression a mix of fatherly concern and the stiff formality of an Olo’eyktan. “Ah... so,” your father started, his voice a bit forced. “How have you two been?”
You nodded. “We’re having so much fun,” you blurted out without thinking.
Oh, that they know about. It’s not like the marks on your neck or the red nail marks on Neteyam’s shoulders weren’t announcement enough. Neteyam who was sipping water nearly choked. A violent cough erupted from him as he tried to regain his composure, his ears blooming indigo, twitching.
“Do you have everything you need for the household? Nets? Storage?” Jake Sully intervened.
“We have everything we need, Dad,” Neteyam managed to rasp out, finally finding his voice.
You leaned closer to whisper. “Right. My husband is a very... efficient provider. He doesn't leave anything unfinished, does he?” You snickered.
He raised a brow. “Whispering now, huh? It’s hard to believe this is the same woman who was screaming my name so loud in the woods just hours ago,” he whispered back.
Neytiri watched the two of you from across the table, her golden eyes shining. “It is great to see the two of you approaching your marriage life so smoothly,” Neytiri said, her voice smooth. She looked at Jake. “Reminds me of our first nights together. Do you remember, Jake?”
Jake chuckled. He knew exactly what Neytiri meant. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Tonowari who looked like he wanted to dive into the ocean to avoid this conversation.
“Can we talk about literally anything else?” Lo’ak groaned, picking up a piece of fruit and tossing it at Neteyam. “I don't need to hear about my parents’ first nights together or why Y/N’s throat sounds like she’s wounded her throat from screaming.”
“Lo’ak!” Tsireya hissed, though she was shaking with silent laughter.
“What?” Tuk asked, her large eyes moving between everyone. “Why was she screaming? Was there a moonwraith in the new pod? I can go kill it for you, sister!”
The table erupted. Ao’nung, who had been trying to remain stoic and dignified, finally doubled over with a booming laugh. Your father let out a heavy, defeated sigh, rubbing his temples, while Jake just shook his head, a grin finally breaking through his facade.
“No moonwraiths, Tuk,” Neteyam whispered to his little sister while you laughed beside him.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
In the weeks following your mating, the village began to feel less like a place of grief you moved through with a routine, and more like a playground for the two of you. You found yourself exploring the woods behind the village with much curiosity than you did before, keeping in mind that this was the kind of place your husband grew up in.
You’ve always wondered the way he moved with such a predatory yet quiet grace, able to sneak up on people without making any sound, unless he meant for them to hear him, but as you walk through the forest, you realized that it was because the trees seemed to have eyes everywhere. You couldn’t even walk here without your foot stepping on a dry leaf that makes a crunchy crack, announcing your presence.
Neteyam had told you that it was one of their trainings back in the forest. To walk in the woods silent as a viperwolf, and you’ve seen in it in the way he moves through the brush. “Your people believes in the tranquility of the ocean,“ he mumbled, standing behind you as he helped you adjust your grip on his longbow. “But the forest, it is a living thing. It listens and it watches. There is no current to fight, you only move with it.”
He pressed his chest against your back, his large hands covering yours on the bowstring. He taught you how to breathe into the shot, his heartbeat a steady thrum against your shoulder blades. When you finally released, the arrow thudding perfectly into a distant fruit, your eyes widened and you smiled triumphantly.
You had obsessed over archery for weeks. It is different from your people’s crossbow, which you were really good at. Different compared to a spear, more so. You thought you were simply a bad shot at this thing, but now, you hit the target and you couldn’t believe it! You turned in his arms with a laugh, rewarded by the pride shining in his golden eyes. He leaned forward to kiss you hard, and you melted in his arms.
“That one was good,” he grinned.
You pursed your lips. “Now, I understand why Lo’ak always calls you the perfect son...” you pressed a hand against his chest. “You excel in everything. This was easy for you, a crossbow is easy. A spear is easy. Riding your ikran is easy. Riding a skimwing is easy...” you tiptoed to kiss his lips. “Riding me... so hard, though.” You snickered.
He laughed, a rich and deep sound that warmed your chest as his arm suddenly pulled you to him. “You said you were sore...”
You bit your lip, widening your eyes at him. “I am.”
“Then why are you tempting me?” he asked, raising a brow.
You laughed. “Maybe I want more of that thing where I’m lying on my stomach, and you’re so close on my back,” you moaned in his ears. “That was so good.”
He groaned, deep and long, pulling you to him. “Strip. Let’s do it now, if you want it—”
“Neteyam and Y/N! Yuhoo!” A familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the trees.
You jumped away from him, nearly toppling over. Neteyam’s strong arm wrapped around you like a vine, helping you find your footing as Tuk came crashing through the brush, her large eyes bright with excitement.
“Oh, great! There you two are,“ she heaved, skidding to a halt. She paused, looking at the two of you, you with your hair a mess and Neteyam looking like he was ready to wrestle a palulukan. “Why are you purple again, sister? The forest isn’t hot. In fact, it’s so cold here.” She twirled around.
You chuckled. “Oh, well... I was purple from laughing,“ you chirped, smoothing down your hair.
Neteyam cleared his throat, his ears still twitching violently. “Yes, she was laughing so hard.”
Tuk narrowed her eyes, looking between the two of you. “You guys are weird,” she concluded.
“Wait, why are you here, Tuk?” Neteyam asked.
She pouted. “Lo’ak sent me. He has a question for you, he needs you to go see him,” she said. “Hurry up, you two!” You watched her disappear, then turned to Neteyam who was already shaking his head.
“I'm going to kill Lo'ak,“ Neteyam muttered, though he was already smiling as he followed you. “I'm definitely going to kill him.”
But the peace was never a stagnant thing.
It started with the scouts. Warriors returning, speaking of a metal village rising from the waves near the territory of the neighboring clan. They’ve luckily intercepted a group of hunters from that clan who were sent to deliver a message to Toruk Makto about the sky people’s activities. Jake personally went there with Tonowari, Neteyam, Ao’nung, and Lo’ak to see it for themselves.
When he came back, he told the council about the massive, artificial island of steel that is turning the crystal-clear waters into a murky, toxic sludge. The news grew grimmer by the hour: the neighboring clans had tried to resist, but the demons had met them with violence, leaving the waters beyond the reef littered with the bodies of those who dared to protect their home.
Inside the council marui, the air was suffocating. Tonowari sat with his head bowed, his hands fisted so hard his knuckles were white. Beside him, Jake Sully paced, his jaw set in a grim line that you recognized from Neteyam’s own face during charged encounters.
“They are expanding,” Jake rasped. “If they finish that platform, they’ll have a permanent base for their tulkun hunts. The neighbors are already dying.”
Your arm around Neteyam’s waist tightened and he gripped your arm. “Neteyam...” you murmured, an uncharacteristic fear coiling in your gut.
He pulled you close, his cheek nuzzled in your temple. “It’ll be alright.”
The tension snapped two days later.
A hunting party returned... Not with a haul of fish, but the broken bodies of two warriors. The wails of their mothers reminded you of your own grief but you stayed and prayed over them with Tsireya and the elder healers, carrying their grief for them. Days later, patrolling hunters came back with news that made you rush to the sea, riding your skimwing in a rush, with Neteyam hurriedly following behind you.
You fell over at the sight of your mother’s spirit sister, Ro’a, drifting aimlessly in the waters, her flank torn open by a massive harpoon. She didn't survive the night. You swam to her, hugging her body tightly as you hugged your mother years before. Tsireya cried silently beside you, her face anguished, a contrast to your angered features.
Ro’a was the last piece you have of you mother... And to see her brutally murdered seemed to have brought a shift, even to your father. His face contorted in a grief so sharp it looked like a physical wound and you couldn’t help embrace his unmoving body.
“Send word to our neighbors! We will not wait for the metal to reach our shores.”
As the village fell into a frenzy of preparation for days, you dove into the waters before the sun even rose to get a potent herb. It was poison, you would no longer mince your words. You want no one alive. When you broke the surface bringing a handful of it, you saw Neteyam standing on the shore and you felt a jolt of surprise.
You made sure to not take too long. You have not been gone for more than ten minutes!
“Where were you?” he asked, his hands immediately touching your upper arms to pull you into a hug, uncaring that you're wet and cold.
“I wasn’t gone long,“ you said.
“I woke up with you gone, you don’t know how much that is a stuff for nightmares for me,” he replied, hugging you tighter. “I saw your weapons though. I knew you wouldn’t go anywhere crazy without them. But now, after seeing that you were indeed in the waters, I didn’t like the idea of it. They could be anywhere, baby...”
You sighed. “I just... foraged something.” You lifted the herbs and saw the confusion in his eyes. “It’s poison.” you whispered darkly.
His eyes widened a little.
You tilted your head. “It’s to ensure maximum damage... If the blades don’t kill them, this will do the job.”
His eyes darkened with every word your spoke. He didn’t even flinch and recoil, nor lecture you on the code of a warrior or the sanctity of a clean kill. Instead, he reached out, his thumb grazing your jaw.
“Make it strong,” he whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark resonance that made the fine hairs on your neck stand up. He took the herbs from your hand, his fingers lingering against yours, grounding you even as the storm raged in your chest. “Come. The hunters are gathering at the weapon racks. Your father is calling for the final blessing.”
You followed Neteyam to the central deck, where Tonowari stood like a pillar, his spear held high among the warriors whose own spears they had sharpened for days.
“You are not going,“ Tonowari quietly said when he was done talking to his warriors, his eyes landing on the lethal kit you were preparing.
“Father, I cannot not go. I need to be there. They killed my mother, they killed her sister. My home is being choked by their filth. You tell me to stay, Father, and you might as well tell the tide to stop rising.”
Tsireya stepped up beside you, her jaw set in a way that mimicked your own. You had a hunch he’d told her the same thing. Your father looked at the two of you, both fierce images of the woman who was and is his strength.
Your father let out a long, shuddering breath, the weight of the world bowing his shoulders for a fleeting second before he hardened again. “Fine, but be... careful. I cannot lose any of you.”
You choked a sob and hugged him. You are scared, but you also cannot imagine yourself not fighting out there while eveyone risks their lives.
Inside your marui, the weight of the impending battle had shrunk to just the two of you. The morning sun flickering against the woven walls as you sat between Neteyam’s legs, your fingers dipped in the thick pigment of his war paint.
He was silent, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that grounded your frantic heart. You traced the line of his nose dowm to his chin with the paint, your touch lingering longer than necessary.
“You're shaking,“ he murmured, his large hand coming up to steady your wrist. He leaned into your touch, his golden eyes searching yours.
“I am not,” you lied, your voice a mere breath. You dipped your fingers back into the bowl, drawing a sharp, jagged line across his cheekbone. “I am just... impatient.”
Neteyam caught your hand, pressing a firm kiss to your palm, his gaze intense. “Look at me. I will be in the sky with my mother. I will see everything. If you are in trouble, I will find you. Do you hear me? I will always find you.”
You stared at him and nodded. “Neteyam... When we did the tsaheylu... I know you’ve seen my ugly heart—”
“Do not speak of it that way!” he cut you off.
“Alright, my ugly emotions. Dark and bloody, full of hatred,” you said.
He tilted his head. “I also saw me. You liked me when I first got here,” he said, smiling. “You find me so handsome.”
You groaned. “I’ve always thought so...” you pushed your lips forward. “I was just in-denial for such a long time.”
“It’s all that matters to me that night, you know? To know that I have at least stirred your heart. I was thinking, I can definitely build on that. I will make you love me as I love you. I will make you so happy as you make extremely happy,“ he said, angling his head to kiss you.
Your face crunched as you felt a pinch in your heart. “You need higher standards,“ you said in a trembling voice. “I was so rude. All the time. I was mean and I didn’t think of your feelings—”
He hushed you, wrapping an arm around you, some of his face paint transferring on your face. “I understand. I understand all of it,” he said in a quiet, devoted voice.
You know that. You’ve seen it in his heart, but still, you couldn't help but weep. “But I can’t understand, ‘Teyam, why I had treated you so badly when you didn’t deserve any of my anger. I don’t want you to forgive me. I don’t even deserve this love you have for me. I cannot understand it,” your tears fell.
Everything seemed to have came up on you and it all culminated to this. “You do not need to understand it. I love you. I love you very much,“ he said, his large hands cupping your jaw so he could look in your eyes. “And my forgiveness is mine to give, only that there is nothing to forgive. Do you understand? I love you, and I love you in any form you show me. You cannot dictate my heart.”
He smiled at you and you cried even harder. You don’t know why you couldn’t stop crying. There is a golden ball of warmth threatening to burst inside your heart and you couldn’t hold it back. You pressed your forehead against his, uncaring that his paint will transfer to you.
“I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much...” you mumbled, kissing him even though you wanted to see more of the surprise on his face. You squeezed his bicep, your heart aching with the force of your love for him.
When you two stopped kissing to breathe, you saw his eyes sparkling with tears, his strong arms maneuvered you so that he’d cradle your upper body like a baby and you laughed.
“I can’t believe how freeing that feels. I love you, Neteyam. I love you, I love you, I love you,“ you said, obsessed with how good it feels to say that.
He lowered his head and kissed you. “I love you so much. More. I love you more, I love you more, I love you more,“ he said, pressing a kiss to your lips nearly with every word.
“We’ll talk again tonight,” you mumbed, caressing his jaw. “And then we’ll do more. I’ll let you do anything you want with me, so make sure you’ll be careful up there—”
“Hey, love birds—”
“Lo’ak!” Neteyam growled so deeply you felt his body vibrated with it, making you throw your head back with laughter.
Later, with all the warriors assembled, the war cries of your people echoed across the wave as the shadow of Toruk’s wings covered almost the entire village as he flew past, leading the vanguard. You saw Neteyam’s ikran along with Neytiri’s follow the beast like predatory birds. With a sharp whistle, you urged your mount into a high-speed plane, riding among the warriors of your clan, holding your spear tightly as war crimes erupted in your throat as your fleet reached the destination.
