➹ NO MORE DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
prompt: since your daughter has grown, a sudden space between her and Neteyam has broadened, and he struggles to understand it.
warnings: fluff, dad!neteyam, aged up characters, kinda suggestive (?), a little angsty
wc: 1.2k
notes: this was requested! thank you for the idea, i hope this meets your standards loll
There was once a time, a time when your daughter clinged to Neteyam like a lifeline, as if he were the only solace she knew.
A time when she called for him and only sometimes for you, but then again, that was when she was just a baby.
Now, at six years old, things have changed.
He sits behind her, washing her unbraided hair, fingers careful, separating and working through each small knot, each trace of sand and dirt gathered from the day.
Your daughter, dramatic as ever, jerks away more than once, protesting that he’s being too rough, that he’s not careful enough.
Neteyam exhales softly, the sound somewhere between amusement and resignation, leans forward, and steadies her with a light hand on her shoulder.
“Daddy, too rough. You’re hurting me.” she murmurs.
“You say that everytime.” He says, though his voice is already softer now, more cautious as he tries again.
She huffs and leans forward, watching you section all kinds of herbs into different bowls. “Mama, you do it.”
She says it as if it is an expectation—you glance at Neteyam to see his expression, it is not quite that of hurt or anger, only the quiet realization that things really have changed.
You shift your weight to your right foot, glancing for a brief second at the herbs in your hands, then looking at her once again.
“Momma is pretty busy. Daddy can finish, just this once.” You try, softly so she won’t fuss and leave altogether.
She goes still for a moment at that, lips pressing into a thin line as she considers whether it’s a battle worth fighting.
Neteyam doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t rush her, he doesn’t sigh again, just waits with the same quiet fear… patience he’s always had with her—hands resting lightly in her hair, careful not to pull.
“Fine” she mutters at last, though the word is heavy with reluctance.
You hide your smile by turning slightly back to your work.
Neteyam resumes, slower this time. His fingers separate each strand as if they might break, easing through the tangles and trying not to tug. When she flinches again, it’s a habit. not real complaint.
“see?” he murmurs. “Not so bad.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes flick toward you again, watching, measuring as if checking whether you’re going to step in anyway.
but you don’t, of course not.
After a while, her shoulders loosen. the tension leaves her little by little, like she’s forgetting she was upset in the first place. She leans back, just slightly, only until her head brushes against his chest.
Neteyam pauses for the briefest second, surprised, before continuing. There’s something softer in his expression now, something that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“You missed a knot.” she mumbles, though there’s no childlike bite left in her voice.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “I didn’t.”
“Yes you diiiid.”
“Did not.”
She tilts her head stubbornly, pointing somewhere vaguely near her temple. “There.”
Neteyam humors her, carefully working through the exact place she indicated. “Better?”
A small pause. “…yeah.”
You glance over then, unable to help yourself. She’s relaxed now, leaning into him fully, eyes half lidded with comfort. And Neteyam is still focused, still careful, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Children grow. They pull away in little ways, choose one parent over the other without meaning to. But they circle back too, in moments like this.
Your daughter shifts again, blinking slowly.
“Papa?”
“Mm?”
“You’re doing good now. Don't stop.”
This time, when Neteyam smiles it actually reaches his eyes.
— ➹
Your daughter slips away though, the moment her hair is finished, already halfway out the doorway before either of you can say anything.
“I’m going to play!” she calls, not really waiting for permission.
Neteyam watches her go, hands still half raised like he might have caught her if she stayed another second longer.
The space is quieter. You finish sorting the last of your herbs, brushing stray leaves from your palms before wiping them clean.
For a moment, you just watch him. How he's sitting there, shoulders a little heavier now that the task is done, the warmth of it gone with her.
Then you step closer. Your hands settle on his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the tension there—father, husband, warrior, hunter—sometimes it’s too much, but Neteyam couldn’t be happier.
He exhales, leaning back into your touch without hesitation. “You always wait until she leaves to be nice to me,” he murmurs.
You huff softly. “I am always nice to you.”
“Mm. Not like this.”
His head tilts slightly, just enough to glance back at you, a hint of something playful creeping into his expression despite the lingering quiet in his eyes.
“Maybe we should have another,” he adds, almost too casually. “One who still thinks I am their favorite.”
You snort under your breath, squeezing his shoulders a little firmer. “So that is your solution?”
“It is a good solution,” he insists, though the corner of his mouth lifts. “Start over. This time, I do not let you steal all the attention.”
You lean down slightly, your voice softer now. “You say that as if you wouldn’t give in immediately.”
He doesn’t deny it, instead his gaze drifts back to the doorway where your daughter disappeared through.
“She used to look for me first, that’s all.” He says quietly.
Your hands still.
Neteyam’s fingers rest against his knees now, absentmindedly tracing patterns against his skin. “When she was small, she would cry if I left the room. Always reaching, always calling. She was papa’s girl” He pauses, jaw tightening just slightly. “Now she barely notices.”
“That’s not true,” you say gently.
He shakes his head, not sharply, just enough to show he doesn’t quite believe it. “It feels true.”
There’s no bitterness in his voice. Just something softer. Something that almost sounds like loss.
“She goes to you for everything,” he continues. “Even when I am right here.”
You shift your grip, one hand sliding from his shoulder to rest against his chest as you step around him. “She’s six,” you remind him. “She changes her mind every other day about who her favorite is.”
“She hasn’t changed it back.” he mutters.
That pulls a quiet giggle out from you, but you soften it quickly, brushing your fingers along his jaw, making him face you.
“She leaned into you,” you point out. “You felt that.”
His fingers tap against his knee, a nervous habit he’s had around you since you were younger.
“She asked you not to stop,” you add.
The tension in him eases just a fraction. “I did notice.” He admits.
You smile, just a little. “Good. Then stop acting like she’s already grown.”
He huffs quietly, one hand coming up to rest over yours where it sits against his chest. His thumb brushes over your knuckles.
“She is growing,” he says. “Too fast.”
There’s something in the way he says it—like he wishes he could slow it down, hold onto every version of her just a little longer.
You lean closer, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.
“And you’re still her father,” you murmur. “That doesn’t get replaced.”
He turns his head slightly at that, just enough that your faces are closer now, his gaze lingering on yours.
“…we could still have another,” he says again, quieter this time, but there’s a teasing warmth underneath it now, less about loss and more about something shared.
You roll your eyes, though your lips curve. “You’re not letting that go?”
“No.”
His hand tightens gently around yours. “s’not a bad idea,” he adds.
You shake your head, but you don’t pull away.
based off of this request