You saw a scout vessel banking hard, its mounted gunner spraying the water with bullets to aim at your fleet. Your father signalled to disperse and you dove into the water the same time everyone did, swimming on the other side, where you know you can find a weakness. As the vessel’s hull loomed, you broke the water and made your skimwing leap in the air, shooting with your crossbow with a strained scream.
It punched through the reinforced glass of the cockpit and you saw the pilot slumped instantly, before you landed back on the water. The vessel veered wildly, crashing into a large rock and erupting into an orange flame. You smiled, diving deep into the cool pressure of the water. Beneath the surface, your eyes fixed on the mechanical silhouettes of the submersibles moving in the depths, hunting your brothers and sisters.
You propelled your mount toward a sub’s rear rotor and with a practiced strike, you jammed your spear into it, rendering it to a stop, before you strike to puncture the glass. You left it after ensuring that the pressure of the deep would do the rest for the pilot. You did that to more submersibles, and was pursued by some, too, using what you’ve learned from all the times you played underwater.
Breaking the surface for air, the sight that welcomed you was filled of fire and ash. Your gaze instinctively snapped upward, and your heart jumped at your throat when you saw a missile pursuing Neteyam, who dove his ikran into a vertical corkscrew, the missile desperately following him. At the last second, he banked hard, luring the missile directly into the path of a pursuing fighter jet. The jet erupted in a beautiful display of orange and skittered to another jet, bringing it down as well.
A huge smile broke on your face as Neteyam leveled out, hearing his war cry echoing to reach you. The artificial island seemed to have tilted to the side, its steel skeleton groaning as if people were working to dismantle it from below, as it burned from above. It was reduced to a vision of dancing fire.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the metal village was nothing but a graveyard of sinking iron. The ocean, though scarred, had claimed its prize. The journey back was silent as you rode beside your father, whose face was a mask of grim satisfaction. As the familiar woven walkways of the village came into view, the village erupted in cheers for the returning warriors, you looked to the sky.
You saw Neteyam’s ikran flying toward the forest, making you vault off your ikran to go there and meet him. The bioluminescence of the forest was just beginning to wake but you paid it no attention, focused only on Neteyam’s majestic form as he descended his beast. You ate up the steps between you and threw yourself at him, your arms locking around his neck with a force that nearly sent both of you back into the brush.
He caught you, his large hands anchoring you against his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of salt from the ocean before peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, his grip tightening until you were molded against him.
“You okay? Wounded anywhere?” he asked breathlessly, his large hand touching you everywhere.
“I saw you,“ you rasped, ignoring his questions. “In the air. You are so hot,” you pressed a kissed to his lips. “You? Are you wounded anywhere?”
You checked his arms as his face melted into your neck, he shook his head but you still made sure by checking thoroughly. “I wished I saw you in the waters, baby...” he whispered. “But I know you were a nightmare for them.”
You pulled back just enough to see his face, grinning through the smearing war paint. “I know we haven’t weeded out all of them yet... But I’m glad they are gone for now,” you sighed, looking back at the village when you heard the drums. “They are starting the celebrations.”
You were about to turn around and go back, but Neteyam’s grip on your waist tightened, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip with a deliberate, slow pressure that made your breath hitch. “You seemed to have forgotten something...” he mumured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always made your heart skip.
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
His golden eyes burned on you with a focused intensity that made the surrounding forest feel like it was fading away. “Your promise.”
You blinked. What promise— Oh! “Oh... Right,” you cleared your throat. “We’ll talk, yes...”
His head tilted, raising a brow. “That all?”
You bit your lip and laughed. “Alright, I give up. I remember! I’ll... We’ll... do it,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning as if this was the first time when you’d literally fucked each other every day in the past moons.
“And?” he probed.
You huffed. “And you can do what you want with me.”
He smiled, squeezing your waist. “Right.” he nodded once, leaning forward to kiss you.
“Let’s not attend the celebration... There’s somewhere I want to go,” you said, holding his hand and dragging him back to the village. “Call for your mount.”
Tonight, you’re planning to renew your mating. The night of your mating never left your mind. The tension, the ugliness of you unresolved anger, and the way he had taken the weight of your hate during the tsaheylu. You wanted to give him back the love he deserved, pure and unmarred.
He called for his skimwing and you both rode it to the cove. He looked at you when you held his hand, slipping off the skimwing and into the water. “Come,” you told him softly. He slipped off the skimwing and wrapped his arms aroujd you. You smiled and kissed him. “I want to do it again, my love. I want you to see me now. Just me.”
His gaze caressed your face lovingly and you felt your heart burst with warming emotions. “I love you so much,” he mumbled. “I love you.”
You smiled, your eyes twinkling. “I love you more, Neteyam.”
You kissed the side of his mouth before you dove into the water, with him following you until you both reached the spirit tree. You reached for your kuru behind you, bringing it between you. You’re now the one waiting with quiet yet desperate patience, but he didn't make you wait long, he brought his kuru to yours in an instant. As your neural braids connected, the world shifted.
This time, there was no wall of resentment for him to climb. Instead, Neteyam was flooded with the sheer, overwhelming force of your love. He felt the way your heart skipped when he walked into a room, the heat of your attraction, and the deep loyalty you held for him. On your end, you felt how his love grew even fiercer, a golden sun that warmed every corner of your being. But then, the connection pulsed with something else... His anticipation for later.
You think he didn't mean to, but his desires began to leak through the bond, messing with your senses. Without him even moving a finger, you felt the ghost of his hands on your waist, the phantom pressure of his length moving inside you in hard, forceful movements, and the feel of his kisses on your body. You shivered in the water, your eyes blowing wide.
He smirked, watching you with a predatory, adoring look. Your eyes narrowed, signing to him, gesturing to the spirit tree. “I want us to meet my mother first. I want to show her my mate.” you signed.
He looked at you, nodding and gently breaking the connection so you could both connect to the spirit tree. You held his hand and closed your eyes, immediately finding yourself back in the village, seeing your mother’s form standing on the dock. She looked as she always did. Fierce, eternal, and serene. She held no memory of your teenage rage or the years you spent mourning her. To her, you were simply the lovely daughter who got so much from her.
She turned as if she sensed you, her smile brightening, but it faltered into genuine shock when she saw the man standing beside you. “Neteyam?” she asked, her eyes moving to your entwined hands.
“Mother,” you greeted softly.
Neteyam touched his forehead. “Oel ngati kameie, Tsahik.”
“Daughter...” she tilted her head in question, a soft smile touching her lips.
“He is my mate, Mother...” you said, squeezing her hand.
Ronal chuckled, looking between the two of you. “And you agreed, young man?”
Neteyam glanced at you, smiling. “It is a gift to have her in my life, Tsahik. I have loved her since I was young.”
You turned to Neteyam, smiling, when you heard the crack in his voice. Ronal sighed dreamily, a knowing look crossing her face. “Oh, that I know. I’ve seen it.”
“Seen what, mother?” you asked, surprised.
Ronal stared at you, at how unknowing you are. Even then, she knew it would be a problem between you two. She’s always observed how Neteyam always had his eyes on you, how he seemed so aware of you and your presence. She initially thought it was simply a boy being curious, but she didn’t know how she’d known.
You two stayed with your mother for what seemed like hours. But in reality, it lasted only or even less than five minutes. You disconnected from the tree, squeezing Neteyam’s hand and blowing hair out of your nose. He wrapped an arm around you, and swam back to the surface. The water broke with a sudden, violent splash as you both surfaced, gasping. Neteyam gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he swam to a nearby flattened ground. He hauled you up on it, heightening the frantic beat of your heart.
He hauled himself up, and you moved back, giving him space but he grabbed your ankle, stopping you. The cold air gave you chills but it was immediately replaced by the heat of his body fitting itself between your legs, and pressing against you. You pressed a palm against his chest when he lowered his head to kiss you, you parted your lips to welcome it, feeling his tongue expertly plunge into your mouth.
His hand found your breast and squeezed, deepening his kiss and wrapping a muscled arm around you. By the time he left your lips, you were gasping for air. His gaze caressed your features, “Did you feel it through the bond?” he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of desire.
“I felt everything,” you breathed, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the back of his neck. “I felt how much you want me.”
He let out a low, predatory growl, his golden eyes darkening. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot. “You made a promise, baby. You told me I could do whatever I want with you.”
“I did,” you whimpered, arching your back as the hand squeezing your breast slide down to the junction of your thighs.
“I intend to hold you to every word.”
He didn't waste another second. His fingers tore at the simple wraps of your top and loincloths, quickly ridding you of them. He stripped himself with a frantic urgency, his heavy, cock springing free, already glistening with a thick bead of pre-cum just from kissing you and feeling you up. He looked massive, a vein pulsing along the length of his shaft, the head swollen and dark.
“I need to be inside you,” he growled, kissing you hard.
He gripped one of your thighs, hoisting it high and draping it over his broad shoulders while he fold the other to spread you wider. He didn't ease in like he usually does, instead, he aligned the broad head of his cock and lunged forward in one powerful, unrestrained thrust.
You let out a sharp, strangled scream that echoed through the cove, your head falling back against the mossy ground. He filled you completely, stretching your walls to their absolute limit. The sensation was an explosion of pressure and heat, a blunt force that seemed to reach your very core.
“Baby, you're so tight,” he groaned, his voice vibrating through your chest. “So wet for me.”
Your hand hold onto his biceps, squeezing as you clenched around his girth. “Neteyam...”
He kissed you hard, murmuring praises. “You feel so good, baby... So warm and tight. Is it good?”
You nodded, kissing him. He began to move, and the pace was immediately punishing. There was no tenderness here, only the raw, starving need of a man who spent the entire day fried by adrenaline on the battlefield, holding onto the promise you’ve given him. Every thrust produced a loud, wet sound, your juices being churned into a frothy lather. The sound was so scandalous and yet it seemed to arouse him even more.
“Oh, babe,” you choked out, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, leaving red marks in his skin. “Neteyam, please, more...”
He licked the side of your neck, slamming his hips forward again. The force of the impact sent a jolt of electricity through your spine. He began to hammer into you, his cock sliding in and out with a violent friction, every glide of his pelvis against you making your clit scream with pleasure, a delicious ache that made your toes curl. Your pussy gripped him with desperate spasms, milking him as he drove himself deeper and deeper.
His head lowered to kiss your breast, his warm mouth catching a pebbled tip and sucking hard. Your back arched as you moaned in pleasure, not knowing what to focus on. His mouth sucking on your breast, or his cock forcefully sliding in and out of you. You’ve been mated for moons, and Neteyam still doesn’t know what to with everything you’re offering, and yet he always seems to be so extremely thorough.
He’s wanted this for years... And to think that you are his now is driving him mad.
He shifted his weight, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you higher, changing the angle so he could bury himself even further, that you could see him bulging in your lower abdomen. You felt your orgasm building, making you tremble in his arms.
“I’m close,” you wailed, your voice breaking. “Neteyam, I'm—”
“Not yet,” he grunted, abruptly stopping.
You whined, weakly kicking your foot but he had lowered your hips down on the ground, pulling out of you. “Neteyam...” you whined, your face reflecting yoir agitation despite the pleasure in it.
You missed him inside you, but the absence didn’t last long, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over with a sudden, authoritative motion. You landed on your stomach, your face pressed into the soft moss. Your upper body rose by instinct, by Neteyam dropped his weight onto your back, caging you in his massive arms. He pinned your wrists beside your head, his chest crushing your shoulder blades. He positioned himself behind you, the tip of his cock probing at your wet entrance, teasing the opening before he surged forward.
He entered you from behind with a guttural roar, the angle allowing him to penetrate deeper than before. You moaned, your mouth perpetually gaped to make sounds of pleasure as he fold one of your legs, his large hand seeking your clit from under the two of you. You gasped and jolted, moving away from his hand but his hand chased you, caressing your sensitive nub as he teasingly moved inside you.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Pinned under me. Just where you belong.”
He licked your jaw, angling his head so he could kiss you as his thrusts began to gain pace, a relentless, driving rhythm. Each thrust was a heavy blow, pushing your breasts into the moss. The wet sound was louder now, a messy noise of friction and fluid. You could feel the heat of him, the way his cock stretched and molded into you, claiming every inch of you.
“You're mine,” he gasped, his grip on your wrists tightening.
You nodded. “Yes, yes, yes. I am. I’m yours, Neteyam...”
The admission seemed to break the last of his restraint. Neteyam's movements became frenzied, his hips hammering into you. The friction was intense, the heat bordering on pain, but it was the only thing that mattered. You felt the walls of your pussy clenching around him, triggering his own release.
He let out a long, shaking moan, his body stiffening. He drove himself in one last time, burying his cock as deep as it could possibly go, and stayed there. You felt the hot, thick jet of his seed erupting inside you, pulse after pulse of scorching liquid filling you.
At the same moment, your own climax ripped through you, a violent shudder that left you sobbing. You felt the warmth of his cum leaking out around the sides of his shaft, mixing with your own fluids to create a slippery mess between your thighs. Neteyam collapsed on top of you, his heavy breathing making you shiver as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his skin slick with sweat.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his jagged breaths. He’s practically seeing stars but he was already maneuvering your body to face him, slowly pulling out of you so he could roll you on your back.
You mewled at his absence, spreading your legs again once you're lying on your back. He licked his lips wet as he watched you spread your legs, knowing what you want. His cock pressed against the slick and swollen lips of your pussy, and then he eased himself in, feeling every involuntary clenches your pussy is making around his girth. He lowered his head down to kiss you.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice returning to that soft, adoring tone as he caressed your slick inner thigh. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his hand moving up to softly caressed your breast, his thumb rubbing its tender tip.
You shook your head, smiling lazily, your eyes still hazy from your mind-blowing climax. “No,” you said firmly. “I loved everything you did to me. I love you, Neteyam...” you cupped his jaw, kissing him hard.
“Sure?“ he asked, his hips unconsciously moving between your legs and burying himself deeper in you.
“I’m very sure,” you grinned. “But how was it? Did you feel good?“ your palm caressed his sweaty chest.
“Good? Baby, I was seeing stars,” he chuckled, his gaze caressing yoir features for a long time, before he pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you so much it hurts."
You smiled. “I love you more, my love...” your hand slide up to his shoulder to grip his nape. “The night is long... And the promise isn’t over yet. You can still very much do what you want.”
notes healing reader, patient and kind and yearning neteyam as per usual, mentions of physical violence and trauma, ptsd, and triggers, reader is so sweet and kind in spite of it all ☹, neteyam memorizing her like the back of his hand, smut (p in v)
synopsis you had long since given up on the illusions of the old songs... the ones that spoke of honorable warriors. you had seen firsthand just how cruel and evil they could be. but just as you were giving up, someone did come, and not only did he save you from the brutal life you had been dealt, he also gave you a chance to live again... and a chance to love.
word count 15.7k
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Tonight should have been a night of life. If you were here years ago, you would have loved watching the parading warriors and the sight of the see-through fabrics dancing in the air, seemingly to rival the performance of the flames at the center of the large gathering. But with the state your life is in right now, it felt more like a funeral procession.
You sat rigidly beside your uncle, Ka’lu, your fingers digging into the rough fabric of your shawl that hides the faint purpling bruises on your arms and back. Across the central fire, the warriors of the various visiting clans were dancing their tribal dance, their movements a blur of bioluminescence and feathered attires.
The singers were singing a familiar melody, the Song of the First Flight, their voices solemn as they sang about the courage, honor, and selflessness of the great protectors. You watched the flames dance as the notes hit you like a physical blow that threatened to break away at the carefully built wall you surrounded yourself with.
You closed your eyes, and for a moment, you were not a prisoner in a diplomatic gathering. You were back at the riverbanks of your childhood, your mother braiding colorful river reeds into your hair as you talked to her about what you learned from the elders earlier that day. You’ve always been a lover of songs.
You dream of the gallant and brave warriors those songs were singing about. Your father is Olo’eyktan and a great warrior himself... Surely, he will ensure a good match for you. To a gentle and valiant man who will love and respect you as your father loved your mother.
“One day, little reed,” she had whispered in your ears, her voice soft, “a warrior with a heart as vast as the sky will come for you. He will be brave, like Toruk Makto, and he will treat you like a sacred song.”
You had believed her. Your life had been so perfect... So easy and so peaceful. You had spent your girlhood honing the skills required of a tsakarem, of a future Tsahik... Skills that will no longer be needed now. It is all useless. A sharp tug on your arm snapped you back to the present. Ka’lu leaned in, his breath smelling of fermented brew that made you stop breathing.
“Smile, child,” he hissed, his ugly voice contrast to the beautiful music. “Your future mate could look anytime. Show him the grace of a leader’s daughter, not the face of a cornered yerik.”
You looked across the fire. There he sat. The man who would soon claim you. He laughed with a boisterous, ugly sound, the very same hands that now held a cup of drink having once held the blade that ended your family’s lives. No one will come to save you. Ka’lu pretended to have saved you from that bloody night... But here he is, delivering you straight in the arms of your enemy.
You have long let go of your foolish hope in warriors. No one will come to save you. And it makes you feel even more disgusted with yourself knowing that if you ever got the strength and courage to escape Ka’lu, you know that it was still a warrior’s help you would enlist to make it happen. Honorable warriors... a cold, cynical weight settling in your chest. They do not exist.
The songs were lies. The poems were just pretty words meant to distract girls from the truth: that the world was run by greed, and honor was just a cloak men wore until it was no longer convenient. In your world, the gallant were the first to die, and the brave were those who knew how to betray their friends the fastest. Just like Ka’lu.
“I do not want to do it, uncle,” you whispered, your voice trembling but clear. “I will throw myself from the cliffs before I even think of mating him.”
Ka’lu’s grip tightened on your wrist until you winced. Ka’lu never yells... He used the weapon he knew hurts you the most. “And what of your father’s people, Y/N? The survivors? They toil in the mud of his camps. This union is the only thing that buys their food. Their lives are in your hands. Would you be so selfish as to let them starve for the sake of your pride?”
He was selling you to a murderer and convincing you it’s duty.
You stared at the flames and felt as though you were drifting. You tried to get a hold of yourself, digging your nails on the soft palms of your hands. Get a grip, you told yourself. Your eyes scanned the crowd to ground yourself, desperate and drowning, and saw a warrior coming. The man leaned forward and whispered something to your uncle, you watched how your uncle hung on every word the man said, nodding like an obedient follower.
Ka’lu didn’t even ask for your consent when he clamped a hand around your upper arm the moment the man had turned his back, hauling you toward a private pavilion. You weren’t expecting to see something great inside the confined space, but you were also so out of it that you staggered in horror at the sight of a familiar man standing there. The man, Mokri, the Olo’eyktan of the clan that had butchered yours, stood in the middle of the pavilion as if he were awaiting the arrival of a gift.
Or something to play with... might be the more appropriate term. His face was a map of poorly healed scars and his eyes were dark pits of greed. You were never one to judge people by their looks, but his outside appearance surely matched the inside. He is a monster in every sense of the word. He grinned at the sight of you, clapping his hand.
“Come, come,” Mokri croaked, beckoning you forward, and your uncle pushed you to him as gently as he could, as though you were a precious gem.
You fixed your eyes on the ground even though you kept your chin tilted high. In the periphery of your vision, you could tell that there are other men in the pavilion, each sitting on special chairs. The leaders who were gathering outside are now here, inside the pavilion, you concluded. You gritted your teeth when Mokri’s calloused fingers held your jaw to examine your face.
“Very beautiful,” he nodded at your uncle, before moving in a slow and predatory manner around you, like a viperwolf sizing up a yerik. “Take this off. Let us see your body.”
He reached out, catching the edge of your shawl. You shivered, the bile rising in your throat. You looked at Ka’lu, pleading with your eyes, but he only nodded eagerly, a sycophant’s grin plastered on his face. You reached for the clasp, your trembling fingers could barely grip the fabric.
“Is this necessary?”
The voice sounded like thunder in your ear even though it was calm. It cut through the tension, and without even looking, you could sense his authority in a room full of chieftains, as if he knows that his voice alone could command a room.
“This is only entertainment, Neteyam te Suli, don’t be so serious. Once you see her body, you’ll line up for it, too,” Mokri flashed the man a disgusting smile. “It’s for all of us.”
Your breathing hitched, trying not to heave.
“Entertainment?” The man’s voice dropped into a low chill instead of rising, the way most men’s voices do when they are angry. “Let me remind you that you were invited to this council because we believed your clan now seeks the path of peace. We are here to talk of trade and peace among our people, not to witness the harassment of a woman, which all of us here do not condone.”
You sensed the man walk closer until he is only a few paces away from the center of the pavilion.
“You are on probation. Surely, you remember, Mokri?” The man pressed; and you watched, with satisfaction, how Mokri couldn’t even speak. “Get her out of here.” You heard the man say, and he seemed to be talking to Ka’lu, because your uncle glanced at Mokri.
“Who are you to order a man who answers to me?” Mokri, havjng found his tongue, demanded. “You are not even Olo’eyktan! Your father just sent you!”
“I am still part of the council that gave you a chance to belong again, which you are now disrespecting with your behavior,” the man answered, and for some reason, you were feeling a surge of strength from hearing someone refuse to back down to a person like Mokri. “I speak on things I do not like, and I do not like what this situation is inferring. Do you traffic women, too, Mokri? Is this what you do?”
Your heart thrummed against your ribs. Mokri looked between you and the man behind you, his ego warring with the political weight of the man’s words. For a moment, you saw anxiety on his monstrous face and you wanted to rejoice.
“Take that woman to my yurt,” Mokri barked at Ka’lu, conceding the public battle but claiming the private one.
As Ka’lu began to drag you toward the exit, the stranger’s voice stopped you one last time. “Are you here of your own will, woman?”
For a heartbeat, you found the courage to look at him. Turning your head to the stranger who had so courageously stopped your humiliation. He looked young among the chieftains. He was taller than most men here, and broader, too. Your eyes caught the cummerbund he was wearing and knew he was Omatikaya, your childhood knowledge of the clans and their telltales serving you.
His golden eyes were intense on you, searching. No one had looked at you like that in so long. “No, help—”
“She is! I am her uncle, she is just overwhelmed by the honor!” Ka’lu barked in panic, shoving you out.
The moment Ka’lu had dragged you to the yurt, the world exploded into pain. The back of his palm cracked across your face, sending you sprawling into the dirt.
“You do not speak!” he hissed, his face contorted with rage. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Neteyam has made Mokri look like a fool in front of the entire Great Council! He will take that humiliation out on me, and on your people!”
“He was... he was going to strip me,” you whispered.
“And you should have let him!” Ka’lu barked, grabbing your hair to force you to look at him. “Now, Mokri is enraged. If he loses his seat on this council, who knows what he might do! He will kill you just like he killed your family!” He hauled you up and shoved you inside a dark yurt. “You will stay here. I will go back and try to mend this. If Mokri mounts you tonight, you will be silent. You will be obedient. You will give him whatever he asks for to make up for the shame you caused him.”
“Uncle, please—”
“I am not your uncle!” he spat, tying the flap shut from the outside. “I am the only reason you are still breathing. Don't make me regret it.”
You struggled to breathe. This yurt might just be the witness to the death of your honor. Or your death itself, if Mokri thinks it appropriate. Your breathing was jagged, hiccuping in your struggle to take in air as much as you can, collapsing against the fiber wall, hyperventilating. The songs of the festival outside sounded like they were mocking you.
You will never know the peace they sing of. You will never be free again. You will never feel the love they chanted about. You wished you would just die here. You prayed, that if you shall never know all those great things again, then the Great Mother should just take your breath altogether so that you may escape this fear, pain, and humiliation. You propped a hand on the ground, your fingers brushing against something sharp on the floor. Your brows furrowed.
A tool? You scrambled to get it. Feeling a small, jagged blade in your fingers. Your lips parted. Oh, Great Mother. Your grief finally curdled into a cold, desperate resolve. You felt the fiber. It was thick, but it was aged. With the knife in your trembling hand, you began to saw at the base of the wall. You worked until your fingers bled, until the hole was wide enough for your slender frame. You squeezed through, and then you were out, facing the dark, looming shadows of the forest.
You ran.
You didn't have a plan. You didn't have a home. But still, you ran until your lungs burned and until the thorns of the undergrowth shredded your feet. You were uncaring of everything. You wished only to get away, to live your life as you did before, to know what it’s like to be free once again. You rounded a massive, glowing root and collided with something solid, but you knew it was not a tree trunk.
The impact sent you reeling. You fell back, your strength finally spent, and let out a broken, jagged sob. You covered your face with your hands, waiting for Ka’lu’s voice, waiting for the blow to fall. They had caught up on you!
“Hey—whoa! Watch it!” The voice was young and startled, not the croak of your uncle.
“Please,” you gasped, crawling backward on your hands and knees, your voice thick with hysteria. “Please, don't take me back there. Kill me if you must, but don't take me back to him!”
The man stepped into the light of a glowing plant and you saw that his eyes were wide in genuine shock as he took in your appearance. The blood, the bruises, and the sheer, raw terror on your face. “Take you back?” He asked, his hands hovering near you, unsure where to touch without hurting you. “I’m not taking you anywhere you don’t want to go. Sister, what happened to you?”
At the word sister, a term of kin and respect, the last of your composure shattered. You reached out, grabbing his arms with a death grip. “Save me,” you choked out. “Please. Help me. Don’t let them kill me...”
The man looked back toward the camp, his jaw setting. “Sister, you are safe.”
A sob racked your body, your trembling hands finding purchase on his arms but the sheer exhaustion, the nonstop crying, and the pain forced your world to go black. You drifted into a dreamless sleep, but it was uncomfortable and hot, you were sweating, and when your eyes finally fluttered open, the first thing you felt was the suffocating heat and the scratchy texture of dried mats against your skin.
You were in a large, rectangular crate, buried beneath layers of woven mat. For a panicked second, you thought you were back in the yurt, but you felt too weak and dizzy that you couldn't even push the lid open even as you tried. You gasped for air, the crate was so crowded and hot that you felt as though you’re close to fainting. You heard muffled voices of men and you stopped breathing loudly.
“What are you talking about?” you heard a man’s voice. “Lo’ak, I have something more important to attend to. I told you, we need to find that woman before they do!”
“This is just as important. Like you said, there is probably a trafficking of women going on. I’m going to show you something,” another voice said. “And please, don’t get mad. I only did what I must.”
You heard the footsteps coming, and then silence. You held your breath until you heard a soft knock.
“Hey... You awake?” You heard a small voice. “Uh, you’re safe don’t worry... I was just— I’m with my brother. Don’t worry, he’s a good guy.” he assured you, still tapping on the lid. “Can I open this? Or maybe you should, if you feel safe.”
“What is this, Lo’ak?” You heard another voice, deep and gravelly.
“Shh! Can you shut up for a moment?” The first voice said. “Hey... I’ll open the lid. Tap it if you don’t want me to open it.”
You didn’t do as he asked, you cannot even do it. You are too dizzy and your limbs felt too heavy. The lid of your crate was wrenched open, and the sudden influx of bright light attacked you, making you squint, a weak moan escaping your lips as you tried to shield your eyes with a bruised arm.
“Here, I have water. Drink.”
You peeled your eyes open, your hands shaking so violently as you reached for the waterskin that you dropped it before you even opened it, making you groan weakly. You felt another presence loom and you made the effort you move your head, your blurry vision focusing on a familiar face. You saw him reach down, his large, calloused hand wrapping a hand on you your wrist, making you flinch despite your weakened state.
“She’s burning, Lo’ak,” he said, turning to the man beside him.
Your eyes followed the way his braids swayed when he moved, and when he turned to you again, his face was a mask of genuine worry, no longer the face of the stoic warrior who stood in the pavilion. You were curled inside the small crate, your bioluminescent freckles flickering weakly. The purple-black bruising on your face and arms stood out starkly against your pale blue skin. You looked less like a woman and more like a broken yerik discarded in the trash.
Neteyam felt as though the air had been kicked from his lungs. He recognized you. The woman from the pavilion, the woman Mokri is currently looking for. Neteyam’s mind raced back to the chaos after you exited the pavilion. He had confronted Ka’lu about the truth when he came back in minutes later, nearly beating the truth out of the coward. Ka’lu had stammered about you being his niece, and assured him you were safe and were not being sold, but when Neteyam forced him to the yurt to prove your safety, they found only the jagged hole in the woven wall.
That alone told him that Ka’lu was not telling the truth at all, and the fact that you forced your way out of the yurt meant you were not safe. He initially planned to leave last night, to lead the Omatikaya warriors back home, to refuse to continue attending the council Mokri had just disrespected. The other chieftains themselves agreed that no talks of peace and trade can be done after what just happened. But he also couldn't leave knowing that a woman was out there being pursued by Mokri. Who knows what he would have done with you once he catches you.
Now, seeing you crumpled in this crate, the guilt was a bitter taste. He should have gone all out in his intervention last night. He had already asked you, he shouldn’t have ordered Ka’lu to get you out of the pavilion. He reached out again, and your eyes fluttered, your brain too wired to the fact that a hand near your face would mean a slap or a punch, but his touch was soft as it traced the edge of the deep bruise on your cheek.
“Lo’ak, take charge of the warriors,” he commanded, his voice filled with a rare rage. “I am taking her ahead. She needs to get checked by Tsahik.“
He let out a sharp, piercing whistle, and within moments, the beating of massive wings spiraling down fanned the nearby plants, sending it dancing before the beast landed with a heavy thud. Neteyam didn't waste another second on words. He reached into the crate, sliding his arms beneath your knees and back. As he lifted you, he winced at how light you were, adjusting his hold when you let out a pained whimper, your head falling weakly against his chest.
Even through your delirium, you felt the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat, as if lulling you to sleep, but when he mounted the beast with practiced grace, and pulled you tightly against his chest, you can’t help but wrap a hand around his bicep, afraid you’ll fall.
“I got you,” he murmured against your temple, his grip strong yet impossibly careful.
With a powerful leap, the ikran took to the vast sky, and for the first time in years, your world was endless.
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For days, you drifted in and out of sleep, your mind only registering the warm glow of a tent thick with the smell of familiar herbs and incense. Your fever was so high you no longer recognize what’s true and what was made up by your mind during the hours you were delirious.
When you finally awoke, it was to the steady glow of a hanging firepot. You felt lighter, your head and your body devoid of the aching that has been there for years. Your vision eventually cleared, and you noticed a young woman sitting nearby, humming a low melody. You tensed when she turned, but then you saw her eyes, kind and curious, and you calmed down.
“You are finally back with us,” she said, her voice gentle. She raised a hand and your eyes caught the five fingers, causing you to dip your body further to the mats. She has five fingers! She noticed your reaction and chuckled. “Oh, sorry. I’m just going to check if you still have fever. Can I?”
You bit your lip and stayed still. “Sorry...” you muttered.
She smiled, touching your forehead with the back of her hand. “Your fever has finally broken,” she said. “I’m Kiri, by the way...”
You smiled, telling her your name as you tried to sit up. You have lots of questions but when she offered you a piece of sweet fruit and a waterskin, you ate with a desperation that surprised you, the water reviving your parched throat. The drops they had given you while you were asleep did almost nothing, but it at least kept you alive.
Just as you finished, a small figure bursted into the tent, but she skidded to a halt when she saw you already sitting up. It was a young girl with wide golden eyes and large ears, her face full of wonder automatically makinh you smile.
“Hi!” she chirped, her eyes wide. “May I ask you a question?” she asked boldly, stepping closer.
You nodded curiously, watching her take a seat across from you.
“Well, you slept really long... And my friends and I wished to know... Uhm, did you die?”
“Tuk!” Kiri reprimanded but the child was hanging on your every word.
You chuckled. “No, little one. I was just very sick.”
“Oh,” she seemed disappointed. “I'm Tuk,” the girl said, before squinting at you. “Was your hair always that way?”
You were still smiling, but your head tilted. “That way?“
“It's not black like ours.”
You touched the dark auburn strands of your hair, a trait of your father's family. “Yes, it has always been this way.”
Tuk sighed dramatically, falling back on the floor. “I wish mine would change color once I’m grown... But I guess I have to love what Eywa has given me.”
You can’t help but smile, remembering how dramatic you were about your life as well. Her innocence was a balm to your wounded soul. You were about to respond when a tall shadow darkened the entrance, making you swivel your head to its direction.
Your heart stuttered. The warrior from the pavilion.
“Neteyam!” Tuk cried out. “She’s awake!”
“So I see,” he murmured, his eyes already on you. His gaze was intense, scanning you with a mixture of relief and something that made your skin tingle.
You tore your eyes away, but also remembered that you owe him. You are on his mercy. Besides, you have something to request! You forced yourself to stand, though your legs still feel shaky. He stepped forward instinctively, his hands twitching as if ready to catch you but you stood properly.
“Warrior,” you began, your voice trembling but determined. “I owe you my life. I thank you for the mercy you showed me at the council and for bringing me here.” You swallowed hard, your eyes pleading. “If I may, I want to ask for refuge. Please, do not send me back. I will work. I can work very hard, I promise. I know herbs and I know how to heal, I— I was trained as a healer. I can also take care of kids, I know many songs! I can weave, too, warrior. I will serve you and your people in any way I can, I promise. Just don’t send me back.”
You went on, your words tumbling out in a frantic procession of promises, desperate to prove your worth so you wouldn't be discarded. When you finally ran out of breath, silence stretched between you. Neteyam stood frozen, his golden eyes unblinking, his lips slightly parted. He looked entirely speechless, as if you had cast a spell over him.
“Warrior?” you whispered, wondering if you had said something wrong.
His head snapped back slightly, as though waking from a trance. Tuk giggled beside you. “You have no reason to fear,” he said, his voice regaining its steady depth as his kind eyes held yours. “You are safe here. My father and the Tsahik have granted you sanctuary. I will never send you back. You may stay as long as you wish.”
Relief washed over you so sharply you nearly wept. “Oh, thank you. I will make sure I am of use, I—”
“Focus on your recovery,” he interrupted gently, tilting his head. “In the Omatikaya, we do not weigh a person by what they can produce. You are not a servant here.”
Before you could insist, an older woman with an intimidating presence entered. The Tsahik of the Omatikaya. Mo’at. She looked at you with eyes that seemed to see through you. You have a vast knowledge of the clans, from what was taught when you were a child, but you supposed many things have changed since your family fell.
“You are awake, daughter of Rikahe,” she stated.
Your lips curled in a soft smile, watching her with misty eyes, moved by the mention of your father’s family name. “How did you know, Tsahik?” you asked softly.
She carefully touched your hair. “No one can see that hair and not think of your father’s line,“ she said, her hand hovering over your neck to feel your skin. “Your fever has broken... But you must rest and gain your energy before you work on what you bargain for with Neteyam,” she narrowed her eyes at you. “Although there is no need for you to overwork yourself to prove you are worthy to stay here.”
You bit your lip and nodded. You’ve done nothing but work hard in the past years that you know of nothing else but that.
“Neteyam, see to it that she is comfortable,” Mo’at commanded, her voice echoing with a finality that brooked no argument. “She is our guest, but soon, she will be one of the People. You shall be her guide in this journey.”
You looked at her. You will be one of them? Your lips parted as you tried not to show too much excitement. Meanwhile, Mo’at’s side glances at her grandson, remembering the fire in him just a few days prior, a side of Neteyam she had rarely seen. Usually the dutiful and obedient son who followed the word of his parents and the elders for as long as they make sense, he had shocked the council when the elders had whispered of “political complications” and the danger of harboring the daughter of a slaughtered clan, and Neteyam hadn't backed down.
He stood his ground when he challenged the elders, his face etched with a rare disappointment. “Is this who we are?” he had asked them, his eyes flashing with firmness. “Do we weigh the life of a person against our comfort? If we send her back to be killed or enslaved, we are no better than the ones who wielded the blade.” It was the first time he had ever truly defied the council, showing a conviction that even his father watched with quiet pride.
“Neteyam,” Mo’at said, snapping the warrior out of his silent observation of you. “She is under your care. Teach her our ways, and ensure she knows that under this canopy, she is protected.”
Neteyam bowed his head, his ears twitching slightly. “I will, Grandmother.”
As the Tsahik exited the tent, Tuk chased after her and Kiri smiled as she followed them out. You turned to Neteyam and smiled. “I’m sorry... I believe it is a particulatly heavy burden, but also, too small of a job for you. I think, I could talk to Tsahik and ask that one of your recommended warriors would do—”
“Do you not trust my expertise on this, lady?” he asked, his voice laced with humor, and yet it made you panic.
Your eyes widened, shaking your head. “I cannot possibly doubt your expertise, warrior—”
Neteyam stepped closer, and your foot stupidly stepped back, your body reacting as if it’s bracing for anything. Your chest deflated when you saw him stop, his eyes watching you carefully... And then you saw the moment realization dawned in them. It made you feel flayed.
“Sorry,” you said, stopping your face from crumpling in embarrassment.
“Sorry, what for?” he asked, and it made you feel even worse.
“I... I don’t know,” you said, visibly agitated in your fear that you might upset him.
“I told you that you were safe,” he said simply, his voice low and melodic. “No one can hurt you here. I will not allow it.”
You stared at him and nodded, your eyes heating up a little bit. You thought of your brothers. Your fierce, laughing brothers who had died defending the clan, and wondered if they would have grown to be as gallant as this man. If they had lived, perhaps they would have stood with the same quiet strength, shielding the weak not because they were ordered to, but because their hearts demanded it.
“Rest now,” Neteyam whispered. “I’ll show you around the Hometree once you’re okay.”
You spent one more day in the sanctuary of the Tsahik’s tent, just lying down and regaining your strength, eating the best fruits and food. Kiri returned often to change your bandages, her presence calm and grounding that you found yourself stalling her for conversation. You’d found that she was Neteyam’s sister, and Tuk, too.
She mentioned a brother named Lo’ak, and you are familiar with the name. He was the man who saved you that night. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him yet since I woke up,” you asked softly, your hands deft as you helped her with the herbs.
“Oh, he’s out! Again. Lo’ak is a free spirit. He volunteers for missions a lot. Dad sent him to the Metkayina this time,” she said. “You’ve met him?”
You nodded. “Yes. He saved me,” you said, your voice filled of gratitude.
Kiri smiled softly, and you could see the pride blooming on her face for her brothers. When the morning arrived, Neteyam appeared at the entrance of the Tsahik’s tent while you were busy helping Kiri with the herbs again.
“Hey,” he greeted, not fully entering the tent, just his head popping into the entrance, nodding at Kiri before his eyes snapped back to you.
“Hello,” you said, smiling a little, standing up and wiping your palms against your loincloth.
“I promised I’d show you around the Hometree, but your kelku was finished just in time. Would you like to see it?“ he asked, a small exciyed smile touching his lips.
Your lips parted in surprise. “My kelku?” you asked.
“Yeah. You’ll see,” he said. “Come.” he remained standing by the entrance, waiting for you to come.
You walked toward him, stepping out of the tent. He led you out of the platform, but only then did you realize where you are. You let out a sharp, jagged gasp, your knees buckling as you looked down. You were positive you were in the sky, you couldn’t even see the ground, only a vast view of vibrant greens and giant ferns. Instinct took over; you lunged toward the nearest solid thing, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of Neteyam’s arm.
“It’s... it’s too high,” you choked out, your heart hammering like a trapped creature.
Neteyam pursed his lips to stifle a chuckle, steadying you with a gentle hand on your waist. “Look at me,” he said and you peered up at him, biting your lower lip and gripping his arm so tightly your fingernails dug into his skin. “Have you not lived on a Hometree before?”
You shook your head. “We are river people... And when I was enslaved, we lived in the plains. I’ve never been on a tree this high before,” your brows furrowed, your eyes snagging on how tightly you were holding his arm. You let go, your eyes widening at the sight of the reddened marks on his arm. You gasped and caressed the spot softly. “I’m so sorry. I was being mindless! I’m sorry—”
“Don’t say sorry, it’s nothing,” he said, his hand catching yours. “Can you look down again? I mean, you can’t always be afraid of heights... Not when you’ll be living here. Aside from that, you’ll have to tame an ikran for yourself, too...” he murmured, his chest vibrating against your shoulder.
You bit your lip again, your hand dropping onto his forearm, while his hand still spanned your waist. You saw it as a good sign that you had not made a big deal of him being so close to you. You looked at the never-ending view of the greens below, feeding your eyes and letting yourself welcome the sensory stimulation of the misty breeze against your skin.
You are given a new life, you told yourself. You owe it to yourself to be brave again. You owe it to Neteyam not to give him a hard time as he helps you. You closed your eyes for a moment, forcing the air into your lungs and letting the scent of moss ground you. When you opened them again, you looked past the terrifying drop and focused on the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy.
“It is... beautiful,” you whispered, finally loosening your death grip on his arm. You turned to him with a shy, determined smile. “I will learn, I promise. I’ll walk these branches day and night so that I’ll get used to it. I really want to stay.”
Neteyam’s gaze caressed your determined features and his expression softened. “Take it slow—”
A sudden shout paces away made him stop and made you swivel your head, and your newfound bravery was short-lived. A shriek tore from your throat. Your survival instincts, honed by years of trauma, sent you leaping backward again, straight into Neteyam’s arms. You hiked a leg up instinctively, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing left in the world. Neteyam caught you with practiced ease, his hand firm against your thigh to keep you steady while his other arm wrapped around your back, pulling you flush against his chest.
“Spider,” Neteyam greeted, his voice calm, though he made no move to put you down.
“Whoa! Didn't mean to scare the guest!” The lively voice called out.
You peered over Neteyam’s shoulder, your breath hitching. Standing on a nearby branch was a creature you had never seen. His skin was pale, you had nothing to compared it with, and he wore a strange transparent mask over his face. He moved with the agility you’ve seen from Tuk, but he looked... different.
You pressed yourself further into Neteyam, hiding your face on his shoulder.
“Calm down,” Neteyam hushed, his voice low against your ear. He gently cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so you were forced to meet his steady golden eyes. “He is a friend. A brother to me, Lo’ak, and Kiri.” He spoke slowly, as if soothing a frightened yerik. “He looks different because he is a human.”
“Human?” you repeated, the word tasting strange on your tongue.
“I will explain it all later,” he promised, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “For now, just know that Spider is good. He is one of us.”
Reluctantly, you nodded. Spider offered a lopsided grin, his initial boisterousness softening into a quiet greeting. As the three of you walked toward your new home, Spider proved to be a chatterbox, telling you abouy how he was around when you were brought here. His energy was infectious, and by the time you reached your kelku, your earlier fear had faded into a buzzing curiosity.
Meanwhile, your kelku was a dream. It was small and intimate, nestled in a curve of the tree that offered a private view of the nearby river. You spent a long time just watching it, whispering and promising that you’d pay it a visit soon. For the first time in many years, you had a space that wasn't a cage. You saw soft furs and colorful tapestries piled on the side and when you kneeled to check it, your found various loinclothes and tops mixed there, too.
You looked back to Neteyam with an excited smile and he tilted his head, saying, “It’s a gift.”
“This is quite a lot...“ you said, “but thank you. I mean, I have nothing coming here.” You bit your lip and stood up, glancing at Spider climbing a nearby vine. “I wish to see the weavers...”
He nodded, offering a hand which you took and he led you through the winding pathways toward the looms, sharing with you the history of his family, telling you that his father used to be a human... like Spider.
Your brows furrowed. “This, I’ve heard of. My mother used to tell me the story... She said, my father fought with Toruk Makto in his war... And that he is different.”
Neteyam smiled. “Perhaps, he is. He chose to be one of us, chose to fight for my mother and our people...“ he said.
You smiled at the thought, but you were too curious. You asked many questions, and in the end, he told you about Avatars whose origins he perfectly explained that you understood despite never seeing what technology he was talking about, and the world suddenly felt much larger and kinder than the one you had escaped.
“I should bring you to where Spider lives sometime. You’ll see it there,” he said.
When you reached the weaving looms, the familiar click-clack of the shuttles brought a surge of nostalgia. You ran your fingers over the fibers, your eyes sparkling. “Is the river I can see outside my kelku easy to reach by foot?” you asked, smiling.
“Yes... Why?” he asked slowly.
You smiled shyly. “If I could, I want to go there and see if I find the same reeds we used to collect back home. It creates good fabric and I can make them here...” you said.
Neteyam leaned against a wooden pillar, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “I will take you to the water.”
You could barely sleep the entire night at the thought of seeing the river, and the moment the morning light shifted inside the walls of your kelku, your eyes fluttered open. You fixed your hair. It’s too long now, reaching almost to your hips, and a little wavy as opposed to your mother’s pin-straight hair.
The people of the Omatikaya were fond of braids, but you wanted to keep yours unbounded for now. Neteyam arrived not long after you’ve fixed yourself and you smiled at his genuine surprise upon seeing you ready for the day. “Sorry, I was too excited,“ you said in a shy murmur.
His brows furrowed, his eyes watching you carefully. “You have nothing to say sorry for,” he replied, his hand slowly rising in the air, palms up.
You stared at it and he tilted his head, as if waiting for you to put yours over his hand so you did. He smiled and gently squeezed it before he led you through the branches. The trek down the Hometree proved to be a challenge, and perhaps, if you hadn’t pushed yourself through several obstacles, you two wouldn't reach the ground in less than an hour.
But once you were on the ground, you moved with a quiet, frantic energy that Neteyam had to work to match. He couldn't help but huff a chuckle as you skipped through the foliage, only looking back once you realized he’s lagging behind. It wasn’t a long walk at all, and he said there was even a switchback leading to the river directly, making you even more excited at the prospect of going there alone.
And when you hear the distant roar of the falls and saw the morning light openly graze the waters, your breath hitched in your throat. The river stretched out before you, a winding ribbon of water shimmering as it reflected rhe morning light. It was home.
Neteyam stopped at the edge of the bank, but you kept going. You sank to your knees slowly, as if the ground were made of fragile fiber, and when your fingers finally broke the water’s surface, you sighed, letting the current glide over your palms, your touch light and reverent. You closed your eyes and tried to imagine your brothers’ laughter.
You have the river now. But there was no one to splash.
A broken sob escaped your throat. You were glad Neteyam didn’t walk closer, glad that no one would see you cry at something as simple as seeing a river. You let the tears fall, hot and fast, to be washed away by the cool stream. You sniffed and panicked a little when you heard him behind you, though, trying to quickly wipe the tears off your cheeks.
“It’s cold,” you whispered, your voice thick with years of grief. “My father used to say the river was the blood of the Great Mother, always moving, always washing away the old so the new could breathe.”
You lifted a handful of water, watching it spill back into the river like liquid gems. Neteyam stood behind you, his posture rigid. He had seen warriors weep after battle and children cry for their mothers, but he had never seen a soul look so fragile and so ancient all at once. He looked at the faint scars on your back, the fading bruises on your arms, and the healing wounds on your legs and feet, the way you clung to the water, perhaps the only thing that had not betrayed you that which reminds you of your home, sent a surge of raw, primal protectiveness through him.
It was a physical ache in his chest.
“If this were a dream, I should never want to wake up,” you chuckled heartily.
His breathing hitched, his foot stepping forward involuntarily. “You aren't dreaming, Y/N,” he said, finally stepping beside you, “The river is real. And it is yours again.”
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Moons had passed since you had first stepped out onto the high branches of the Hometree. In that time, Neteyam had watched over you with a mixture of awe and concern. You were very determined to learn, and when you said you’d walk the branches day and night to force yourself to accept the dizzying height, you actually did it, that by the end of the first week, you had memorized the labyrinthine pathways of Hometree as if you had been born among them
He didn’t know whether to scold you, or to look at the elders in the council with pride, whenever he hears of a random Omatikaya speaking about how you were always the first to step at the looms, before the sun has even risen, your fingers flying through the fabrics that needed working, while also doing your own little projects with the reeds you had gathered from the river.
Which is another problem of his. You’d memorized your way to the river alone, and some days, that’s where he finds you after frantically looking for you all over the Hometree.
But the progress was deceptive.
There were fluctuations in your behavior that only he seems to notice. Kiri had told him to give you time and Spider had assured him you were simply finding your footing. But no, it keeps him awake at night. One moment, you were a determined and fierce trainee, unflinching and prepared to do what he says. The next, he would reach out to adjust your stance, and you would flinch so violently it was as if he held a knife instead of a guiding hand.
He had spoken to both Mo’at and Norm, trying to get the perspectives of different people if there was any way he could help you. “She is safe here. I would never hurt her, I thought she knows that, but then... Sometimes she looks at me like I am the enemy.”
"The body remembers what the mind tries to forget, Neteyam," Mo’at had told him. "You cannot outrun a shadow. You can only shine enough light to make it disappear."
Meanwhile, Norm had rambled about the mechanisms of trauma and how it makes the body’s memory clash with the thinking brain. You may intellectually know that you are safe, but your body braces for danger because it has been trained to. None of what he has heard helped ease the tightness in his chest, but at least now, he understands what’s going on. All he needed was more patience, more vigilance, especially now that you’re starting to make friends in the clan.
Norm has mentioned about triggers, so he always made sure to have his eyes on you. And this hyper-vigilance he practiced for your safety had, unintentionally, turned into a different kind of obsession. In his desire to look out for a flinch or a trigger, he had become an expert on the smallest, most intimate details of you.
He noticed the exact way your eyes lit up at the sight of utumauti, a fruit you’d grown to like, which he’d quietly ensured was always available to you, despite the arduous nature of getting it. He saw the rhythmic wag of your tail whenever Tuk made you laugh, a sound that he had begun to crave like a parched man craves the river.
Even your hair... That unique, dark auburn curtain... seemed to haunt him. He watched it sway behind you on the branches, or worse, how it would drape over your shoulder, the heavy strands occasionally molding over the curve of your breasts in a way that made him wrestle himself at night. He had never been the type of warrior to linger on the physical forms of the women in the clan. He was the dutiful son, the disciplined leader.
But now?
He was noticing how shapely your thighs were as you climbed and the mesmerizing swirl of the stripes on your face, and your freckles that seemed to glow just a little brighter when you were happy.
It was driving him absolutely insane.
He felt like a creep. He was supposed to be your protector, the one person you could trust completely without fear of being ‘looked at’ as a prize. Yet, here he was, ogling your legs and tracing the lines of your body with his eyes when he thought no one was looking.
The guilt was a heavy weight in his chest. To punish himself, he had placed himself under a strict, self-imposed vow of restraint. He refused to touch himself at all, terrified that the moment he closed his eyes in the dark, your face would be the only thing he saw. Just the fleeting thought of your hands on him was enough to make him brick up almost instantly. It was a physical ache.
He would spend his nights desperately trying to count the stems of the branches he could see to drown out the image of your auburn hair fanned out across his furs.
Fortunately, these thoughts do not follow him when he’s with you, or else, he’d have to beat himself up to straighten his act. He found that you were naturally gifted at throwing, and you’d told him it was a hobby your brothers had, so he focused on that. He watched as you arranged the small knives he got you, its small body shaped like an arrow’s tip, but its handle was wrapped with a wounding fiber like a tree vine, ending in a circular ring.
You seemed particularly vibrant today, your auburn hair tied back to reveal the graceful line of your neck. He tried to focus on your form as you picked a single knife, your body leaning back, muscles in your thighs tensing as you prepared to launch.
“Good form,” he managed to say, his voice sounding raspier than usual, when your knife hit the bull’s eye.
“I’ve been practicing the flick of the wrist like you showed me,” you said, turning to him with an easy, bright smile that made his heart do a somersault. “Was it good?”
You stepped closer to show him your grip, and the scent of you hit him like a physical blow. He stared down at your hand on the knife, then up at your eyes, which were lit with joy. You had such sad eyes when you first got here, that even when you smiled a lot then, it didn’t reach your eyes. Meanwhile, now, you looked like you were finally, truly happy.
“Yes,” he choked out, smiling at you. “You're doing fine.”
You nodded, still smiling, turning to your work.
A few days later, as the midday sun bathe the Hometree with shifting light, Neteyam made his way back from the forest patrol. Usually, his mind was occupied with the security of the borders or the reports for his father, but these days, his thoughts were a frantic tether leading straight back to you.
He found you not at the looms, nor at the Tsahik’s tent, but by the mossy banks of the river. And you were surrounded.
A toddler was currently attempting to climb your back while Tuk, ever the dedicated assistant in the matters of anything concerning fun, performed a dramatic mimicry of a palulukan to keep the child giggling. In your arms, you cradled a small boy, the mother of both children had fallen ill with a fever. You held the baby tenderly, your thumb tracing the small curve of the boy’s ear as you fed him a mash of softened fruit.
You have grown in the hearts of the people, that much is clear. They had taken to calling you sister without you having claimed your ikran yet. He didn’t know whether to be happy about that, or be worried about you overworking yourself. You help with the weavers every day and still find time to help Kiri at the Tsahik’s tent, and train with him. You often take care of kids when needed, and here you are now, occupied with them.
He called out your name, his voice tinged with a worry he couldn't mask, but you looked up at him, your auburn hair catching the light as you offered him an effortless smile.
“Neteyam!” Tuk greeted merrily, jumping and showing him the toddler by lifting the girl by her head.
“Tuk!” you softly called out, and Neteyam took the toddler from Tuk’s hands, both of you stopping yourselves from laughing.
He put the uncaring toddler down on the ground again, kneeling beside you, his eyes scanning your face for signs of exhaustion. “Kiri said you were at the looms since before the first light, and now this? When was the last time you ate? Or sat still without a child or a shuttle in your hands?”
You let out a melodic laugh, the sound warming his chest. “Oh, it’s alright, Neteyam, believe me. I am not hungry, and the children are no bother at all. They are a gift.”
“She’s been telling me stories about the river monsters!” Tuk piped up, finally collapsing onto the moss next to the toddler. “She says they have teeth the size of my head!”
Neteyam listened to his sister’s retelling of your tales, reaching into his pack and pulling out a wrap of dried meat and an utumauti fruit he’d spent his morning patrol getting. He simply began peeling the fruit with his hunting knife, his movements precise and quiet.
“Eat,” he commanded gently, holding a piece out to you.
You chuckled, trying to reach for it despite the baby’s surprisingly strong grip around your fingers. He paused, his golden eyes flickering down to your lips and then back to your eyes. The closeness was dangerous for him, but his concern for your health won out. With a hand that trembled only slightly, he held the fruit to your mouth.
You bit into the fruit, your eyes softening as the sweetness hit your tongue. For a moment, the world felt incredibly small, just the sound of the river, the babble of the children, and the steady, protective presence of the man who had promised you safety and delivered.
“Thank you. You are the kindest,” you teased after swallowing, your tail giving a slow, contented wag behind you.
“And you are the most stubborn,” he countered, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he watched a stray drop of juice linger on your lower lip. He quickly looked away, handing a piece of fruit to a pleading Tuk to distract himself. But as long as you are safe and fed, I suppose I can live with it, he thought.
But the peace of the riverbank was a fragile thing.
Neteyam had known the moment he saw you that morning. The way you held your shoulders too high, the way your eyes darted toward every sudden shadow, that you sleep had been unkind. Even he was surprised with how attuned to you he is now that he could sense every talltale. You were back in the dark, and though you moved through the Hometree with your usual efficiency, you seemed like you were bracing for a blow.
By the time you reached the training grounds, the air between you was brittle. During times like this, he’s learned not to speak or move too much, and if it were necessary at all, he’d speak softly and approach you when you’re looking. He watched you grab a cluster of your small knives, and silently began to hurl them.
The knives hit the target so well, he would have felt a heavy heat swirl in his guts, if only you weren’t so obviously troubled. Your rhythm broke. Your face contorted, your lips peeling back over your teeth in a snarl that looked more like a mask of fury than a determined expression. Your aims became wild, the knives thudding into the wood with a frantic, desperate violence.
“Hey…” he called out softly, sensing your anger. You didn't hear him, you reached for another cluster of knives, your breath coming in jagged, animalistic hitches. “Hey!” he said more firmly, stepping into your space.
As he reached out to catch your arms and still your frantic movements, you swiveled with a speed that startled him. You shoved him back, your hands slamming into his chest.
“I hate you! I hate you!” you shrieked, your voice a raw, agonizing sound he had never heard from you. “You killed my family! You killed them all! I hate you! May Eywa strike you down!”
You weren't seeing Neteyam. You were seeing Mokri’s scarred face; you were seeing Ka’lu’s. You rained blows against his chest, your face a fury of grief and hatred, tears rolling down your cheeks. Neteyam didn't stop your blows and shoves, allowing you to let it out, absorbing your pain and your rage, letting you strike him until your strength finally began to fail.
As your knees buckled, threatening to turn you into a puddle on the floor, he caught you. He hauled you against him, wrapping his massive arms around you in a crushingly tight embrace, shielding you from the images in your own head.
“I wanted to kill him, Neteyam…” you sobbed, the words muffled against his skin, your body shaking with the force of your heartbreak. “I want to kill him and I feel like I am as evil as he is… because I want to kill them all.”
Neteyam held you tighter, his own face crumpled in a reflection of your agony. He cradled your head against his chest, his cheek pressed against your hair, hoping his embrace could calm the terror in you.
“To kill him will not make you evil, Y/N,” he murmured. “It will only be justice. And until that day comes, you do not have to carry it alone. I am here.”
He pulled back just a little, his arm still wrapped around you as the other lifted so his large hand could cup your jaw. His golden eyes looked into yours, and you were left wondering how it could be possible for a pair of eyes to be so genuine, so kind, and so... full of adoration, to also hold hardness and a thirst for blood in it.
“Do you understand? I am with you. I will not only share your burden, I will carry it for you.”
Your breathing staggered. You couldn’t quite place the lightness you were feeling at the moment, having let go of at least half of the burden you had carried for a long time, and seeing that instead of recoiling from the darkness you had shown, Neteyam chose to stand with you where you are. And only then, you’d realized how long he had known where you were standing, and how long he had been standing with you.
You could hardly breathe with the relief you were feeling. You looked at him, your eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, but for the first time since you had woken up this morning, your heart felt light. You didn’t know what came over you, but he was so close that you cannot help but lean your forehead against his, a gesture you loved doing to any of your family.
“Thank you, Neteyam...” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
He’s no longer breathing, not when it’s already taking so much of his strength not to shiver as your forehead softly pressed to his, your lips a breath away. It seemed too intimate a gesture, something he had always seen his parents do. Oh, Great Mother, he thought. He wants to kiss you. To feel how soft your lips are... And to wound his fingers into your soft hair.
“You make me wonder what would have happened if my brothers were still alive...” you said, smiling softly.
He didn’t understand what you said at first, he was too busy indulging himself looking at your face this close, but his head jerked a little when he realized what you just said. What the hell did you just say? You pulled away unwittingly, your hand on his arm squeezing to once again thank him, but for him, it was you comforting him because you just likened him to your brothers.
Your brothers!
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Lo’ak’s booming laughter filled the secluded hut, his hand slapping his knee as he doubled over. Next to him, Spider was laughing so hard he had to lean against a wooden pillar just to stay upright. Meanwhile, Neteyam’s eyes fixed on the flickering light of the tallow lamp, and yet, even its dancing flames still seemed to mock him.
He didn’t want to look at either of them. Lo’ak had just returned from Awa’atlu yesterday, brimming with stories he’d shelved for the time being, his full curiosity being snagged by the very fact that his brother had seemed to found a match. He’d been gone too long, but at least Spider was there to fill him in with everything.
Neteyam’s cheeks burned slightly, the fermented fruit wine he had been aggressively downing for the past hour as the main culprit. He doesn’t usually drink, and now he knows he’d probably never do so again. It makes him loose-mouthed, on top of being too dramatic.
“Brothers?” Lo'ak gasped out, wiping a tear of sheer delight from his eye. “She looked you dead in the eyes, bro, with your faces that close to each other... and said you remind her of her brothers?”
“Shut up, Lo'ak,” Neteyam muttered, his voice gravelly as he took another long swig from the clay flask. “And for the record, she didn’t look me dead in the eyes. Y/N doesn’t look people dead in the eyes. She has the most beautiful, expressive eyes—”
“And that probably makes it much worse. She looked at you with loving eyes? Bro, she sees you as a brother!“ Spider chimed in.
Neteyam groaned, a sound that came from the absolute depths of his chest, and buried his face in his hands. It had been three days since your outburst at the training grounds. Three days of him completely overanalyzing every single breath and syllable you had uttered. He understood it intellectually. He did. It means you felt safe with him. You trusted him with all your heart. After everything you had endured, being likened to the family you loved and lost was supposed to be the highest honor.
But brothers?
Couldn't it have been a trusted friend? A best friend? Even an exceptionally reliable protector? Why did it have to be a brother? How was he ever supposed to make you look past that? If you genuinely categorized him as a sibling in your mind, he was doomed. He would never be a lover in your eyes.
He hadn't felt the urge to scream and throw a full-blown tantrum since he was ten years old, but right now, the frustrated man inside him wanted to kick over the firepot. He wanted to march right over to your kelku, wake you up, and demand to know exactly what you meant by that.
But he immediately slap himself back to reality. The meaning was already clear as day. Besides, he knows you wouldn’t appreciate a massive, brooding warrior showing up drunk at your hut in the dead of night. It was probably the absolute quickest way to trigger every single defense mechanism you had. You would be so scared, he was already recoiling at the thought of terrifying you.
And tomorrow was too important. Tomorrow, you were finally climbing the Hallelujah Mountains to tame your ikran alongside a handful of Omatikaya youths. You needed your rest. He wanted to be clear-headed, even though he wouldn’t be there to guide you because there are warriors assigned for that.
With a heavy sigh, Neteyam capped the flask and pushed it away, ignoring Lo’ak’s continued snickering. He would tuck these stupid, selfish thoughts into the darkest corner of his mind. For you, he would be exactly what you needed him to be. Even if it killed him.
By the morning, the heavy fog of the wine had been strictly dealt with. Neteyam had woken up before dawn, running a through the lower brush before plunging himself into the freezing currents of the river to scrub away the lingering stink of alcohol. By the time he walked up to your kelku, he was back to being the perfect soldier.
Except, apparently, you were as keen as a viperwolf.
The moment you stepped out of your pod, your auburn hair neatly bound and your eyes filled with nervous anticipation for the hunt, you stopped. You looked at him, your gaze sweeping over the slight tightness in his jaw and the faint shadow beneath his eyes.
Before he could even greet, you stepped into his space. Your hands lifted, cupping his jawline gently. “Did you sleep late?” you asked, tilting your head.
Neteyam’s breath caught instantly. His throat going completely dry, but he cleared his throat roughly, trying to ignore the way your thumbs lightly brushed his skin. “Not... too late. I was just drinking with Lo’ak and Spider last night. Celebrating his return.”
Your lips pushed forward into a thoughtful, slightly amused pout. Your eyes turned intensely curious, but there was a faint apprehension in them. “Fun... or girl problems?” you asked softly.
His heart actively leapt into his mouth, he literally nearly choked. Did you know? Did Spider happen to sleep walk and mouth off? “A little bit of both,” he lied quickly, his ears twitching. “Lo’ak’s girl problems... anyway.“
You let out a soft chuckle, dropping your hands from his face. “And you?” you asked lightly as you both turned and began walking down the massive, winding ramp of Hometree. “You don’t have one of your own?”
Neteyam kept his gaze fixed on the path ahead, his chest tightening. Oh, I do, he thought. I have a massive one. She’s currently walking right next to me, thinking I’m her brother.
“I do,” he said aloud.
His voice was quiet, but it hit you like an unexpected splash of cold river water. You froze for a fraction of a second before forcing your feet to keep moving, your lips parting in utter surprise. You didn't know how to react.
First, because the concept of Neteyam having a girlfriend or an intended had literally never crossed your mind. He was always with his family, with the patrols, or with you. You had never seen him speak to the other huntresses with anything more than polite, detached respect.
Second... a sudden, suffocating image bloomed in your mind. You imagined a beautiful, flawless huntress standing beside him. Someone with perfect blue skin who moves with the grace of a warrior. Someone who hadn't spent the last eight years weak and enslaved. Someone who wasn't broken.
For some reason, the mental image left a bitter taste in your mouth that your stomach twisted into a tight, uncomfortable knot. You hated it. You immediately hated yourself for feeling it. Neteyam has been nothing but good to you. He was kind, he was patient, he had held you while you screamed your lungs out into his chest. He deserved all the happiness the Great Mother could provide.
Why wouldn't you want him to be happy? Why did the thought of him belonging to someone else make you feel like you’d never see the river again?
You cleared your throat, smiling up at him. “I guess you’d been too busy with me in the past moons, huh?” you sighed, pursing your lips. “I’ll do my best today, I promise, so you’d have more time to pursue your interests again,” you said, reaching up to touch his forearm. “Neteyam, you’d been really kind to me... So, I hope you get whatever your heart desires because you deserve it. I’ll pray for it.” you told him, nodding with serious encouragement.
A horn blew and you grinned at him, turning your back to gather with those who would be claiming their ikran today, leaving Neteyam with his jaw literally slack. How had things come to that? He was careful not to let you misunderstand the reason for his drinking, lying about Lo’ak having girl problems, and it still ended up with you thinking he had girl problems because of two stupid words!
Later, in the Hallelujah Mountains, the high altitude had left your chest tight. You still had fear of heights, despite having stayed at Hometree for several moons now, but it was bearable, especially when the adrenaline pulsing through your veins was pure fire. The teenagers way younger than you had done it, so you saw no reason to be scared and hold back.
It was a beautiful purple ikran that faced you fiercely when you approached and you’d known she has chosen you. You only needed to prove yourself, so you fought her. The ikran was not the usual mount of your people, but you are with the Omatikaya now, and mounting one would prove your place, so you fought until you had done it. You faced the sheer drops, wrestled the wind, and fought the fierce purple ikran until she accepted your bond.
You shriek in pure joy as you flew in the air. The ikran seemed to pick up on your excitement and now, she’s twirling in the air, making you hold tight. Some of the younger claimants rushed to fly back next to you, all of you flying down to the instructed bank. The feeling was indescribable, though a small, quiet part of you had wished that Neteyam was there right beside you.
You landed on the bank, leading your ikran to drink from the stream. You thought you’d look for Neteyam, but before you could even go looking for him, you were intercepted at the lower platforms by Kiri, Spider, and Tuk who were apparently sneaking off to the human facility before the night’s festival began. Tuk practically tackled you in excitement and you were easily enticed to go. Neteyam had brought you there a few times to introduce you to the creatures like Spider, and you remembered being amazed at just how many Spiders live there.
But of course, you quickly understood that they were just like you. There are males and females. They just look different... No tail and no Kuru. And they can’t breathe your air. Neteyam showed you Kiri’s mother. And then showed you Norm, before explaining to you that his father was once just like it, a human driving an Avatar. You had grown remarkably used to the humans and their strange, metal world, even picking up a few things about their language.
At the facility, Kiri encouraged you to try the shower, she said it’s just like rain but from metal. “So, it's like metal rain,” Tuk said, nodding.
Your brows furrowed, looking at the weird thing. Spider went inside to show you how it works. He pressed on something and rain did come out of the thing! Your mouth formed an ‘o’, amazed by it. “That is amazing. You can call rain anytime you want!”
Kiri grinned. “Yes, something like that,” she nodded.
“Is there... A metal river?” you asked.
Spider pushed his lips forward. “A pool? That would be a pool, I think. But... There’s none here. The natural rivers are better anyway, don’t you think?”
You chuckled and nodded. “A lot better, I can imagine.”
“Wanna try this, sister?” Tuk asked, her eyes filled with mischief and excitement, gesturing to the metal rain.
“I guess...” you whispered.
So you tried, and it felt incredible. It did the same thing waterfalls did, only that a waterfall had more pressure, but it did wash away the mountain grime. As a celebration for passing your iknimaya, Kiri presented you with a stunning new loincloth and top made of ombre fibers that shifted from deep violet to soft lavender, coincidentally matching your new ikran. Tuk, determined to add her own touch, spent an hour braiding sections of your dark auburn hair, weaving patterns that sat like a waterfalls atop your head, designed with small, pristine feathers.
By the time the four of you made it back to Hometree, the sun had yielded to darkness, and the festival drums were already loud.
You stopped at the edge of the communal clearing, your eyes scanning the crowd, immediately catching Neteyam in his full warrior gear. His chest sheath and his warrior cummerbund gleamed under the firelight, his skin beautiful against the firelight. He looked every bit the future Olo’eyktan.
As if sensing your gaze, his head snapped in your direction, and his eyes locked onto yours as you offered him a bright, wide-eyed wave. It didn’t leave you even after you joined your usual circle, watching your every move, admiring how the fibers of your top seemed to mold over your peaks, and how the braids on your long, dark auburn hair looked like waters falling.
He was itching to go to you, but because it was a formal festival, he had to take his place on the high dais, eating with his family while the traditional ceremonies took place. But the moment the formalities concluded and the drums shifted to a lively, rhythmic beat for the dancing, Neteyam practically vanished from the dais.
He appeared in front of you, stopping a step away, just watching you look at him. His arms lifted just a fraction, a subtle gesture that looked as if he desperately wanted to hold you but was letting you choose to give it, so you didn't make him wait. You threw yourself forward, stepping up on your tiptoes as you wrapped your arms around his nape, pulling your body flush against his.
“I got a purple ikran!” you breathed excitedly against his ear. “Want to see her?”
“Sure...” he murmured, his voice sounding completely distracted, thick and low.
He didn't pull away, instead, his nose buried into the side of your hair, taking a deep, ragged breath. His large hands came up to wrap around your waist, his long fingers wounding through the soft, clean strands of your hair until they reached the tips at your lower back. He ran his thumbs over the intricate crown of braids Tuk had made.
“You smell like... shampoo,” he noted, the foreign word sounding heavy.
You chuckled, your hands shifting down to rest on his forearms, feeling the firm, warm muscle beneath your palms. “Yes, we took a bath at Spider’s place. They have different stuff for the hair and skin there.” You tilted your head back, looking up at him with a mischievous, happy glow. “They also have this liquid they spray on you that makes you smell like sweet flowers. Smell my neck!”
You bared the smooth line of your throat to him, completely unaware of the absolute war that immediately raged inside him. Neteyam’s breath hitched, angling his head as he leaned into the curve of your neck. He was so close that the tip of his nose grazed the soft skin of your throat, sending a sudden, sharp shiver down your spine that made you let out a breathless chuckle. A sound that made his knees feel momentarily weak.
When he finally pulled back, his golden eyes were dark, burning with a quiet intensity. “Let’s go see your ikran,” he mumbled.
You nodded excitedly, leading him through the winding pathways up to the high roosts. He admired the fierce, purple creature, offering her a respectful nod, before calling for his own ikran. Together, you launched into the cool night air, leaving the noise of the festival behind as you soared through rainforest, eventually settling on a high ledge beside the massive waterfalls where the river starts.
The roar of the water was a familiar soothing sound, but as you caressed the smooth snout of your resting ikran, a sudden wave of melancholy washed over you. Now that you have claimed her, you wouldn't be under his constant supervision anymore. You wouldn't have his mandatory company.
You turned to him, your heart full. “Neteyam...” you called softly, making him stand still. “On the night you saved me in the pavilion,” you began, “I had completely given up. I used to dream about the old songs... About honorable warriors who protect the innocent and the vulnerable... But after so many years, I thought those were just stupid lies told to children.”
You stepped closer to him, your eyes misty but entirely focused on his face.
“But you brought my faith back in them, Neteyam. You showed me that they do still exist. The gallant, chivalrous protectors. You are one of them.”
Neteyam stayed silent for a long moment, the bioluminescence under the water reflecting in his eyes. “But what if I am not so... chivalrous?” he asked quietly.
You swiveled fully toward him, your brows rising in confusion. “Hm?”
He took a deliberate step forward, waiting for that familiar flinch to freeze your features, but it didn't come. You just looked up at him, your expression entirely open and curious. So, he stepped even closer, completely closing the distance between you.
Your eyes involuntarily flickered down his body, being reminded about how you had always quietly admired it. He was built differently than the average male. He carried the broad, heavy shoulder structure and muscled body of his father, but Neteyam seemed even bigger and stood several inches taller than most.
“You spoke this morning about taking up too much of my time,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep register that made you feel flutters in your belly. “And you said that now that you have your ikran, I will have the freedom to pursue my own interests.” He tilted his head, his gaze intensely focused on your face. “But can I really do that? Will you... allow me?”
Your brows furrowed, a soft, puzzled chuckle escaping your lips. “Why shouldn't I? I don’t... own you, Neteyam. I’ve told you, it is my absolute wish for you to get whatever your heart desires because you deserve it.” You lifted your hand, gently resting it against his arm. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Neteyam reached down, his large hand sliding down your forearm to securely clasp your smaller fingers in his. He stared directly into your eyes, his chest rising and falling with a heavy breath.
“I mean... will you allow me... to pursue you?” he asked softly, the words hanging in the misty air between you. “You are my interest, Y/N. You are my heart’s desire.”
The words struck you. Your breath caught, your lips parting in sheer disbelief despite your heart soaring in a wild rhythm as if flutters in your chest. But the old, defensive ghosts in your mind instantly whispered that it couldn't possibly be true.
“Neteyam... no,” you whispered, looking down at your joined hands. “You are probably just... enticed by the novelty. I am new and uh... Well... broken. It will pass in time.”
“It will not,” he intercepted fiercely, his grip on your hand tightening just enough to ground you. He used his other hand to gently lift your jaw, forcing you to look at the raw, undisguised adoration swimming in his eyes. “You are not broken. You are beautiful, and I see you. Give me a chance to prove it to you. Let me show you that my feelings are true. I will court you, Y/N. I will court you according to our ways, according to your ways, until the day you decide I am worthy to be your mate.”
You stared at him. You had never, in your most desperate dreams during those eight years of darkness, ever imagined you would be standing on a mountain peak with a man looking at you like you were his entire world. You had never thought that the stupid dreams younger you had dreamed of would ever come to life. The tears broke free then, hot and wet, but they were entirely from relief.
You lunged forward, throwing your arms around his torso, and Neteyam caught you instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his massive arms crushed you against him in an embrace as a low, contented purr vibrated deep within his chest.
Slowly, you pulled back just enough to frame his face, your hands cupping his strong jawline. You leaned forward and pressed your forehead firmly against his, the intimate gesture that should give him flashbacks, but now feels as intimate as the one his parents shared.
Your other hand slid down to his chest, your palm pressing flat against his skin, feeling the heavy, erratic thudding of his heart beneath his ribs.
“If your heart truly desires mine...” you whispered, your gaze dropping down to his lips, “then I will allow you to win it.”
Neteyam was practically floating when he stepped through the woven entrance of his home that night, the sweet floral scent of the human liquid you had sprayed on your neck seemed permanently bonded to his senses, yet it was nothing compared to the absolute fire burning in his chest.
He expected the receiving area to be empty, thinking most of his family would be asleep by now, but Jake and Neytiri were there, sitting by the dying embers of the hearth. Jake looked up and it took him less than a second to take in his eldest son’s dazed expression, the uncharacteristic swing of his arms, and the massive, helpless smile pulling at his lips. Jake had seen the two of you slip away from the festival earlier, and he knew that look. He had worn it himself under a different canopy, many years ago.
“So,“ Jake said, his voice laced with an amused, knowing rumble. “Did you ask the girl for her hand in courtship, or are you just planning to stare at the ceiling for many nights again?”
Neteyam choked on his own breath, his ears instantly pinning back as a dark violet flush rushed to his cheeks. “I... how did you—”
Neytiri’s head snapped toward her husband, her sharp eyes widening in surprise, though her shock was mostly directed at how straightforward Jake was being. “Ma Jake,” she murmured, a gentle warning in her tone, before her gaze shifted back to her son.
Mo’at had pulled Neytiri aside moons ago, whispering about the alignment the Great Mother had planned. Initially, Neytiri had harbored quiet reservations. Your lineage was good, but your spirit had been heavily burdened, your body kept in a cage for eight long years. She had worried your trauma would hold you back.
But as the moons progressed, Neytiri had seen how you wove yourself into the clan, and above all, she saw her son. She saw the way Neteyam’s eyes tracked your every movement, and how a simple, effortless glance from you would literally made him jump on the soles of his feet, eager to serve, eager to protect. Her son was entirely taken. He had been from the very start.
“And?” Neytiri asked softly, her eyes fixed on her son.
Neteyam cleared his throat, standing taller, though his ears still twitched with embarrassment. “Yes... I asked her. She... she is allowing me to win her heart. I will court her properly.”
Neytiri nodded, a profound sense of peace settling over her features. “She is strong, Neteyam... You will honor her."
Jake’s smile faded slightly, replaced by the heavy gravity of a father and a leader. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s a good path, son. But you need to keep your eyes open. Mokri hasn't forgotten about her. He isn't actively hunting for her, but he’s out there, and he knows she’s hiding.”
The mention of the man’s name caused the warmth in the hut to vanish instantly. Neytiri watched her son closely, noting the sudden, dangerous glint that flashed across Neteyam’s golden eyes. His jaw clenched into a hard, rigid line.
“Let him come,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register that sounded exactly like his father’s war voice. “He will have to tear my heart from my chest before he ever puts a hand on her again.”
Two moons passed since then, and the forest breathed in a rhythm of heat and rain.
Neteyam had kept his word with a devotion that bordered on worship. He courted you openly under the watchful eyes of the clan. But to be honest, he had captured your heart long before the formal courtship ever began. You just hadn't been aware of its depth until now. Looking at him now, you fully understood what your heart wanted. You wanted him.
The sky was dark and peppered with stars when you both guided your ikrans down toward a secluded riverbank, deep within a part of the rainforest where the Omatikaya rarely patrolled. The water here was still, reflecting the bioluminescent moss that clung to it's grounds.
As you slipped off your purple mount, smoothing your hand down her snout, your tail flicked languidly behind you, brushing against Neteyam’s thigh, so with a quiet, playful smirk, his large hand reached out and caught the tip, tugging it teasingly.
You jolted from the intense, tingling sensation, a breathless laugh escaping your lips as you swiveled to face him. For a second, you both stood perfectly still, eyes locked, waiting to see who would launch the first tickle attack. But when Neteyam took a large, deliberate step forward, you shrieked with delight, turning on your heel and running down the mossy bank.
But you didn't get far because he caught you in three paces, his strong arm winding securely around your waist and pulling you up against his chest. You spun around within his hold, your palms slamming flat against his broad chest as he pulled your lower body flush against his. Your fingers traced a path up his warm skin, over his heavy shoulders, until you wrapped your hands securely around his nape. You rose up on your tiptoes, nuzzling your cheek affectionately against the soft skin of his neck. His hands tightened around your waist, squeezing you so hard your breath hitched.
“Neteyam...” you mumbled, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. The nervous, hesitant girl was long gone; your gaze was clear, filled with a, solid certainty. You smiled up at him, your hand lifting to gently cup his strong jawline. “I am accepting you. As my mate.”
Neteyam’s smile slowly dropped, and you know by now that it happens when he’s too happy to actually smile. He froze entirely, his breath catching in his throat. He looked down at you, his mind spinning so violently he didn't know whether to crush you in a hug or kiss you hard. He felt like he was floating, experiencing the sensation of flying without ever leaving the ground.
Seeing him completely paralyzed, you took the initiative. You leaned up and pressed your lips softly against his and feeling a violent shudder racked his entire frame at the contact. His hands tightened on your waist, his fingers digging into your hips as if to convince himself you were real. He didn't move his head, completely overwhelmed, allowing you to explore his mouth with little, innocent pecks and soft, testing presses, your head angling as your hands held his face.
But then you pulled away, your wide eyes peering up at him in slight confusion. "Don’t you... like to kiss me?”
And just like that, you seemed to have flipped a switch inside him.
A low, guttural growl tore from his throat. His hand came up, his long fingers tangling into the auburn hair at the back of your head, and he leaned down, crushing his mouth against yours thoroughly.
He was like a parched man who had finally found water after a lifetime in the desert, or a drowning man who had just broke the surface for air. He kissed you with a fierce hunger, his tongue sliding past your lips, claiming your mouth like he had wanted nothing else but do this.
You loved it. You loved witnessing the perfect, disciplined soldier completely come undone in your hands.
“Touch me...” you managed to gasp out against his lips, the words swallowed by another searing, wet kiss.
The command sent an electric shock straight through him. His hands abandoned your waist, moving down your body with a heavy, desperate heat. He touched and squeezed the places he had starved himself of looking at for months. His large palm cupped the curves of your breasts, slid down the dip of your waist, and gripped your firm thighs, pulling you so hard against his groin you could feel the rigid proof of his arousal.
You moaned loudly into his mouth, your head falling back as his kisses trailed down your jawline, burying into the sensitive hollow of your neck. You arched your spine, giving him total access, your hands cradling the back of his head as he licked and bit gently at your skin.
“Neteyam...” you whimpered, your body trembling with a sudden, beautiful fright.
“Stop?” he gasped out, his voice thick and rough with heavy arousal as he pulled back a fraction, his golden eyes wide and dark.
You shook your head frantically. “No. I don’t want you to stop. Please...”
You pulled his head back down, but instead of your mouth, his lips traveled lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat until they reached where the swell of your breasts started.
Your back arched instinctively, your breath hitching as you reached behind you, your trembling hands unclasping the fiber bindings. Neteyam’s hand on your waist tightened to a desperate grip, his eyes looking up at you in silent, burning question. You didn't say a word, you simply let the top fall, and the soft, woven fibers grazed his abdomen as they slid down between you.
His gaze fell on your bare breasts, the freckles on your skin glowing like stars. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest heaving.
You angled your face down, capturing his lips just once more, a soft, reassuring press. “It’s yours, Neteyam...” you whispered against his mouth. “I’m all yours.”
A ragged groan escaped him, and you chuckled softly as a massive shudder shook his frame. He leaned down, his mouth opening wide as he took one of your peaks between his lips, his tongue swirling tightly around the pebbled tip.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his arms as he began to suckle, his other hand moving to heavily fondle and squeeze your other breast. The sensation was overwhelming and a hot, liquid coil tightened deep in your belly as he indulged himself, suckling your breasts as if he could get sustenance from it.
Before your knees could completely give out, Neteyam stepped you backward. You pulled him down with you onto the mossy bank of the river, laying back so he'd follow, your long auburn hair fanning out around your face like a halo of dark fire against the glowing moss. Neteyam followed you down, hovering over you, his massive body casting a shadow that entirely shielded you. He looked down at you, watching you breathe heavily, your eyes dark with desire and completely free of fear, and his breath hitched.
This was the image that had haunted his every fantasy.
Your heart fluttered in your chest at the heated look in his eyes. You’ve spent the last years feeling disgusted over the way men would look at you, but now, your excitement was suffocating you, and as Neteyam looked down at the open, fearless surrender in your golden eyes, a sudden wave of fierce reverence slowed him down.
Your fingers slid from his shoulders to wrap around his nape, your fingers caressing the kuru at the base of his head. That is one difference he had. Yours start at the center top of your head, like the usual Na’vi. At your touch, his control fractured completely. He groaned your name, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as his lips came back down to yours. Your hand cupped his face as he kissed you deeply. It wasn’t gentle at all, it was wet and heavy with unspoken desperation. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting the sweetness of your gasps, while his large hands slid down your sides.
He gripped your waist, his calloused palms bruisingly tight against your skin as he pulled your lower body up, pressing his rigid length firmly against your center through the thin barrier of both your loinclothes. You let out a broken moan into his mouth, tilting your pelvis instinctively to meet his weight.
Your move made him shudder violently, his hands moving to your back, his fingers untying the soft fibers around your tail and pulling the garment away, leaving you entirely bare beneath him. He shifted, his heavy thigh sliding between yours, forcing your legs wide apart and you bit your lip when the cool air hit your slick center, but it was immediately covered when he leaned down, his mouth abandoning your lips to bite gently at the junction where your neck met your shoulder, making your toes curl.
His hand slid down your abdomen and you caught your breath, your hands clutching at his back, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his spine as his fingers finally found you. He was gentle at first, his thumb finding the swollen nub of your desire, parting you to find the slick heat you were offering him. A loud whimper tore from your throat as he began to move his fingers, tracing your slit, coating his hand in your moisture.
“Neteyam... please,” you gasped, your hips lifting off the ground, seeking more of the agonizing friction. Your trembling hands reached behind him, frantically discarding his loincloth until there was nothing left between you but the heat of your skin.
“I got you,” he growled against your ear, his voice thick and low, completely unraveled by how wet and ready you were for him. “Look at me, baby.”
You forced your heavy eyelids open. Through the dark, his golden eyes were burning, completely fixed on your face. He wanted to see every expression, to know that every sensation you felt was because of him. He reached behind his back, bringing his kuru in front of you. Your eyes snapped up to him.
“Neteyam...” your hand came up to hold his.
His head tilted. “We won’t do it... Without this.”
You licked your lips wet, reaching behind you, and you saw the relief on his face. You brought it between you and his hand moved to press the pink tendrils of his kuru to yours, and you gasped from the jolt it gave you before the surge of his emotions rushed through the bond. You basked jn the warmth of it, the fierce love and protectiveness he holds for you, and the extreme attraction that brought heat to your cheeks.
“You like me...“ you smiled up at him, chuckling.
“Like?” He huffed. “Baby, I love you. Can you feel it?” he asked, his hand squeezing your waist.
You nodded. “I love you, Neteyam...” you whispered. “And I mean... You like me... Like this...”
He raised his brow, his eyes holding yours but you felt his hand on your breast, his thumb brushing the pebbled tip, making you squirm. “Yeah...” he mumbled, his gaze falling down on hand on your breast. “I’ve fantasized about this a lot... You under me,” his eyes snapped back up to yours. “Does that bother you?”
You bit your lip and shook your head, your body shivering with electric excitement. “No,” you mumbled, craning your head to kiss him. “It makes me... excited.“
He smiled, his hand squeezing your breast before he leaned down to kiss you. “Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable,“ he whispered, pressing quick kisses on your lips. “Promise me?”
You nodded frantically. “I promise,” you said impatiently.
He chuckled, kissing you as he positioned himself against you. You forgot to look between you earlier, and now, you could only imagine what he looked like as the tip of his length pressing against your slick entrance. You watched Neteyam’s jaw lock so tight the muscles jumped, his entire body rigid as he held himself back, waiting for you to breathe.
“Yes?“ he rasped, his hips twitching slightly with the desperate urge to bury himself inside you.
“Now, Neteyam,” you whispered, your hands moving down to grip his hips, pulling him down.
He pushed into you, and you bit your lip as his sharp fullness stretched you open, a gasp escaping your lips. You could tell he was large, and although you were so wet, he was still stretching your walls to their absolute limit. Neteyam groaned, forcing himself to stop halfway when he felt your slight resistance. He buried his face in your neck, his chest heaving against your bare breasts as he waited for you to adjust to him.
You kissed the shell of his ear, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in, and arched your back to pull him the rest of the way in, letting out a sharp moan as his cock filled you to the brim. Neteyam let out a groan of pure pleasure from being completely surrounded by your tight, throbbing heat. The sensation was so intense his vision blurred.
You clenched around him, finding the stretch so good. He began to move, pulling back slowly before driving deep into you, his large hands anchoring beneath your hips to lift you into his powerful thrusts. The pace was primal and heavy, and every time his hips slam against yours, a moan broke from your lips, echoing softly along with his grunts.
You lost yourself in the sensation, your brain zeroing in to the feel of his calloused hands gripping your waist, the weight of his chest pressing against your breasts, and the blinding friction of him filling you completely. You fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his face down to yours so you could drink his ragged breaths.
Neteyam was entirely possessed. He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, driven by the way your inner muscles were clamping down tightly around him with every thrust. He felt the tremors starting in your thighs, and the way your breaths were turning into short, frantic pants.
“Neteyam, I—I can't...” you cried out, your head tossing back against the moss as a sudden, intense wave of electricity coiled tight in your lower belly.
“A little more, baby,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming punishingly fast, driving deeper.
A loud cry tore from your throat as your core convulsed, clamping down around him in tight, violent ripples. Your pleasure was the final blow to his control, letting out a guttural groan, his hips driving all the way into you, spilling himself deep inside you, his entire body stiffening as he shook with the force of his own climax.
He collapsed forward, his heavy weight burying you into the moss, his nose digging into your neck. You both lay there for a long time, the only sound being your heavy, desperate gasps and the synchronized beating of your hearts. Slowly, Neteyam shifted, lifting his head to look at you. His golden eyes were soft now, the dangerous hunger gone, replaced by an overwhelming devotion. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your swollen lips.
“I love you, baby,” he whispered against your lips, his hand gently smoothing the damp auburn hair away from your face.
You caressed his damp chest, nodding. “Why do you call me baby?” you asked, already too curious since earlier, you just didn’t want to ruin the moment.
He chuckled, his face falling against yours. “It’s just an endearmemt... In the human tongue. It means... you’re my baby. I will love you and protect you, and the children we will have. I will never let you get hurt again, I promise.” he said in a low voice, kissing your lips softly.
You smile widened, your eyes burning with hot tears. You were about to ponder on how far you have come, but then you got distracted by the thought of children. “Will this get me pregnant?” you asked.
He blinked, looking to the side. “I... Well, that I don’t know... I haven’t...”
You watched him as he scratched his temple, struggling to answer.
“Maybe, if we’re lucky. Do you want to?” he asked instead.
“I should like to enjoy with just us two... But if I do get pregnant, then I will be really happy,” you mused, kissing him.
“We will do what you want...” he mumbled, kissing your jaw softly. “And in truth, I want you to first enjoy not having to work yourself too much for a long while. I imagine babies would be a lot of work... and I want you to just rest and know yourself more before we get to that.”
Your smile widened at his words, the warmth of his promise soaking into your skin. You leaned up to give him one more gentle press of your lips, sealing the quiet pact of the life you were going to build together. Your lovemaking was followed by another, and another, another until you’ve fallen asleep with a soft, dreamy haze in your mind. Neteyam refused to untangle himself from you, wrapping his large, muscular frame around your body, warming you from the cold.
When the first light of dawn slipped through the canopy, Neteyam gently nudged you awake with soft kisses along your jawline, making you snuggle closer to him. You both washed in the cool water of the river, the playful touches never ceasing that you probably spent so much time there, just fooling around. After getting dressed, you called for your mounts and took flight into the morning sky, your purple ikran soaring alongside his. You caught Neteyam looking at you, his eyes burning with the proud, fierce light of a man who had finally claimed his match.
You angled your beasts toward the massive structure of Hometree, landing smoothly on the high, sweeping branches of the roost. But the moment your feet touched the platform, the sight of Lo’ak and Spider standing there, their expressions unusually grim, filled you with tension.
“What is it?“ Neteyam asked him.
“Uh... Well, we’ve got a situation downstairs. Her... Her uncle is at the clearing. I swear, I wanted to send him away, but Dad said we need to wait for what she has to say, so...”
Neteyam’s ears instantly flattened against his head, his posture shifting into that of a warrior ready to strike. You blinked, expecting that you’ll feel the usual fear that eats at you... But no. You felt only a fire that propelled you to walk down the winding ramps toward the lower levels.
“What does he want?” Neteyam demanded, his voice a low growl as he followed you.
“He's asking around,” Spider explained, his eyes darting down the ramp. “He was asking Lo'ak and the patrols if anyone had seen his niece. He claims you went missing during the great clan gathering many moons ago. Said he’s been looking for you ever since but couldn't find you.”
Lo'ak scoffed, crossing his arms. “He came here hoping Neteyam might have seen you since my brother was particularly concerned with you that night. If it were up to me, I would've kicked his lying ass straight out of the borders last night. But Dad wanted to wait. He said it’s your choice how to handle this. But don’t worry, we didn't tell him you were actually here.“
Neteyam looked down at you, his large hand sliding down to squeeze yours, offering a steady, unwavering anchor. “You do not have to see him if you do not want to,” he murmured gently. “I can make him leave. Right now.“
You looked into Neteyam’s golden eyes. You weren't that helpless girl who just lost her family and had no one anymore. “No,” you said firmly, your voice steadying. “I want to face him.”
You continued walking down into the wide, communal clearing, and saw Ka’lu standing near the center, visibly haggard, surrounded by warriors who hadn't let him out of their sight the entire time. Jake and Neytiri stood a few paces back, watching with detached expressions.
As you stepped into the firelight of the clearing, Ka’lu’s head snapped up. His eyes widened at the sight of you, his gaze immediately piercing behind you, locking onto Neteyam, who was walking a half-step behind you like an immovable shadow.
Ka’lu cried out your name, taking a frantic step forward before a warrior's spear dropped to bar his path. He threw his hands up, his face contorting into a mask of grand, dramatic relief. “Oh, thank the Great Mother! I have spent the past moons in absolute agony, dying of worry that something terrible had happened to you! If I had only known earlier that Neteyam had rescued you, I would have come to this clan much sooner—“
You stopped a few paces away, your expression cold. “To do what?“ you asked, your voice cutting through his performance. “Bring me to Mokri?”
Ka’lu froze, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second, completely speechless. He stammered, shaking his head rapidly. “No! No, of course not! How can you think that? I would have come to get you back, to protect you! I would not give you to him!”
Your eyes narrowed, the memory of that horrible night flooding back, but this time, it didn't break you. “But you were offering me to him that night like a piece of meat, weren't you, uncle? You told me... that if he chooses to mount me, I should just give in to what he wanted. You told me I should do whatever he wants. You even said that if he killed me for daring to answer Neteyam, I should just accept it. You said that, didn't you, uncle?”
Neteyam shifted. He had never heard of this before, and a low hiss of anger and rippled through him. Jake’s eyes darkened completely, and Neytiri’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, watching Ka’lu’s face turn pale, the words dying in his throat. He looked around frantically, realizing he had lost the crowd entirely. Still, his desperation pushed him to try one last lie.
“Things... things are different now, Y/N! I swear it! You no longer need to rely on the charity and shelter of the Omatikaya. I have found a better, safer place for us two to live. We can leave right now—“
“She is not going anywhere with you,” Neteyam interrupted.
He stepped fully in front of you, his towering, broad frame completely blocking Ka’lu from your sight. He drew himself up to his full, imposing height as he leveled a look of pure, unadulterated lethal intent at the older male.
“She does not need your shelter,” Neteyam barked, his voice booming across the clearing. “She is my mate.”
Ka’lu staggered back a step, utterly shocked. He blinked, looking from Neteyam’s fierce expression to you, who stood behind him, not knowing just how far his audacity actually reaches. A sickening smile attempted to re-form on his face.
“Your... your mate? My niece?” Ka’lu breathed, his face obvious calculating the political advantage. How had he not thought of this before? If he had known the possibility of Neteyam falling for your charms, he would have gone that route instead of toiling to bring you back to Mokri! “Well... that is wonderful news! Truly great! And in that case... as her only remaining family, perhaps I could stay... here?”
You recoiled in absolute disgust, a heavy weight of disbelief settling over you. The man truly had no shame.
Neteyam kept his deadly focus entirly on Ka’lu, but his hand reached and found yours, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “The choice is yours, baby,” he said softly. “I will do whatever your decision is.“
You stepped out from behind Neteyam’s shoulder, looking directly at Ka’lu. “I do not want him to stay,” you decided, your voice ringing clear and absolute. “You are not my uncle, Ka'lu. You said so yourself that night. It is better if we part ways now. Permanently.”
Neteyam nodded once. He took another terrifying step toward Ka’lu, his ears pinning back completely as a low, feral snarl vibrated in his throat.
“You heard her. Go,” Neteyam threatened, his voice dropping into a low growl that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Turn around and walk out of our lands. You should be glad I am letting you leave with your life, because all I want to do right now is tear your throat out with my bare hands. Never show your face near the Omatikaya again. Because if I ever see you on our territory, I will do exactly what I want to do.”
Ka’lu didn't need to be told again. Terror finally overtook his greed, tripping over his own feet as he turned. The warriors led him out and they reported how he practically fled oit into the brush in haste.
The moment you heard that, the immense tension drained from your body. Your legs suddenly felt incredibly shaky, the emotional exhaustion of finally closing that dark chapter hitting you all at once. Neteyam turned instantly, catching you before you could falter, pulling you tightly against his chest and pressing a warm kiss to your temple. You breathed a massive, ragged huff of relief against his skin.
“Wait,” Lo’ak’s voice suddenly broke through the quiet. “Is that actually true? You two are... mated now?”
Neteyam kept his arm securely wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. He looked at his brother, then up at his parents, before offering a firm, incredibly proud nod. “We are. She accepted me as her mate last night.”
Lo’ak gasped, his jaw practically hitting the floor. “And what? You guys just... mated? Right away? Last night? No ceremonies, no clan blessing, no nothing?”
Before Neteyam could defend himself, a dry, raspy chuckle echoed from the edge of the clearing. It was Mo’at, her eyes twinkling with immense satisfaction. “Well,” the Tsahik mused, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “He is his parents’ son, after all.”
Jake instantly burst into a loud laugh before quickly catching himself and covering it with a loud cough. Neytiri’s ears twitched with a dark violet blush, and she quickly looked away. You looked up at Neteyam, your brow furrowing in genuine, innocent confusion at the inside joke, your eyes silently questioning what the Tsahik meant.
Neteyam looked down at you, the warrior entirely vanishing, replaced by the man who was hopelessly, deeply in love with you. He let out a soft chuckle, leaning down to press a swift, affectionate kiss right to the tip of your nose.
“I’ll tell you later, nosy girl,” he mumbled against your skin, pulling you close as the clearing filled with the warm, welcoming laughter of his family.
